They walked in silence. Not by choice. There simply wasn't anything left to say. Every breath Elias took felt like a borrowed one — like the Husher had clipped something inside him when it passed. Left a fracture that hadn't broken clean, but cracked just enough to let the fear seep in.
Max kept glancing back. The street behind them stretched empty, littered with glass, paper, abandoned clothes. No bodies. No blood. Just the kind of silence Elias now understood to be dangerous.
Tier 2.
That's what that thing was. Different from the others. Smarter. Controlled. Not some starving corpse with fingernails for teeth. No, the Husher had presence. It didn't charge. It waited. And that made it worse.
They found a bookstore. Or what had once been one. Roof caved in. Walls scorched. Elias pushed the broken door open with the butt of his boot and scanned the interior. No movement. No sound. Just the smell of rain-soaked ash and rotted glue from long-dead bindings.
Max slumped to the floor near the wall and pulled his knees tight to his chest. Elias stayed standing, eyes scanning broken shelves and scattered books.
Sitting was dangerous. Sitting made you think you were safe. And safety was a lie the infected world told you before it tore your throat out.
Elias opened the notebook. The same one he'd started writing in after... everything. He didn't know why he kept it. Maybe to feel like things still mattered. Maybe to have something left behind when he didn't wake up one morning.
Bloodstains on the corner. Dried. Could've been his. Could've been someone else's. Didn't matter.
He flipped to the next empty page.
Entry 14: Every survivor carries a debt. Some pay with blood. Some with guilt. Most pay both.
He scrawled it slow. Like the truth needed to hurt a little as it left his hand.
"You always do that?" Max's voice cracked the stillness.
Elias didn't look up. "Every day."
"What if you die?"
"Then someone else reads it."
Max hesitated. "Can I read it?"
"No."
That ended the conversation.
The system stirred inside his head. Not loud. Never loud. It didn't speak in full voices, not like some digital god whispering cheat codes. It was a tremor. A ripple. Like thoughts that weren't his were brushing against the edge of his consciousness.
Quest Alert: Personal Mission Unlocked
Name: Learn to Craft — Survivalist Tier 1
Objective: Use [Creation] to make a tool
Reward: +30 Coins / Unlock: Crafting Menu
His stomach tightened.
Creation again.
That word still made his skin crawl. He'd read the book the system gave him — the one that appeared in his hands, forced itself into his brain, then vanished like it had never existed. But reading something and understanding it? Two entirely different things.
Creating wasn't crafting. It wasn't like building a fire or sharpening a stick. It was... unnatural. Things came together not because he built them — but because something inside him willed them into being.
He didn't trust it. But he needed those coins.
Elias crouched in the corner and focused. The inventory opened in his mind — quiet, clean, like pulling open an invisible drawer that only he could see.
Scraps of wire. Broken glass. A bent lighter. An empty canteen. The busted solar light from the supermarket. No weapons. No food. But components. Pieces.
The system nudged him.
[Creation Available: Combine — Wire + Broken Glass + Lighter + Cloth]
Result: Improvised Trip Spark Trap
Function: Spark and light flash when triggered. Temporary blinding. One use.
Craft? [Yes / No]
"Yes."
The parts vanished.
His hand trembled, then pulsed. Not pain. Not heat. Just something wrong. A pressure that didn't belong in his bones. Then — suddenly — it was there.
The trap formed in his hand like it had always existed. Wire twisted around glass, cloth soaked in lighter fuel stuffed tight into the frame. It looked crude. Ugly. Dangerous.
Perfect.
Creation Complete
+30 Coins Earned
Crafting Menu Unlocked
He tucked the device into his belt.
Max stared at him, eyes wide.
"You can make things?"
Elias didn't look up. "I can create them."
"Isn't that the same?"
He did look, then. Eyes flat. Cold. "No. It isn't."
Max didn't ask again.
When the kid finally drifted off, Elias stayed awake. He always did. Sleep was too risky, even here. Especially here. The trap would help — but it wasn't a guarantee. Nothing was.
His thoughts drifted to the Husher again.
That dead silence.
The way it had moved, like it had patience. Like it was learning.
Tier 2 meant the virus wasn't just mutating bodies. It was evolving intelligence. That meant time was against them. The longer this went on, the smarter the enemy would get. And he was still stuck using bent scrap to fight monsters that didn't breathe.
He pulled the notebook close.
Entry 15: You are not prey. You are not predator. You are a weapon with a heartbeat.
The pen tore the page slightly. He didn't care.
Then... he heard it.
A voice.
Not the system.
A human voice.
Weak. Trembling. Outside.
"…help… please… someone…"
He froze.
Not fear. Something sharper. Instinct. His heart didn't speed up. It slowed. Listened.
Max didn't stir.
Elias moved to the edge of the broken window and peered through a crack in the boards.
A woman staggered down the middle of the street. Limping. Clothes torn. Blood trailing down her leg. One shoe gone. Hands shaking.
No infected.
No sound.
No wind.
That was the problem.
That was the trap.
His eyes scanned the rooftops. Windows. Shadows. Nothing moved. But he knew they were there. Watching. Waiting. Not infected. Not beasts.
People.
He watched the woman fall. Heard the sob that followed. Real. Raw.
But it didn't matter.
Because her pain wasn't hers anymore. She'd been made into bait.
And this wasn't a rescue setup.
It was a feeding station.
For the kind of monsters that still wore skin.
He didn't move.
Didn't open the door.
Didn't try to help.
Because there was nothing left to help.
She was already dead.
Even if she didn't know it yet.
Max stirred an hour later. He rubbed his face. Still pale. Still shaken.
"You hear someone scream earlier?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Elias didn't look up. "No."
Max believed him.
He didn't deserve that trust. But he took it anyway.
Later, Elias spent 50 coins.
Purchase Confirmed: [Combat Basics Vol. I]
The book dropped into his hand. Heavy. Rough paper. Faded cover. The weight of it felt real. Useful.
He read by the glow of the solar light — just enough to see the text. Not the bloodstains on his sleeve. Not the burns on his palm. Just the words.
Words made sense.
Words didn't betray you.
Before he closed the notebook for the night, he added one final entry:
Entry 16: Heroes die early. Survivors die slower. Choose who you want to be.
He didn't sleep.
Not because he was afraid.
But because he already knew his answer.