The crawler's body hit the ground with a thick, wet thud.
Alva stepped back, breathing through her nose, steady and controlled.
blood soaked her gloves up to the wrist. it wasn't thin. it had a heavy texture — almost like sludge. when she touched her thumb and index finger together, it stuck slightly.
gross. but acceptable.
she forced her shoulder to roll back once, relaxing the muscle. she wasn't exhausted. she wasn't trembling anymore.
she was processing.
in her old world, she panicked over simple human interactions.
here, she was calm in front of a monster.
funny.
the world she came from was scarier.
Alva crouched slightly, checking the crawler's body.
she studied its joints, muscle distribution, and limb angle — just like she used to analyze enemy movement patterns in games.
weak spots here were consistent with the last one she fought:
— joint behind front shoulder
— lower right jaw hinge
— spinal ridge #3
she didn't have a biology degree.
but she had decades of observation training — just from screens.
and now her brain was finally in a place where that ability mattered.
she wiped her blade against the crawler's thigh — minimal friction — clean pull — weapon still sharp.
then she stood fully.
that's when she felt it.
the air changed.
not colder.
not warmer.
just… weighted.
like someone else was part of the same moment but not physically touching it.
she didn't turn.
humans in movies turn immediately.
humans in real danger don't.
the rooftop across the broken street had tiny shifts in dust. nothing visible moving now — but someone had leaned their weight there recently.
she also noticed a hairline scrape on the metal rail — fresh.
something had been watching her.
It's not a small thing.
and not a prey-class beast.
what she sensed was too controlled. too intelligent.
Alva lowered her centre of gravity, spear angled slightly to the back — defensive but not panicked — a stance that said:
> I know.
But I am not running.
her heartbeat stayed in a clean rhythm.
tap tap tap tap.
not fast.
not shaky.
instead, a sharp thought formed in her head — perfectly clear:
> "If someone wants to test me… I will make sure they understand I am not disposable."
she didn't know who was out there.
but her instincts told her one truth:
in this world, the apex does not roar first.
the apex observes.
and tonight — she wasn't prey.
not anymore.
she walked forward — controlled — as if she had already decided:
if they want to approach her,
they must come down to her,
not wait for her to crawl upward.
Alva didn't rush deeper into the city.
she needed distance.
not from the monsters —
from the sense of being watched.
so she moved sideways through the alleys, choosing the quieter ruins — the ones with locked shutters and fallen signs — the places scavengers ignored because they looked "empty."
she found a cracked pharmacy corner shop.
metal shutter bent inward from old impact.
store shelves still had items — dusty but untouched.
she exhaled slowly.
this… she understood.
looting.
sorting.
gathering.
survival is not just fighting — it's preparation.
she took:
sterile bandage rolls
alcohol pads
energy bars
bottled water
tape
small knife
sewing kit
as she packed, she felt it again — that pressure under her skin — heat, like static — not painful but… changing.
like her body was quietly rewriting itself.
like her cells were not the same as yesterday's.
her mutation wasn't dramatic.
no sudden glow.
no transformation scream.
just a slow tightening in her muscles and a clean, sharpened clarity in her senses
her eyes could track tiny dust particles in air
her ears caught faint metal shifts far above
she was upgrading quietly without anyone's permission
Alva tied the bag shut.
this world wasn't going to give her safety.
so she would take it herself.
Alva checked the makeshift door again — the bent shutter — making sure nothing could slip under it while she rested.
The pharmacy wasn't safe-safe…
but it was at least contained.
She crouched low behind the counter and started gathering everything that was actually useful — not the "unrealistic movie survival items" — but the real ones:
– wound dressings
– painkillers
– electrolyte packs
– sterile gauze
– butterfly closure strips
– glucose gel
– sealed sterile water tubes
– surgical tape
She wasn't hoarding randomly.
She was building a med–base loadout the way field medics do — essentials only — weight matters.
She lined each category into neat piles around her.
Her brain felt like a machine — not emotional — not panicked — just precise.
Her mutation helped her sort faster.
Even though she wasn't transforming visibly… her thoughts were sharper. She didn't just see supplies — she saw function.
Energy. Repair. Backup. Stabilization.
For the first time since the outbreak — she felt slightly in control.
She tightened the strap of her small bag and slid items inside by weight priority — heavier items closest to her spine for balance.
She didn't rush.
She acted like a person who planned to live long — not someone just trying to survive the night.
Then she sat back against the wall — spear across her knees — and stayed absolutely still.
Breathing slowed.
Vision calm.
Ears filtering the world.
Not sleeping.
Not fully awake.
In that narrow space between danger and rest — her mutation grew silently.
her joints felt lighter
her reaction time felt shorter
her senses were opening like new tabs loading in her brain
She wasn't the same girl from yesterday.
And the world had no idea what she was turning into.