Jagger stood behind Porpo and Jane, with Lynis taking point at the front.
They were gathered at the makeshift gate of the camp, the final barrier between fragile order and the corpse of the city beyond. The wall loomed eight feet high, an ugly, desperate structure built from corrugated iron sheets, welded car, shattered bus frames, and bent steel plating scavenged from the ruins. Weld seams glowed dull and uneven, some still rusting from rushed construction. Narrow slits were cut every few feet, just wide enough for a pair of eyes or the barrel of a weapon. From those slits came the faint silhouettes of watchers, unmoving and silent.
Beyond the wall, the city breathed rot.
A cold wind pressed through the gaps, carrying with it the sour stench of old blood, smoke, mold, and something faintly metallic that coated the tongue. Somewhere in the distance, another structure collapsed with a hollow groan. Farther still, something howled.
Jane stood nearest the gate, her posture rigid and focused as she checked her gear with practiced efficiency. Or rather, the lack of it. She buckled a leather strap around her thigh, securing a sheathed bowie knife that looked wrong in a way Jagger could not explain. The blade itself was black and etched with faint red patterns that did not look like any human design. Beside it hung a pouch filled with metallic objects that clinked softly each time she moved. The sound was quiet but deliberate. Measured. She wore only a single backpack, its fabric frayed and stained, but reinforced in places with stitching done by steady hands.
Her movements were smooth and economical. No hesitation. No wasted motion.
Porpo and Lynis were the same.
Porpo adjusted the strap of her grimoire at her hip, the leather worn and darkened by sweat and use. The book hummed faintly when she touched it, a subtle vibration that Jagger felt more than heard. Lynis tightened the straps of his battered armor, plates scratched and dented from countless encounters. His shield rested against his back, scuffed and warped, bearing scars that told stories Jagger did not want to imagine.
And then there was him.
Jagger looked down at himself.
The clothes Lynis had brought him were clean. A grey t-shirt. Dark jeans. Sturdy boots that felt stiff and unfamiliar around his ankles. Useful, maybe, but they offered no protection. No armor. No weapon. Just a small pack slung over his shoulders containing supplies that might last a few days if he was lucky.
He felt exposed. Stripped down. Like a civilian pretending to belong among soldiers.
"All right," Jane said, cracking her neck slowly as she straightened. Her voice carried authority without effort. "We are about to leave. Listen to my orders at all times."
"Yes, ma'am," Porpo and Lynis replied in unison.
Jane continued without pause. "Keep a meter distance between each other. Always be aware of your surroundings. If we get surrounded, your personal safety is your priority. Do not, and I repeat, do not be a hero."
The wind picked up, rattling loose metal along the wall. Somewhere nearby, a generator coughed and sputtered.
Jane finally turned toward Jagger.
Her expression was unreadable.
"Jagger."
She tossed him something.
"Catch."
He reacted too slowly, fumbling before managing to grab hold of the handle. A sheathed bowie knife rested in his palm, heavier than he expected. The leather was worn smooth, warm from her touch. Compared to her knife this looked like any ordinary blade.
Porpo and Lynis glanced at each other.
Both of them smiled.
Lynis clapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking as he fought back laughter. Porpo bit her lip, her eyes sparkling with barely contained amusement.
"Something funny?" Jane asked, her gaze snapping toward them.
"No lah, boss," Lynis said quickly, his voice strangled as he tried to swallow his laugh.
Porpo shook her head, lips pressed tight. "Nothing, boss."
Jane turned back to Jagger. "You ever used a knife before?"
Her eyes searched his face, not unkindly, but without softness either.
"Kind off," Jagger admitted, staring down at the weapon in his hand. "I've used it in my VR games, but I'll learn."
"VR...Pfft." Lynis snorted.
Porpo snickered, as she punched Lynis.
Jane's lips twitched at the corners. She didn't laugh, but the tension in her face softened by a fraction. "This is real life... but it's better than nothing," she said. "Strap it to your belt. And don't lose it."
He did as instructed, threading the sheath onto his belt. The weight settled against his hip, unfamiliar but grounding. The leather pressed against his waist like a promise and a warning all at once.
"Our objective is to search and salvage any useful supplies from the apartments and stores. Our main priority is medical supplies, canned foods and bottled water." Jane said, her eyes looking over the gate. "We'll be heading towards Takashimaya mall." She pointed to a massive similar dull reddish marble structure in the distance that just peaked over the walls of the camp, its facade scarred by fire and collapsed sections.
"Our second objective, to see what our newbie is capable of." Jane said, her eyes locking onto Jagger. "Don't slow us down."
Jane turned back toward the gate.
"OPEN THE GATE!"
Her command echoed against metal and concrete.
Steel screeched against steel as a section of the wall was dragged aside, the sound tearing through the air like a wounded animal. Rust flakes fell in orange dust. Hinges groaned. The gap widened inch by inch.
Cold wind surged through the opening, slamming into them with full force. It carried the smell of death. Rot. Old blood. Burnt flesh. Decay so thick it felt like it coated the lungs.
Beyond the gate, the city greeted them like a ghost. Empty streets stretched between skeletal buildings, windows like vacant eyes. The silence was unnerving.
They stepped through the gate, and it slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing like a gunshot. The noise of the camp vanished, replaced by a suffocating quiet.
"Let's move."
Lynis took off immediately, his body dropping into motion without hesitation. Jane and Porpo followed in perfect sync, moving simultaneously, their steps fluid and controlled. They flowed forward like a trained unit, every movement deliberate, every shift calculated.
Jagger followed.
He kept the meter distance just like Jane had ordered, though his heart hammered so hard it felt like it was trying to punch its way out of his ribs. His senses were a mess and scattered. He did not know how to focus on everything at once, so he ended up focusing on everything and nothing.
Every gust of wind sounded like movement.
Every distant groan of settling steel made his muscles tense.
Every shadow in a broken window looked like something watching him.
His eyes snapped from alley to rooftop to shattered storefronts, catching flickers of motion that turned out to be reflections of the group, warped by cracked glass and uneven surfaces.
As they pushed deeper into the city, the aftermath of the catastrophe revealed itself fully.
Collapsed buildings lay in heaps of concrete and twisted rebar. Burnt-out cars sat frozen mid-street, their frames blackened and melted, doors torn clean off. Dead remains littered the ground, mostly human and some not, bones snapped, crushed, or half fused into the pavement where something had died violently.
The city was a grave.
Jagger felt a chill crawl down his spine. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife at his belt. The cool metal pressed into his palm, grounding him, offering a fragile sense of control.
"Stop here, there is something ahead." Jane's voice was a low whisper.
Then they saw it. A lone figure in the middle of the street, a small child, no older than six, sitting on the ground, crying.
"M-Mommy..."
Lynis froze instantly, raising his hand. All four of them dropped into cover behind a large pile of rubble, crouching low as dust puffed around their boots.
"It's a kid," Lynis said, his voice neutral, controlled.
"No," Porpo replied immediately. Her eyes narrowed, fingers twitching near her grimoire. "Something's not right."
Jane scanned the street, her body coiled tight with tension. Her gaze flicked to windows, rooftops, alley mouths. "It's a trap. Keep moving."
Jagger's breath came out ragged. His lungs burned slightly as he struggled to keep up.
They moved again.
The crying grew louder.
More desperate.
"Please… help me…"
Jagger's steps faltered. His foot dragged for half a second before he caught himself. His head turned instinctively, his eyes pulling toward the child.
"Don't look back. Keep moving," Jane said sharply. Her tone allowed no room for debate.
"We… can't just leave him," Jagger said, breathless and panicked. "We can't."
"We can and we will," Jane snapped, her voice ice cold. "It's not a child. It's bait. Now move out."
"Wait," Jagger said again, his voice cracking. "What if it's real? What if we're wrong?"
Porpo glanced back at him. "Didn't you hear the first rule? Listen to her orders at all times. You want to die, dumbass?"
Lynis exhaled slowly. "We doing this for days already. The kid confirm bait. I've seen this before."
Jagger looked at the child, then at Jane. He saw no compassion in her eyes, only a cold, hard pragmatism. He understood then, the world had changed, and survival came at a cost.
'Go save the kid.' A feminine, unfamiliar echoed inside his head again, 'It is helpless. It is your nature to help.'
Jagger stumbled back a step, clutching his head as a high-pitched whine, metallic and piercing echoed in his head. "Argh. What the hell?" he muttered, eyes wide as his foot caught on broken concrete. A loud snap rang out as he fell back, catching himself on a large slab of stone. The sound echoed down the street.
The crying immediately stopped.
"Shit." All three of them said at once, their gaze snapping to the child.
The 'child' gaze snapped into their direction, its head twisted 180 degrees, its eyes covered in a sickly green mucus. Its jaw unhinged, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. It let out a high-pitched shriek that sounded like metal scraping against metal.
Jagger stared, horrified, at the creature that had moments before been a child.
Before anyone could move, the child lurched upward.
Something pulled it.
For a split second, it looked like the air itself had hooked the child, but then the shape revealed itself, a thick, vine-like tendril, slick and dark, emerging from the back of the thing's skull. It had been there the whole time, pressed flat, camouflaged against its spine.
The vine tightened.
The child was ripped off the ground, limbs flailing uselessly as it was reeled into the air. The tendril stretched across the street, vanishing crater below.
"It's an Elite threat, Thorned Marionette!" Jane roared, pulling out her Bowie knife, "GET INTO FUCKING FORMATION!"