Nanite-cement cured into a dull, grey scar over the blast door, sealing the penthouse from the frozen hell of the stairwell. Inside, the temperature climbed to a livable 15°C. It was warm enough to sweat.
+1
The kitchen island, converted into a high-tech triage unit, smelled of ozone and stale coffee.
Luna sat opposite the marble counter, wheelchair adjusted for height. She wasn't looking at Alex; she was staring at the pile of scrap dumped in front of her.
"You want me to do what?" Luna asked, lifting the heavy, industrial Thermal Lance.
"I want you to butcher it." Leaning forward, Alex rested his hands on the counter. "The Lance is a tool. Powerful, but clumsy. It requires two hands and has a three-second ignition delay. In close quarters, that delay is a death sentence.".
He pointed to the second item: a severed Frost-Line "Guardian" Gauntlet.
Ripped from one of the dead Heavy Troopers welded to the door, the white paint was scorched and peeling, but the hydraulic servos and titanium substructure remained intact.
"The gauntlet gives me Strength 3.0 grip and armor," Alex continued. "The Lance gives me plasma cutting capability. Combine them.".
Turning the gauntlet over in her grease-stained hands, Luna traced the power coupling.
"This is military hardware, Alex. The Lance is industrial. The voltages don't match. Wiring the emitter directly to the gauntlet's power grid will melt the insulation. You'll cook your own arm.".
"Bypass the safeties. Remove the regulators. Use the Micro-Fusion Cell to handle the load.".
"It'll be unstable.".
"I don't need stable. I need lethal.".
Luna looked at the parts. The challenge sparked that same obsessive light in her eyes from Unit 1804. Arguments died. She grabbed a screwdriver.
"Two hours," she muttered, already unscrewing the Lance's casing. "Don't talk to me.".
Retreating to the leather sofa, Alex cleaned his MK12 rifle, watching the "Tech-Witch" work.
She was fast. Hands moving with surgical precision, she stripped the Thermal Lance down to its core: magnetic containment coil, plasma focusing lens, and high-output emitter.
Then she gutted the gauntlet. Tearing out the uncrackable biometric locks, she bypassed the authentication loop by hard-wiring the servos directly to a manual trigger system. Not writing code; welding circuits.
Sparks flew as she soldered the Class III Micro-Fusion Cell into the wrist mount. The room filled with the sharp scent of burning plastic.
"Done.".
Luna slumped back in her wheelchair, wiping sweat from her forehead.
On the counter sat a monstrosity.
Gone was the sleek, white cleanliness of Frost-Line tech. In its place lay a jagged, industrial beast. The forearm bulged with exposed cooling fins scavenged from the Lance. The palm was dominated by the dark, glass-like circle of the plasma emitter .
Thick, shielded cables ran from wrist to fingertips, glowing faintly with the blue pulse of the fusion core.
"I call it the Inferno," Luna said, voice exhausted. "Fusion output overclocked. Grip strength boosted by 40% due to removed limiters. And the palm... it doesn't just cut. Without the industrial focusing nozzle, it sprays. Effectively a plasma shotgun.".
Alex walked to the counter. Sliding his left arm into the device, he felt the weight—forty pounds of steel and hate.
As his fingers touched the internal sensors, the servos engaged.
WHIRRR-CLICK.
The gauntlet clamped down, locking into place with a reassuring, mechanical hiss. The weight vanished, supported by the suit's internal hydraulics. Flexing his fingers, the titanium claws moved instantly, mirroring his intent with zero latency.
+1
[System Alert: New Weapon Equipped.] [Item: Prototype Inferno Gauntlet (Rank B).] [Stats: Strength +1.5 (Left Arm Only).] [Ability: Plasma Vent (Active). Consumes 5% Charge/Shot.]
"Test seal.".
Making a fist, the servos whined, generating enough torque to crush a cinder block.
Alex pointed his open palm at the metal sink. He triggered the mental command.
VWOOM.
A cone of blinding red fire erupted from his palm. Not a beam; a concentrated wall of heat. The stainless steel sink didn't just warm up; it glowed cherry-red instantly, metal warping and dripping like wax.
+1
Clenching his fist, the stream cut out. Steam rose from the cooling vents on the forearm.
"Functional," Alex whispered, admiring the glowing blue veins running along the armor. "Runs hot.".
"It's a prototype," Luna warned, reaching for water. "Don't hold the trigger for more than five seconds. It will fuse to your skin.".
Alex admired the weapon. Ugly, dangerous, utterly devastating. "Good work. Double rations tonight.".
Luna opened her mouth to reply, likely to negotiate for more power, but the words died in her throat.
BOOM.
A heavy, percussive vibration shuddered through the floor slabs. Not the atmospheric rumble of the blizzard, nor the distant tectonic thud of the Titan.
This was localized. Vertical.
Alex froze. Perception 3.0 filtered the noise, isolating the frequency.
Scrape. Thud. Scream. Scrape.
It sounded like a thousand wet mops being dragged violently up the ventilation shafts.
"Sensors are lighting up," Luna said, voice tight as she spun her wheelchair toward the monitor bank. "Motion triggers on Floor 5. Floor 8. Floor 12... Alex, they're moving too fast."
"Show me.".
Luna punched a command. The central screen flickered from static to a high-contrast night vision feed of the lobby.
It wasn't a lobby anymore. It was a nest.
A tidal wave of pale, distorted bodies surged over the frozen reception desk. Not the slow, aimless walkers of the first day. The viral load had spiked. They were climbing the walls, digging fingernails into drywall, vaulting up stairwell railings with insect-like agility.
+1
"Ghouls," Alex noted, pulse steady. "Stage 1 mutation. Runners.".
"Look at the elevator," Luna whispered, pointing a trembling finger.
In the center of the chaotic swarm, one figure stood motionless.
Towering over the others, a hulk of grey, distended muscle burst through the tatters of a heavy tactical vest. Its right arm was monstrously asymmetric, calcified into a heavy, bone-like bludgeon dragging on the marble floor.
Tilting its head back, the creature revealed empty sockets where eyes once were—burned out by the virus, replaced by hollow, glowing red pits.
A wet crack echoed as the jaw unhinged, dropping unnaturally low.
"ROOOAAAARRR!"
The sound didn't come from the monitor speakers. It drifted up through the penthouse's air vents, carried twenty-four floors by the acoustic trickery of the metal ducts.
"System Scan," Alex commanded softly.
[Target Identified: Mutated Security Chief.] [Designation: The Alpha.] [Threat Level: High.]
Embedded in the creature's swollen shoulder, a tarnished silver badge glinted under the emergency lights. Head of Security.
"He was big before," Alex said, checking the charge on his new Inferno Gauntlet. "Now he's just a bigger target."
Turning to Luna, his face remained a mask of tactical indifference.
"Weld the vents. We have guests.".