Two days had passed since the supply distribution, and the seven makeshift gathering points in the building had settled into a grim, suffocating quiet. Most survivors kept to their rooms. When someone did venture out, conversations were clipped, eyes averted. The thin illusion of order had shattered on the lobby floor when desperation boiled over into chaos.
Everyone understood now: order was a fragile thing, maintained only by those with power. Most were not Contractors. They did not command flesh-eating monsters bound by blood. They had nothing but fear and dwindling rations. So they stayed out of sight, hoping—praying—that rescue would come before the next crisis.
But the building was turning against them.
First came the gas. Sometime during the second night, the pipes fell silent. Stoves that had hissed with flame gave nothing. Cooking meant scavenging: broken furniture, old books, anything that would burn. But smoke was dangerous in sealed rooms, and fuel was finite. Nathan organized a communal fire in the lobby, a meager hearth fed by splintered chairs and door frames. It was barely enough to boil water, but it kept people from poisoning themselves in their own kitchens.
The water went the next morning. The rooftop tanks still held some—gravity-fed remnants—but the supply lines had gone dry. No new water entered the building. What remained in the tanks, what people had stored in bottles and pots, that was all there would be. No one knew how long it would last. The math was grim.
Outside, the fog pressed against every window, indifferent.
Despair seeped through the building like cold. Muffled crying echoed through ventilation shafts. Arguments flared over nothing and died just as fast. Some had simply stopped speaking.
Jin's group was insulated, for now. They had food stockpiled—enough to last two months if they rationed. Water was tighter, but they still had reserves. While others hoarded and schemed, Jin focused on what mattered: strength.
He had learned that lesson too many times in the past week. Power wasn't just survival. Power was the only language anyone listened to.
Mark and Simon trained their Summons in their rooms, pushing through simple combat drills. Simon, especially, threw himself into it with a desperate focus. His son was still out there, locked in a room on the fifth floor. Jin had told him to wait, to be patient. Simon obeyed, but the tension in his jaw never eased.
Lisa did her own training, but she also kept her Mutant Rat busy. The little creature was unobtrusive, easy to overlook—perfect for watching. Jin had asked her to monitor Josh's faction. What they didn't know could hurt them. What they did know might save their lives.
Jin himself spent the two days in the cognitive space, standing before the Crimson Book, staring at the illustration of Fidex. The Four-Armed Corpse's page had changed since the Spider Monster's essence was assimilated. New lines of text had appeared: Rapid Healing (Passive), Web-Woven Instinct (Passive). The words sat there, inert, waiting.
He wanted to synchronize them. Needed to. Metal Body had already proven its worth—the way his skin could turn aside a blade, absorb impacts that would shatter bone. But the healing… that was the true prize. The ability to keep fighting after a wound that should end anyone else. The spider-sense, too—that ghostly warning that had saved Fidex more than once during the fight on the twentieth floor.
Jin reached toward the page, trying to feel the skills the way he had felt Metal Body. He understood that skill now—it was solid, a shell, a second skin. But the new ones were different. Rapid Healing was a thrum, a pulse beneath flesh. Web-Woven Instinct was a thread, fine and fragile, connecting him to something just beyond perception.
He could sense them, but he could not grasp them.
Two days of meditation, of reaching, of straining against the boundaries of his own mind. He made progress—the connection to Fidex grew sharper, more responsive—but synchronization remained out of reach.
He was gritting his teeth over it when Lisa returned from her latest reconnaissance.
Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with anger.
"Josh is planning to move against you," she said, setting a small digital recorder on the table.
The room went cold. Mark and Simon exchanged glances. Jin's expression didn't change, but his hand stilled on the table.
"Play it."
Lisa fast-forwarded through the first part of the recording—ambient noise, indistinct conversation—until she found the section she wanted. Then voices emerged from the tiny speaker, tinny but clear.
Josh's voice first: "We need to know how he's doing it. The corpse fusion—I fed mine the Spider meat, just like he did. Nothing. No evolution, no new skills. There's something else. Something he's not telling anyone."
Another voice, one Jin recognized as Wade's: "So we ask nicely? That fat fucker Simon might talk if we give him enough. He's not exactly loyal."
A pause. Then Josh, softer: "No. We don't ask. We take. Simon can lead us to whatever he's using. And if Jin gets in the way…"
The recording crackled with silence.
Then Josh again: "We handle it. Quietly. Once he's gone, his Summon goes too. Then we see what secrets he was hiding."
The recording ended.
Jin sat motionless for a long moment. Mark's hands were fists on his knees. Simon's face had gone dark, dangerous.
"They're going to kill you," Mark said, his voice low.
"They're going to try," Jin corrected.
He looked at the recorder, then at Lisa. "They said something about Simon leading them. Did they approach him?"
Lisa nodded. "Wade has been talking to him for days. Trying to buy him off."
Simon's lip curled. "I haven't agreed to anything."
"But they think you might," Jin said. "That's enough for them to start planning. And they have leverage we don't know about."
He thought about Marcus. Josh had taken the boy from the fifth floor days ago, hidden him somewhere in the basement. Simon didn't know yet—Jin had kept that information close, waiting for the right moment. But if Josh decided to use the boy, to threaten Simon directly…
No. They needed to move first.
Jin turned to Simon. "I need you to go see them."
Simon blinked. "What?"
"Go to Josh. Let him think you're desperate, that you're willing to trade information for their protection. Tell them whatever you want—but make it convincing. And make sure they believe you're ready to betray me."
Simon's expression hardened. "You want me to sell you out."
"I want them to think you're selling me out. It's different."
The big man was silent for a moment, jaw working. Then he gave a slow nod. "What do I tell them?"
Jin leaned forward, voice dropping to a murmur. "Tell them about the ring."
Mark frowned. "What ring?"
"There isn't one. But they don't know that." Jin's eyes were cold. "Give them a target. Something tangible. Something they think they can take. And when they come for it…"
He let the sentence hang.
Simon stood, his massive frame casting a long shadow in the dim room. "And Marcus? What about my son?"
Jin met his gaze. "We get him back. I promise."
For a long moment, Simon didn't move. Then he turned and walked toward the door.
"Don't let me down, Jin."
He left. The door closed with a soft click.
Mark let out a breath. "You think they'll buy it?"
"They're desperate. Desperate people believe what they want to believe." Jin looked at the recorder, then at Lisa. "Good work. Keep watching. If they move earlier than we expect, I need to know."
Lisa nodded, already reaching for her jacket.
Jin stood, moving to the window. Outside, the fog pressed against the glass, thick and endless. Somewhere in that gray expanse, the Eye was watching—or maybe it had already moved on, leaving them to tear each other apart.
He wouldn't let that happen. Not to his people. Not to Simon.
If Josh wanted a fight, he would get one. On Jin's terms.