The Apocalypse Where Everyone Has One Life

Chapter 5: The Debt of the Scavengers

The obsidian plateau stretched out like an endless, frozen sea under the bruised, violet sky. Diego’s lungs burned, each breath feeling like he was inhaling needles, but he didn't stop. Beside him, Beatriz moved with the silent, predatory efficiency of a shadow, her hand never leaving the hilt of her blade.

They huddled behind a jagged spire of black rock, the only cover for miles. In the distance, the Threshold hummed, a low-frequency vibration that rattled Diego’s teeth.

"You hear that?" Beatriz whispered, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Hear what?" Diego leaned in, straining his ears.

"Movement. Not the wind. Heavy boots on stone."

Diego focused. The System flickered—Equilibrium—and then, a faint, rhythmic crunching sound cut through the oppressive silence.

"They’re close," Diego murmured, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Keep your voice down," Beatriz hissed, shifting her weight. "If they’re out here, they’re scavengers. But not the desperate kind. These are the ones who trade with the Threshold."

"What does that mean?"

"It means they have equipment," she said, narrowing her eyes. "They have guns."

Diego peeked around the side of the spire. A group of four men emerged from the shifting mist. They were clad in reinforced scavenger gear, armor patched together from scrap metal and thick synthetic rubber. They moved in a tactical formation, their weapons leveled.

"We have to move," Diego whispered. "They’re heading right for this ridge."

"We can’t outrun them on open ground," Beatriz countered, her voice ice-cold. "We have to hold the line."

"Hold the line? Beatriz, there’s four of them, and we have one sword and a piece of scrap metal."

"Then you’d better start making that Ledger work, Diego."

Diego squinted, forcing the System to initialize. The blue pane rippled, then settled. He locked his gaze onto the leader—a tall man with a scarred face and a jagged, heavy rifle slung across his chest.

Above the man's head, the numbers flared. It wasn't the crimson of Rian’s debt. It was a deep, necrotic violet, pulsating with an impossible intensity.

Target: Marcus.

Debt Balance: 12,450.

"Twelve thousand," Diego whispered, his blood running cold. "Beatriz, his number... it’s huge."

Beatriz glanced at the leader, her face paling. "That’s not just a scavenger. That’s a Collector. He’s harvested thousands of lives."

"What do we do?"

"We wait until they get into the kill zone," she said, pointing to a narrow crevice between the rocks. "If we hit them there, we can negate their range advantage. Are you ready to do this?"

"I don't know if I can kill them," Diego admitted, his hands trembling.

"Then you’re dead," she said, not as an insult, but as a plain, brutal fact. "In this place, you don't choose who lives. You choose who loses. Do you want to be the one who loses?"

The men stopped just twenty yards away. The leader, Marcus, raised a hand, signaling his team to halt. He sniffed the air, his eyes scanning the rocks.

"I smell fresh pulse," Marcus called out, his voice booming across the plateau.

Diego felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead.

"We aren't looking for trouble," Beatriz shouted back, stepping out from behind the spire with her blade drawn.

Marcus turned his head, his gaze locking onto hers. A slow, cruel grin spread across his scarred face. "Beatriz. I heard you were drifting near the Threshold. Didn't think you’d be so foolish as to lead a stray dog with you."

"Stay back, Marcus," Beatriz warned, her stance lowering. "This territory is claimed."

"Claimed? By who? The dust?" Marcus laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He tilted his head, his eyes shifting toward Diego. The smile vanished, replaced by a look of confusion that slowly curdled into recognition.

"Wait," Marcus whispered, the mockery draining from his voice. "Who is that behind you?"

"Nobody," Beatriz snapped.

"No," Marcus said, taking a step forward, his rifle lowering slightly. "I know that face. That’s... that’s Diego?"

Diego froze. His mind raced, his heart nearly stopping. "How do you know my name?"

Marcus didn't answer. He blinked, his pupils dilating as if he were staring at something only he could see. "The Ledger... it’s been whispering about a glitch. A name that shouldn't be here."

"I’m not a glitch," Diego shouted, his voice cracking.

"You’re a vacancy," Marcus countered, his tone turning desperate. "Do you have any idea how much the Threshold is paying for a clean slate like you?"

"I’m not for sale," Diego spat.

"Everything is for sale when you’re in arrears, boy," Marcus said, raising his rifle. "Men, take them. Kill the girl, but bring the boy to the gate alive."

"Now, Diego!" Beatriz screamed, lunging toward the nearest scavenger.

Diego didn't think. He didn't weigh the morality of the action. He felt the System pulse, a hot, liquid surge of adrenaline flooding his veins. He saw the world in slow motion—the trajectory of the bullets, the way Marcus’s fingers tightened on the trigger, the gap in his armor right at the shoulder.

"Down!" Diego yelled, tackling a scavenger who had flanked them.

The struggle was violent, raw, and desperate. Diego felt the rough fabric of the scavenger's vest, the smell of ozone and stale sweat filling his nose. He brought the piece of scrap metal down with everything he had.

Debt Transferred: +850.

A surge of power, dark and intoxicating, flowed into him. His vision cleared, the numbers above his head flickering from 0 to 850.

He scrambled up, turning toward Marcus, who was busy trying to line up a shot on Beatriz.

"Hey!" Diego shouted.

Marcus turned. "You? You’ve already made a kill? You were a zero a second ago!"

"I’m learning," Diego growled, the gold text in his mind burning like a brand.

"You’re just another debtor, Diego," Marcus sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "And your interest is about to be collected."

"Beatriz, move!" Diego lunged at Marcus, the world around them blurring into a streak of violet and black.

The sound of gunfire shattered the silence, followed by the metallic clang of steel meeting stone. Diego dove into the crevice, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked at his hands—they were covered in black, oily dust.

He looked up at the gate, at the white marble pillars that seemed to be watching him, waiting.

"Is he dead?" Diego asked, his voice a whisper.

Beatriz stood over the cooling body of one of the scavengers, her blade dripping with a faint, iridescent liquid. She looked at Marcus, who was regrouping behind a pile of boulders, and then back at Diego.

"No," she said, her eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. "He’s just the scout. The rest of them will be here before the sky cycles."

"Why do they want me so badly?" Diego asked, looking at his own hands. "What makes me so special?"

Beatriz leaned against the rock, her hand trembling as she wiped her blade. "It’s not what you are, Diego. It’s what you represent. To them, you’re the ultimate debt. A life that hasn't been written into the Ledger yet."

She looked at him, her expression a mix of pity and fear. "And in a world that runs on ghosts, you’re the only thing that’s truly real."

Diego looked toward the Threshold. The gold text in his mind flared once more, a single line of light that cut through the darkness.

Audit status: Escalated. Priority: High.

"They aren't just coming for me," Diego whispered. "They’re coming for everything."

Beatriz sheathed her blade and turned toward the gate. "Then stop standing there, Diego. If we’re going to be erased, we might as well die at the source."

Diego took one last look at the scarred, furious face of Marcus emerging from the rocks, his weapon leveled and ready. He felt the weight of the 850 debt in his gut, a heavy, sinking feeling that made him feel more alive than he had ever been.

"Let’s go," Diego said, his voice steadying. "Let’s go see what this gate is really hiding."

They broke into a run, the obsidian plateau stretching out before them like an infinite, silent tomb, while behind them, the shouts of the scavengers grew louder, tearing through the thin, cold air of a world that refused to let them go.