Su Wu didn't sleep. He sat hunched against the shelter wall, torchlight flickering in the stale air, casting jagged, twitching shadows that danced across the rust-streaked cement. Every sound became a threat—the groan of steel, the drip of stagnant water, the whisper of air pushing through clogged vents. The infected creature he had fought off in the sublevel hadn't returned, but it hadn't died, either. It was waiting.
He felt it, like a bad tooth in his gut.
[Vital Status: Minor Contusions | Fatigue: CRITICAL | Shelter Integrity: 19%]
He blinked the HUD away. His eyes were red, and his pupils were slow to contract in the shifting light. Sleep clawed at him, but he shoved it down. If he passed out now, he might not wake up again.
With a grunt, he pushed himself up. His joints cracked like dry twigs. He hadn't eaten in—what? Forty hours? More?
[Nutrient Reserves: 2 Days. Recommend: Surface Expedition — 66.1% survival probability.]
The system's voice was synthetic, neutral, and emotionless. It didn't care about the sores on his hands or the ache deep in his bones. It just wanted output.
He crossed the room slowly, navigating past exposed wires, crumpled metal tiles, and the scorched remains of a fabrication panel. The shelter wasn't a fortress; it was a grave someone had buried alive and forgotten to mark.
He grabbed what could pass for survival gear: reinforced overalls stitched together with mismatched patches—old ballistic mesh, heat-sealed polymer, scavenged bio-tape. His boots were held together with zip ties and grit. A cracked knee brace supported one joint. The scanner, now barely functional, had been repaired with the copper tongue from a burnt circuit board.
He stopped at the mirror—what was left of it. A jagged triangle of reflective surface revealed his face: pale, sunken-eyed, lips dry and split. Stubble clung to his jaw in uneven clumps, and black hair, caked with dust and grease, hung to one side. A raw pink scar stretched from his right temple, across his cheekbone, and disappeared beneath the collar of his suit.
This man was not a survivor. This man was becoming something else.
The surface hatch was a steel coffin lid. It required triple verification: manual code, palm print, and a blood key. When the scanner bit into his finger, he didn't flinch. The pain grounded him. He needed the pain.
The lock disengaged with a noise like a dying animal, and metal screamed as the hatch creaked open.
Su Wu climbed.
The surface was no longer a city. It was a carcass—a tangled, rotten ruin where towers had collapsed into each other like dominoes. The skulls of broken buildings stared up at the gunmetal sky. Twisted girders jutted like bone splinters from fractured streets.
The wind came in short, manic bursts—hot, then cold, then silent. There were no stars.
He stepped out with the caution of a hunted animal. The scanner flickered and distorted but managed to pick up faint signals—thermal ghosts. Dozens of them, distant and scattered. Some moving, some still.
There were no birds, no flies, no animal cries. Only silence pressed on his ears like pressure underwater.
He moved slowly, past the skeleton of an old tram car and a heap of scorched tires fused into black glass. Every corner he turned reeked of smoke, rust, and something more profound—an oily, organic rot he'd come to associate with the infected.
Then he saw the body.
It leaned against a rusted vending kiosk, its armor cracked and melting away. Kevlar scorched. One leg was missing entirely. The ground beneath it was smeared with dark, half-dried stains.
Su Wu crouched. The corpse had a face like wax, frozen mid-scream. He didn't linger.
Inside the scavenger's pack, he found ration bars—still sealed; a half-used power cell; a rusted knife; and a metal disc—intact.
A data key.
He pocketed everything and turned to leave.
That's when the groan came.
Low, wet, thick with mucus and hate.
He ducked behind a half-toppled signpost, waited, and held his breath.
It emerged from the fog like a memory half-formed—pale gray flesh, but armored. Not human scrap like before; this one wore scavenged gear properly. The straps were buckled, the visor flipped up. Its movement was smooth and intentional.
It didn't stumble.
It searched.
Three more followed behind—less coordinated, but not dragging their feet. No slack-jawed hunger. No dead eyes.
They scanned, sniffed. One recoiled when a gust of wind rattled a sheet of metal—a twitch-response. It was fight-ready.
Su Wu didn't move. Not even a twitch.
He watched and noted how they moved in a triangle formation, stating which one checked the rear. They were learning.
They were adapting.
And if they were adapting, they could evolve.
He waited twenty minutes after they passed before he moved. No shortcuts.
Back at the hatch, he resealed it, double-locked every bolt, and backed away like a man from a tomb.
His hands shook as he loaded the data key.
Files flickered to life—fragmented but usable—maps, signal bursts, heat flow diagrams, defense schematics.
[Engineering +1: Level 2 Achieved]
[New Blueprint: Turret - Class I | Status: Incomplete Components]
No cheering. No dopamine hit. Just more work.
He sat back in the cold light.