The Skinner Chief's wide, round eyes locked onto Maverick, brimming with intensity.
"We need you!"
"Me?" Maverick hesitated."The mercenaries are practically at our doorstep, and you want to trek across mountains to strike their stronghold? Are you sure about this?"
"We've spent every battle defending this camp, watching wave after wave of young fighters die. The enemy has lost plenty too, yet the problem never ends. So this time—I'm changing tactics. Whoever causes trouble, we take them out first!"
Maverick's eyes widened. Were these people truly that ruthless?
"Why me?" He was already convinced enough to discuss the details.
The Skinner Chief bared his teeth in a grin."Fred has never praised anyone in front of me like this. And your drill—frightening, but it fixed my tooth in record time. So I'm willing to take a gamble and trust you."
"That's your reason? This is a war! I'm not even a soldier!" Maverick attempted one last protest.
"Then what about you?" The Skinner Chief suddenly turned, glaring at Dr. Chan, who instinctively stepped back.
Maverick thought it over. Between him and Dr. Chan, he was stronger and better suited for the mission. He let out a long sigh.
"Fine. I'll do it."
Only then did the Chief grin, clapping a heavy hand onto Dr. Chan's shoulder.
"Then you stay and guard the camp. I'm counting on you!"
It was at that moment the two realized—the Chief had played them from the start.
They exchanged glances, silently acknowledging that despite everything, this was still a step forward.
"You'll be risking your life," the Chief added,"I can't promise your safety. But if we make it back, whether we succeed or not—I will let you go."
Again, Maverick and Dr. Chan exchanged a look.
Neither of them knew if they could truly trust this cunning leader.
-----------------
Night deepened, wrapping the stone chamber in shadows. A warm scent of roasted cassava and ground nuts filled the air. The big Chef Lady squatted beside a stone pot, rolling dough into thick, round cakes while elbowing away the lanky skinner crouched too close.
"Monkey girl, hands off! Steal one more lump of dough and I'll throw you in the soup!"
"I didn't!" the little skinner cried, darting away—only to knock over a child as he turned the corner. It was that little girl again, her hair in chaotic braids, clutching a lump of raw dough, ready to sneak off.
The chef spotted her, but didn't scold—just sighed."Screw it. If you're going to steal, at least take a cooked one. You'll get sick otherwise."
The girl stuck out her tongue, grabbed a warm flatbread, and scampered to a corner to eat in peace—only to nearly run into Maverick, who was peeling wild fruit and roasting nuts beside the fire.
She froze. Her steps slowed. She half-turned to run, then stopped, awkward.
Maverick smiled and held out a few roasted nuts."Want some?"
She hesitated, lips pressed tight. Then she reached out, took them, and mumbled,"I haven't totally forgiven you…"
Maverick raised an eyebrow, a bemused look creeping onto his face."So you've partially forgiven me, huh? Wait—what did I even do?"
The girl gave a tiny"hmph," glanced at him, and said,"You just don't look as bad anymore." Then she turned and ran.
"Hey! What kind of logic is that?" Maverick shook his head, chuckling as she disappeared into the shadows of the cave.
Just then, the Skinner Chief arrived with an armload of peeled cassava roots. He plopped down beside Maverick, making the stone beneath them groan from the impact.
"You're good with kids," the Skinner Chief grinned, teeth flashing."But that one… her parents died young. Then her little brother was killed by a monster. She blames you for not saving him. Cried for a whole day."
Maverick's face fell.
"I know it's not your fault," the chief added.
"Chef! Want me to mash the cassava?" he called out.
The Big Chef Lady, elbows deep in batter, snapped,"No! Just throw it in the pot and it'll magically become a pancake!"—clearly sarcasm. The chieftain didn't argue, just picked up a basin and pestle and quietly started pounding the roots into flour.
As he worked, he said,"You know, we weren't always cave-dwelling forest people. We had homes, roads, electricity. This place might be primitive, but it's safe. There's food, water. It's not the worst."
Maverick turned to look at him. In the firelight, the man didn't look so monstrous anymore.
"How did you all survive?"
"There's small game in the woods, edible plants, fruit. Since the chef lady came along, it's like dining in a restaurant every day."
"You sure changed your tone," the chef lady called out."Didn't hear you praising me when you threatened to eat me the first day!"
The chief chuckled and scratched his head."Sister's yelling works better than medicine. Even the flu avoids us now."
Maverick nearly choked on his water. That was some Olympic-level flattery, he thought with reluctant admiration.
"Actually… we were the first volunteers," the chief said, suddenly quieter."After they injected us with that drug… everything changed. Our appetites shifted. We craved raw meat. Blood."
"The first test group?" Maverick asked, carefully.
The chieftain nodded slowly. His gaze darkened."We thought we were helping—volunteering to aid those suffering. That's what they told us."
His voice dropped, heavy and slow. Like he was unearthing buried pain.
"They lied. At first, strange markings appeared on our skin—black vines creeping under the surface. Later… we learned it was the Black Bloom."
Dr. Chan frowned."Black Bloom?"
The chief didn't answer right away. He took a deep breath."When it blooms… your skin ruptures."
His voice shook slightly as his eyes dropped to a jagged scar running across his arm.
"We thought cutting away the infected parts would save us. But the pain…" His fingers trembled at the memory.
The fire crackled. No one spoke.
"The longer the infection lasts, the more bloodthirsty you become."
The flickering flames cast eerie shadows on his face, like the horrors were crawling back through his skin.
He traced the scar."Back then, even the scent of blood would send someone into madness."
He paused. Then, almost unwillingly, he added,"One day, subject 0036 killed his little brother. The boy was only seven… had just learned to use a fork."
Dr. Chan's jaw tightened. His fists clenched.
"That's when we realized—we weren't going mad. We were becoming something else."
"How did you survive it?" Dr. Chan asked softly.
The chieftain looked up, eyes full of battle-worn sadness."By cutting away the infected parts. Again and again."
Maverick stared, stunned. He thought he'd seen humanity's limits—but this man's story was tearing apart every assumption he had. Maybe"barbarian" was just another word for"survivor."
In the distance, children danced around the fire, their laughter echoing through the cavern. The cook, carrying a pot of steaming vegetable stew, marched over, yelling at the skinner for stealing mushrooms—then broke into laughter.
"Tomorrow, we might all die," the Skinner Chief murmured."So I try to make every day the happiest it can be."
Maverick nodded and stood to refill his bowl."Then I'll have another helping."
They laughed.
The chieftain downed his soup in one gulp, smacking his lips."My mom used to make this kind of soup too… with butter."
Maverick blinked."You've had Western food?"
"I grew up in a church shelter in the city. Parents died young. That place became home. Uniforms, street-cleaning, cooking lessons. They called us'Seeds of Hope.'"
He reached into his belt and pulled out a smoothed, shiny metal badge—once part of that old uniform. His fingers brushed it like a relic from another life.
Maverick said nothing. Just listened.
"They took us for testing later. Said the drugs would make us stronger, faster, live longer. But they weren't meant for people. Twenty of us. Twelve died in three days. Two went mad. After that, we didn't have names anymore. Only numbers."
He glanced up.
"I'm 003."