Day 29.
The Command Deck.
Sauget, Illinois.
06:00 Hours.
The sun rose on Day 29 like a bruised eye.
The smog layer over East St. Louis was thick, trapped by a thermal inversion that turned the sky a sickly, suffocating yellow. There was no wind. The smoke from the burnt Enclave trucks rose in straight, black pillars, like bars on a cage.
I stood at the map table. The holographic projector hummed, casting a blue glow over my hands.
`[CULL COUNTDOWN: 24 HOURS.]`
`[CURRENT RANK: 178.]`
`[STATUS: QUALIFIED.]`
We had done it. We were in the Top 200.
But the text below the ranking was what kept me staring.
`[PHASE 1 COMPLETION PENDING.]`
`[SERVER WIPE: SCHEDULED.]`
"It doesn't say 'Game Over,'" I whispered. "It says 'Phase 1'."
"Is there a difference?" Boyd asked.
He was sitting in the corner, plugged into the backup generator. He had woken up from his EMP coma an hour ago. He hadn't asked for water. He hadn't asked for food. He had asked for a copper wire.
Now, he sat with the wire wrapped around his wrist, his eyes glowing a steady, unblinking blue. He looked less like a twelve-year-old boy and more like a peripheral device.
"Timeline 1 was a wipe," I said. "Because I failed. I died at Rank 47. The System deleted the instance because it was corrupt."
I looked at the blue wireframe of the Silo. It was battered. Level 1 was gone. The walls were slag. But the core—the Command Deck, the Lung, the Gutter—was operational.
"What if the wipe isn't a deletion?" I asked. "What if it's a format? A reset for the next level?"
Boyd tilted his head. "Optimization requires iteration. If the current build is stable, you don't delete it. You patch it."
"Exactly," I said.
I grabbed the radio microphone.
"All stations," I said. "This is Jack. Meet in the Lung. Mandatory attendance. Even the wounded."
The Lung (Level 2).
07:00 Hours.
The crew gathered among the hydroponic trays. The air was thick with oxygen and the smell of damp earth—a sharp contrast to the chemical stench of the surface.
There were twenty-eight of us left.
Travis sat on a crate of fertilizer, eating a can of peaches with a plastic spoon. His new club-arm rested on his knee, heavy and grey.
Helen sat in a wheelchair we'd scavenged. She had an oxygen mask around her neck. Her breathing was a wet, rattling wheeze.
Ronnie stood by the door, thumbing the safety on his welding torch. His eyepatch was fresh white gauze.
Yana leaned against the wall, her hand hovering over her stomach.
And Paige. She stood with the Nulls, but she stood straighter than she had in weeks. She held a mop handle like a spear.
"Tomorrow is Day 30," I said. "At midnight, the clock hits zero."
The room was silent. They knew.
"Most of the world thinks the sky is going to turn black and we're all going to dissolve," I said. "And maybe they're right. In my first life, that's what happened."
I looked at them.
"But I think they're wrong. The Enclave didn't attack us yesterday because they wanted to kill us. They attacked us because they were scared. They know something. The Zealots know something. They're talking about 'Ascension' and 'New Flesh.'"
I tapped the map table I had dragged down with me.
"I think this was just the entrance exam," I said. "I think tomorrow, the real game starts."
"So we don't die?" Ronnie asked, hope cracking his voice.
"We might," I said. "But if we don't... we need to be ready for whatever comes next. We aren't spending the next twenty-four hours praying. We're spending them sharpening knives."
I looked at Boyd.
"Weld the final reinforcements on the roof," I ordered. "If Phase 2 brings air support, I want steel over our heads."
"On it," Boyd droned.
"Yana," I said. "Teach the Nulls how to use a knife. Basic gut-work. If the ammo runs out, they need to know how to bleed something."
Yana nodded. "Understood."
"Travis," I said.
The big man looked up.
"Eat," I said. "Eat everything left in the stockpile. If tomorrow is a fight, I want you at 100% capacity."
Travis grinned. "You got it, Boss."
"What about us?" Paige asked.
"You survive," I said. "You clean the guns. You load the mags. You write your names on the walls so the next guy knows you were here."
The Roof.
18:00 Hours.
The sun began to set. It was the last sunset of the world as we knew it.
I stood by the hatch, watching the sky. The clouds were gathering, dark and purple, swirling around the invisible drain of the Server Wipe.
I activated Decay Sight.
I looked at my crew, scattered across the compound doing their final prep.
TRAVIS: `[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 40%.]`
Notes: Tank resilience high. Injuries critical.
YANA: `[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 68%.]`
Notes: Shadow Class evasion high. Biological anomaly acting as a buffer?
HELEN: `[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 22%.]`
Notes: Lung capacity 40%. She won't survive a run.
BOYD: `[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 89%.]`
Notes: High System synchronization. The machine likes him.
RONNIE: `[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 12%.]`
Notes: Infection risk. Despair.
PAIGE: `[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 35%.]`
Notes: Null. No special protection. Willpower high.
I looked at my own reflection in the puddles of acid rain.
`[JACK MONROE.]`
`[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 2%.]`
I laughed. It was a dry, hacking sound.
"Two percent," I whispered. "Same as last time."
`[ADMINISTRATOR: YOU HAVE PERFORMED ADEQUATELY, ARCHITECT. RANK 178. UNEXPECTED.]`
`[ROOT: NOT BAD FOR A MEATBAG. WANT TO MAKE A DEAL FOR TOMORROW? I CAN BUMP THAT 2% TO 50%. JUST LET ME IN.]`
"No deals," I said to the air. "If I die, I die. But I'm taking as many of you bastards with me as I can."
I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket. It was the blueprint the Administrator had given me yesterday.
WATER PURIFICATION PLANT.
I hadn't built it. I didn't have the materials. But looking at it... it felt like a promise.
"If we make it," I whispered. "We drink clean water."
I folded the paper and put it in my vest, right over my heart.
The sun dipped below the horizon. The sky turned a bruised, angry black.
"Jack?"
It was Paige. She had climbed up the ladder. She was holding two tin cups and the last of the whiskey bottle Helen had been nursing.
"The sun's down," she said.
"Yeah."
She handed me a cup. "One drink. For the road."
I took it. "We're on duty, Paige."
"The world ends in six hours, Jack," she said. "Drink the damn whiskey."
I drank. It burned going down, warming the Cruelty chill in my chest for a second.
"I forgave you," she said suddenly. "About the boots. About the name. I know why you did it."
"I did it to break you," I said.
"You did it to wake me up," she corrected. "Vanessa died in the elevator. Paige is alive. Paige is going to kill anyone who tries to take this roof."
She looked at me. Her eyes were clear.
"You saved me," she whispered. "Even if you hate yourself for how you did it."
"I don't hate myself," I said. "I just know what I am."
"What are you?"
I looked at the ranking number burning in my vision.
"I'm the Architect," I said. "And this is my building."
I poured the rest of the whiskey onto the roof. A libation for the concrete.
"Go downstairs," I said. "Get in the Lung. When the clock hits zero... hold onto something."
Paige nodded. She touched my arm, then descended the ladder.
I stayed on the roof.
Five hours.
I checked the magazine of the Barrett. Five rounds.
I checked the Fang. Full.
I checked my Sanity. 70%.
I was ready.
FOUNDRY PROTOCOL - DAY 29
SECTOR 1 (JACK MONROE) ████████░░ 8/10 Nodes
RANK: 178 (Qualified)
STATUS: THE CALM
System: Awaiting Phase 2 Initialization
Next Event: The Long Night / Day 30