The morning fog hadn't lifted. It pressed itself against the half-broken windows like something alive, like it wanted in. Elias watched it curl in through the gaps in the warped wood, thick and damp. Cold air gnawed at his knuckles.
He sat in silence beside the rusted tool rack, knees pulled to his chest, staring through the open crack in the garage door. The city was quiet — quieter than the day before — and that wasn't good. Not in this world. Silence had weight now. A heavy, expectant kind.
Behind him, Max slept in his makeshift bed of coats and plastic tarp. His breathing had changed again. Too shallow. Too slow. And Elias knew why.
Status Effect: Starvation – Stage 2
Movement speed reduced
Cognitive function impaired
Next Threshold: Stage 3 – Organ Risk
He didn't need the system to tell him that Max was getting worse. It was written all over him. Pale skin. Cheeks hollowing. Fingers twitching in sleep like he was reaching for something that wasn't there.
Elias stood.
There were two choices: wait and hope for a miracle, or go out and find something that might kill him. Only one of those things had even a chance of saving Max.
He picked up the tire iron, slid it into the back of his hoodie, and stepped out into the fog.
No plan. No route. Just instinct.
He didn't like that.
Instinct was for animals. He was supposed to be smart. Supposed to be strategic. But when you were low on food, sleep, and safe hours — even intelligence had a short shelf life.
The system didn't speak this time. No new quest. No glowing message. Nothing to guide him.
For a second, he wondered if it had gone silent on purpose.
As punishment.
He shook the thought loose.
Ten blocks east — toward the grocery strip — had already been picked dry. South was too open. North was gang territory now, even if gangs had become less about crime and more about armed, starving ex-fathers. That left west. The riverway. Nobody went there because nobody could swim through sludge, not with the pipes burst and chemicals leaked in from the factories.
But where nobody went — maybe something was left.
He stuck to the alley walls, eyes peeled for glass, for shadows, for breathing. The fog didn't help. It distorted everything. Made trash look like movement. Made silence feel like a voice that just hadn't spoken yet.
At the edge of a car lot, he spotted it.
A vending machine.
It was cracked open, the glass splintered, but not everything was gone. Two bags of something still stuck at the top. He couldn't tell what — maybe chips. Maybe something worse. But it was food.
He crossed the lot fast. Avoided the broken glass. Reached in through the busted slot—
Movement.
Not behind. Above.
He dove sideways as the thing dropped from the roof. It landed hard, skidding, long arms out like wires. Its head was mostly gone — a gaping hole with teeth and twitching nerves, skin stretched over it like plastic wrap. No eyes.
Not anymore.
A low sound came from its throat.
Then—
A voice.
"Help… please…"
Max's voice.
Elias didn't move.
The thing limped toward him, dragging one foot.
"Please," it repeated, pitch-perfect. "Don't leave me here…"
Its jaw didn't match the words. Just opened, slack, while the voice played like a recording.
> Echo-Host – Tier 2.5
Behavior: Mimic target voices
Engagement Risk: High
He backed away slow. One step. Two.
The creature stopped.
Tilted its head.
Then let out a different sound.
A scream — female — shrill and panicked.
From every direction.
Elias's blood froze.
It wasn't calling for help. It was calling others.
He ran.
Through the lot. Through the back gate. Down the slope of a dried-out canal, half-slipping. The sound followed him — more voices now. Begging. Screaming. His mother's voice. His teacher's voice. Max.
All coming from the same throat.
He didn't stop until the voices vanished behind him.
He made it back hours later. The sky had begun to dim. Light no longer meant safety — but it did let him see.
Max was still breathing.
Barely.
Elias placed the two bags of chips beside him, torn from the vending machine during his escape. One was open, half-crushed. The other was stale. But food was food.
Max stirred when the smell hit him. Took the bag in both hands. Started eating like his body had forgotten how to chew slow. Elias didn't stop him. Just sat down again.
Watched the fog gather outside like it was waiting.
Not for them.
For the next ones.
For the loud ones.
For the kind ones.
Max looked up, face flushed. "You're not eating?"
"I already did," Elias lied.
He hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours.
Didn't matter.
The coins in his head weren't enough to buy anything worth the risk of stopping. Not anymore. The good items cost more now. The system was inflating its own damn prices.
He could create a skill.
But creation came with pain.
And pain slowed you down.
Still — he opened the interface.
[Create Skill]
Cost: 40 Coins minimum
Warning: Recoil potential
He hesitated. Then typed:
Skill Name: Silent Step
Function: Reduce footstep noise / Lower surface impact
The system paused.
Processing
Analyzing Efficiency Cost
Result: 47 Coins Required – Proceed?
He nodded.
It felt like needles under his skin. His nerves pulled tight, then snapped. A headache bloomed behind his eyes, sharp and pulsing. He didn't scream. Screaming was weakness.
Skill Created: [Silent Step I]
Effect: Reduce movement noise by 30%
Passive: Yes
Energy Drain: Minimal
It would help.
He laid back, let the wall press into his spine.
Max had already fallen asleep again.
Elias didn't close his eyes.
Just stared up at the beams above, still scorched from fire.
He was changing.
He knew it.
He remembered when he used to be afraid of breaking rules. When skipping school made his stomach twist. When he used to feel bad for deleting game saves or lying to get out of trouble.
Now?
Now the thought of letting someone else scream for help and not going — it didn't sting anymore. It just made sense.
You don't save people by dying with them. You survive them.
And then you remember them. If you can.
That was the only morality that made sense now.
The fog shifted again.
Something brushed the edge of the door.
Elias didn't move.
Didn't even breathe.
Not until it moved on.