Doomsday Gluttony: I Level Up by Eating

Chapter 5

Ryatt’s POV

I stopped dead, my grip tightening on the rifle. The adrenaline from the gargoyle attack was still surging through my veins, but the sight of the people in front of me chilled it instantly. These weren't the starving, frantic survivors I’d just left behind at the pharmacy. 

They stood with a disciplined stillness that made my hair stand up. Their formation was perfect—a tactical semi-circle that didn't just block the road; it claimed it.

"Don't even think about the side gaps," one of them said, a woman to my left holding a heavy steel pipe wrapped in barbed wire.

I glanced over my shoulder. Two more had stepped out from the shadows of the alley behind me, cutting off the way I’d come. They had me boxed in. The way they moved was synchronized, like a pack of wolves that had done this a hundred times.

"You're making a mistake," I said, my voice raspy. I shifted my weight, eyeing a narrow space between a dumpster and the wall to my right. If I used Sprint now, maybe I could—

I bolted.

The moment I lunged, the two men on the right stepped inward. They didn't stumble or hesitate. One of them didn't even use a weapon; he just threw his shoulder into me with a force that felt like hitting a brick wall. I recoiled, my boots skidding on the grit.

"We told you," the man who blocked me said. He didn't look tired. He looked bored. "Stay put."

I pulled back, my heart hammering against my ribs. They were organized. They were experienced. Every exit was sealed before I could even reach for it. These weren't desperate civilians; they were something far more dangerous.

"Who are you?" I demanded, keeping the rifle leveled at the man in the center.

"We are the Awakeners," the broad-shouldered man answered. He stepped forward, his boots crunching on broken glass. "I'm Captain Easton. And you, Ryatt, are a very interesting case study."

"I don't know who you are, and I don't care," I snapped. "Let me through."

Easton ignored the demand, pacing a small arc in front of me. "The world has changed. The sky, the air, the rules—everything is different. We’ve been tracking the shift since the first hour. Most people die. Some survive as husks. But a few... a few awaken."

"Awaken?" I repeated, my mind racing. I kept the system notifications buried deep in my consciousness.

"Strange abilities," Easton said, his eyes scanning me like he was reading a blueprint. "Supernatural traits. We’ve been studying the phenomenon, developing a thesis. According to our findings, people who survive extreme conditions—near-death experiences, high-stress combat, or specific environmental triggers—can gain powers. They become more than human."

He stopped and pointed a finger at me. "We believe you are one of them."

"You're wrong," I said immediately. My pulse spiked. I couldn't let them know. If they knew about the system, or the fact that I was harvesting skills from the dead, I wouldn't just be a survivor to them—I’d be a specimen. "You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m just trying to get home."

"Is that so?" Easton asked, a thin, mocking smile touching his lips. "An ordinary man doesn't walk out of a pharmacy surrounded by a dozen looters unscathed. An ordinary man doesn't survive a run-in with a gargoyle in the middle of a service alley."

"I got lucky," I lied, my voice steady despite the sweat trickling down my spine. "I found a gun and I used it. That’s all. I don't have any 'abilities.' I'm just trying not to starve."

"He’s lying, Captain," the woman with the barbed-wire pipe said. "Look at him. His vitals are too calm for a sick man. He doesn't look like he's dying anymore."

"I told you, I'm just a survivor," I insisted, my grip sweating against the rifle's stock. I didn't mention the Lesser Healing Factor. I didn't mention the Master Firearm Proficiency that was currently telling me exactly how to put a bullet between Easton’s eyes. I just needed them to let me go.

Easton let out a short, dry laugh. "You're a bad actor, Ryatt. I’ve seen enough of your kind to know the difference. You have the look. The way you carry that rifle... it’s not luck. It’s an awakened trait."

He took another step closer, his presence feeling heavier, more suffocating. "But honestly? I don't care if you admit it. Whether you call yourself awakened or not doesn't change what I need from you right now."

"I'm not joining your club," I said.

"I didn't invite you," Easton replied coldly. His eyes dropped to the heavy backpack slung over my shoulders. "We know what you took from that pharmacy. You've got the motherlode of antibiotics and trauma kits in there. Resources like that belong to the Awakeners. We’re the ones building the future here. You’re just a scavenger."

My stomach dropped. "You're robbing me?"

"I'm taxing you for the safety of this sector," Easton said. "Hand over the bag, Ryatt. All of it. The meds, the supplies, the ammo."

"No," I said, the word coming out sharper than I intended.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no," I repeated, my voice hardening. "I went in there. I took the risks. I need these to survive. You have a whole squad of people—go find your own."

Easton’s expression didn't change, which was worse than if he had gotten angry. "I'll give you one more chance. You're clearly talented. I'd rather not waste a potential asset over a few crates of penicillin. Hand over the supplies, and maybe we can talk about a place for you in our ranks. Refuse again, and things get very complicated for you."

I looked at the men surrounding me. If I gave them the bag, I was as good as dead. The healing factor needed fuel, and I needed those supplies to trade for food and better gear. Without them, I was just a walking target.

"I'm not giving you anything," I said.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air seemed to grow thick, heavy with a sudden, violent intent. The members of the Awakeners adjusted their stances, their eyes losing any trace of curiosity. They looked like soldiers waiting for the order to fire.

Easton sighed, a sound of genuine disappointment. "I was hoping you'd be smarter. You have the gift, but you lack the vision."

He stopped trying to reason with me. He didn't even look at me as he spoke to his team.

"Take it from him," Easton commanded. "If he resists, break his legs. We only need his head intact for the questions later."

I braced myself, my boots digging into the asphalt, my finger hovering over the trigger. The Awakeners didn't hesitate. They moved as one, a coordinated wave of bodies and steel closing in on me from all sides.

The man to my left lunged first, his hand glowing with a faint, sickly green light.

"Get him!" Easton roared.