The room rests in a fragile stillness, the reinforced panels dampening the city's distant chaos until it becomes nothing more than a muted, uneven hum. Aaron leans back against a wall, exhaustion clinging to him like damp cloth. Emily's quiet movements are the only thing anchoring him to the moment—steady, deliberate, purposeful.
She finishes checking the metal plates he summoned and sits cross-legged a short distance from him, hands resting on her knees. Her eyes meet his, calm but questioning.
"Aaron," she says softly, "I think you should tell me what you can actually do. All of it. Everything you've figured out about this… System."
Aaron hesitates. "It's not much."
Emily gives him a faint, tired smile. "It's more than I've got."
He draws in a slow breath, letting his head thump lightly against the metal behind him. "Alright," he murmurs. "Let me walk you through what I know."
He raises his hand, palm open, and focuses. A pale blue shimmer ripples across the air—just barely visible in the dim light.
"That… that's the interface," he says. "I can call it up mentally or by focusing on a specific intent."
Emily leans closer, studying the faint glow. "I don't see anything."
"You won't," he says. "It's… private. Only visible to me."
Her brows furrow. "So you're basically reading something I can't see."
"Exactly."
He clears his throat and continues, speaking slowly so she can absorb every detail.
"I've got basic attributes—Strength, Endurance, Agility, Perception. They start at some kind of baseline… zero, I guess, or whatever counts as normal. When I put points into them, I feel different immediately but there's no buffer. No grace. My muscles almost tore themselves apart earlier when I dumped too much into Strength at once."
Emily's expression tightens. "So it's not just a boost. It's a risk."
"Yeah," Aaron says. "Definitely a risk. Everything is."
He shifts slightly, wincing as stiff muscles protest.
"There are also temporary effects I can activate—like Quick Step, or Fortify Object—but they burn points. And if I push too hard too fast…" He pauses, remembering the skin-splitting, bone-deep burn that nearly knocked him out.
Emily finishes it quietly. "Your body tries to break."
He nods.
For a moment, neither says anything. The distant city groans like a wounded animal settling into night.
Emily takes a slow breath. "Okay. If the System wants you to push yourself to the edge every time you use it… then we need a plan for rationing your points. And for choosing what you spend them on."
Aaron blinks. "You sound like you're planning a long campaign."
Emily lowers her gaze, voice quiet but steady. "Aaron… we don't know how long the world will be like this. Or how many days we'll have to hide, fight, or run. I'm not assuming rescue. Not anymore."
Her fingers idly trace the seam between two metal plates—a soft, rhythmic drag of skin over cold steel.
"We need food. Water. A safe shelter that won't collapse if something slams into it. We need to understand your limits before you accidentally break yourself trying to save us. We need places we can fall back to, escape routes, quiet zones where those things outside don't hunt."
She looks up again, her eyes sharp in the half-light.
"We need to figure out how to use that System of yours without killing you."
Aaron swallows. Her pragmatism is startling—measured, grounded, almost clinical in its clarity.
He wasn't expecting that.
"…You've thought about this a lot," he murmurs.
"I had to," she says. "Running only works until something faster finds you. Hiding only works until something hears you breathe."
She shifts, drawing her knees to her chest as she continues.
"We'll need supplies. Scavenging patterns. Quiet movement practice. A safe water source. And a way for you to recover points… however that works."
Aaron rubs the back of his neck. "I haven't seen anything about regenerating points yet. Maybe rest? I don't know."
"Then we'll test it. Carefully."
"Carefully," he echoes.
Emily watches him, her face softening. "I'm not trying to take control, Aaron. I just… I've been scared all day, and thinking about survival is the only thing that stops me from falling apart."
He nods slowly. "It's okay. Honestly… we probably need your brain more than my System right now."
A tiny laugh escapes her, breathy and tired. "We need both."
---
The room settles into a deeper quiet—thoughtful, not panicked. Aaron feels the weight of what lies ahead, but for the first time the fear doesn't feel suffocating.
It feels manageable.
Because he isn't alone.
Emily shifts closer, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him now, not touching but close enough to share warmth in the cold room.
"So," she says softly, "what's the first thing we do when the sun comes up?"
Aaron closes his eyes, thinking. The System flickers faintly behind them, waiting.
When he opens them again, he meets her gaze.
"Survive," he says quietly. "On purpose this time."
Emily nods once, her voice almost a whisper.
"Together."
The morning light was faint, just a thin wash of grey-blue bleeding across the ruined horizon as Aaron and Emily slipped out of their shelter. The world felt muted, drained of color and warmth, as if dawn itself hesitated to rise.
A cold mist clung low to the ground. Dew shimmered on the lawns and rooftops like trapped starlight. Emily hugged her arms tight as they moved, her breath fogging faintly in the chill air.
They crouched behind the remains of a brick letterbox, watching the silent street.
"Stay low. Keep your steps soft," Aaron whispered.
Emily nodded. Her movements were growing more deliberate—guided by instinct sharpened by fear and experience. She wasn't a fighter, but she was becoming something else: alert, reactive, survivable.
Aaron's eyes flickered with pale blue system text only he could see.
> **[STEALTH MODE: ACTIVE]**
> **Charge: 2 CP**
> **Noise Profile: Low**
"House first," he murmured. "Then the pharmacy. If we're lucky."
Luck was rare these days, but hope was useful.
They crept to a small, single-story home with paint peeling in long curls down the siding. The front door hung crooked. A garden hose lay sprawled across the path, stiff with frost. Everything looked abandoned mid-life—like the inhabitants simply evaporated.
Inside, the air was heavy with dust. Pale light seeped through boarded windows, catching drifting motes that spun lazily in the stillness. The house smelled of stale air and faint rot.
Emily hesitated at the threshold of the kitchen. "This place gives me the creeps…"
"Five minutes," Aaron replied softly. "Grab what we can."
The kitchen was a mess of opened cupboards, scattered boxes, and overturned chairs—signs of panic or looting, it was hard to tell. Aaron sifted quickly.
"Soup. Rice. Pasta. All sealed." He slipped them into his pack. "Good."
A low scraping sound echoed from outside.
Emily stiffened. "Aaron… something's dragging across the backyard."
He moved to the small window over the sink. A creature—thin, long-limbed, its body jerking in unnatural angles—pulled itself along the concrete path. Its jaw hung slack. Its fingers were too long. Its skin had begun to grey.
Aaron's system pulsed.
> **[HOSTILE IDENTIFIED]**
> **Estimated Reward: +1 CP**
He gripped his metal pipe tighter.
"Don't engage," Emily whispered urgently.
The creature's head snapped upward at the sound of her voice—even though she had barely breathed it. Its milky eyes focused immediately on the window.
A low moan vibrated through its throat.
Aaron cursed under his breath. "Too late."
The creature lurched forward, accelerating, movements going from slow drag to unnatural sprint in seconds. Emily stumbled back as the thing crashed through the back door in a violent burst of splintering wood.
Aaron swung his pipe hard. The impact cracked against bone, but the creature barely slowed.
"Emily! Move!"
It lunged at him.
Emily reacted faster than she knew she could. Her hand closed around a fallen kitchen knife, and she drove it forward with a desperate cry. The blade sank deep into the creature's throat. It spasmed, twitched, and collapsed at her feet.
Silence settled—jagged, heavy silence.
Aaron's vision flickered.
> **[Kill Confirmed]**
> **Charge Awarded: +1 CP**
> **Total: 3 CP**
He exhaled shakily. "One charge point… better than nothing."
Emily wiped the blood-streaked blade on her sleeve, hands trembling but steadying. "You should use it if you need to. Your ability's the reason we're still alive."
"I know." He checked the faint digits hovering in his sight again. "I can't waste charge. If we get surrounded… I'll need all of it."
Emily nodded slowly. "Let's finish up and get out before more of those things hear us."
They stepped back into the grey morning air, the world feeling heavier than before. The street ahead was quiet but carried a tension that made every shadow feel alive.
Emily adjusted the straps on her pack, jaw set. "If your charge increases when you… deal with them, then we can't avoid fights forever."
Aaron tightened his grip on his pipe. "Yeah. But we don't pick fights. Only the ones we can't escape."
They moved on—house to house, creeping through ruined suburbia like ghosts.
Dawn brightened behind them, painting the broken windows and scattered debris in soft gold.
A new day.
A dangerous one.
And every charge point Aaron earned was another sliver of survival—another breath bought with risk.
They would need every last one.
They slipped quietly across the street toward the next row of houses, the cold morning settling around them like a thin, uncomfortable cloak. Frost glimmered in cracks along the pavement. Wind hissed faintly through broken gutters. Every small sound felt magnified in the stillness.
They kept low as they crossed a collapsed fence, weaving between the sagging remains of hedges and overturned rubbish bins. Aaron checked the corners again and again, eyes flicking constantly to the faint overlay of system text only he could see.
Emily followed close behind, her breath steady but her eyes scanning every window, every gap between the houses.
When they reached a moment of safety behind an abandoned ute, Aaron let out a slow breath he'd been holding for too long.
"Emily," he whispered, "we need to be careful with how much… system stuff I'm using out here."
She turned to look at him, brow creasing. "What do you mean?"
Aaron tapped the side of his head lightly. "Every time the system activates—stealth, tracking, charge management… anything—it puts out a kind of signal. It's not loud, but it's there. I can see little pulses in the display when I trigger things."
Emily's eyes widened slightly. "And the monsters… can sense it?"
"I think so," he said quietly. "Not every time, not instantly. But the more I rely on abilities, the more I notice creatures changing direction. Drifting closer. It's like… it whispers to them."
Emily shivered, hugging her arms tighter. "How close? How far can they detect it?"
Aaron shook his head. "I don't know. A dozen meters? Fifty? More? I haven't had time to test it—and I'm not exactly keen on attracting more just to find out."
They paused as a distant cry echoed faintly through the neighbourhood. It wasn't human. It wasn't even animal. It was something hungry calling into the cold morning.
Emily shifted her weight nervously. "Then we really, really need to find a better place to stay."
Aaron nodded. "Yeah. The security room was fine for one night. But if my system activity draws them in… we can't keep using it. Not long-term."
Emily's jaw tightened as she scanned the row of houses across from them. "That room has one way in and one way out. It's safe from humans, but not from monsters that can pry doors off hinges. And if they get attracted by your abilities…"
"We're trapped," Aaron finished.
She swallowed. "Exactly."
A gust of cold wind pushed through the street, carrying the faint metallic tang of distant blood and the dusty scent of cooling rubble. Emily crouched lower, her instincts sharpening again.
"We need someplace with more exits," she murmured. "More space. Higher ground. And someplace where you can use your system abilities without calling a mob."
Aaron scanned the street again, eyes narrowed. "Something isolated. Reinforceable. Multiple floors. Maybe even a basement."
Emily glanced up at him—really looking at him—her expression a mix of fear and determination.
"Do you have any idea where we'd find something like that?"
Aaron exhaled softly. "Not yet. But we can't stay where we are. Not tonight. Not with how close things are getting."
Emily nodded slowly. "Then after this supply run… we scout. Quietly."
"Quietly," Aaron echoed.
They adjusted their packs and prepared to move again. The morning light grew a little stronger, casting long shadows across the flattened lawns and broken fences.
Every breath was thick with tension.
Every footstep was a gamble.
And every use of Aaron's system risked drawing death toward them.
But staying where they were would be worse.
They slipped out from behind the ute and continued down the ruined street—moving toward danger, toward uncertainty, and toward the slim hope of somewhere safer.
Somewhere they could survive.