"The Market?" Kierah tilted her head, her voice flat with boredom.
"There's… something behind you," Phillip stammered, crawling back on hands and heels, screwdriver trembling in his grip.
"Oh, him?" Kierah waved lazily over her shoulder. "That's Lark."
Phillip's breath hitched. His eyes darted toward the looming shadow, but Kierah crouched down near him, arms resting on her knees, her sharp gaze locking on his.
"Now," she said, voice suddenly sharp, "tell me why you want to go to the Market."
Phillip pressed his back to the cracked wall, swallowing hard. "There are… people I have to meet there." He couldn't keep his eyes from flicking toward the giant shape in the corner.
Kierah rose, brushing dust from her jeans, and offered a small, almost teasing smile.
"Well. Lucky you—we're going that way anyway."
She held out her small hand. Phillip hesitated, then reached out. Their hands clasped. The shadow stepped forward.
The figure emerged into the moonlight — towering, muscles bulging like stone under skin, long dark hair veiling most of his face. But his emerald eyes gleamed with unnatural brilliance, piercing straight through Phillip.
Grunt.
Without a word, Lark strode to the door and smashed it open with one massive hand. Kierah hopped easily onto his shoulder, turning to Phillip with a lazy smirk.
"Try to keep up."
---
Later.
The three stopped just outside the Market. Once a buzzing hub of barter and survival, half its tents and stalls now lay crushed and blackened. The smell of smoke and blood lingered in the air. Burnt banners fluttered weakly from broken poles.
"What the hell happened here?" Kierah muttered. She tapped Lark's shoulder, and he lowered her carefully to the ground.
Phillip didn't wait. He sprinted forward, breath hitching. "No…" His eyes darted frantically from stall to stall.
He grabbed the arm of a weary dealer struggling to pull charred wood from the wreckage. "Where's Therma?!" Phillip shook him.
"Hey, hey!" Kierah pulled him back. "Let the poor bastard breathe. He probably doesn't even know what Therma is." She turned to the man instead. "So. What happened here?"
"Obsidian," another dealer growled, spitting onto the ash-stained ground. "They sent their enforcer. Came demanding to see Ducky."
"Ducky?" Phillip frowned.
"Fat guy. Greasy hair. Patchy beard." Kierah gestured with a mocking grimace. "Yeah, I know him."
"And Therma?" Phillip's voice cracked, desperate.
The man sneered. "Bunch of empty-promise fucks." He turned his back.
Phillip snapped. He lunged, slamming the man to the ground and raining punches onto his face.
Kierah sighed and tilted her head at Lark. Without hesitation, the giant stomped forward, plucked Phillip off the man with one hand, and began to squeeze, fingers closing around his chest and throat. Phillip gagged.
"So what?" Phillip gasped out.
"I fucking hate Therma!" Kierah snarled, sudden fury flashing in her eyes. The lazy cat had bared its claws.
Phillip choked out, "Then… what are you? Obsidian?"
At that, Kierah's lip curled in disgust. "Don't insult me."
Lark released him, dropping him like a ragdoll. Phillip coughed, clutching at his throat.
Kierah turned back to the dealer. "Where are they?"
The man rubbed his jaw. "Main Market. That's where the stragglers went." He left them with a wave of his hand, muttering curses.
"Good." Kierah dusted her scarf, then pointed at Lark. "Watch him. I'll get your dinner ready, big guy."
Minutes later, she led them down a narrow side street. A hatch creaked open, revealing a tunnel lit by buzzing neon strips. They followed the underground passage until it opened into a cavernous space.
The Main Market spread before them — a hidden city of stalls, wires, and patched-together shelters. Neon lights in red, blue, and pink pulsed against the stone walls, painting the crowd in colors that felt alive yet suffocating.
"This place…" Kierah said, hands in her pockets. "It was supposed to be humanity's backup plan. Aesthetic City's baby brother. In case the world went to shit. Comets, nukes, take your pick." She shrugged. "Now it's just a tomb with bad lighting."
Phillip froze. Ahead, a small group sat around a food vendor, sharing meager scraps. Among them was a girl with long blonde hair tucked into a hood.
"Ayame?" Phillip called.
The girl's head shot up. She blinked once, then ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Phillip! How—how did you find us?"
"She helped me." Phillip gestured at Kierah.
Ayame's smile faltered as Kierah stepped into the neon light behind him. "Oh… Kierah."
"You know her?" Phillip asked, startled.
Ayame pulled back her hood. "Everyone does."
---
Ayame led them through the Market to a cracked stone building. Inside, the air was thick with murmurs. A war room of sorts — a map littered with markers, survivors hunched in corners, some patched in bandages, others armed and restless.
At the head of the table sat a broad-shouldered man in his forties, bald, wearing weathered military pants and a faded brown shirt. His presence commanded silence.
General Ben's eyes fixed on Phillip. "Report."
Phillip drew a steadying breath. "Sarah and I… we were contacted by Obsidian. They told us Thompson was alive, being held captive."
"Thompson?" Ben frowned.
"A survivor from one of our bases," Phillip explained. "When we got there, Thorne himself forced Thompson to prove his loyalty by killing us. But then… a girl interfered." His voice cracked. "They destroyed H.O.T. while we sat next to Thorne. Watching."
The room went dead silent.
Ayame's face went pale. She grabbed Phillip's shoulders, trembling. "Are you saying… you saw him?"
Phillip nodded. "He let us go. But Sarah didn't come with me. Neither did Thompson."
Ayame broke, her breath hitching as if she were on the edge of collapse. Kierah rolled her eyes and gently pulled her out of the room.
Inside, the tension cracked.
"They're confident," Ben muttered.
"Confident?" one man barked. "They wiped out ninety-seven percent of Therma in a single night! We should give up before the rest of us are crushed!"
Phillip slammed a fist against the table. "No! We still have fight left. If we give up, Obsidian wins without lifting another finger!"
Ben watched him closely, then gave a slow nod. "The boy's right. We're not finished. There's still one card left to play. A weapon." His eyes darkened. "But it's not here."
He turned to the room. "We have one last base. Underground. Hidden. Before we move, we scavenge what's left from the ruins of our other sites. Supplies. Tech. Anything."
Kierah re-entered, leaning against the wall, unimpressed. "You don't get it. You don't know who you're dealing with."
Ben didn't rise to the bait. His voice was iron. "We don't run. We rebuild."
As the meeting broke, Phillip hurried to Kierah. "Come with us. Please."
Kierah smirked without humor. "No thanks."
"At least help us," Phillip pressed. "We're in shambles. We need you."
For a long moment, Kierah stared at him. Then she sighed, tugging at her scarf. "Fine. But only because I want my cut of whatever shiny shit you find."
Phillip nodded, relief flooding his face.