The Sprawl had a strange kind of dawn.
No sunrise, just the slow flicker of failing neon, the hum of generators coughing back to life. The blackout hadn't fully lifted, but light was crawling its way through the tunnels now — blue, sharp, and unsteady.
Jack stood before the crowd that had followed him out of the underground. Dozens of survivors, faces gaunt, eyes wide. They looked at him like he could hold back the world.
Victor stood a few steps off, rifle across his chest, saying nothing.
Jack didn't want to speak. But silence felt heavier than any order he could give.
"Anyone still alive past the rails?" he asked, voice rough from smoke.
A woman near the front shook her head. "No one's been that far since the collapse."
Jack nodded. "Then that's where we start."
He didn't raise his voice, but people moved anyway. They began to gather what little gear they had — scavenged weapons, scraps of food, generators. The sound of motion filled the station. Metal scraping, boots shuffling.
Victor watched it all, uneasy. "They're waiting for a plan."
Jack didn't look at him. "I just gave one."
"That wasn't a plan," Victor said quietly. "That was a direction."
Jack turned his head just enough to meet his gaze. "Same thing."
Victor's jaw flexed. "No. It's not."
He wanted to keep arguing, but the crowd was watching, so he swallowed it. The hum of the Blood Oath inside Jack's veins was steady now — not painful, but alive, like a second pulse syncing with the Sprawl itself.
He stepped onto a broken piece of platform, looking out across the survivors.
"Listen up," Jack said. "Authority's not coming back down here. They've already written you off. Marcus wants this city empty — clean for him to rebuild. You can either die waiting or fight your way out."
A low murmur rippled through the group. People exchanged looks, hesitant, afraid.
Jack kept going. "If you're with me, you move. If you're not—"
He paused. The hum in his head spiked. For a second, he felt Marcus's voice bleed through his own.
"—then get out of my way."
The silence after that was sharp. No one moved. No one left.
Victor felt it too — that wrongness threading Jack's tone. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "That wasn't you."
Jack didn't answer. He just turned away and started walking.
They followed.
Hours later, they reached the upper rails — a bridge of broken train cars welded into a makeshift barricade. Beyond it, the surface of the Sprawl shimmered under the false daylight of drone lamps. Smoke curled up from the ruins like breath.
Jack stopped at the edge, scanning the skyline. Authority towers flickered in the distance — hollow, half-lit husks.
Behind him, the survivors whispered again. That same word.
"King."
Jack's hand tightened on his weapon. "Stop saying that."
No one answered.
He turned, eyes hard. "You think this is a story? You think I can pull you out of hell because you decided to believe hard enough?"
A man near the front spoke up, voice shaking. "You fought them. You killed the Constructs. You made Marcus bleed. No one else has done that."
Jack stepped forward until he was inches from the man's face. "I didn't do that for you."
The man didn't flinch. "Then who did you do it for?"
Jack froze. For half a second, he saw Marcus's reflection in the man's eyes — smiling, patient.
The hum in his head deepened. He stepped back, breathing hard. "Everyone… form perimeter," he muttered.
The group scattered to obey, whispering to each other. Victor lingered.
"You're scaring them," Victor said.
Jack shot him a look. "Good. Fear keeps people alive."
"Fear makes people follow you," Victor said, "until they don't."
Jack turned fully, his face pale in the harsh light. "You think I wanted this?"
"I think you stopped fighting it."
Jack laughed, low and bitter. "You talk like you wouldn't do the same thing if they chanted your name."
Victor took a step forward, eyes narrowing. "That's the difference between us."
"Yeah?" Jack tilted his head. "You sure about that?"
Victor didn't answer. He just stared at him for a long time, jaw tight, before turning away.
Night came fast. The camp flickered with generator light, the air heavy with the smell of ozone and burnt oil.
Jack sat apart from the others, on a broken rail car overlooking the ruins. He could hear their voices below — tired laughter, quiet prayers, the scrape of metal being repaired. It should've sounded like life. It didn't.
He stared at the skyline. Somewhere out there, Marcus was still watching.
A flicker appeared on a distant billboard. Static. Then a face.
Marcus's grin.
Jack froze.
No sound, just image — Marcus looking down at him through the haze, the word HALO flashing behind him like a heartbeat.
Victor climbed up beside him, rifle slung low. "You see it too."
Jack didn't answer.
Victor sat beside him, knees bent, hands hanging between them. "You ever wonder what happens when you stop fighting him?"
Jack's throat worked. "Every second."
Victor studied him. "And?"
Jack looked down at his hands. They were shaking. "Part of me wants to know."
Victor turned his head, eyes softening. "Then that's the part I'll kill first."
Jack almost smiled. "Guess we both have jobs then."
They sat in silence, the two of them watching Marcus's flickering face across the Sprawl. The neon hum pulsed like a heartbeat — too slow, too human.
Below them, the survivors lit torches in the dark. The fire spread fast, painting the walls in gold and smoke.
Someone began to chant again.
"King."
Jack didn't stop them this time.
He just sat there, watching the fire climb, and whispered — not to Victor, not to Marcus, not even to himself —
"Then let's see what a crown costs."