Morning light crept over the quarry walls, pale and brittle. My body thrummed with the lingering pulse of last night's change, muscles alert, veins alive beneath the skin.
Before I could even sit up, the system flickered in my vision:
[Host - Terry Holt ]
[Daily Tasks]
Feed the flesh. Sustain the form. Consume 100g of Protein - Reward: +10 exp
Health penalty if ignored: -5/hr
Test your limits. Break to Rebuild. Strengthen the Body - Reward: +10 exp
I groaned, rubbing my face. Hunger wasn't pressing. My body still buzzed from last night's protein but the system's reminder made my chest tighten. I didn't want to feel that gnawing pain again, and the points… Well, the points were just as important.
-5 Health
Even a small penalty was enough to push me out of the tent. I grabbed a flashlight and moved toward the supply crates, Mason trailing behind, frowning.
"Terry… you okay?" Mason asked, his voice cautious.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a tight smile. "Just… need to take care of something first, I'll be right back. Then we can head out."
The burlap sacks awaited, stacked neatly in the shadows. Jerky, salted fat, protein paste, the same food I'd devoured hours ago. I tore one open and began eating, deliberate and careful.
The system responded instantly.
[Protein Consumed : 100g/100g] "The flesh sustains. The form endures." + 10 exp
[Health : 100/100]
[Daily Quest Completed] "Progress fuels evolution."
[Remaining daily quests: Strengthen the Body - Pending]
Warmth spread through me, a wave of sharp clarity settling into my bones. My vision steadied. The faint tremor that had haunted my hands since last night was gone.
Still, as I wiped the grease from my palms, I couldn't ignore the unease twisting in my gut. The pouches were too neat. Too deliberate. Someone had snuck them out and stored them here, but who… And why?
I quickly grabbed a couple of packets, just in case, and quickly headed back to meet Mason. "Hey," Mason's voice cut in softly, "you sure you're not pushing too hard? You look better, but… I don't know, man. Something's off."
He wasn't wrong. Everything felt off. My hearing was sharper. My muscles tensed without warning. Every breath carried the faint metallic taste of blood that wasn't there.
"I'm fine," I lied.
Mason studied me for a moment longer before sighing. "Alright. But we're checking the south wall after shift. There's something out there. I heard it last night.
I froze mid-step. "You heard it?"
"Yeah." His brow furrowed. "Sounded like… I don't know, something big. Breathing."
The back of my neck prickled. That sound. I'd heard it too, right before the system had pushed me to feed.
"Probably just one of the scavengers," I said quickly, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew it wasn't true.
Mason didn't press. He just gave me a look that said he knew I was lying and walked off toward the quarry gate.
I stayed where I was, the hum of the system growing louder behind my eyes.
The bell rang again; sharp and heavy, echoing off the quarry walls.
Work shift.
Like nothing had happened. Like the world wasn't slowly tearing open around us.
Mason turned, motioning for me to follow.
"Come on, man. You know how Vargas gets if we're late."
He was right. No one got days off here. Not for sickness. Not for exhaustion. Not even for disappearing overnight.
When we reached the main yard, Foreman Vargas, was already there, boots planted wide, hands clasped behind his back as he scanned the lines of workers.
The man looked carved from the same stone we mined. His face was a map of scars and sunburn, eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored lenses that never seemed to blink.
"Move like you mean it!" Vargas barked. His voice carried across the yard, gravel and authority. "We lost a full shift last night thanks to whatever the hell tore through the east post. That means you all work twice as hard today to make up for it."
No one argued. No one even looked at him.
Vargas didn't need to shout twice. The last person who talked back had been "transferred" to the outer pits, a death sentence dressed as a promotion.
Mason nudged me with his elbow. "See? Told you. He's in one of his moods."
"Is he ever not?" I muttered.
"Not since the first time someone tried to run."
I swallowed hard and fell into step with the others as Vargas paced along the line, boots crunching through dust. When his gaze passed over me, I felt it; sharp, measuring, like he could sense the wrongness in my blood.
But then he moved on.