Chapter 4
No.
No. No. No.
Finn was right there. He was right there. Cypher said as he shook his head even as he could see nothing but a cloud of red dust.
His lungs were stone. He tried to breathe in but he couldn't. Only a wheeze came out as he tried to come to terms with what just happened. His eyes, fixed on the empty patch of sky, started to burn. The hot splash of Finn's blood was already cooling on his face, feeling tight and sticky on his skin. It felt like a mask he could never take off.
His ears rang from a high pitch whine. He didn't understand where it was coming from but it blocked the other sounds. It blocked out the sound of people moving and running.
He was kneeling, though he didn't remember falling. His hands were flat on the gritty surface of the roof, but he couldn't feel the texture. He couldn't feel the weight of the satchel on his back or the hydro-spanner tucked inside it. He was a statue carved from shock, a silent monument to a friendship that had just been erased.
The world outside his bubble of horror was screaming. He was deaf to it. The race to the north gate was over before it had truly begun. He didn't see the other runners on the surrounding rooftops break their stride, their single-minded desperation shattering into a thousand shards of individual panic. He didn't see them scatter like cockroaches when the lights came on, scrambling for the pathetic cover of ventilation units and rusted maintenance hatches. Or people struggling to get a mask over their nose so as not to breathe in the air. He was blind to the new shapes that detached themselves from the swirling, diseased grey of the Fog, descending upon the district not like birds of prey, but like a thrown handful of broken glass, all jagged angles and unnatural movement.
He didn't hear the new screams. These weren't the simple shouts of panic and exertion from the race. These were different. They were wet and choked, the sounds of people drowning on dry land as the Fog seeped into their lungs. They were the sounds of agony as bodies began to change, as bones popped and skin stretched into new, awful shapes. They were the sounds of things being torn apart.
A heavy, wet thud on the rooftop directly in front of him finally managed to pierce the veil. It wasn't loud, but it was close. His gaze, slow and unwilling, lowered from the sky to the thing that had landed.
The word "creature" didn't do it justice. It looked like a mistake. It had landed with a clumsy, awkward weight, its two legs, thin as a bird's but covered in matted fur, buckling for a second before steadying. Its eyes were two milky, clouded marbles that held no spark of intelligence, only a deep, endless hunger. A twitching, whiskered nose that belonged on a mouse sat horribly on a face that was otherwise vaguely bird-like, framed by tattered, leathery wings that seemed too small for its body. It was as if someone had taken the parts of two completely different animals, broken them, and then glued them back together in the dark. It took a shuffling, uneven step forward, a low hiss escaping its beak-like mouth.
As it moved, a low hum started up beside Cypher. Glitch.
The automaton had pulled itself up, its metal body scarred from the fall, and placed itself squarely between Cypher and the monster. A growl, a deep, synthesized rumble designed to mimic a dog's fury, vibrated from its speaker grill. Glitch had no claws, no teeth, no weapons of any kind. Its programming was for diagnostics, companionship, and navigation. But its core protocol, Guardian, was absolute. There was no way Glitch would have been able to win against the creature but it wasn't giving up.
It was like it knew Cypher wasn't in the position to take charge. To run for his life so he took on the role to protect him.
The creature lunged, a blur of mismatched limbs. But it never reached them.
A brilliant, searing line of cobalt-blue light cut through the air. It didn't make a loud bang like a slugthrower, but a sharp, electric crack, like lightning in a puddle. The air smelled suddenly different. It was clean and sharp. The bolt of light hit the monster directly in its forehead, and for a split second, the creature was lit up from the inside, its malformed skeleton visible before it collapsed in a heap. It landed with a soft, final thud, its twitching limbs falling still just inches from Glitch's feet.
Footsteps crunched on the roof, slow and deliberate. A figure walked into Cypher's field of view, moving with a calm purpose that felt insane in the middle of the chaos. He was a tall man, wrapped in a long, dark coat made of some tough, worn material that had seen better days. In one hand, he held a sleek, blocky pistol, the source of the blue light, its barrel still faintly glowing.
The man stopped a few feet away. He wore a mask, similar in function to the one Cypher had given Finn, but it was a more serious piece of equipment. Where Cypher's was a simple filter over the nose and mouth, this man's was a heavy-duty rebreather that covered the entire lower half of his face, with thick canisters on either side.
His eyes scanned the scene: the dead creature, the protective stance of Glitch, and finally, Cypher. His gaze lingered on the blood spattered across Cypher's face, the utter, unseeing shock in his wide, grey eyes. The part of his face visible above the mask told a story of a hard life. A thick, white scar cut a jagged path down from his hairline, slicing right through his left eyebrow. That eye was a dead thing, a milky, clouded orb that stared blankly forward, completely blind.
But the other eye was alive. It was a piercing, sharp brown, and it took in everything with a cold, analytical focus.
The man strode forward. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't speak a word of comfort. He simply drew back his free hand and drove his fist, hard, into Cypher's stomach.
The air Cypher had struggled to breathe rushed out of his lungs in a choked, desperate gasp. Cypher took control of his body. His grief was forgotten for a small moment. He glared up at the stranger, his arms instinctively wrapping around his stomach as he coughed, finally, desperately, breathing again.
The man gave a single, curt nod, as if this was the exact reaction he'd wanted. His one good eye held no pity not empathy.
"Follow me if you want to survive," he said. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, filtered through the mask but losing none of its authority.
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned his back on Cypher and began walking toward the far edge of the roof, his long coat swirling around his boots.
Cypher pushed himself up, his arms and legs trembling with weakness. And for the first time since Finn was taken, he truly saw. He saw the world beyond his grief.
The rooftop was a butcher's shop. The other runners who had been near them were now just… pieces. A half-eaten body lay twisted against a ventilation unit, its insides, a mess of red ropes and tubes, spilled across the rusted steel. Bones, picked clean and white, were scattered like thrown dice. The air was thick with the coppery, metallic smell of blood, so heavy it was like walking into a wall.
He scrambled to his feet, his legs feeling like they were made of jelly. He looked at the departing stranger, a man who had appeared from nowhere, killed a monster, and punched him in the stomach. He didn't know him. He didn't trust him. But every other option was death.
His hand dove into his satchel, his fingers closing around the familiar, cold, heavy steel of his hydro-spanner. He gripped it tightly, its weight a small, solid comfort in a world that had dissolved into madness. It wasn't a gun, but it was something.
He took one last look at the rooftop, especially the place where Finn had disappeared and noticed something glinting. He frowned and moved towards it. He noticed the necklace. A charm which Finn always wore. It was stained with blood but it was the only thing remaining of Finn. He picked it up and ran after the disappearing back of the mysterious stranger. Finn may have died on the roof but he would always be with Cypher.
People remaining: 299,199
Accepted residents: 0