Jin flexed his fingers, the absence of the steel pipe a hollow ache. His hands felt weightless, exposed, as if a vital piece of him had been torn away. Hours ago, that pipe had been his anchor, a mundane object turned lethal by his skill, keeping death at arm's length. Now, its shattered remnants lay scattered in the street, and vulnerability crept into his bones, sharp and cold. The city's ruins—broken windows, overturned cars, blood crusting on cracked pavement—stretched around them, amplifying the tension. Jin, Echo, Seul, and Joon pressed forward, their footsteps grinding against glass, the silence thick with the lingering weight of leaving the girl behind, her fate a question mark etched in their minds.
"You keep doing that," Seul said, her voice soft but cutting through the quiet. She nodded at Jin's hands, which clenched and unclenched without thought.
Jin froze, caught off-guard. "Didn't notice," he muttered, forcing his fingers to still. The urge to grip something—anything—persisted, his skill dormant without a weapon to channel it.
A sharp metallic clatter rang from an alley, sudden and jarring. Jin's pulse spiked, his hand darting to his waist, reaching for a pipe that wasn't there. His breath hitched, muscles tensing, heart pounding. For a fleeting moment, he was defenseless, just a man in a world of predators. The realization struck like a blade, a cold dread settling in his chest. He exhaled, willing his body to relax, but the emptiness in his hands felt like a death knell.
Joon caught the movement, his brow furrowing. "You good?"
Jin hesitated, then spoke, voice low. "Without a weapon, I'm exposed. My skill—it turns anything I hold into a weapon, makes me fight like I know how. But now?" He flexed his fingers, the absence stark. "I'm nothing without something to swing."
Echo tilted his head, voice glitching faintly. "You went toe-to-toe with that girl using a pipe. That's not nothing." His tone was blunt, grounded in the group's shared understanding of Jin's ability to wield any object with deadly precision.
Joon nodded, scratching his neck. "Yeah, but a pipe's not built to last. You need something solid, something that won't break mid-fight."
Jin didn't argue. The pipe had been a makeshift solution, crumbling under the girl's delayed-impact strikes. To survive the system's First Cull, he needed a real weapon—something durable, reliable. "We're heading to the police station for that, right?" Seul asked, her voice tentative but steady. "They'd have guns, batons, something you can use."
Joon scoffed, his tone sharp but practical. "If the cops are still alive. This city's a bloodbath—monsters, people, all killing to meet the system's demands."
Echo kicked a chunk of rubble, hands in his pockets. "Doesn't mean it's not worth a shot. A station could have weapons, supplies, maybe intel. Better than drifting through this mess with no plan."
Jin's mind raced, weighing their options. "Weapons come first. I'm useless empty-handed, and you three need to get a handle on your skills." He glanced at Joon and Echo. "You were sloppy back there—reacting, not controlling."
Joon bristled, his tone more frustrated than defensive. "Firing energy bolts isn't exactly second nature. I'm trying, but it's not like I've had time to practice."
Echo shrugged, his voice glitching. "Same here. The sound waves just… go off. I can't aim them properly yet." He glanced at Seul. "What about you? You slowed her down, but it looked like it nearly took you out."
Seul's fingers twitched, her jaw tightening. "Gravity manipulation," she said flatly. "I can make things heavier or lighter, but it's draining. Pushing that hard feels like I'm carrying the weight myself. I'm getting better, but it's exhausting."
Joon frowned, processing. "So you can't sustain it for long?"
"Not yet," Seul admitted, her voice clipped. "It's like wrestling something invisible. I'm working on it."
Jin nodded, his thoughts sharp. "You're all improving, even if it's rough. That fight proved it. But we can't just rely on instinct. The next threat might not give us room for error."
Joon ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Fine, but a police station isn't gonna just open its doors. If it's still standing, it's either locked down tight or a deathtrap."
Seul's eyes scanned the street—cars abandoned with doors open, glass shards glittering, bodies slumped in the distance, some torn by claws, others by blades. "If there's any chance they're holding it together, we have to try. They could have structure, weapons, maybe answers about the system."
Echo's smirk was thin, cynical. "Or they're gone, or worse—killing like everyone else. The system didn't create monsters; it just set them free." His voice hardened, the glitch fading. "People have always been selfish, brutal. The system just stripped away the rules holding them back."
Seul's fists clenched, her voice soft but firm. "I don't believe that. People aren't inherently evil. The system's forcing them, twisting them into this."
Echo kicked another piece of debris, his tone flat. "Believe what you want. Look at that." He nodded at a body slumped against a lamppost, a knife wound in its chest, no claw marks in sight. "The system didn't make someone stab him. It just gave them an excuse."
Jin's throat tightened, Echo's words resonating too closely with his own fears. The girl they'd left—her warped sense of "helping," her desperate pleas—was she a monster, or a victim of the system's cruelty? "It's not about who people are," Jin said, voice steady but heavy. "It's about what we do now. We left her, the others on the second floor. We moved on because we had to. The system doesn't let us linger."
Seul's voice wavered, barely above a whisper. "That's what terrifies me. It's only been hours, and we're already abandoning people. What are we turning into?"
Joon exhaled, his tone softer but resolute. "Survivors. That's what. Try to save everyone, and you'll lose everything."
Echo nodded, hands still in his pockets. "The system's not judging our morals. It's seeing who can keep going."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Jin's fingers twitched, the lack of a weapon a constant itch. Seul's fear—what were they becoming?—echoed in his mind, but he shoved it aside, focusing on the path ahead. The streets were changing, the chaos giving way to an unsettling order. Fewer wrecked cars, no bodies in the gutters, no bloodstains or claw marks. Buildings stood intact, their windows whole, doors shut. The cleanliness felt wrong, like a stage set for something unseen.
"This is… strange," Seul murmured, her eyes narrowing. "It's too neat."
Joon's hands tensed, a faint spark flickering at his fingertips. "Feels like a setup."
Echo's voice glitched faintly. "Someone's holding this area. Could be a safe zone—or a trap."
Jin's gaze swept the street, his senses sharp. "We're close." He nodded ahead, where a low, concrete building rose at the end of the block, its sign just visible in the fading light: Police Station.