Chapter 1: Awakening
I wake up to darkness and the faint sound of static. For a second, I think I'm dead — or maybe worse, in a morgue drawer. The air is stale, recycled, and reeks of antiseptic mixed with something rotten. Confusion floods my mind faster than the adrenaline in my veins. My eyes snap open and the room pitches down again, blank monitors flickering off like dying fireflies. A fuzzy, synthetic voice thrums in my skull:
SYSTEM ALERT: Power grid failure. Primary systems offline.
AI CASSIUS: Hello, Rook Jensen. Status: 23% cognitive dissonance detected.
Great. Just what I needed: a talking implant in my head telling me I'm not in my right mind. I groan and rub my temples, trying to reboot myself. My hands are sore, bound to the cold metal slab of a cube-like prison cell. The restraints bite into my wrists; they're wire-tied like I'm some damn criminal (like I needed reminding).
"Are you some rescue team arriving, or did I fall off the bottom of a maintenance belt?" I snarl. The voice crackles again, cutting through the haze.
CASSIUS: Did not compute sarcasm. Threat level elevated. Zombie outbreak detected in Embergate sector.
Zombies? I choke at the word. Great. I'd swear on my last Neon Cola that I didn't sign up for this. "Zombies?" I say, almost dropping the sarcasm. "Any chance of clarifying that, Cass?"
CASSIUS: Enhanced sensory feed engaged. I'm detecting low-level bio-hazards within immediate proximity. Quite dead and moving. Suggest we act fast.
Well, Cassius is only half helpful, but at least I'm getting something. My HUD flickers as health status and a big glaring objective appear in my vision.
OBJECTIVE: Release restraints. Escape prison cell.
HP: 100/100
Stamina: 89/100
Primary Weapon: None
So this a game now, fantastic. I didn't even pick the "rogue zombie fighter" class. I hate when that happens. Peeling my vision away from the HUD, I look around the cell. It's small, steel walls painted white, grimy and scuffed. A folded-up cot lies in the corner, a cracked datapad on a stand. Nothing that jumps out as a crowbar or club.
I clench my jaw. It's just me, my two hands, and whatever this Cassius is. Alright. "Relax, Cass. I handle a little undead," I say to the empty room—and whatever hears my voice, my implants probably broadcast it. No one answers, except Cassius snorting in binary.
CASSIUS: Affirmative. Preparing a tutorial on brute-force combat. No promises of success.
Ha. Real comforting. Time to work. If the locks holding me down are as dumb as they look, brute strength won't cut it. But these bindings—some kind of polymer wires—do not give with a flex. I twist, yank. They tighten around my wrists, reminding me why I've wanted a personal hack. My cyber-scanning peripheral lights up with data:
Restraint Security Level: Medium (Tech 4 required)
I don't have much gear. But I do have fingers, maybe time to test the old hacking skills. "Hacker's Codex: boot up," I mutter, my vision focusing on a flickering blue port in the wall. Could be a maintenance access point. A normal person would feel panic now; I feel excitement.
CASSIUS: I must say, I appreciate the masochistic sense of humor. Locked in a room with zombies and you want to see the wiring.
I roll my eyes and clamp on an implant patch on my forearm (that's right, I pre-amp these things when I can). Synthetic blood flavor in my mouth as adrenaline and fear mix into focus. I reach to the port near the door — ironically, I've hacked through worse in the back alleys. I press the pad; the lockscreen flares on my HUD. Hack interface: a scrambled chip with wires. A minigame I know too well.
HACKER'S CODEX: \\/||**...
Buttons flash. I input a code sequence blind, guided by muscle memory, modding circuits. Sparks sputter as a sealed panel near the door depressurizes. One of the wires around my wrist pops. Progress. "And that's how it's done," I snort. Cassius is silent, probably calculating how many languages I just swore in.
SYSTEM: +20 XP (Tech Skill increased)
I blink at the small 'popup' floating in my sight. XP in my eye, literal? That's new. I am thankful for no audience except maybe the cameras. The cot clanks as I shift and stand, rubbing my wrists. The door latches click open with a hiss. Score one for the guerrilla tech.
"Door's open, Cass. Could've texted me, robot," I quip, pushing the heavy steel door.
Beyond the cell is a short hallway bathed in pale, flickering fluorescence. Distant groans echo and something splashes against concrete farther down. Not waiting to see, I pull myself free of the restraints; blood from earlier cuts and rope burns stings. Already the system is reading me:
HP: 98/100 Stamina: 77/100 ALERT: LOW ADRENALIN
The hallway at first seems empty. Lockers, broken consoles, a toppled chair in the middle of the floor. Something drips — red, from an overturned supply box. The sight chills me. "First base: check the perimeter for more hostiles," Cassius suggests, tone clipped like he's annoyed.
Fine. I inch forward, scanning with eyes and tech. I hear a rustle behind a crate and flick the flashlight on. A hunched figure — male, mid-thirties — stands there. Pale, vacant eyes and bloodied mouth twitching. Not a comforting sight. Definitely infected.
CASSIUS: Lifeform detected. Age: 35, status: infected. Aggression: Medium.
Lovely. I approach cautiously. He lurches toward me, arms outstretched, moaning. I lunge, grabbing a piece of debris: a bent pipe from the trolley. The zombie swings. I duck, feel its cold hands graze my ear. I swing. The heavy metal connects with the side of its head. This one actually does a backflip and lands in a heap before it's done shaking. Purple bruises blossom on its face.
COMBAT RESULT: Zombie down. +15 XP (Combat Skill increased)
There's another flicker: the HUD notes the XP. I flex my hand; the pipe is a bit of grime, but it's a weapon now.
Cassius cackles softly. "Impressive. For a walking punching bag you didn't explode instantly, well done. Skill 'Cyber-Scan' is now active."
Wait, what? I got Cyber-Scan? For beating the crap out of that thing? Well, I'll take it. I exhale slowly.
"Thanks, I guess," I mutter. "Now let's find out how not to be trapped."
Cautiously, I step past the body. A half-broken access panel in the wall reads: "Security Hub." It's cracked open, wires exposed. My hunch says there's maybe a manual release switch. I plug in an interface cable from my wrist into a flickering port. The portal flickers. Cassius rails through the stream of data.
CASSIUS: Attempting override. Holding on. Hostile code detected.
Somebody tried to fry this port. Good I can still jam. I overload circuits, bashing the panel with an elbow. Sparks. Finally, a big red emergency release ignites on the wall. That should lift the central lock if it's a standard block system.
The overhead lights flicker violently, and the heavy door at the corridor's end unlatches with a clang. That likely leads outside this cellblock. Perfect. Just the exit I was looking for.
SYSTEM: +30 XP (Tech Skill increased)
I step back and inspect my hands. Soot and grease cover them, and I feel a sting where the hack panel zapped me. Nothing a little antiseptic in a MedKit (if I find one) can't fix. There's no time for that now.
I slip along the wall, trying to avoid the main doorway — a silhouette stands there. The groan is louder now, a deeper resonance echoing. "Company's at the door," Cassius quips, and if the voice is robotic but amused, it's still unnerving.
Through the open door, the hallway beyond is ruined — ceiling tiles missing, wires dangle, emergency lights dead. Closer: a tall, lanky figure shambling towards me, pale with gaping, empty eyes. One foot drags at an odd angle. Slow, but it's coming.
Suddenly adrenaline spikes. I lunge. It's surprising how fast the undead can move when hungry. The zombie, likely drawn by the noise, charges with a lurch. I dodge right, snatching up a fallen pipe from a nearby maintenance trolley.
He's on me in a second, arms raised high. The weight of his rush almost barrels me. I swing the pipe. (No time for finesse, just make it count.) It connects with a sickening krunch. Head takes it. Brain matter sprays. Overkill, but hey, safe side.
The monster crumples instantly, letting out one last trembling groan. No dramatic dance, just thud.
COMBAT RESULT: Zombie headshot. +25 XP (Combat Skill increased)
Killing spree, if you call it that. The HUD tells me:
XP Total: 75/100
I wipe my hands on my pants. The stench of rot clings a bit too much, but I won't argue. Cassius is already pushing on.
CASSIUS: +25 XP. You should thank me for preventing a more painful demise.
"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, scanning for the exit. The door ahead is locked from the other side. Typical. And now I have to find another way. Past the maintenance cart, there's a vent grille on the floor next to a wall panel.
"Vents?" Cassius suggests dryly. "Crawl spaces enthusiastically recommended."
"Glad to see you recovering your sense of adventure," I mumble, kneeling to pry it open. I use a loose maintenance grate I found earlier. It pops free. The crawlspace is dank, but it bypasses the door puzzle.
I drop in carefully. The passage is narrow and stained, more light leaking from end than safety. Voices — distant chants or maybe it's just the air groaning. I inch forward. My vision is partial static; scrap metal clatters.
A rat scrambles in front of me. I hush it with a swipe. Deeper down, the crawl ends near a set of double doors. "East Wing Entrance" reads one burned-out sign. The doors are locked electronically, panel blinking.
Well, two options: brute force, or hack.
CASSIUS: Might I remind you just tried hacking a door and nearly fried your brain?
I scowl. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."
Alright, let's do this. I hook my interface to the terminal. My brain pulses with the hacking interface again.
Attempt Hack: [=====-----] 66%
A violent jolt. Ow. Overcurrent. Fire. Sparks from the terminal. But the circuit sizzles as I jam in a command. The override sequence triggers and finally... the door whines open. Ugly victory.
SYSTEM: +50 XP (Hacking Mastery)
That's more like it. The HUD pops big, bold: "Skill Unlocked - Hacker's Codex." Now I have some special toolkit.
Cassius: "Hacker's Codex acquired. It's an intuitive hacking interface, ironically."
I rub the burned skin, blinking at the new data and a slight stat bump. The door is a painful hinge squeak, but it yields. Bright sunlight sears my eyes as I step outside.
The world assaults me. Around me: the once-glittering sprawl of Embergate, now a collapsing corpse. Neon signs sizzle. Sirens drown out screams. Through the haze, I spot more stumbling shapes along the street. Shit.
I raise my hand, palm outward, scanning. Cassius purrs as data streams in. On my HUD, words appear:
CYBER-SCAN:
- Zombies: 3 detected
- Survivors (unconfirmed): 1 detected
Phew, not five hundred undead. One survivor maybe clinging to consciousness. "Great, five minutes on the clock with the world ending," I murmur to Cassius. "Think we should rush them?"
"Not advisable. You're alone and possibly outnumbered," Cassius replies. Extremely comforting, brain.
I step forward, keeping to the shadows of the crumbling block. The streets are carnage; overturned cars, blackened engines, people frozen mid-scream or shuffling. A police ATV lies on its side, lights still flashing. Bodies thrown nearby like debris. One guy, legs splayed, moans something about missing milk. I sprint to a nearby storefront marked "24/7 Supply Mart." Must be a convenience store or survival gear.
I try the front door. Locked with a buzzing panel. Naturally. Cassius chimes: "Maintenance menu still operational on the service panel around back."
I nod. Back entrance glows red with electricity. "Time for another date with corporate encryption," I quip. I connect to the panel. It's heavily locked, advanced. I'm still working off maybe 80% brain battery after that shock.
The panel shows a monstrous flowchart. With new Hacker's Codex, I might get through. I manipulate the node sequence. The bar crawls to 90%. Then a surge hits — the panel smokes and power cuts off. That hurt, and the lock won't budge.
CASSIUS: Perhaps try discretion.
"Or I could break it," I say, hefting a metal chair onto the panel. It explodes with a sick crunch, sparks everywhere. The door unlatches and swings free. Ow. I let it slam shut to catch my breath. Cassius bleeps.
"Door sealed again. We're in timeout, Rook."
I grab a shelf support rod from the piles outside and shove it to keep the door slightly open. Kinda. I sweep it behind me, staying low. A swirl of dust drifts inside.
Inside, emergency lights flicker. It looks like a war zone. Cans knocked to aisles, shattered glass. By the register, an old checkout scanner sparkles with broken glass. On the floor, a half-empty energy drink whispers fate.
Overhead emergency siren bleats. A figure stumbles out between toothpaste and snacks: me in zombie drag — grey complexion, eyes peeling, hand outstretched. I grunt. He moans in broken words about his missing milk. I wheeze: "Got it, man, I got it."
I raise the rod. It clatters like a spoon at an orchestral pit. He lurches at me, grabbing at empty air. I swing. Too slow by half; he grabs my shoulder. Teeth graze. "Nope," I hiss and swing again. Head caves in with thud. This one is down cold, eyes still moving.
COMBAT RESULT: Zombie down. +15 XP (Combat Skill increased)
Breathing, I wipe gore on my shirt. Cassius quips, "Congratulations, professional exterminator."
"Yeah, thanks," I pant. "Now, loot time."
At last, supplies. I dash to the aisles. A security door by drinks is buzzing. Another locked exit. Not today, Rothschild gates.
Near the smashed electronics aisle, a storage closet swings open. Inside: backups — a dusty MedKit and first aid bandages. Jackpot. I grab both, expecting infection to happen soon enough.
MEDKIT: Open — HP: +10
Just took a chunk of health, no complaints.
I pocket the remaining supplies and exit the mart. City's dawn is breaking, pink light above smoke. Cassius reports a new marker:
NEW OBJECTIVE: Reach Safehouse (Sector 4, 3 blocks away).
Good plan. Three blocks to (hopefully) sanity.
I step out, scanning.
CYBER-SCAN:
- Zombies: 2 (10m east)
- Humans: 0
Just two zombies near a car, off track. No survivors here. I head north, the smoke swirling. With each step, Embergate's dying skyline feels a little less hostile. Between Cassius's snark and my bad attitude, we're making progress.
For now, I've broken free. Tomorrow's problem: staying alive.
Chapter 2: Neon Dawn Run
I step out of the looted mart into Embergate's dawn—the sickly glow of neon signs bleeding through the smog. Even as the sky lightens to a bruised orange, the city never sleeps. Slick streets reflect flickering holosigns: a garish advertisement for Salvage Cola glitches half-melted faces onto cracked pavement. Garbage fires sputter under flickering streetlights. The scent of rust, ozone, and decay clings to the air. My HUD pings with a faint blueprint of my destination.
SYSTEM: [NEW OBJECTIVE: Reach Safehouse 001 (3 blocks away)]
A jut of cracked asphalt forces me to hop over. My toes scrape on gravel; I'm already wearing the sunshine of dawn on my scalp through my neon-streaked hair. Cassius's voice drones through my implant, all static and sarcasm.
SYSTEM: You ever consider a career in cheerleading? Because that pep talk was inspiring. Don't worry, user—we've got a safehouse three blocks due west. According to my map, it's a cozy little dump nobody's bothered to looting yet. Lucky you.
I tighten my grip on the pipe I scavenged from the convenience store. Cardboard-slick with yesterday's rain and newsprint, it's not much, but it's something. My right hand reflexively flexes the cybernetic gyro-blade in my forearm. It feels a bit sluggish still from no use, but that won't matter unless I'm really desperate. For now, the pipe's fine. I'm ready for anything… as long as it's not approaching screaming.
Off to my left, a corpse drags itself through the muck. Green fluid drips from severed limbs, sizzling as it hits a sparking wire. Its eyes snap to me—empty cobalt orbs. I choke back bile. There's no humor here, just survival.
A second later, another zombie emerges, spitting rusty blood. I plant my boots wide and swing my pipe.
Metal slams into rotting flesh. It grunts, knees buckling. My spike-toed boot catches its jaw; crunch. It collapses in a glistening heap. In the corner of my vision a message flashes: ZOMBIE NEUTRALIZED +20 XP. I scowl and spit on its forehead out of courtesy.
SYSTEM: Excellent form, Rook. Next up: some cardio.
No thanks, Cassius.
Another zombie staggers out of a doorway ahead—a gangly thin one wearing tattered combat fatigues. It lurches to me. I sidestep past a chain-link fence and let it run into a puddle. The treads in the mud slow it. I slam into its shoulder, twisting. The pipe punctures a lung cavity with a wet crack. Its shriek echoes down the alley. It catches fire from a sparking cable nearby, and its skin chars black. The HUD tickers again: ZOMBIE NEUTRALIZED +20 XP. I feel a sliver of triumph spark. City combat is as straightforward as we predicted.
Moments like these I try not to think of what the dead were before. There's no time for sentiment, anyway. Survival needs bones in your teeth and eyes on your back, as some old-world saying goes. And I have both, today.
I glance down the street: a plate-glass office tower marred by bullet holes and grime. The door is locked, electronic pad glows red. Quick hack. My fingers slide against a hidden turret port near the frame. Hacker's Codex—override. Circuit lines flash on my HUD as I slip past the primitive lock. After a moment of static crackle, the light flickers green. We're in.
SYSTEM: HACK SUCCESS. +15 XP. Secured additional loot: Emergency Flare x1, Bandages x1.
The door swings open to a lobby littered with debris. Faded holo-ads above show a smiling corporate CEO dissolving into a zombie. Appropriate. I weave in, giving Cassius a nod. With my low-light retinal implant, I can see okay, but these flickering fluorescents give me a headache. My Cyber-Scan ping runs automatically, mapping life signs: none but me. Satisfied it's clear, I slip inside to search.
Against a wall is a dusty cabinet. I crack it open: bandages and half a bottle of water. No military gear, no ammo (those are for either pro or lucky bastards). I rip the cap off the water and drink enough to forget the feel of my dry throat, then pour the rest into my canteen. The bandages come in handy; my left arm is already knotted from the prison filth.
SYSTEM: Lost a bit of blood there, Rook. Low on health?
Heartbeats thud in my ears. Yeah—surprised I didn't notice my left arm starting to fade to red. The venting reactor upstairs made a mess in the prisoner hallway back there. Fuck it, I think. No time to worry. I wrap a bandage tight anyway. No need for a shamble to snag it.
I check my HUD: health down to 75%. That was sloppy. I flash it Cassius:
"Thanks for the health report, Cassius. Very kind."
SYSTEM: Sarcasm module—I have it enabled just for you.
His snark abates as a nearby holo-flicker distorts. Outside, the sun's rays are creeping up on the busy street. Clouds of dust and smoke drift up, giving the horizon a sickly purple hue. I step back outside and patch myself up quickly in the doorway.
The city is waking into its nightmare. An AR news alert scrolls through my vision: Emergency Broadcast: Quarantine Zone imposed. Everyone hustles in distant backgrounds. Some carry gear; some just run. Militias in makeshift uniforms behind armored Humvees shout orders. Drone caravans buzz above; one glitches, stumbling into a streetlight and crashing in a shower of sparks. It lays smoking at my feet.
Using my Cyber-Scan again, I ping those whirring hulks. It shows one broken drone—junk to scramble for parts, one armed with a clattering net-gun perched on a dark rooftop above, and a third spinning AWOL in the air. Maybe later. For now I move.
A billboard overhead flickers: a chiseled corporate logo morphs into a monstrous screaming face, then back. The message is lost in the hum. Even the ads feel dread. City's hungering for an escape, I tell myself.
SYSTEM: Memory loaded: The city's above-ground expanse is called Embergate, they said. Neon sanctuary, last human bastion. Irony must be the city's motto.
Cynicism threaded my voice as I mutter, "Great. Last bastion, first to get tore up."
I trudge on. Ahead, the road forks around an abandoned service van flipped on its side. Neon spraypaint graffiti on its hood depicts a girl with a gasmask and laser pistol. I step carefully, scanning the area. Cassius's voice pops up:
SYSTEM: (dry) Friendly reminder—minimize exposure. Zombies hate passcode-protected doors. But apparently enjoy rummaging in public.
I half-smile and crouch by the van, aiming down the scope of my digital map. Underneath is a loose hatch; maybe I can pop it off. If I had a prybar. But my Cyber-Scan pings life signs—a little heat signature far left. A stray trotter maybe, or worse. Might be one of those Infected Optic implants types rumored in the corporate data leaks.
I move around the van's hull, listening. Footsteps squeal off a rusted container. A zombie in a military vest scrabbles with something. Covering me out of a broken window of a bakery, a lanky figure dressed in half-torn riot gear, face caked with moldy dried blood. Its right arm is cybernetic, flickering red lines, and one glove houses a hidden autopistol that unfortunately doesn't seem jammed. At least one good arm. It whines, "Hungry…"
Great. I definitely do not want to face that.
SYSTEM: Hostile variant detected: Riot Cop-zombie. Suggested: evade or ranged.
Evade, definitely. The baked goods shop is empty; no explosives in bakery. I notice a gasline meter near the building's exterior—if I was feeling lyrical, I'd call it a trap waiting to explode. But I'm not in a musical mood.
Two more soft thuds—two smaller zombies scuttle around the corner. The riot cop-zombie rises, steps stiffly toward me. I draw back. That autopistol slides up and a round cracks into the cement by my feet, exploding ground dust. I jump.
He's aiming. Panic spike, but drill that adrenaline down, I think. Glitch Pulse. Now.
SYSTEM: ABILITY UNLOCKED: Glitch Pulse.
LEVEL UP! +2 STAT POINTS, +1 SKILL POINT.
Time dilates. My senses stretch into slow motion. Bullet snail-trails through yellow smog. The riot-zombie is a wraith in acid-sight. With my pipe cocked back, I dash like a ghost. In a split heartbeat, I carom off a dumpster and launch between the smaller undead. Each one's eyes go wide—and then I twist and swing. The pipe hooks the nearest's neck, the zomb's head twists like broken mannequin, a geyser of arterial sludge painting the wall with grotesque graffiti. I catch the other, steel elbow to the jaw, elbow-surge snapping more skull, neck popping. Both collapse, twitchless, at my feet.
The riot-cop shrieks again and shambles at me. I still feel nothing but power, slow fluid grace. Overload the system: Adrenaline Surge. Ignored its queues; it's locked. Focus. I crouch low as if wading through syrup, then bolt. I dive into a sideways roll under the zombie's lurching swing. Rising, I ram my head backwards. The brain matters more than the helmet. One good shove—
Snap.
Its spine breaks with a final loud crack. The body shudders. It collapses in a tangle of broken plastics and bone. The Neo-Cop blows a scrap of brain out its ear piece, then goes still.
SYSTEM: EXP +? [Check!]
My HUD flickers even brighter, neon digits tearing the gloom. +60 XP (Zombies Neutralized x3). Three kills at once. The interface shows I've cleared a level threshold. (30 for each, plus the hack earlier.)
LEVEL UP!
A flashy banner pulses in my vision: LVL 2 with ghostly neon numbers. The city outside freezes in time for the brief second as the HUD invites me to allocate points. Gut instinct: speed. I assign a point to Agility. Another to Perception—gotta detect threats faster. The last, toward strength (to swing faster and harder). I also spend my new skill point on Glitch Pulse, mastering that slowdown trick.
HUD: +2 STAT POINTS, +1 SKILL POINT unused.
SYSTEM: Congrats, Rook. Backflip recommended for celebratory flair.
"Shut up," I mutter, tasting adrenaline like iron. Warmth pools in my hand and I spread out my fingers. A sense like cold fire—the world is still slowed, Cassius droning, "Woo, so athletic!" The state fades in seconds, normal time snapping back around me. But I feel ready.
I pant for a moment. My jaw and ribs ache, but I live. Powered-up adrenaline, baby. I walk to the corpse of the riot zombie and wipe my pipe on its tattered pant leg. Jacking the pistol out of its ruined gauntlet, I drop it; ammo's just ammo. Cassius's voice is weirdly cheerful, no static at all.
SYSTEM: Your track record today: Efficient, Rook. Necessary carnage: minimal. Future suggestion: find shelter before dusk. Make camp in a high place.
Shelter. Right. The safehouse. Three blocks north (weather permitting) was the plan, anyway.
I straighten up. The street has quieted, a lull in the storm of death. I can hear distant sirens, heavy drone hum that sounds like cannon roars. In my ears, my heartbeat thuds—I'm alive. It's a new feeling to revel that fact.
Alright. Focus. We still have a city to live in.
SYSTEM: Mission Update: Locate Shelter (Secondary Objective). Stay alive, because dying sucks.
I scowl at the HUD. I know that one. A squat industrial building ahead looks promising. The door's grated and jammed with a brick, but the lock's old. Hacker's Codex again—no mercy. Sparks burn as I override it. Clunk, and the door pops open.
SYSTEM: HACK SUCCESS +15 XP.
Inside is a stairwell sealed by a heavy metal door at the top—rusty but intact. Sounds like zombies outside? A ragged breathing nearby. I press flat to the wall and ping with Cyber-Scan. Nothing inside. Maybe a stray on the floor below, or just the wind.
I creep up the steps, using the dim emergency lights. The second floor is a loft apartment. It's chilly. Sheets hang over windows; a tattered couch, a flickering TV screen playing static. I'm safe for a minute.
From where? Probably from rooftops. I recall a scrambled news bit on a decrepit holo-top: the Rotter Flats where we are used to seeing looters, the glitz not reached, something about viral leaks in the air… Just the apocalypse and speculation.
Blunt honesty: I need a roof at night. The door at the foot of the stairs is heavy, but my cyber-arm isn't at full power (I took a bit in the wrist earlier). I slide in my new screw from system: a Survival Skill. I find the fuse panel near the door. Cold logic: disable the door's power to trap it shut with hydraulics. Hack panel – bypass manual, flip breaker.
SYS: Power Disconnected. Emergency Exit Active.
That should do. Now it'll slam shut if someone tries forcing it. Safety for a while.
I wander the floor. There's a kitchenette with a can of beans (dented, pop-top style, but edible) and an empty can opener. Jackpot: one rusty butcher knife from a knife block, some aluminum foil. I stash the knife in my boot sheath—sharp enough, at least. The flare in my backpack, the bandages, the knife…system prompt: Inventory Update: Flare, Bandages, Knife.
I eat the cold beans right from the can. They're mushy but warm me up. The flue vent hisses above my head. Nice—gas heater. I jam my zippo lighter under it; a tiny flame now feeding the pilot. Heat whirls up around my ankles, a luxury tonight.
My HUD shows 75 XP. Enough for another level maybe, but likely just creeping. I rest against a wall, back heavy on cold concrete.
SYSTEM: [Health is low. You do not have enough XP to level.]
Yeah, I know. Not yet. So don't get too brave.
I close my eyes. Remembering Zane's laughter from before the apocalypse—no, not now. Focus on breathing. Two more blocks. The safehouse's got to be somewhere on this block or the next.
SYSTEM: Remember, safehouse is priority. There might be other survivors.
Other survivors. The words sting. Got memories of training: kill on sight if infected. But maybe I cling to hope just a second longer. Maybe.
I shake it off. Cassius clears his throat in my mind. "Player…"
SYSTEM: You're doing fine, meatbag. Though I have to say—sometimes I wonder if you think before charging in. Admitting that?
I smirk, wrapping the last bandage around a bloody shin. "My only plan is to not be zombie chow."
SYSTEM: That's the spirit.
Silence for a beat. Sirens wail and footsteps pound far below. Good. Better than silence out there.
Without noise, the building would feel eternal. I close my eyes and scan the room: writing a quick log on my HUD, Rook Jensen – Level 2, HP 75/100, Skills: Cyber-Scan, Hacker's Codex, Glitch Pulse (Lv. 1). Stat: STR 6, AGI 8 (reflex boost from leveling), PER 8, TECH 6. Sketch: exhausted, alive, still cynical.
CASSIUS: Think the floorboards need reinforcing? I could do it, but that involves effort...
The corner of my mouth quirks. Even Cassius "helps." "Let it rest, Cassius."
SYSTEM: Promise to keep you awake with witty comments?
I snort. "That's your job, isn't it?"
I settle into the couch. Eye still on exit, but for now I allow a bit of calm. The neon outside shades the window light green. Quiet electronic tinnitus buzz of my cybereyes scanning the wall for details. Somewhere in my head, I recite, "Stop, listen, check your tech."
Outside, the static of broken city life: drone buzz, distant screech of metal, groaning of the undead. Inside—silence and beans.
For one night, that's enough.