Rain came at dusk.
Not soft, cleansing rain—but thin, biting needles that stung on impact and tasted of metal. It slicked the asphalt, turned blood to rust, and washed the soot down into the storm drains where something breathed in the dark.
Kieran didn't care.
He crouched in the alley behind the bodega, letting the rain soak into his coat. His fingers dripped red. Not his blood. Not Mira's. Just another scavenger who thought desperation made him strong.
The body lay in silence now, half-submerged in a puddle. The Card it held had already dissolved into Kieran's palm. Worthless. A Tier 0 garbage skill—Gutter Sight. Enhanced low-light vision. He discarded it the moment it registered.
He didn't need to see in the dark.
He was the dark.
Behind him, the city exhaled smoke and silence.
Above, the Gate grew.
Each time he looked at it, the edges seemed… closer. As if it were bleeding into this world more with every hour. The air around it rippled subtly now—heat shimmer without heat. A trick of the eye. Or a warning.
He rose and stepped back into the bodega.
Mira was asleep, curled in the corner beneath a torn sleeping bag they'd scavenged from a dead prepper's garage. She hadn't spoken much. Just followed him. Shot when he said shoot. Ran when he said run.
That was fine.
She was learning.
Faster than most.
Kieran sat down opposite her, back against a broken refrigerator, and unwrapped a protein bar. It tasted like cardboard soaked in ash.
He ate it anyway.
Food was food. Warmth was luxury.
Rest was death.
He didn't sleep. Couldn't. The moment he closed his eyes, the days ahead flooded back—images branded into his memory.
The fourth night.
The one when the moon turned red.
The monsters weren't the worst part.
The worst part was what came after.
When the survivors turned on each other.
When everything that made them human bled out under the pressure.
He looked at Mira again.
She hadn't broken yet.
But the cracks were starting to show.
He just had to get her further. Just a little further.
If she survived the first ten days, she'd be worth the investment.
If not?
She'd be another lesson.
Just past midnight, Kieran heard the sound.
Not footsteps. Not voices.
Something else.
A vibration beneath the pavement. Low. Constant. Like a heartbeat echoing through stone.
He was already on his feet before it stopped.
"Wake up," he said.
Mira jolted upright. "Wha—?"
"Quiet."
She blinked at him, then followed his gaze. Her eyes widened.
The metal shutters at the front of the bodega were rattling. Just slightly. Barely audible.
Kieran moved to the side wall, pried a board loose, and peered out into the night.
The street was empty.
But the fog…
It was different.
Thicker. Lower. Moving against the wind.
And there—movement.
A silhouette.
No. Not one.
Three.
Humanoid shapes walking through the mist. Slow. Purposeful. Too smooth.
Aberrants.
Kieran's grip tightened on the hilt of his knife. Mira crept to his side, breath caught in her throat.
"What are they?" she whispered.
"Sleepwalkers," he replied. "Aberrant-class. Don't look into their faces. Don't breathe near them. And don't run unless I do."
She nodded, silent.
The three figures stopped in front of the bodega. One tilted its head.
Kieran didn't move.
The creature took a step closer. Then another.
It reached out a hand—long fingers, too many knuckles.
Touched the shutter.
Steel groaned.
Then—
Bang.
The shutter dented inward violently. Mira flinched. Kieran pulled her back.
Another blow.
Then another.
They weren't testing.
They were coming in.
Kieran scanned the interior. No back exit. No windows big enough to crawl through. One escape route: up.
He grabbed Mira's arm and hauled her toward the storage room ladder.
"Climb."
She didn't ask. She went.
Kieran followed, pulling the ladder up behind them.
The roof was slick with rain. Slippery. Dangerous.
He crouched near the edge and looked down.
The shutters were crumpling.
Then they were inside.
Not running.
Drifting.
A sound followed them—like glass grinding against wet flesh.
Mira pressed her hands over her ears.
Kieran forced himself to breathe evenly.
Then—he acted.
He took the Echo Step card and activated it.
The world stuttered.
Time bent.
He moved—five feet to the left, just as a shadow rose behind where he had stood.
A Sleepwalker had climbed the side of the building without a sound.
It lunged where he had been.
Missed.
Kieran's blade opened its throat.
No blood spilled—just mist. Cold and foul.
The thing twitched and collapsed.
Two more climbed over the edge.
He didn't wait.
Echo Step. Again.
He rolled beneath one, came up behind the other.
Stabbed deep into the base of its skull.
Mira screamed.
One had reached her.
Kieran surged forward—
Too slow.
But she moved first.
Ducked. Swung the broken metal pipe he'd given her earlier.
It caught the creature across the jaw.
It snarled—if that's what the noise was.
She fell.
Kieran closed the gap and drove the knife up into the underside of its jaw, twisting until it stopped moving.
Then silence.
Real silence.
The kind that comes after a kill. After a close call.
After survival.
Mira stared at the corpse. At her hands.
Then she looked at him.
"I didn't freeze."
"No. You didn't."
He retrieved his knife.
More Cards rose from the bodies.
Three of them.
All low Tier.
But one caught his eye.
[Card Acquired: False Pulse (Passive)]Your heartbeat is no longer your own. You decide when it's heard.
He smiled, just a little.
Useful.
The Gate's pull was getting stronger.
And he was getting better.
Piece by piece.
One kill at a time.