Something was not right.

I knew it from the first heartbeat that passed without the familiar chime of my interface, yet the certainty only sharpened as the seconds trickled by. The pavement beneath my boots trembled with each winged corpse I cast aside, each one lighter than it should have been, each one making that strange wet crackle as if its bones were honeycombed with air. I carved through another of the buzzing horrors, felt cartilage and tendon give way, heard the brittle crunch that always made my pulse surge in guilty satisfaction, and then I paused. No green text scrolled across my retina, no digital fanfare, no celebratory sparkle of fresh Action Points. The silence in my brain‐space hit harder than any claw ever could. I flicked an irritated glance at the floating system window. It quivered, lights blinking in what looked like an apologetic shrug.

Long-Run Mode (1):

* -1 AP / Second *

* +8 Endurance / Second *

STATUS: No AP

I'd burned through what little AP I'd saved up to activate Shimmer and the rest to bolster my endurance, this was going to be a long endeavour. The goal had been to use the scattered monsters to shore-up my stats before the bigger wave reached us, yet I'd not earned a single shred of AP from any of the flying monsters I'd killed so far.

It wasn't lost on me that they all looked the same, yet I did not recognize them from any of the monster encyclopedia entries I'd studied at the academy. Was this a new kind of low-class monster? I vaguely remembered Dr. Moreau mentioned how the number of variants and strength of monsters had been growing over the years, maybe it had some weird ability-denial skill?

It still didn't sit well with me, something felt off.

Also…

BANG

The sound hurt a lot more than the .22 bullet that bounced off of my shoulder-plate. Ears ringing, I turned and found the source: a little boy, oil-stained face pale as the Falcaro-logo, hands shaking, eyes wide. My gaze flickered at the cheap piece of plastic that'd been dropped, barrel warped and smoking. Stepping closer, I caught a slight whimper from further back, noticing an even smaller figure curled up and hidden in some dirty boxes.

The boy rushed to pick up the useless gun, but I was faster, crushing it in my grip.

He froze.

Before he could take any more regrettable actions, I raised a palm, the gesture catching him off guard. "Shush." I hissed through sharp teeth, finger pressed against my mouth, watching intently as his eyes widened either in shock or realization.

Slowly, I pointed at him, at the area where the other person was hiding in, and then down the road to our left. My movements were deliberately non-threatening, though that could only go so far when my fingers were thicker than the boy's wrists. With a single sharp nail, I carved a very crude map of the area on the asphalt, a cross marking our current location, and a circle around one building in particular marking a destination.

It was the nearest "volunteer" fortified building.

Stepping away from the two, I pointed at him, then the map, and then the street leading to that safe space. I crossed my arms, and waited until the boy and who I assumed was their younger sibling took off.

That had not been the first such encounter, and I doubted it would be the last.

I'd have to talk with Vesper about 3D printed guns later.

Taking a few minutes to check the area of any other monsters, I picked up the suitcase and "hostage" out of the garbage bin I'd hid them in before continuing my way towards the edge of the district. I made sure to use the rooftops as frequently as possible, both because it would make it easier to spot and intercept flying monsters, and also so people could get a good look at me. Part of the whole plan was to make sure there would be plenty of proof of the "shush monster" going around.

But it all relied on me killing monsters to build enough momentum.

A rising column of smoke caught my attention, and I quickly changed course, tucking away my cargo somewhere that wouldn't get snatched up.

The smoke came from a burning store. Someone had thrown several molotovs at the storefront, and the interior had caught fire. There weren't any signs of anyone caught inside, but it was easy to imagine the flames could spread out and destroy a lot more than just this one store.

So I took it upon myself to put it out while I still had the time to do something about it.

Ripping off the corrugated metal roof of one of the nearby houses, I proceeded to block the whole facade of the store. Then, I added more metal scraps to properly box the whole thing, hoping it could starve the fire of oxygen and choke it out.

All of four minutes later, I was back on my way towards the frontline.

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The sun had finally risen, the sky earning its orange glow, and if I jumped high enough, I could barely spot the first signs of dust-clouds over the horizon. But my gaze was drawn towards the black mass that floated overhead the dust, a thing that ever so slowly moved and twisted in the air like some evil blanket.

Tentatively, I looked back, at the wall, at the monument of metal that loomed over the district like a mountain. I distinctly remembered the dozens of turrets that littered the tunnel connection either side of that wall, and could only droll at the prospective weapon emplacements that were upon it. Then, I looked back at the incoming cloud and felt something hot and… angry.

Recovering my payload, I set off again towards the district's edge, ducking whenever one of Quinn's drones was in the area, but helping what little I could. The further out I went, the more desolate everything was, and the more of the aerial monsters I took down.

Eventually, the only people I'd spot were scavengers.

The flying monsters were growing more numerous, no longer flying alone but in groups of two or three.

They were similar to bats in the same way that a chainsaw was similar to a spoon. Their leathery black bodies were practically one gigantic serrated edge, a flying grinder with no discernable head that was only missing spin. It had bones, that much I was sure of, but their distribution made no sense for how they flapped about, resembling more a bag twisting in the wind. Their method of attack was as simple as their form, they threw themselves at a target, flapping wildly and shredding everything that got caught within reach.

Fighting the things was like trying to grab a buzz-saw from the wrong end. My body was tough, but not tough enough to prevent the constant scratching and gouging. Their chaotic flight pattern made it hard to hit them with any degree of accuracy… which was why I'd taken to throwing whatever large object I could find.

Like the burnt car wreckages that littered every other street.

It made for a very satisfying crunch.

As I reached the very edge of the fourth district, standing upon the last vestiges of concrete and facing the dirt that was the badlands, I briefly considered the prospect of heading out there. Was there even an iota of a chance that, by approaching the horde, I could perhaps make it change its course? It was hopeful thinking of course, standard protocol dictated-

A BOOM erupted from behind me with the potency of a bomb.

I looked back, at the wall, at the trail of smoke as something had been launched from its gargantuan plateau. The trail arched gracefully, a line bisecting the morning sky in two as it proceeded to descend upon the approaching multitude.

The ERS munition exploded high above the target, splitting into hundreds of smoky shards that spread in every direction, a reverse umbrella that nearly threatened to engulf the approaching horde. Each individual piece detonated before it could reach the ground, a thermobaric sparkle of light that was drowned out in the swirling mass of flying creatures and dust.

I felt the explosions through the soles of my feet before I heard it. A cacophony of crackling blasts that shook my bones, leaving behind a dull roar and rising plumes of smoke and fire. With a roar of triumph, I threw my hand high into the air, unable to help myself from cheering at the attack. The question as to why they'd chosen to unleash such an attack was set aside for the time being, left in elation at getting any help at all.

At least, until the smoke cleared and the cloud of flying monsters, halved in size, descended upon the charred landscape. It was a tattered blanket of flesh that dropped down with vindictive determination.

I was too far away to see what was going on.

What I did see, however, was how, after a minute or so, the cloud of flying monsters rose into the sky. Four times larger than it had been mere minutes ago, far more than even before the attack.

The wall's artillery barked out, four at a time in sequence, a shot every ten seconds, raining fire and death onto the cloud.

But it kept growing, spreading out until it practically blanketed the entire eastern horizon.

Condensation rain had lingered in the sublevels of the second district overnight, moisture trapped along the maze of corroded ventilation shafts and coolant pipes. Fat droplets gathered at every joint, dropping in an uneven rhythm that soaked the ferro-concrete floor and carried away everything but the layers of oil-black grime. The air tasted of mildew, rust, and distant chemical fires. Down here, daylight never survived, and any sane resident knew that loitering beneath the service grates during a storm flirted with disease or worse. To stand in that rain was among the worst decisions one could make, yet Ajax found himself with little alternative.

His fist hammered against the scarred security door, knuckles stinging more with every strike. "Emi, please open up!" he called, voice ragged from sleepless hours and the acrid fumes pooling in the corridor. A hacking cough clawed its way out before he could choke it back. "At least let me..."

Click. The door parted by the width of a thumb, just long enough for a slender hand to push out a battered rebreather mask. The plastic was cracked along one side, its filter half-choked with gray dust, but it was better than breathing the raw sublevel air. An instant later, the door slammed shut, hinges groaning with such violence that it could have sheared off a careless set of cybernetic fingers.

"Thanks," Ajax muttered, fastening the mask over mouth and nose while exhaling a shaky breath. His forehead came to rest against the cold alloy, shoulders sagging beneath a rain-soaked coat and fraying dignity. Strands of blond hair clung to his cheeks, half shielding his expression from the retinal cameras mounted above the lintel. Inside his skull, the neuralink pulsed red like a migraine. Warnings scrolled across augmented vision: account balance negative, interest compounding at predatory rates, deadlines approaching at sprint speed.

A familiar, dreadful melody cut imposed itself above the sensory clutter. The bank's loan-collection app announced itself with a cruel cheer, then shrank to make room for a fresh neon pop-up. A new debt-reduction plan had just been proposed to his account, stamped with a blinking green badge and boasting a higher success rate than any previous option (with a page-long economic liability waiver attached to the refusal button).

"I'll make it right, I swear," Ajax whispered, letting his forehead tap the door once more in something between apology and prayer. His gaze slid to the listings unfurling before him. Dozens of crews were assembling on short notice, all in service to the reward, promising generous cuts to anyone willing to ship out within the next hour.

One posting claimed no experience required, another demanded only a pulse and a trigger finger.

Condensation rain drummed harder overhead, beating a steady march that urged him to choose before the water reached his boots. With a grimace, he made his choice.

How hard would being a mercenary be?

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