Midnight pressed down on the Zone like a lid.
The abandoned building loomed crooked and hollow, windows blown out, walls stitched together with rust and scrap. Footsteps scraped weakly across the ground outside—uneven, dragging.
The old man reached the doorway and braced himself against the frame, chest heaving. Every breath burned. Blood soaked through the makeshift bandage at his side, dripping dark onto the concrete. He had run the whole way. Fear had carried him farther than his body should have allowed.
Inside, a radio crackled once—then died.
Starless stared at it, fingers still gripping the loose wires. "It worked yesterday."
Lethe crouched beside him, mask tilted down, hands steady despite the frayed cable in his grip. "You dropped it."
"I did not drop it."
"You absolutely dropped it."
"I set it down."
"Hard."
Starless scoffed, yanking the wire. The radio spat static, then silence. He slapped the casing. Nothing.
"Great," he muttered. "It's dead."
Lethe exhaled sharply, shoulders tight. "You're the one who—"
The sound of something wet hitting the floor cut through the argument.
They both looked up.
The doctor stood in the doorway, bent and shaking, one hand pressed to his ribs, blood streaking his coat. His eyes were wide, wild, reflecting the dim light like something hunted too long.
The room went still.
No words. No movement.
Just the radio on the floor between them—broken—and the old man breathing like he might collapse any second.
Midnight hummed in the walls.
Starless stood first. He didn't rush—just rose carefully, favoring his feet. The cuts along his soles had reopened, thin red lines tracing each step as he limped closer. His eyes moved over the old man with quiet precision: the soaked bandage, the shallow breaths, the tremor in his hands.
Lethe followed, slower, head tilted, studying him like a problem to be solved.
Starless crouched a few feet away. "You're bleeding a lot," he said gently. "That's… not ideal."
The doctor swallowed, backing half a step into the doorway. His eyes darted between them.
Starless tapped the small bottle in his hand—the last of the antiseptic he'd scavenged earlier. "We could pour this directly into the wound," he offered thoughtfully. "It'll hurt. A lot. But it might stop infection."
Lethe snorted. "Don't joke."
Starless glanced at him, then nodded. "Yeah. You're right." A pause. "Cutting the fabric away and cauterizing it might work too."
Lethe stared at him.
Then, quietly, "That might actually work."
They both froze.
Looked at each other.
And laughed.
Not loud—just sharp, breathy, a little unhinged. The sound bounced strangely off the metal walls. Starless had to brace himself on his knee, shoulders shaking. Lethe leaned back against a pillar, mask tilted, clearly amused.
"Okay," Starless said between laughs. "What about—what if we just tie it really tight and hope your body figures it out?"
Lethe added, casually, "Or we knock you out and let nature decide."
They laughed again.
The doctor's fear deepened, eyes wide now, breath hitching as they finally stepped closer—slow, deliberate, shadows stretching long across the floor.
Starless's smile softened as he reached out. "Relax," he said kindly. "We're just brainstorming."
Lethe tilted his head. "We'll pick something eventually."
The laughter faded—but the smiles didn't.
Twenty-nine minutes later, the building was quiet again.
The old man sat on the edge of a broken table, his left leg wrapped thick in bandages—layer over layer, soaked through in places but holding. His breathing had steadied, though pain still pulled his face tight.
Starless leaned against the sofa, arms folded, weight shifted off his injured feet.
"So," he said calmly. "What happened?"
The doctor stared at the floor for a long moment.
"They know," he said finally. "The guards. The Gate. They know I had something more than rumors." His jaw tightened. "They know I had proof. Methods. The truth about the cure."
Lethe stiffened slightly.
Starless didn't speak. He just reached down and slid his hand between the cushions of the old sofa. Paper rustled.
He pulled out the notebook.
Worn. Bent. Familiar.
He held it up. "This?"
The doctor's head snapped up. His eyes locked onto it.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "That's it."
Silence stretched.
"That book," the doctor continued, voice low now, almost reverent, "proves the cure doesn't need their system. No points. No permission. No Gate." He laughed bitterly. "It means the city doesn't control survival."
Starless glanced down at the pages, thumb resting on the cover.
"It ruins everything they built," the doctor finished. "And if they find out you have it…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Starless closed the notebook slowly.
"I see," he said.
Midnight pressed closer.
Starless turned toward the window.
The Zone outside had changed.
Light washed over the scrap towers—cold, artificial, humming. A massive hologram flickered to life above the city skyline, so large it bent the shadows beneath it.
The old man's face stared down at the Zone.
Bruised. Bloodied. Unmistakable.
Text scrolled beneath the image in harsh white glyphs:
WANTED
BOUNTY: 2000 CURE UNITS
REWARD: LIFETIME FOOD & WATER
CAPTURE AND RETURN TO THE CITY
Starless felt his chest go tight.
Lethe stepped beside him, frozen, mask tilted up toward the light.
Behind them, the doctor sucked in a sharp breath—half disbelief, half horror. "They… already moved."
Outside, figures were stopping. Heads tilting up. Whispers spreading like sparks through dry air.
Two thousand cures.
Lifetime survival.
The room felt suddenly very small.
Starless lowered the curtain slowly, hands steady despite the tremor in his arms.
No one spoke.
Midnight hummed louder.
Starless pulled back the ragged curtain just enough to glimpse the hologram again, the old man's face enormous and glowing above the city.
He turned to Lethe, voice low, calm. "What do you think?"
Lethe's eyes glinted from beneath his mask. "They'll kill anyone who tries to help him. That's the truth. But… truth doesn't matter. We do what we need."
Starless studied him for a moment, letting the weight of those words sink in.
"Just… follow the main idea," Lethe added, voice cold, precise.
Starless exhaled slowly. Then he stood. Tall, tired, but steady. He looked at the old man—the one who had given everything he knew—and smiled.
A small, quiet smile. Not naïve, not hopeful. But human.
In this hopeless world, Starless felt… kind. And for a moment, it was enough.
Starless ran a hand over his face, jaw tight. "I know… I know how stupid this sounds. I keep thinking about all the consequences—what could go wrong, what we might lose. But… if this… if this actually saves everyone, then I'll do it. No matter what it costs me."
Lethe tilted his head, mask hiding most of his expression. "That's… so like you," he said, voice dry but amused.
Starless gave a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah. I guess it is."
Lethe shrugged, a small, reluctant nod. "Fine. Then… okay."
They stood there in silence, the weight of the city pressing in, but the choice made—reluctant, dangerous, necessary.
Starless let a small, quiet smile flicker across his face—but it vanished instantly.
In the next heartbeat, he was outside. The old man stumbled beside him, and both were lifted effortlessly by Lethe's arms, carried over the jagged piles of scrap.
Their eyes locked on the building behind them. The house—they had called it safe—had been split cleanly in two. Wood and metal hung crooked, smoke curling from the ruin.
A figure stood atop the wreckage: pink hair spilling over a black mask. Her boots clicked against the debris, confident, predatory.
"Doctor," she called, voice sharp as shattered glass. "Finally found you. Seems like you got some friends."
Lethe's eyes narrowed beneath his mask. He held them steady on her, calculating. His grip on Starless and the old man didn't falter.
"Star," he said quietly, voice low, tense. "We… might die here today."
The woman's gaze flicked to him, and the faint glow under her mask flared pink. Sparks danced along her liquid-metal armor as she lunged.
Lethe shifted, movements smooth, almost liquid himself. Each strike from her—blindingly fast—was dodged with precision, the air snapping where her boots struck and her fists cut through.
Starless and the old man held tight, hearts hammering, as Lethe twisted and weaved, the deadly dance between them unfolding like a nightmare in slow motion.
Starless and the old man hit the ground hard, dust and shards biting into their skin. Lethe loomed above them, chest rising and falling, eyes locked deep into the pink-haired woman's mask-glow.
He leaned forward, voice low, deadly calm. "Are you an Ascender… or a mere guard with tech?"
The woman tilted her head, laughter like broken glass echoing through the ruined street. "What if I say I'm not an Ascender, as you call it?"
Lethe's own laugh was sharp, empty, grim. "Then… this battle was over before it even started."
The words barely left his lips before the world exploded in pain. Her blade lashed out—fast, precise—and tore through his right arm. Bone and tendon split with a wet, grinding sound. Blood sprayed across the debris-strewn street.
"Lethe!" Starless screamed, voice cracking, lunging forward.
The woman laughed, cocky, cruel. Her blade arced again—this time catching his left arm. The air hissed as severed flesh fell, dripping crimson onto broken concrete. Lethe's hands were gone.
Starless dropped to his knees, horror pinching his chest. "It's my fault… my fault…"
Yet Lethe rose, staggered but upright, crimson staining his torso, dripping onto the rubble below. His mask glinted, eyes steady. He twisted with impossible speed, dodging the next strike, sparks running along the air where the blade passed.
He looked at Starless. Blood streaked, jagged, dripping from his stump wrists. "Don't worry," he rasped, voice ragged but steady. "It hurts… mate. It really does. I'm not a hero—goddammit. Stop trying to make me one, Star. I'm just—"
The sentence cut short.
A flash of pink metal. A blade swung faster than the eye could follow. Lethe's head rolled, blood spraying in a cinematic arc, droplets frozen midair against the neon glow of the Zone.
Starless and the old man froze. Silence. Dust hung heavy. The street smelled of iron, smoke, and ozone.
The impact was more than death—it was absolute. A strike that erased presence, power, and defiance in one impossible motion.
Starless's knees trembled. The old man's hand clutched his chest. Neither could speak. The Zone itself seemed to hold its breath.
Starless knelt in the wreckage.
Lethe's body lay still—too still—blood pooling dark beneath it. The world rang, hollow and distant. Starless reached out with shaking hands and lifted the mask from the ground.
It was warm.
He held it to his chest, fingers curling tight around the cracked edges. For one breath—just one—the Zone didn't exist.
Then the ground shook.
Starless looked up.
The pink-haired woman was already moving again, armor knitting itself back together in slow, liquid ripples. She straightened, rolling her neck once, eyes glowing faintly beneath her mask.
Starless didn't wait.
He grabbed the old man under the arms, hauled him up, and ran.
Feet tore across scrap and ash with intense pain, lungs burning, the mask clutched tight in one hand as the other dragged the doctor forward. Behind them, metal screamed as she gave chase—slow, deliberate, inevitable.
Above the Zone, the night split with light.
The massive hologram still loomed, the old man's face staring down over the city, cold and merciless. WANTED. BOUNTY. LIFETIME SURVIVAL.
The world didn't stop.
People kept moving. Guards kept hunting. The city kept breathing.
And somewhere in the chaos, Starless ran—carrying the weight of a body, a mask, and a promise that had just cost him everything.