2026-08-21 21:26:08The tunnel smelled of stagnant water and old secrets. Wei Xian shoved the grate aside, pulling himself into the humid night air of a back alley in Bukit Timah. Gabriel followed, his breathing heavy and ragged, clutching his shoulder.
"You good, Gabe?" Wei Xian whispered, pulling his tactical light into a low-power mode.
"Just a scratch, man. Stop fussing," Gabriel grunted, his face pale under the streetlamps.
"A scratch doesn't make you sweat like you've been running a marathon in a sauna. That bite looks deeper than you're letting on."
"I said I'm fine. Focus on the exit, Tan. The military patrols are already sweeping the main roads."
"You heard that transmission, right? 'No survivors.' They aren't looking for patients, they’re looking for targets," Wei Xian said, checking his HUD. "We have twenty minutes before they seal the Bukit Timah expressway. If we don't hit the bunker by then, we're stuck in the open."
They stepped out of the alley into a neighborhood HDB block. The silence was wrong. It wasn't the peaceful quiet of 3 a.m.; it was the terrified, held-breath silence of a hunting ground.
"Look, the lift lobby," Gabriel pointed. A group of people were barricading the door with vending machines and heavy wooden benches.
"Don't get involved," Wei Xian warned. "We don't have the time or the ammo."
Suddenly, an elderly woman in a floral blouse charged out from behind a pillar, swinging a prickly, oversized durian like a morning star. She screamed at a twitching, pale figure crawling toward them from the shadows.
"You want to eat my grandson? Eat this, you damn ghost!" She slammed the durian into the creature’s face. The spikes shredded the creature’s cheek, sending it recoiling into the darkness.
"Is she... is she winning?" Gabriel stared, bewildered.
Wei Xian grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the back service stairs. "She’s got the right idea, but we don't. Move!"
"Wait, we can't just leave them!" Gabriel barked, his military training warring with his exhaustion.
"We leave them, or we all die. Which one is it, Major? You want to be a hero for five minutes or an anchor for the cure?"
Gabriel stumbled, clutching his shoulder. "Fine. But if I turn, don't waste the bullets on me. Save them for the ones who actually have a choice."
"You’re not turning, Gabe. Don't say that crap," Wei Xian hissed.
They reached the perimeter fence of the reserve. A blockade of olive-drab trucks barred the path. A Lieutenant stood in the center, barking orders into a radio.
"That's Major Lim," Gabriel muttered, sinking behind a dumpster. "He’s a shark. He’s been gunning for my position for three years. If he sees me, he won't ask questions. He’ll execute the order."
"He doesn't have to see us," Wei Xian said, pulling out a burner phone. "I’ve got a favor to call in. The Geylang syndicate has been waiting for an excuse to kick the hornet’s nest."
"You’re going to start a riot? Here?"
"I’m going to start a fire three miles down the road. It’ll draw the patrol units away from the gate."
Wei Xian typed a rapid command. Seconds later, the city’s skyline flickered as a massive substation in the distance erupted in a geyser of blue and orange electricity. The explosion shook the ground.
"What did you do?" Gabriel gasped.
"The grid is already unstable. A little surge here, a short-circuit there... the whole sector is going dark," Wei Xian said, watching the gate.
Sure enough, the soldiers at the checkpoint turned, their rifles swinging toward the horizon. "Report!" Lim yelled into his radio, sprinting toward his command vehicle. "All units, investigate the source!"
"Go. Now!" Wei Xian shoved Gabriel.
They scrambled through the gap in the wire fence, their hearts hammering against their ribs. They hit the forest floor, scrambling over roots and mud until they reached the hidden pipe.
Wei Xian shoved the door open and they tumbled into the cold, concrete belly of the bunker. The heavy steel door groaned, then slammed shut, sealing the world away.
"We’re in," Ah Beng gasped, collapsing against a stack of crates. "We actually made it."
Sarah Low rushed forward, her eyes scanning their blood-streaked clothes. "You’re both hurt. Let me see the wounds."
"I'm fine," Gabriel said, leaning against the wall, though his legs were trembling.
Sarah grabbed his arm, her expression hardening as she saw the dark, inflamed bite on his shoulder. She didn't say a word. She just pulled a thermal scanner from her bag and pressed it against his neck.
Her face went white. She looked at Wei Xian, then at the man slumped against the wall.
"Wei Xian," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible. "He’s running a fever of 104 degrees."
Wei Xian stepped forward, his hand drifting toward his sidearm. "Gabe? You hear me? Tell me you're not burning up."
Gabriel lifted his head. His eyes weren't clear. The edges of his pupils were blurring, bleeding into the white, the same sickly, bruised purple they had seen in the sky.
"I... I feel cold," Gabriel rasped, a jagged, inhuman laugh escaping his lips. "Is this what the upgrade feels like, Tan?"
Wei Xian felt the floor drop out from under him. The bunker was supposed to be their sanctuary. It was supposed to be the end of the mission.
"Sarah," Wei Xian warned, his voice low, "get away from him."
"It's too late," Gabriel whispered, his voice shifting into a dissonant, layered hum that vibrated the very air of the bunker. "You should have shot me when you had the chance."
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Chapter 124: The Ledger’s Next Page
The morning sun cut sharp, golden lines across the mahogany desk, turning the dust motes dancing in the air into suspended embers. Mdm. Lim sat motionless, her posture as rigid as the structure supporting them. She dipped her brush into the fresh charcoal ink, the smell of it—earthy, biting, and permanent—filling the cramped office. With a steady hand, she wrote the date at the top margin of the ledger. The ink soaked into the recycled paper, a black stroke marking the beginning of a cycle, a promise of order in a world that favored chaos.Scratch. Scratch. Thump.Gabriel stepped into the doorway, his silhouette blocking the glare from the veranda. He held a grease-stained tally sheet in his hand, his knuckles white from the strain of gripping it."The weights are in," Gabriel said, his voice raspy from the salt air. "The mackerel crates from Vance’s latest run were consistent. Fifty-two ki
Chapter 123: The Horizon Check II
"The silence is the most dangerous part of the dry season," Mdm. Lim murmured, her gaze fixed on the darkening stretch of the Jurong channel. She didn't wait for a response, her fingers tracing the worn wood of the railing, testing the grain for signs of rot—a lifelong habit of a woman who measured the world in structural integrity.Gabriel looked at her, noting the way the fading light deepened the lines around her eyes. She looked tired, not just from the day's labor, but from the cumulative weight of keeping this fragile cluster of stilts above the rising, hungry tide. "It’s not just the silence, Mdm. Lim. It’s what’s hiding in it.""Exactly," she replied, a sharp edge to her voice. "We’ve had the northerners, we’ve had the gear failure, and we’ve had the cistern crisis. We’re overdue for something truly catastrophic. The sea rarely lets us enjoy a week of smooth winch operatio
Chapter 122: The Evening Heat
The sun dipped below the flat horizon, painting the oily surface of the Jurong channel in dull shades of copper and violet. The heat, which had been a hammer blow against the back of the neck for the better part of fourteen hours, began to lose its sharp, predatory edge, settling into a thick, humid stillness. It was the hour of the cooling breeze, though "cool" was a relative term in the stilt-settlement; it merely meant the air was no longer actively blistering the skin.Gabriel leaned against the cedar railing—the one Wei Xian had reinforced with cross-bracing and salvaged drift-bolts just three days ago. He felt it hold steady under his weight, a solid, unyielding contrast to the constant, shifting instability of the life they led. Below him, the tide was licking at the barnacle-crusted piles, the sound rhythmic and hypnotic."You’re thinking too loud, Gabriel," a voice drifted from the shadows of the walkway.
Chapter 121: The Repair of the Crane
The iron-on-iron shriek that had haunted the Jurong dockside for three weeks finally died, replaced by a low, rhythmic hum. Kai gripped the hand-winch, feeling the cold, smooth tension of the gear train as it transferred his physical effort into the heavy lift. The improvement was intoxicating. Where once the crane had stuttered and groaned, threatening to fracture its own mounting bolts, it now swung with a precision that bordered on grace."Ease it," Wei Xian called out from the veranda, his voice cutting through the humid air. He was hunched over a steaming mug of tea, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the movement of the loading arm. "If you snap that cable, you’re the one who has to splice it in the salt-spray. Keep the torque steady."Kai didn’t look back. He leaned into the winch, his biceps burning as he guided the heavy, salt-encrusted crate of dried mackerel upward. It hung for a moment, suspended over the
Chapter 120: The Ledger of Grace
The scratch of Mdm. Lim’s charcoal brush against the rough, recycled paper was the only sound in the office. It was a rhythmic, scratching pulse, like the steady beat of a heart, punctuating the stillness of the afternoon. Outside the thin, salt-worn walls of the command hut, the stilt-settlement hummed with the mundane, desperate industry of survival. The wind had begun to howl, a dry, abrasive gust that rattled the loose corrugated tin sheets overhead, carrying the scent of parched earth and distant, decaying mangroves.Mdm. Lim did not look up when the door creaked open. She didn't need to. The pattern of the footsteps—heavy, deliberate, yet hesitant—told her exactly who it was."The cistern is finished," Gabriel said, his voice gravelly from a day of breathing in the damp, claustrophobic air of the underground tank. He leaned against the doorframe, his clothes stiff with dried mud and the white, chalky residue of hy
Chapter 119: The Deep Cistern Repair
Gabriel leaned his weight against the iron-shod handle of the sounding line, watching the grease-marked cord slip slowly down into the dark throat of the primary concrete cistern. The damp air rising from the subterranean chamber smelled of wet limestone, stagnant runoff, and the faint, mineral bitterness of ancient dregs. Beside him, Kai wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of a soot-dusted forearm, his eyes fixed on the descending cord."How deep is the drop this week, Gabriel?" Kai asked, his voice echoing slightly against the low, curved concrete ceiling of the access hatch. "Is the silt line climbing faster than Mdm. Lim calculated in the evening audit?""Two inches lower than Tuesday," Gabriel replied, his tone flat as he pinched the wet cord between his calloused fingers to mark the exact water level. "If we don't clear the intake pipe before the wind shifts fully to the south, the whole distribution manifold is g
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