Genesis felt it. Like a pressure wave rippling through their shared existence. Dracula's body responded.
Blood began to replenish at an impossible rate, veins darkening, filling, pulsing strong again. His heartbeat steadied, then strengthened.
She watched in stunned silence as his wounds began to close in real time. Bullet fragments, small caliber, deformed slugs were forced out of muscle and flesh.
Pushed free like the body was rejecting them outright. They clattered softly onto the rooftop. Torn muscle knitted together. Gashes sealed.
Burned tissue smoothed over, leaving behind clean, pale scars like deliberate marks instead of damage.
Toxins flushed out of his system in a wave, she could feel it, like filth being wrung from a cloth. Whatever poison, shock residue, and metabolic garbage had been killing him was purged.
While at the same time something else kept surging in. Unknown. Dense. Powerful. Energy she couldn't categorize flooded his body, sinking into bone, nerve, blood.
Genesis recoiled, awe and fear colliding inside her.
"The th... fuck…?"
She whispered. Her senses stabilized. His vitals climbed. Fast. Too fast. She saw him inhale sharply like he just rose from the dead.
...
MC POV
Air slammed back into my lungs like I'd been punched from the inside. I gasped, body jerking upright, spine snapping straight as heat flooded through me. Not pain. Not adrenaline.
Something heavier. Denser. Like my blood had been replaced with liquid fire. My vision snapped into focus. Too much focus. Colors sharpened until edges looked like they could cut.
I could hear things I shouldn't, distant fires crackling, metal settling, the faint drip of blood off the roof behind me.
"What the fu..."
The words barely made it out before my stomach revolted. I doubled over and coughed. Once. Twice. Then I puked.
Thick, blackish blood splattered onto the rooftop, smoking faintly where it hit the still-hot metal of the minigun. My throat burned. My lungs spasmed, forcing more up.
It tasted like rust and ash and something bitter, wrong.
"Ugh... fuck..."
Another retch. Less this time. Then nothing. I spat once, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, chest heaving as the world steadied. The heat inside me settled into a low, steady thrum.
I finally finished my sentence.
"…just happened?"
Genesis was already in my face.
"You almost fucking died, asshole, thats what fucking happened"
She was hovering inches from my nose, arms crossed, eyes blazing, static snapping off her outline like she was barely holding herself together.
"Like, heart stopped, brain activity dropping, one more minute and you'd be a corpse kind of died," She snapped.
"But thankfully for you and me the system decided to throw you a freebie for leveling up."
She jabbed a finger at my chest.
"Don't ever do that shit again."
I looked at her. Really looked. Blood on my face. Smoke in the air. Her avatar flickering with leftover panic, eyes sharp and furious and yeah. Cute as fuck. She caught the look and scowled harder.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
I croaked. She narrowed her eyes.
"Like you're deciding whether to loot me."
I snorted, then winced because the torniquets were still digging Into my flesh, then chuckled anyway. She sighed, rolling her eyes.
"By the way,"
She added, voice flattening.
"You can remove the tourniquets now."
I blinked.
"I can?"
"Yes,"
She snapped.
"You're not bleeding out anymore, genius."
I raised an eyebrow, reached down, and loosened the first one. The pressure released instantly. Blood rushed back into my arm in a painful tingle that faded just as fast. I flexed my fingers.
They obeyed. Removed the second. My leg screamed for half a second, then went quiet. Strength flowed back like it had never left. I stood up fully, experimentally rolling my shoulders.
I checked the gunshot wounds. Nothing. Just neat scars. Clean. Like they'd been there for years. I ran my fingers along my cheek. The graze was gone. My shin, healed. Smooth.
"…damn, thats one hell of a freebie"
I muttered. I looked at Genesis. Then at the corpses littering the street below. Then back at Genesis. And smiled. Slowly. Too slowly. Her eyes widened a fraction.
"…oi,"
She muttered.
"What's with that creepy-ass smile of yours?"
I tilted my head.
"It's looting time."
She stared at me like she was reconsidering every life choice that had led her here.
"Oh for fuck's sake…"
...
Veteran's third person POV
The abomination lay in the street. What was left of it. Its head was gone. Not crushed. Not shattered. Erased.
The body lay twisted in a spreading pool of dark blood, muscle already slack, the thing finally, undeniably dead. The veteran stared. Shock came first. Cold and sharp. Then numbness.
His mind tried to process ewrything that just happened but It happened so fast that his mind shut down instead. Thats when he heard cursing. He blinked. Looked up.
The blood-soaked lunatic on the roof was moving. Not collapsing. Not dying. Moving. The man climbed down, limped for exactly two steps and then walked normally. Too normally.
He hit the buildings third floor and immediately started rifling through bodies like this was just another bad day at the office. Checking pockets. Pulling magazines. Testing weapons.
Kicking aside useless junk. He grabbed a self made rifle. Tossed it when it jammed. Two more. Kept one. Armor plates, cracked, discarded.
A satchel of molotov cocktails. He paused, weighed them, nodded, and slung them over his shoulder. The veteran just watched.
By the time his brain caught up, the man was already halfway down the street, boots crunching on brass and bone, looting with methodical efficiency.
"…what the fuck,"
He breathed, the kid looked no older than eighteen yet It felt like he was looking at a bonafied vet. Finally he snapped out of it.
"MOVE!"
He barked, spinning on the survivors.
"Up! Up, now, follow me!"
They jumped, scrambling to their feet, the veterans authority overriding shock and fear.
...
MC POV
I stepped over the abomination's remains without sparing it another glance.
The street was a goldmine. Weapons. Ammo. Half-burnt gear. Junk Fallen carried that still worked well enough if you weren't picky.
Genesis hovered beside me, muttering curses under her breath while I worked.
"Tell me you're not enjoying this," she said.
I checked a magazine. Full. Slotted it.
"…define enjoying,"
I replied as I yanked the bladed pipe free from the abandoned cars trunk. Rust flaked off as I tested the weight. Dried blood caked the serrated edge, dark and old, the smell faint but still there.
I gave it a few experimental swings through the air and Immediattly fell In love. Good balance. Heavy at the tip. Nasty follow-through. It was perfect. I nodded immediately.
"…nice."
The steel baton I'd picked up earlier back In the bunker suddenly felt like a toy. I tossed it aside and let it clatter uselessly across the asphalt.
Then I turned around, took in the full spread of carnage, gear, bodies, scattered opportunity in every direction and sighed.
"…seriously,"
I muttered.
"Where's the fucking inventory when you need it?"
I shot Genesis a long, pointed questioning eye.
"Oy. You sure there's no inventory function to this?"
She snapped back instantly, hands on her hips mid-hover.
"No, there isn't. And thank the gods below and above there isn't, otherwise you'd be stuffing it full of all this junk."
I stopped walking. Slowly turned my head toward her.
"…excuse me, did you just Insult every true fallout looter that ever lived?"
She met my glare without blinking.
"Junk."
I felt personally attacked.
"That's not junk,"
I shot back, offended on a spiritual level.
"That's components for modifications waiting to happen. Armor upgrades. Weapon parts. And money. A shit ton of money just lying around for fuck's sake."
I jabbed a thumb back toward the building.
"Just look at the minigun sitting on the roof. Do you have any idea how much I could get for something like that on the black market in that cozy peaceful new timeline of ours?"
Genesis pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly deciding to be the adult In this situation.
"You know what?"
She said.
"Fine. Fine. Whatever you say, youre the man here."
Then she looked me up and down.
"But you do realize, you look like a fucking Fallen."
I blinked.
"Wow."
She gestured vaguely at me.
"Seriously. Aren't you feeling even a little cringe?"
I glanced down at myself. Welding goggles rested on my forehead, lenses smeared but intact, eye protection first, always.
My chest, arms, and legs were layered in scavenged steel scrap and leather armor, bolted and strapped together in a way that was only barely symmetrical.
Three molotov cocktails sat snug in one thigh pocket, glass clinking softly when I moved.
In another pocket, six 9.1 mm magazines, twelve rounds each lined up cleanly for the self-made rifle with barely passable Iron sights not sure If I could call a screw an iron sight.