Day 26.
Highway 40 (Sector 1 Territory).
Sauget, Illinois.
16:00 Hours.
The adrenaline of killing Vance had faded, replaced by the dull, grinding ache of the cleanup.
I stood on the hood of the wrecked semi-truck, watching my crew work. They moved like sleepwalkers.
Paige and Ronnie were down in the ditch, stripping the leather saddlebags off the dead bikers' motorcycles. Ronnie was struggling; his depth perception was gone with his left eye, and he kept missing his grip on the buckles. Paige looked like a skeleton in a jumpsuit, her cheekbones threatening to cut through her skin.
They were weak. They were starving. But they were working.
"Hey! Freakshow!"
The shout came from the overpass.
I didn't turn immediately. My Decay Sight had already tagged them.
`[THREAT DETECTED: SCAVENGERS.]`
`[COUNT: 5.]`
`[RANK: N/A (UNALIGNED).]`
Five men standing on the concrete lip of the bridge. They weren't Red Faction. They were bottom-feeders—vultures who had watched the battle from a distance and waited for the lions to leave so they could pick the bones.
They slid down the embankment, sliding in the scree. They held rusty pipes and tire irons.
They didn't see me. I was still motionless on the truck hood, blended into the silhouette of the wreckage.
They saw Paige and Ronnie.
"Look at this," the lead scavenger sneered. He was a big man with rotting teeth and a machete. "The cannibal crew. Digging for scraps."
Ronnie straightened up, clutching a pair of boots he'd scavenged. He looked terrified. "Back off. This is Sector 1 territory."
"Sector 1?" The scavenger laughed. He shoved Ronnie.
Ronnie stumbled and fell into the mud. The scavenger kicked him in the ribs.
"Sector 1 is a graveyard," the scavenger spat. "We saw the smoke. Your boss is probably dead. And you two look like you haven't eaten in a week."
He turned to Paige. He looked her up and down with a hungry, predatory grin.
"You look soft, darling. A little dirty, but soft."
He reached for her.
Paige flinched, dropping the saddlebag. She backed up against the muddy bank.
"Don't touch me," she whispered.
"Or what?" the scavenger asked. "You gonna call your monster?"
"No," I said.
I stepped off the truck hood. I landed in the mud with a heavy thud.
The scavengers spun around.
I didn't draw the Fang. I didn't raise the Barrett. I just stood there. My coat was open, revealing the blood-stained tactical vest. My skin was pale, my veins pulsing with the faint, sick orange of the User Chill.
The lead scavenger's eyes widened. He recognized the look. He recognized the Cruelty.
"The Architect," he whispered.
"You pushed my welder," I said. My voice was low, barely louder than the wind.
"We... we didn't know," the man stammered, backing away. "We thought they were stragglers. We're just passing through."
"You touched my property," I said.
I walked toward him. The other four scavengers scattered, scrambling back up the embankment like roaches. They abandoned their leader without a second thought.
The leader raised his machete. His hand was shaking. "Stay back! I'll cut you!"
I didn't stop. I walked right into his reach.
He swung.
I caught his wrist.
My grip was iron. The Tank Class residuals from the Echo, mixed with the passive strength of a Level 15 User, made his arm feel like a twig.
I squeezed.
CRACK.
His wrist snapped. The machete fell into the mud.
He screamed, dropping to his knees.
"Please!" he begged. "Please, man, I'm hungry! I just wanted the boots!"
I looked at Ronnie. He was sitting in the mud, clutching his ribs. I looked at Paige. She was shaking, her eyes locked on me.
"Ronnie," I said. "Come here."
Ronnie scrambled up. He walked over, wary.
"He kicked you," I said.
"Yeah," Ronnie said.
"Take his coat," I ordered.
Ronnie blinked. "What?"
"His coat," I said. "It's North Face. Down filled. Yours is threadbare. Take it."
Ronnie looked at the scavenger. The man was whimpering, cradling his broken wrist.
"Take it," I repeated. "And his boots. Yours have a hole in the sole."
Ronnie stepped forward. He unzipped the scavenger's coat. The man tried to pull away.
I tightened my grip on his broken wrist. He screamed again.
"Let him take it," I whispered.
Ronnie stripped the coat off the sobbing man. He put it on. It was too big, but it was warm. He took the boots.
"Paige," I said.
She stepped forward.
"He tried to grab you," I said. "Take his bag. Whatever he has in it. It's yours."
Paige grabbed the canvas sack from the man's belt. She opened it. Two cans of peaches. A lighter.
She looked at me. For the first time, she didn't look at me with fear. She looked at me with... recognition.
"Get out of here," I told the scavenger. "Crawling. If I see you standing up before you hit the highway, I take your other hand."
The man scrambled away through the mud, weeping, crawling on his knees and one hand.
I turned to my crew.
Ronnie was buttoning the warm coat. He touched the fabric like it was gold.
"You didn't have to do that, Jack," Ronnie said quietly.
"I can't have my welder freezing to death," I said. "Inefficient."
"He hurt me," Ronnie said. "And you broke him."
"You belong to the Silo," I said. "Nobody touches the Silo's assets."
I walked back toward the truck.
"Load up," I said. "We have a schedule."
I felt their eyes on my back.
They weren't looking at a monster anymore. They were looking at a wall. A cold, hard, unfeeling wall that stood between them and the wolves.
And for the first time since the mutiny, I felt the needle on their loyalty move.
`[RONNIE LOYALTY: 60% -> 75%.]`
`[PAIGE LOYALTY: 45% -> 60%.]`
They were starving. They were terrified. But they were mine.