The city had no name anymore.
Its towers, once symbols of progress, now stood like broken teeth against a blood-orange sky. Vines crept through shattered windows. Smoke curled from the husks of cars. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed-pointless now, just another ghost in the ruins.
Mallory crouched on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, her eyes scanning the streets below. To anyone else, the shadows would have been impenetrable. But not to her. Her sight-sharpened by the mutation-cut through the gloom like a blade. She could see the twitch of a clawed hand behind a rusted dumpster. The glint of eyes that no longer belonged to anything human.
They were called the Hollowed-once people, now monsters. Victims of the Helix Strain, a virus born from a failed experiment meant to enhance human evolution. Instead, it tore minds apart and twisted bodies into nightmares. The infection spread faster than fire. Cities fell in days. Governments collapsed in weeks. The whole world ended within years.
Mallory had been twelve when the outbreak began. She remembered the screams, the lockdowns, the lies. She remembered her mother's trembling hands as she injected her with the prototype cure-one that didn't stop the mutation, but changed it. Controlled it.
Now, at seventeen, Mallory was one of the few who could still walk among the ruins and survive. Her enhanced sight made her a scout, a ghost in the city's bones. She didn't need light. She didn't need luck. She just needed to stay quiet.
Alow snarl echoed from the alley below. One of the Hollowed had caught her scent.
Mallory stood slowly, her fingers tightening around the grip of her crossbow.
She didn't run. She didn't hide.
She hunted.
The Hollowed moved like spiders-tall, skeletal things with limbs too long for their torsos and joints that bent the wrong way. Their skin was stretched thin over bone, gray and cracked like dried clay. They had no eyes, no ears-just slits where a nose might have been, flaring as they sniffed the air with twitching hunger.
Mallory didn't breathe.
From her perch on the rooftop, she watched the creature below. Her enhanced sight painted the world in layers-heat signatures, subtle shifts in movement, the faint shimmer of disturbed air. She could see the Hollowed's chest rise and fall, its ribs expanding like a bellows as it inhaled deeply, searching for her scent.
It turned its head sharply. Too sharply.
It had caught a trace.
Mallory moved.
She leapt from the rooftop, landing silently on a lower ledge. Her boots barely made a sound. She slid behind a collapsed billboard, nocked a bolt into her crossbow, and waited. Her heart pounded, but her hands were steady.
The Hollowed climbed the building with terrifying grace, its limbs wrapping around the concrete like vines. It paused just above her, sniffing again. Mallory could see the tiny tremors in its nostrils. It was close-too close.
She exhaled slowly, then fired.
The bolt flew straight into the creature's throat. No scream. Just a wet gurgle as it tumbled backward, crashing through a rusted fire escape and landing in a heap of twisted limbs.
Mallory didn't wait.
She sprinted across the rooftop, vaulted over a gap, and dropped into an alley. Another Hollowed was there-closer than she expected. It turned its head, sniffing violently. She could see the blood crusted around its mouth, the twitch of its claws.
She rolled behind a dumpster, pulled a vial from her belt, and smashed it against the ground.
A burst of acrid smoke filled the alley-scent suppressant. The creature shrieked in confusion, stumbling back, clawing at the air. Mallory used the moment to reload, then fired again. This time, the bolt struck its chest, piercing the heart.
Silence returned.
Mallory stood, breathing hard, her eyes scanning the shadows for more. Nothing moved.
The Hollow's body lay still in the dust, its limbs twitching in death. Mallory stood over it, crossbow still raised, her breath fogging in the cold morning air. The scent of rot clung to her clothes, and her muscles ached from the sprint, the fight, the kill.
She didn't linger.
She turned and made her way back toward the Walls—massive, towering slabs of steel and concrete that rose like a fortress from the ruins. The outer gates were visible now, flanked by two watchtowers and a dozen armed guards in matte black armor. Their rifles tracked her as she approached, but none fired.
They knew her silhouette by now.
"Mallory Devlin," one of the guards called out as she neared. "You're late."
"Had company," she replied, nodding toward the blood on her jacket.
The gates groaned open, gears grinding like ancient bones. She stepped through, and the world changed.
Inside the Walls, the air was cleaner—filtered, recycled, artificial. The streets were paved, though cracked and uneven. People moved in tight clusters, heads down, eyes wary. Children clung to their parents. Traders barked quietly from behind reinforced stalls. Soldiers patrolled every corner, rifles slung across their backs, eyes hidden behind mirrored visors.
Above it all, at the very center of the city, loomed The Hall—a monolith of black stone and steel, rising higher than any other structure. Its surface was smooth, seamless, and cold. No windows. No banners. Just a single, massive spire that pierced the sky like a needle. It was said to be where the Council met. Where the Offerings were chosen. Where the truth of the world was buried.
Mallory didn't look at it long.
She turned down a narrow alley and made her way to the residential sector—low, stacked housing units built from salvaged materials and reinforced steel. Her family's unit was tucked into the corner of a quiet block, its door marked with a faded red cross.
She keyed in the code and stepped inside.
Warmth greeted her. The scent of boiled herbs and old paper. A small fire crackled in a makeshift stove. Her mother, Elira, looked up from the table where she was sorting dried roots.
"You're late," she said, not unkindly.
"Everyone keeps saying that," Mallory muttered, dropping her pack.
From the back room, her father's voice rang out. "Because you are."
Dr. Corin Devlin emerged, sleeves rolled up, glasses smudged, a datapad in one hand. He looked more like a tired professor than one of the most respected scientists in the city. But his eyes—sharp, calculating, always watching—gave him away.
"You went out again," he said.
"I came back," Mallory replied.
"That's not the point."
"It's exactly the point."
Elira sighed, standing to pour her daughter a cup of tea. "You two are going to argue again, aren't you?"
"We're not arguing," Mallory said.
"We're discussing," Corin added.
"You're both terrible liars," Elira muttered, handing Mallory the cup.
Corin crossed his arms. "You're risking your life every time you step outside those gates. You're not a soldier."
"I'm not trying to be," Mallory said. "I'm trying to find answers."
"There are no answers out there. Only death."
Mallory looked at him, her voice quiet but firm. "You don't know that."
Corin's jaw tightened. "I know enough. I helped build the cure that saved this city. I've seen what the virus does. You think you're immune because of what your mother gave you, but that was never tested—"
"It saved me," Mallory interrupted. "You gave it to her. She gave it to me. And now I can see things no one else can. That means something."
"It means you're lucky," Corin said. "And I won't let that luck run out because you're chasing ghosts."
Elira stepped between them, placing a hand on Corin's arm. "She's not chasing ghosts. She's chasing hope. Just like you did."
That silenced him.
Mallory sipped her tea, her hands still trembling slightly. "There's something out there. I can feel it. The Hollowed… they're changing. And if we don't understand how, we won't survive the next wave."
Corin looked at her for a long moment, then turned away. "Dinner's in the pot. I need to finish my notes."
He disappeared into his study, the door clicking shut behind him.
Elira sat beside Mallory, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "He's scared. That's all."
"I know," Mallory whispered. "So am I."
The fire in the stove crackled softly as Mallory sat beside her mother, the warmth of the tea fading in her hands.
Elira watched the flames, her voice quiet. "You remind me of him, you know. Before all this. Before the virus."
Mallory glanced toward the closed study door. "Dad?"
Elira nodded. "He used to believe the world could be fixed. That science could save us. He worked day and night, even when the first cities fell. Even when the Council started lying about containment."
Mallory looked down. "He still believes in saving people. He just doesn't believe in me doing it."
"He believes in you," Elira said gently. "He just doesn't want to lose you. Not after everything we've already lost."
Mallory didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Elira reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, worn vial—empty now, but the label was still faintly visible: Helix Prototype C-17.
"This was the last one," she said. "He gave it to me the night the gates closed. Said it might protect us. I didn't hesitate. I gave it to you."
Mallory stared at the vial. "You didn't take it?"
Elira shook her head. "I wasn't the one who needed to survive."
Mallory's throat tightened. She reached out and took her mother's hand.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Elira smiled. "Just promise me you'll come back. Every time."
Mallory nodded, but her eyes drifted toward the window, where the Hall loomed in the distance like a silent judge.
Later that day, Mallory walked the streets of the inner district, hood up, hands in her pockets. The city inside the Walls was a strange contradiction—orderly, structured, but hollow. People moved with purpose, but never with joy. Children played in silence. Laughter was rare.
She passed the ration lines, the water stations, the bulletin boards filled with missing persons and Council notices. Soldiers stood at every corner, their presence a constant reminder that safety here was not freedom—it was control.
She turned down a quieter street, where the buildings were older, less maintained. Her boots crunched on broken glass as she passed a collapsed storefront. The smell of rust and old smoke lingered in the air.
And then, without meaning to, she found herself at the edge of the Wall.
The outer barrier loomed above her, casting a long shadow over the street. She placed a hand on the cold metal, remembering.
Five Years ago, the world had already begun to fall apart.
She remembered the screams. The sirens. The way the sky turned orange with fire and ash. Her father had burst into their shelter, clutching a case of vials and a datapad, his face pale.
"They're breaching the city," he'd said. "We don't have time."
He handed the vial to Elira. "It's not tested. But it's all we have."
Elira didn't hesitate. She injected it into Mallory's arm, holding her close as the fever took hold.
For three days, Mallory burned.
She saw things in the dark. Shapes. Heat. Movement. Her eyes ached. Her skin crawled. But she survived.
And when she opened her eyes again, the world looked different.
Sharper.
Clearer.
Wrong.
Mallory blinked, the memory fading like smoke.
She looked up at the Wall, then back toward the city.
The cure had saved her.
But it had also changed her.
There was more to the virus than anyone inside the Walls wanted to admit.
And she was going to find out what.
Even if it meant going back out there.
Even if it meant not coming back.