She muttered.
I know.
I thought, wincing as I rolled my shoulder, joints popping softly.
I glanced back once at the smoldering remains of the mosquitos, blackened husks sinking into dirt, smoke curling up into the darkening sky.
"Let's keep going,"
I muttered as I re-shouldered my rifle, felt the familiar pull of the sling settle across my chest, and nodded to the veteran. He didn't argue. Just gave a short nod and waved the group forward.
The road carried us onward, winding gently downhill as the terrain shifted. Cracked asphalt gave way to old cobblestone streets, half-swallowed by weeds and dirt. The buildings changed too.
Bigger. Wider. Cleaner, once. This had obviously been a rich neighborhood. You could feel it in the bones of the place.
Wide streets meant for expensive cars now rusted into skeletal frames, their paint sun-bleached and flaked away, tires long since rotted flat.
Decorative street lamps leaned at odd angles, shattered glass glittering faintly in the dying light. Big houses sat back from the road behind broken fences and dead hedges.
Two-story mansions with collapsed roofs. Villas with empty pools choked with algae and debris. Security gates twisted open like they'd been torn apart in a hurry. I snorted quietly.
I can smell the words filthy rich from all over here
I thought. Genesis hovered closer, glancing around.
"Yeah,"
She said dryly.
"The kind of people who stocked wine cellars while the rest of the world was stabbing each other over bottled water."
I shrugged as we passed a burnt-out luxury sedan, its interior gutted.
If it wasn't dimensional cracks, it would've been World War Three.
I thought.
But hey. That's life, right?
We moved deeper in. The survivors were quieter now, eyes darting, shoulders tight.
Places like this always felt wrong after the fall, too much space, too many blind angles, too many ghosts of comfort that didn't belong anymore. Then I saw it. One-story house. Squat. Ugly. Perfect.
Barbed rusted and bloody wire everywhere. Real wire, not the cheap stuff, layered and tangled, strung between steel posts driven deep into the ground.
Sharpened stakes jutted up at angles meant to break legs and slow anything stupid enough to rush.
A sentry post welded together from scrap metal and old road signs loomed near the front, its narrow firing slit pointed straight down the approach.
The house itself was reinforced with corrugated steel plates bolted over windows, doors braced with scavenged beams.
Trash walls stacked and packed tight around the perimeter like a medieval barricade built by someone who knew exactly what wanted to kill him. A man cave. A fortress.
A beautiful, paranoid little nest. I felt something warm bloom in my chest.
…oh.
I thought.
Now thats a proper mancave I fucking love it.
But Genesis because of obvious reasons did not share my enthusiasm. She zipped forward, scanning rapidly.
"No,"
She said immediately.
"That's a fucking over glorified trash cave"
Hearing this I scoffed.
Excuse me? Just look at that.
I said In my mind, admiring the layered defenses.
Choke points. Kill lanes. Elevated sightlines. Whoever built this knew what they were doing.
But Genesis wasn't having It, she gestured sharply.
"And also left about twelve structural weaknesses, six fire hazards, and if something airborne gets past the wire they're fucked."
Minor details that a heavy machine gun would fix easily.
I replied as the veteran stepped up to the gate, a heavy, welded slab of scrap metal and banged twice in a specific rhythm.
After a tense second, it creaked open from the inside.
"Home, sweet home"
He muttered quietly as he ushered the survivors through first, directing them inside with quick, practiced motions.
People peeled off into different corners of the yard, some slumping down immediately, others staring around in disbelief that they were actually safe.
The gate slammed shut behind us with a heavy clang. Bolts slid into place.
Inside, it was chaos, but controlled chaos. Bedrolls. Crates. Water barrels. Ammo boxes stacked neatly.
Lanterns flickered to life, casting warm light across scarred walls.
The veteran moved fast, assigning spots, checking injuries, handing out water.
"You,"
He said to a woman with a limp.
"Sit. Don't move."
"Kid, over there. Eat slowly."
"Someone get the med kit."
Then he turned to me.
"I'll take first watch,"
He said.
"You've done enough."
I nodded once. Fair. I scanned the yard, spotted a corner where a reinforced wall met a pile of scrap, and walked over.
I sat down, pressed my back against the cold metal, rifle resting across my arms.
I dipped my head, eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed.
Anyone watching would think I was asleep. But I wasn't. That's when the world pinged.
Fireworks. Again.
A fanfare blasted in my skull like the system was celebrating New Year's early.
Confetti rained down across my vision as a translucent window popped up.
MISSION COMPLETE
A chibi bunny-girl mascot materialized, spun in midair, and blew me an exaggerated kiss.
"MWAH~"
Next an XP bar appeared. It surged forward, blew past Level 3 without even slowing, then finally settled at around 70% of the next bar.
Congratulations, Player! See? Wasn't so hard. Minimal effort. Maximum gain.
Another notification chimed.
+1 STAT POINT
The bunny girl gave a thumbs-up, winked, and vanished in a puff of glitter.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, lips twitching just a little.
So fucking worth it.
I thought a small grin tugging at my lips.
"Now then..."
I muttered as I opened my status panel.
With a thhought the translucent interface unfolded in my head with a polite little whoosh.
Blue lines and clean fonts pretending this was all perfectly normal and not a cosmic prank played on my nervous system.
No hesitation. No theorycrafting. No "optimal build" bullshit. One point into Strength.
One point into Endurance. Back to basics. Back to old school grind.
Genesis immediately appeared in my peripheral vision like a bad conscience with a mouth.
"…you know,"
She said slowly, carefully, like explaining gravity to a toddler holding a fork near an outlet.
"If I were you, I'd put both of those into agility. At least then you'd stand a chance of running away when shit really hits the fan."
Oh fuck off.
I cursed mentally.
I want my fucking muscles back.
I added as the system chimes with a notification.
CONFIRM STAT ALLOCATION?
Strength +1
Endurance +1
YES / NO
I hit YES. Nothing happened at first ,no Instant surge of power, no dantian forming, no mana circulation or any other cliche event. I blinked once while muttering.
"…huh?"
That was as far as I got before Mr. Olympia Pain Train on Steroids came screaming through my existence like it had missed its last five stops and was angry about it.
As It did every muscle in my body locked at once. Not tensed. Locked.
My spine arched violently as if an invisible hand had grabbed me by the sternum and yanked upward.
My arms snapped straight, fingers clawed uselessly at the air, teeth clamped so hard I was pretty sure I cracked something important. I tried to breathe.
My lungs said lol no, not today mate. From the outside, it probably looked like I'd just been electrocuted by Dzeus personally.
Full-body convulsions, boots scraping against concrete, armor plates rattling like loose shopping carts.
Genesis screamed something that sounded suspiciously like.
"WHAT THE FUCK? WHY... WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!"
...
MCs BRAIN CONTROL ROOM
The place was a fucking dump. A run-down, half-abandoned command center straight out of a forgotten Cold War bunker.
Flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Panels were duct-taped together. Warning labels had been scratched out and replaced with handwritten notes like.
DO NOT TOUCH. STILL BROKEN. WHY IS THIS EVEN CONNECTED.
At the center sat two bolted-down chairs. In one, sat a chibi angel Dracula. Skinny. Pale. Bags under his eyes. Halo flickering like a dying Wi-Fi signal.
Wings looking like plucked out chickens ones because we're there only about three white feathers left.
Both arms hooked to IV lines feeding drip bags labeled. HOPE (EMPTY)
COMMON SENSE (CRITICALLY LOW) In the other chair sat chibi devil Dracula.
Same face. Same exhaustion. Tiny horns chipped and taped back on.
Fleshy bat wings full of holes, the IV bags read. SPITE (STABLE).
BAD IDEAS (OVERFLOWING). Both looked like they hadn't slept since childhood.
The angel squinted at a monitor that was half static.
"…do you hear that?"
Before the devil could answer. ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE, LITERALLY.
ALARMS detonated. Red lights flared to life. Sirens wailed like air-raid warnings.
Panels started lighting up in a cascading failure, sparks flying as systems that absolutely should not be awake suddenly woke the fuck up.
"OH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME," The devil shouted, leaping out of his chair. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON NOW?!"
Phones started ringing. Not modern ones. Old beige landlines with curled cords and cracked receivers. They rang all at once.
The angel snatched one up.