REBORN 9 HOURS AFTER BETRAYAL

0007

The darkness of the subway tunnel was thick enough to chew on. It wasn’t just the lack of light; it was that damn Black Mist seeping down from the surface, turning the air into a soup of metallic dust and old, wet basement smells. Our headlights cut through the gloom in two shaky white beams, reflecting off the rusted tracks and the occasional skeletal remains of a stalled train car.

Inside the BearCat, the silence was heavy. Every time the tires crunched over a piece of debris or a stray bone, the sound echoed like a gunshot in the enclosed space.

DING!

Mutation Level: 0.19%

Warning: Enclosed space detected. Hive Sense sensitivity increased.

"Keep your eyes on the ceiling, Jaxen," I muttered. My hand was still resting on his shoulder, and I could feel the tension in his muscles. He was vibrating like a tuning fork. To a guy with "Hyper-Awareness," this tunnel was probably screaming at him. "The System says there’s Mimics down here. Those bastards don’t fight fair."

Jaxen didn’t take his eyes off the path. "I know. I can hear 'em. Sounds like... wet static."

He shifted gears, the armored truck crawling forward. "And stop calling me Jaxen. It’s Commander. Or sir."

I let out a short, dry laugh. "Look around, 'Commander.' The world just took a giant dump on the chain of command. Out there, people are burning. In here, it’s just you, me, and whatever is hungry. I think we’re past the 'sir' stage, don’t you?"

He didn’t argue, but I saw his jaw tighten. Typical military hard-ass. Even when the sky is falling, he wants to worry about his shiny badges.

Suddenly, the BearCat’s headlights caught something about fifty yards ahead. A woman was standing in the middle of the tracks. She was wearing a tattered business suit, her hair a bird’s nest of knots, and she was waving her arms frantically.

"Help! Please, stop!" she wailed. Her voice was thin, cracking with desperation. "My baby... he’s trapped in the car! Please!"

Jaxen’s foot drifted toward the brake. His hero instincts were screaming louder than his common sense. "Mateo, look. A survivor."

"Don’t you dare," I hissed, my fingers digging into his tactical vest. "Look at her feet, Jaxen. Use that super-brain of yours."

He squinted. In the harsh glare of the LEDs, I saw it. The woman wasn’t wearing shoes, but she wasn’t bleeding either. Her feet didn’t touch the ground quite right—they looked more like gray, fleshy stumps. And her shadow... her shadow had too many joints.

WARNING!

Target Identified: Tier 3 Mimic

Note: They use emotional triggers to lure prey. Do not engage in conversation.

"Please!" the woman shrieked, her face contorting into a mask of grief that looked just a little too perfect. "He’s dying! Help me!"

"Jaxen, floor it," I commanded. "That’s not a woman. That’s a dinner bell."

"But what if—"

"There is no 'what if'!" I shouted, the heat in my blood flaring up. My eyes started to burn with that violet light, and the Eros-Survival System kicked into high gear. "In this life, I don’t play 'hero' for things that don’t have a heartbeat. Drive or move over and let me do it!"

The 'woman' realized the ruse was up. Her jaw didn’t just open; it unhinged, her face splitting apart like a piece of overripe fruit to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. A long, black tongue lashed out, tasting the air. The "baby" she was holding wasn’t a child—it was a pulsing sac of gray meat that let out a high-pitched psychic shriek.

Jaxen didn’t need more convincing. He slammed his boot onto the gas. The BearCat roared, the massive engine drowned out the Mimic’s scream. We hit the creature at sixty miles per hour. There was a sickening squelch and a heavy thud against the reinforced bumper, followed by the sound of something wet being dragged under the chassis for a few yards.

DING!

Tier 3 Mimic Neutralized. +200 SP.

Bonus: Face-Slapping Reward! You denied the predator's trap. +50 SP.

"Jesus," Jaxen panted, his hands shaking on the wheel. "It sounded... it sounded just like a person."

"That’s the point," I said, leaning back and trying to get my heart rate under control. My mutation meter was hovering at 0.22%. I was feeling a bit too "wired," a bit too ready to kill something else. "The Black Sun didn’t just make monsters, Jaxen. They made mirrors. They’re using our own empathy to turn us into snacks."

"And you?" Jaxen asked, casting a sideways glance at me. His blue eyes were searching, wary. "How do you know all this? You’re acting like you’ve been through this war for a decade, but the Mist only dropped this morning."

I looked out at the dark tunnel walls passing by. How could I tell him? 'Hey, I died because my bastard girlfriend used me as a meat shield, and now a computer in my head is telling me how to save your life.' Yeah, that would go over real well.

"I’m a fast learner," I said instead. "And I don’t plan on dying twice."

We drove in silence for another ten minutes before the tunnel widened into an old maintenance hub. Huge iron doors marked with the Hawthorne Physics logo stood at the far end. This was it. The start of my New Eden.

"There’s the entrance," I pointed. "But the power’s out. Those doors are weighted; we aren’t getting through without a jump-start."

Jaxen parked the BearCat, his rifle already in his hands. "I’ll check the breaker box. You stay in the truck."

"Fat chance," I said, swinging my door open. I felt the weight of my machete in my hand, pulled silently from the Space Warehouse. "You might be the 'Anchor,' but I’m the one with the map. We go together."

I stepped out onto the damp concrete. The air here was stagnant, buzzing with a low-frequency hum that made my skin crawl.

DING!

Quest Update: The Birth of New Eden

Objective: Secure the Lab. Eliminate all 'Squatters'.

"Squatters?" I whispered.

Just then, a light flickered on in the guard booth near the doors. A man stepped out, holding a shotgun. He wasn’t a zombie. He was human—or at least, he looked like one. He was wearing a lab coat stained with dark grease and had a wild, twitchy look in his eyes.

"This is private property!" the man screamed. "The Doctor says no guests! The Mist is a gift! You can’t come in!"

Behind him, I saw more movement. Other people—staff, maybe?—but they were all moving with that weird, synchronized rhythm. They weren’t Shamblers, but they weren’t 'us' either. They were "Half-Awake," the poor bastards who got a dose of the Mist but didn’t have the genes to become Architects.

"Jaxen, get down!" I yelled.

The man leveled the shotgun. But before he could pull the trigger, I moved. The 20% mutation boost hit my legs like a shot of nitrous. I wasn’t just running; I was a blur of black clothes and violet eyes.

I didn’t use the machete. I didn’t want to waste the blade on a crazy old man. I slammed into him, my shoulder hitting his chest with the force of a wrecking ball. He flew back into the guard booth, the shotgun clattering to the floor.

"Mateo, stop!" Jaxen shouted, his voice echoing in the hub.

I stood over the man, my hand glowing with a faint, angry light. I could feel his heartbeat—fast, terrified, and so loud. The System was whispering in my ear: [Consume. Expand. Rule.]

"Who is 'The Doctor'?" I hissed, grabbing the man by his collar.

"He... he's the one who stayed!" the man blubbered. "He's making us better! He's the Architect!"

My blood went cold. An Architect? Already? If another Subject had already claimed the lab, this wasn't going to be a simple move-in. It was going to be a coup.

I looked back at Jaxen, who was watching me with a look of pure horror. He wasn't seeing the guy he'd rescued at the gate anymore. He was seeing a King starting to find his crown.

"Change of plans, Jaxen," I said, letting the man drop to the floor. "We aren't just securing a lab. We're taking a throne."

SP Earned: +150

New Target: The Mad Doctor (Subject 009)

"Let's go," I said, walking toward the iron doors. "I want my house back."