Daniel had always thought the worst sound in the world was a Hollow's scream. He was wrong.
The worst was a human voice cutting through the fog.
"Drop the stick."
Daniel froze, rebar in hand, breath sharp in his chest. He'd just slipped into the mouth of a ruined pharmacy, the old shelves skeletal and half-collapsed, when the command came from the shadows.
His Echo Mark throbbed, but not the way it did when a Hollow was near. This was different. A warning of danger, yes but danger with intention.
"Slowly," the voice added. A woman's. Calm, but too steady to be casual.
Daniel weighed his options. If he dropped the rebar, he'd be defenseless. If he didn't, she'd take him for hostile. He took the middle road lowered it to the ground, but didn't let go.
"Better," the woman said.
From behind a toppled display case, three figures stepped out. They weren't dressed like soldiers, but they had the same look alert, sharp, hungry. Survivors.
The woman led them. Short dark hair cut close to the scalp, leather jacket scuffed from wear, eyes like a blade honed too thin. A knife rested easy in her hand, but her stance said she didn't need it to kill you.
The second was younger, maybe late teens, his hands trembling even as he aimed a bent pipe toward Daniel. His gaze flicked everywhere but Daniel's face.
The third was older, built thick, beard matted, a crowbar slung over his shoulder. He didn't bother aiming it, just stood there, sizing Daniel up like a butcher deciding on a cut.
"Name," the woman ordered.
Daniel swallowed. "Daniel."
"Last?"
"Hayes."
Her eyes narrowed. "Occupation?"
"…Pharmacist." He gestured vaguely at the ruined shelves. "Fitting, huh?"
The teenager huffed a laugh before the older man cuffed him on the back of the head.
The woman didn't smile. She stepped closer, knife still low, but not lowering her guard. "Pharmacists don't usually last long. What's your trick?"
Daniel hesitated. He couldn't exactly explain the Echo Mark not yet. If they knew he had one, they'd want to see it, test it, maybe even cut it out of him.
"Luck," he said.
For a moment, she studied him, searching his face for cracks. Then she sheathed her knife.
"Luck doesn't last," she said flatly. "You'll need more than that if you stick with us."
Daniel blinked. "Stick with you?"
The older man grunted. "She means we don't leave people behind." His tone suggested he didn't always agree with that policy.
The teenager chimed in, too quick: "Strength in numbers, right?"
The woman shot him a glance. He shut up.
Daniel felt the Mark burn faintly again like it was testing the air, sensing tension. He understood. These people weren't friends. They weren't enemies yet, either. They were variables.
"Fine," he said. "I'll take numbers over the fog."
The woman nodded once. "Lena," she said, jerking a thumb at herself. "The kid's Marco. The grump's Briggs."
Briggs grunted again, as if confirming the introduction.
They moved out together, Daniel falling into step. The city loomed around them, silent but never still the fog shifting, the wind whistling through broken glass, the ever-present dread that something was following.
As they walked, Marco kept sneaking glances at Daniel. Finally, he blurted: "So… you kill one yet?"
Daniel frowned. "One what?"
Marco looked uncomfortable. Lena saved him. "Don't answer that," she said sharply.
But Briggs snorted. "Let him. If he hasn't, he's dead weight."
"I have," Daniel said quietly.
That silenced them. Even Lena raised an eyebrow.
Briggs smirked. "Then you've seen it. The shimmer."
Daniel's grip tightened on the rebar. "Yeah."
Marco leaned forward, eager. "What's it like?"
Daniel hesitated. He thought of the visions, the taste of someone else's memories. He thought of the laughter he couldn't stop, the twitch in his fingers that still hadn't gone away.
"It's… not what you think."
That killed Marco's excitement.
"Good," Lena said, her tone firm. "Keep it that way. You take too many, you stop being you. That's how we lose people."
Daniel wanted to ask more, but Briggs raised a hand. They froze.
A sound drifted through the fog. A scrape. A shuffle. More than one.
Daniel felt the Mark ignite like fire in his chest.
"They're here," he whispered.
Lena's knife flashed. Marco's pipe trembled in his grip. Briggs hefted his crowbar, grim satisfaction in his eyes.
"Alright, pharmacist," Lena said, voice low, sharp. "Let's see if luck keeps you alive twice."
The fog shifted. Figures moved. Thin. Wrong. Hungry.
Daniel tightened his grip on the rebar. His heart pounded, the Mark pulsing with it.
For the first time since the Collapse, he wasn't alone.
But in the Grey Wastes, that didn't mean he was safe.