Toronto, Ontario – August 19, 2025. 4:22 a.m. EST.
The second night was worse than the first.
The auroras had mostly faded, leaving behind a sky the color of old bruises—deep violet at the edges, sickly yellow near the zenith. Temperature had dropped ten degrees since sunset; condensation beaded on every surface, turning cracked asphalt into slick mirrors that reflected nothing familiar.
Elias's group had taken shelter in the shell of an abandoned community center near Christie Pits. The building still stood, mostly—roof partially collapsed, windows shattered, but the brick walls held. They had barricaded the main doors with overturned bleachers and vending machines. Inside, the air smelled of mildew, old sweat, and something new: the faint copper tang of blood that wasn't human.
No one slept deeply.
Elias sat against a wall near a broken window, journal open on his knee. He wrote by the dim glow of a scavenged chemical light stick—green, sickly, the kind that lasts twelve hours and tastes like regret if you accidentally bite it.
Date: 19 August 2025
Day 2 post-storm
Observed mutations accelerating. Canines showing accelerated osteogenesis—spines, elongated canines, bioluminescent ocular fluid. Avian specimens absent; either dead or changed beyond recognition. Flora response: rapid lignification, phototropic aggression in vines near water sources. Human subjects: powers stabilizing but unpredictable. Emotional volatility high. Trust low.
Personal note: New sensation—hunger, but not for food. For… something else. Energy? Traits? Unclear. The rune on chest now has four branches. No pain. Only anticipation.
He closed the journal. Looked across the dim gym.
Aisha sat cross-legged near the center, palms flat on the floor. Every few minutes the concrete around her hands cracked in tiny spiderwebs, then smoothed again. She was practicing. Or fighting it. Hard to tell.
Jamal paced near the far wall, metal pipe tapping rhythmically against his thigh. The sound grated.
Talia perched on a stack of folded chairs like a gargoyle, eyes reflecting the chemical light in twin violet points. She hadn't spoken since they arrived.
Kwame sat apart, back to the group. A single black vine curled around his ankle like a living shackle. It twitched when he breathed.
No one had suggested a watch rotation. They just… watched. Each other. The doors. The shadows.
Elias broke the silence first.
"We need supplies. Food. Water. Medicine. Before whatever's out there gets bolder."
Jamal stopped pacing. "You volunteering to go shopping, Doc?"
"I'm volunteering we don't starve."
Aisha looked up. "There's a No Frills three blocks west. Might still have canned goods. But the street's crawling. I heard… things. Bigger than dogs."
Talia spoke without turning. "They're not just bigger. They're smarter. One watched me from a rooftop for twenty minutes. Didn't attack. Just watched."
Kwame finally spoke. Voice low. "Plants are worse. They don't sleep. They don't get tired. They just grow."
Elias stood. "Then we move careful. Small group. Two scouts, two cover. Rest guard the base."
Jamal snorted. "And who decides who's who?"
Elias met his eyes. "I'm going. Who's coming?"
Silence stretched.
Aisha rose first. "I'll go. I can feel the ground. Sense vibrations."
Talia slid off the chairs. "Fine. I see heat. I'll spot."
Jamal looked between them, then sighed. "Fuck it. I'm not sitting here waiting to die."
Kwame stayed seated. "I'll hold the fort. Vines can seal the doors if anything tries."
Elias nodded once. No thanks. No pep talk. Just movement.
They slipped out a side exit into pre-dawn gray.
Christie Pits to Bloor Street – 5:10 a.m.
The city had become alien overnight.
Trees along the sidewalks had grown taller, trunks splitting into multiple trunks like claws. Leaves had darkened to near-black, edges serrated. Some branches ended in thorn clusters that dripped viscous sap—acidic, judging by the pitted concrete beneath.
A squirrel—mutated, fur hardened into plate-like scales—skittered across power lines overhead. Its tail was now a whip of bone segments. It paused, regarded them with crimson pinpoints, then vanished.
They moved single-file, Elias in front, Talia on rear point.
Half a block from the grocery store they heard it: wet, ripping sounds. Like canvas being torn slowly.
They rounded the corner.
A deer—moose-sized now, antlers spiraling into jagged corkscrews—had pinned a man against a bus shelter. The man was already dead; the creature was feeding. Not chewing. Absorbing. Flesh sloughing off in sheets, drawn into the animal's mouth like smoke.
Aisha whispered, "We go around."
Elias watched. Something stirred inside him—not fear. Curiosity. Hunger.
The rune on his chest warmed. A new sensation: pull. Like magnetism.
Melanin Taker, the name came unbidden. Take what they have. Make it yours.
He stepped forward.
"Elias—" Aisha hissed.
He didn't stop.
The creature sensed him. Head snapped up. Blood-matted muzzle peeled back in a snarl. Antlers lowered.
It charged.
Elias didn't dodge.
He met it head-on.
The impact should have crushed ribs. Instead—absorption. Kinetic energy flooded into him, melanin drinking it like water on parched soil. The creature staggered, confused.
Elias grabbed an antler. Twisted.
Bone cracked.
The beast bellowed.
He drove his fist into its throat—not superhuman strength yet, but precise. Focused. The rune flared violet.
Something transferred.
Heat. Vitality. A flash of instinct—heightened smell, sharper hearing, denser muscle fibers.
The creature collapsed, twitching.
Elias stood over it, breathing steady.
The others stared.
Jamal: "What the hell was that?"
Elias flexed his hand. Felt the new density in his muscles. Subtle. Temporary? No—integrated. Permanent, but small.
"I took something from it," he said quietly. "Traits. Adaptations."
Talia's eyes narrowed. "You're collecting them."
"Adapting," he corrected.
Aisha looked uneasy. "You didn't have to kill it."
"It was going to kill us."
She didn't argue. But the look lingered.
They entered the grocery store in silence.
Inside No Frills – 6:15 a.m.
Shelves half-empty. Glass everywhere. A few bodies—looters, shoppers, didn't matter now.
They worked methodically: canned vegetables, beans, tuna, bottled water, painkillers, bandages. Backpacks filled.
Talia froze near the pharmacy counter.
"Movement," she whispered. "Heat signatures. Multiple. Coming fast."
They dropped behind an aisle.
Three shapes burst through the stockroom door—former employees? Customers? Hard to tell. Their skin had turned gray-green, veined with black. Eyes milky. Movements jerky.
Not animals. Humans. Mutated.
One sniffed the air. Growled.
Jamal gripped his pipe tighter.
Elias signaled: wait.
The creatures moved closer. One knocked over a display. Cereal boxes scattered.
Aisha's hand touched the floor. Concrete rippled—subtle wave.
The floor beneath the lead creature buckled. It fell through, screaming as rebar impaled it.
The other two whirled.
Jamal moved first—pipe swinging. Connected with a skull. Crack.
Talia darted—too fast—slashed with a broken bottle. Arterial spray.
Elias finished the last one—grabbed its throat, squeezed. Not rage. Efficiency.
When it went limp, he felt it again: pull. Weaker this time. Human mutation less potent than beast.
Still—something. Enhanced night vision? Minor toxin resistance? Too faint to identify yet.
He released the body.
Silence returned.
Aisha stared at him. "You took from them too."
"They weren't people anymore."
"How do you know where the line is?"
Elias met her gaze. Calm. Unyielding.
"I don't. Not yet."
She looked away first.
They gathered the last supplies and left.
Return to community center – 8:50 a.m.
Kwame had sealed the doors with vines—thick, black, thorned. They parted at his gesture.
Inside, the group unloaded.
No celebration. Just quiet distribution.
Jamal broke the tension. "So what now, fearless leader? We sit here until the monsters run out of food or we do?"
Elias set down a case of water. "We learn. We train. We don't rush."
Talia crossed her arms. "And if another group shows up? Armed? Organized?"
"Then we decide," Elias said. "Fight. Negotiate. Walk away. But we do it on our terms."
Kwame spoke from the shadows. "Your terms."
Elias looked at him. "Mine until someone proves they deserve better."
Jamal laughed—short, harsh. "You really think you're that guy?"
"I think I'm the one who's still standing after touching monsters and walking away stronger."
Aisha stepped between them. "Enough. We're alive. That's more than most."
Silence.
Elias turned away. Found a corner. Sat. Opened his journal again.
Melanin Taker confirmed. Animal traits integrate cleanly. Human mutations weaker, fragmented. Ethical implications… deferred. Survival first.
He closed it.
Outside, something large moved past the building—heavy footsteps, low growl.
No one moved to check.
They just waited.
The world had become a predator's game.
And Elias Crowe was learning how to play.
(End of Chapter 4)