Rook woke with a start. He blinked against the neon glow, heart pounding. It was disorienting to wake here after the nightmare of the quarantine. For a moment his HUD was empty of alerts—only Aria breathing quietly beside him. He took a deep breath and held it, savoring the calm. A glance at his HUD clock told him it was only eight in the morning—plenty of time ahead. The thin mattress beneath him was sticky with the faintest film of grime, and he could taste stale sweat from the night on his lips. The room was small and stuffy, scented with disinfectant bleach and the fermented odor of yesterday's spilled instant coffee. The walls were painted the color of concrete and scratched with graffiti, and a dangling ceiling fan creaked overhead. The old neon-lit advertisement sign outside blared a yellow-orange glow into the cracks of the boarded-up window.
Beside him, Aria stirred. Her short black bob of hair had neon-pink fiber-optic highlights that glowed faintly even in the dim morning light. She turned onto her side, her glowing silver cybernetic eye implants blinking awake in the dark. "Morning," she murmured softly. A sleepy smile played on her lips. The "Nebula Inn" sign outside flickered welcome in yellow letters as dawn approached. Under her patched leather jacket, Aria's small frame radiated quiet energy and purpose. Rook managed a grunt and sat up, muscles popping back to life with protest. For a moment, just waking up here felt like a gift.
It was quiet around them except for distant sounds: a siren moaning in the distance, footsteps on rusty metal, and the occasional clang of a vendor bell far below on the street. Aria propped herself up and rubbed the crust from her eyes. The little fold-out holo-coffee rig on the table beside her sputtered out a bitter cup. She slurped it, then pressed the underside of her brow. A faint green pulse glimmered where she touched—her datajack warming as it connected. Cassius's translucent interface flickered in the background of her mind, and a shrill chime announced, "Safe Zone Detected."
Rook took it all in. He yawned and swung his legs over the mattress edge. On the cracked tile floor, a single stray cockroach scattered. The room smelled faintly of fried oil and dust. He grabbed his nylon jacket from a rusted nail on the wall and buttoned it over his worn undershirt. It offered little warmth, but it was his protection. From his belt he lifted his old pistol—battered semi-auto, wooden grip scuffed leather—but serviceable. Aria tapped at the wristband on her palm, scanning the ceiling. "Coffee's brewing," she said.
Rook nodded. "Yeah. Let's get moving." He couldn't shake the feeling that he was stealing a bit of peace right now. Cassius's voice crackled dryly in his head, "All right, meatbag, time for training wheels. Market awaits." Aria caught his eye and nodded back. "Long night?" she asked. Rook shrugged. "Just the usual." The neon "Nebula Inn" sign outside buzzed on and off like an old billboard. They snapped on their gear. Aria strapped her dual energy daggers at her hips and called forth her personal drone from the fold in her backpack. The little quadcopter whirred to life beside her, its blade-arms unfolding.
Rook hefted his pistol in his fist. In his other hand, he spun the new baton he had kept at his side. He stepped out into the hallway just as the morning chill crept through the cracks. The single buzzing fluorescent bulb in the corridor cast long, shifting shadows. A corpse in ragged security fatigues lay belly-up in the landing, already half-stripped by scavengers. Rook resisted a shiver. He flexed his cybernetic arm – sensors in the palm flickering – and felt the familiar weight of hardware in his bones.
They descended the narrow stairs and emerged into the cool morning air. The vendors were already setting up, voices and metal clatter filling the winding alley outside. A tangle of neon and tarps overhead cast a mottled glow across the scene. Rook and Aria threaded into a broad courtyard spilling with people, stalls, and noise. Strings of flickering neon signs climbed the walls: Black Market Gear, Cybernetic Parts, Blazing Braziers – Chicken & Venison. A giant holoscreen advertisement glitched repeatedly, promising "Guaranteed Anti-Virus Pills" with a drooling zombie laughing maniacally. Steam curled from barrels where cooks skewered thick slices of insect-meat over open coals. The smells collided: sizzling grease, sweet clove smoke, burnt synthetic corn, and something metallic like ozone.
Crowds surged around them. Aria nudged Rook to the side as a crate flew by on a dolly. In one corner, a hunchbacked man furiously painted neon runes on a steel door while shouting at a rival vendor. Elsewhere, a squat table overflowed with neural implants, flickering displays advertising +10% Hacking Bonus. Children darted through the crowd, one boy with a gasmask giggling as he popped a skull-shaped candy in his mouth. A lullaby of many tongues and dialects washed over Rook: Japanese, Spanish, broken English, a few he didn't recognize. He glanced around. Here, even the living came in as many flavors as the dead outside. The jolt of wonder hit him—this was like nothing he had ever seen. Despite all the rot beyond, here was life in technicolor.
Aria led Rook toward a squat kiosk plastered with flashing icons: it read XP – Credits Exchange in looping neon. "We should exchange some XP here," she said quietly. "Better to have credits." The kiosk vendor, a spiky-haired alien with a credit-chip shaved pattern on his neck, nodded at them. Rook hesitated — he had 85 XP banked from their mission. Aria tapped the holo-buttons. A translucent green menu popped into the air between them, text floating: "Trade XP for Credits? Current XP: 85." Two large buttons blinked: one said "50 XP ➔ 500 Credits", the other "All XP ➔ 900 Credits". Rook checked Aria's face. She shrugged. "Better to keep a little XP. Take just 50."
Rook pressed 50 XP. The screen flickered and emitted coins-chime feedback. "-50 XP" text blinked red, then "+500 Credits" scrolled in green in the corner of his vision. His XP gauge dipped, but a fat credit icon counted up steadily in his HUD. Aria grinned. She had started with 120 XP herself. "I'd rather power up than waste it," she said, almost to herself. Indeed, she swiped through the menu to her status screen. She spent 30 XP at once, the numbers on her attributes pulsing. INT +3 glowed next to her portrait. Her neon eyes sparkled. "There," she announced. "Intelligence 9 now. This'll help when we jack networks." Cassius commented in Rook's ear, snarky as ever, "Investing in yourself at last. Quite sensible." Aria rolled her eyes at the invisible speaker.
They finished up the exchange. Aria now had a heap of credits in her e-wallet too. Cassius, ever-helpful, chirped dryly, "You both should have quite the fortune now. Cash is king, they say." Rook pocketed a crisp digital credit-chip Aria handed him. Outside, the market's cacophony intensified. Street musicians blasted bleeps from hacked speakers; a rusted vendor robot near them repeated "Synthale Sizzle! Get your synthale!" in a loop.
They walked off toward the arms stalls. "Time to make use of that cash," Aria said. Rook flexed his new pistol in his palm; it felt raw but loaded with potential. A beacon of graffiti-scribbled neon pointed to a vendor who called himself "COLT FERRARO – WEAPONS". The stall was a patchwork awning with rifles hanging on chains and a couple of energy daggers embedded in plaster. The vendor behind the counter was a burly man in a tattered tactical vest, his left eye replaced by a glowing red cyber-optic. Dusty light from a flickering lantern painted his scarred face in orange. Rook stepped forward.
He scanned the wall. A battered bolt-action rifle called "Old-country Sentinal" cost 800 credits—way out of reach. Instead, something simple caught his eye: a plain 9mm semi-auto pistol on a rack. It looked almost as battered as the one he carried, but the plaque said "MkIII Sidearm – Reliable, Cheap Ammo". He picked it up by feel. The grip was scuffed leather; the slide was dull and blackened. He liked it immediately. It fit his hand. Price: 200 credits. Next to it lay a reinforced metal baton – thick, weighted, with shock coils on the handle. A small sign: "Beatstick Mk.II – 50 Credits."
Rook twirled the baton lightly. It felt heavy and solid, every strike promising nasty dents. He exchanged a look with Aria. "That should do," he said. He set the baton under his arm and paid the vendor his 250 credits. The man hammered the sale into an ancient cash register with a clang. As Rook stepped away, others in line turned to gawk. A gangly youth in a neon hoodie gave him a thumbs-up. Another man with a cybernetic arm lifted an eyebrow, clearly impressed. They rarely saw a stranger walk out of a weapons stall with cash to spare. Aria just smiled. "Welcome to the arms club," she said, slinging her own pack on.
Nearby, Rook bought a small pack of dried ration bars and a flask of protein gruel at a food stand. The seller, a smiling old woman, chuckled at his new gear: "You buying all that to fight ghosts?" Rook grinned and paid the few credits. He popped a bar in his mouth—it was bland but filling. The oily energy drink the woman insisted he take left a fake citrus tang on his tongue.
Meanwhile, Aria had found her own treasures. She scanned a booth laden with tech parts and tapes. In a back corner, a data-crystal vendor offered stolen corporate files. Aria exchanged 80 credits for a memory chip labeled "COMSAT Hack Logic – Experimental". "This might help me break firewalls," she whispered, eyes gleaming. With the extra 200 credits, Rook couldn't afford much else. But he didn't care. He was content with basic tools in hand: a bullet gun and a sturdy baton.
They regrouped by a flickering neon fountain where holographic koi swam through the air. Aria double-checked her watch-like commlink. "I should head to the old comms station now," she said, tone turning serious. "A patch I need to upload, remember?" Rook nodded, feeling a small tug in his chest. They had come this far together; parting was strange. Aria reached up to her jacket pocket and pulled out the silver credit chip. "Keep the cash rolling, okay?" she teased, tossing it to him. Rook caught it; it gleamed in his palm.
"I know you will. Be careful out there," he reminded her. Aria placed a hand on his arm—a brief, firm grip that spoke more than words. "We've got this," she assured him. It was equal parts promise and command, as if she knew he needed that. She gave his shoulder a quick bump in farewell. Then she melted into the crowd, weaving between stalls toward an uphill alley. He watched her silhouette, the glowing strands of her hair like a comet's trail. The hum of her drone's wings faded into the market's clatter.
Rook lingered a moment, watching her fade between lantern-lit shops. The dragonfly trinkets and gadgetry heaving around felt suddenly too loud. He let out a slow breath; for a heartbeat he felt unexpectedly alone. Then a grin crossed his face as he reminded himself of his own mission. He tightened his backpack straps, hefted his new pistol and baton. "Alright, Cassius. Let's make this count," he whispered into the quiet.
Rook pivoted toward the western gate. The market noise dimmed behind him as he approached armored guards stationed by the reinforced metal door. Two silent sentinels checked new entrants. One guard, an old sergeant with iron-grey hair and a tachyon-visor, peered at Rook's gear. "Weapon on belt?" he asked. Rook gave a curt nod. The guard's HUD greenlit the pistol as permissible. "Good to go," the guard grunted. A second attendant waved Rook onward. The gate clanged open.
Outside, the world changed. The plaza of the safe zone gave way to the gray grime of Rotter Flats. Puddles of dark water reflected distant neon. The road ahead was cracked and littered with detritus. Two patrolling drones drifted by, their red scanning beams sweeping the edges of the street. The air was cold and smelled of oil and burning plastic. Rook took a deep breath. It tasted of rust and decay. Ground debris crunched under his boots. A small rat scurried away from the light, squeaking as it disappeared into the rubble. In the distance, a lone crow cawed, unsettling the sudden silence.
Even in the daylight gloom, danger felt close. Rook kept his pistol raised and moved out. Cassius's HUD now showed no friendly markers—only dark shapes and the wide-open street. He calmed his nerves. After all, this was exactly what he came for. He adjusted his aim. Far ahead, movement caught his eye: a shirtless zombie stooping by a gutter, searching trash. It paused at the sound of Rook's boots.
The first of the undead lurched into view from an alley to Rook's right. It was gaunt, eyes milky, arms outstretched in hunger. Rook froze. The pistol's sight locked onto its forehead. Cassius's electronic prompt flickered: [ENEMY DETECTED – Common Walker]. "Target acquired," Cassius deadpanned. Rook squeezed the trigger. Bang! The shot echoed. The zombie's head exploded in a spray of gray matter. It staggered and collapsed into the gutter. "ZOMBIE NEUTRALIZED +20 XP" flashed in neon above Rook's pistol sway. He let the corpse drop.
Two more shamblers drew near from the alley's shadows, moaning. Rook stayed calm, stepping forward. He fired once at each: one collapsed mid-step, the other keeled over with a hole in its chest. +20 XP blinked twice. A third zombie charged without hesitation. Rook rolled sideways and jammed his pistol into its side, firing off three quick rounds. The creature jerked and fell. +20 XP again. Three kills, 60 XP gained; the system's tracker lit up. Rook exhaled slowly. His heart pounded behind his ribs. He still felt shock, but exhilaration too. Cassius remarked dryly, "Triple kill, rookie. You like this, hmm?" Rook only pumped the pistol to eject the spent clip.
He kneeled beside the fallen. The air smelled of blood and burning tobacco from the zombies' mouths. Rook quickly rifled through the bodies. The first corpse's tattered jacket pocket yielded a handful of brass-cased 9mm rounds. He stuffed them into his ammo pouch. The second corpse offered a tarnished pocket knife, which he took for a utility tool. By their feet, glinting in the streetlight, Rook spotted a single intact credit chip tangled in the bottom of a torn wallet. He snagged it; even a scrap of currency could matter. Cassius updated quietly: LOOT: 5x 9mm ammo, 1 Credit. Rook nodded and moved on.
Before he could settle, a new sound: a wet snarl from behind a dumpster. A mangy, emaciated dog with glowing green eyes lunged into view. This was no ordinary dog – it was one of the mutated attack canines. Rook's pulse spiked. The dog snapped its jaws. He dove aside, colliding with a pile of rubble. It grazed his arm with its claws, drawing a hot slash that hissed in his ear. "Warning: HP 18%," Cassius alerted. Pain flared, but adrenaline surged. Rook snapped up his baton and aimed as the beast leapt at him again. The dog sliced its teeth down his forearm. Without thinking, Rook hammered his baton into its skull. The creature crumpled. "INFECTED CANINE NEUTRALIZED +25 XP."
Rook huffed. His leg throbbed where the dog had bitten him, but he held firm. He applied a quick bandage to his arm as Cassius teased, "Glad to see you survive. Next time, try not to go limp first." Rook offered a weak smile but didn't reply. Around him now, bodies of three zombies and one mutant dog littered the street, crimson on the concrete. The system tally showed XP had shot up — he stood at 95 XP. A progress bar slowly crept toward the next level.
He rose, adrenaline still thrumming. Above, twilight was edging in. Slowly, Rook turned toward the heart of the chaos. Three more zombies were stirring further down the block, drawn by the commotion. He cocked his head and shrugged. "Alright, Cassius. Time for another round." Cassius gave a synthetic laugh: "You really enjoy this, don't you?" Rook just murmured, "It's the only way to get stronger."
Rook sprinted forward. Three zombies closed in quickly, their groans echoing. The largest one lunged first. Rook sidestepped, firing twice from the pistol into its flesh. It yelped and stumbled, then collapsed. +20 XP. Another zombie charged from his left; he shot it twice as well. The second one fell with a gurgle. +20 XP. The last one hesitated, then ran. Rook flicked a round into its thigh. It flopped into a dance step and tripped on curb. Rook sprinted and delivered a heavy baton smash to its face. Skull cracked. +20 XP.
Five kills total from the wave. As the dust settled, Rook panted. His new XP count was 195 — just shy of another level. His HUD pulsed: [LEVEL UP READY]. Cassius teased, "Almost a level, champ. Next kill?" Rook nodded to himself. He reloaded his pistol quickly, then checked his battered health. Only 25% remained.
Nearby, a shadow shifted. A hulking brute of a zombie, clad in scraps of mechanic's coveralls, stepped into view. It was much bigger and slower than the others. It held a rusted cleaver in one hand, dripping old blood. The abomination sniffed the air and charged. Rook steadied himself. The growl was low; its eyes milky white with hunger.
He aimed carefully at its head. Twice he fired. Both shots exploded in a cloud of shrapnel. The creature stumbled, fury in its eyes. It swung the heavy cleaver in a wild arc. Rook ducked under the swing, rolling. He came up behind it and struck with his baton, metal biting into rotten flesh. The zombie buckled. Rook hammered the baton again and again. Finally, it crumpled in a heap. +20 XP on the display. The level burst triggered instantly. LEVEL UP! shot in pulsing neon.
Rook staggered back, chest heaving. His vision swirled with data overlays: +2 Stat Points earned. Cassius announced, "Strength +1, Agility +1. You feeling it?" Rook looked at his arms as if they were new. He could already feel the strain going away. He exhaled shakily.
Taking a moment, he patted down the fallen again. The hulking zombie's pocket contained nothing. But in the dust near its feet he found a dented canteen half-full of clean water. He grabbed it gratefully. Cassius added in his HUD: LOOT: +1 Water.
Rook stowed the pistol and gripped the baton tight. His side was bruised, but he refused to pause now. Another set of moans came from a far corner, just beyond an overturned car. Two zombies, both faster and leaner, skulked from behind debris. Rook flexed his augmented fingers.
He dashed forward. One zombie turned, revealing a tattered security jacket, and Rook shot it straight in the head. It dropped instantly. +20 XP. The other barreled toward him. Rook reloaded as he ran behind cover. With practiced aim, he fired; the corpse on the ground jerked but stayed upright. He dashed around a lamp post. The second zombie followed.
Close range now, Rook swung his baton hard at its ribs. It crumpled to its knees. Rook stepped in and finished it with a headshot. +20 XP.
One more figure collapsed out of the gloom — a zombie that had concealed itself in shadow. It lunged but Rook blocked with the baton mid-strike, then back-punched it. It stumbled. Two final pistol shots put it down. +20 XP again. That made three kills, 60 XP more. Cassius sang, "And that's how the cookie crumbles. Want to go again?" Rook shook his head, breathing heavily but exhilarated.
He kept moving. There was a sign of life — probably more walking corpses — further down the block. Without hesitation, Rook advanced. He passed flickering lampposts and a busted kids' playground. A shadow shifted near a half-collapsed bus stop. A dark form lunged out. Rook pivoted. In the air before him was a zombie clutching half a severed limb; it roared. Rook raised the pistol and fired four times in rapid succession. The undead monster's head burst and it thudded to the ground. +20 XP.
He stood alone now, dusk turning into night. Ten kills in total this outing, Rook realized, nearly filling his XP bar. He felt it in his limbs – each muscle a little stronger, each breath a bit less labored. His HUD still had one stat point unspent. Cassius prompted: 2 Skill Points available. But Rook knew well that points could wait. Now wasn't the time to fiddle with menus.
All was quiet. Somewhere a distant siren howled far off. Rook wiped sweat from his brow. The debris at his feet was littered with spent brass and odd finds. He scooped up the last ammo clips in the road — six rounds recovered — and even managed to salvage a dented medkit from beneath one fallen zombie. Cassius noted, "Found some goodies. Good job." Rook just nodded, holstered his baton and rolled his shoulders.
Tired but triumphant, Rook allowed himself a grin. Ahead loomed the flickering neon SAFE ZONE sign—green and welcoming. It cast long shadows from the ring of buildings around the market. He gave it a nod of thanks but kept walking. Before him, the ruined gateway sign flickered: SAFE ZONE. Rook gave it a nod of thanks but kept walking. The city's neon haze shimmered all around him, casting colors over the street like fireflies. Rook had left the safe zone seeking strength, and he had found it.
He checked his status one last time. His HUD displayed the updated attributes proudly: STR 8 (+2), AGI 7 (+2), CON 6 (+1), PER 5, INT 4, LUK 3. Cassius dryly noted, "Level 3 attained. Two extra skill points available." Rook ran a thumb over the numbers glowing in his vision. Each increase felt real in his bones. Aria's credit chip pulsed softly in his pocket, an echo of her determination. The night was dark but Rook stepped forward confidently, ready for whatever came next. Chapter 7 had changed him.