Richard Winthers moved like a man who had already seen the end of the world. Because he had.
He dragged the duffel bag behind him down the narrow stairwell. The Loyal Hound padded silently at his side, ears up, eyes glowing the faintest red. The two thugs still slumped in the hallway. One groaned. Richard didn't look back.
Outside, the late-afternoon sun felt wrong. Too bright. Too normal. Cars crawled through traffic. A woman pushed a stroller. A delivery guy balanced three pizza boxes on a scooter. None of them knew the clock was ticking.
Thirty days.
Richard headed west toward the industrial district. He needed tools. Weapons. Space. He remembered the hardware store on 14th that always had a back door left unlocked by a lazy night manager. In his first life, he had scavenged there on day five. Too late. Half the shelves were already burned.
Not this time.
Halfway down the block, three men stepped out from an alley. Same leather jackets. Same cheap tattoos. Friends of the ones upstairs, probably. The leader—bald, gold chain, brass knuckles—cracked his neck.
"Yo, Winthers. You jumped our boys. That's bad business."
Richard stopped. The dog growled low.
"I didn't jump them," Richard said. "They jumped me. They lost."
The leader laughed. "Big talk for a nobody. Hand over the bag. We'll call it even."
Richard tilted his head. "You sure you want to do this?"
The two behind the leader spread out. One pulled a short crowbar. The other flexed empty fists, ready to grab.
Richard dropped the duffel. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then he looked straight into the leader's eyes.
Dominate.
The pressure came again. Sharp. Like ice behind his eyeballs. The leader froze mid-step. His pupils blew wide. Sweat beaded on his forehead in seconds. He tried to speak. Only a choked sound came out.
Richard didn't blink.
The man's knees buckled. He dropped the brass knuckles. They clattered on the pavement.
The other two rushed in.
Richard moved faster than he expected. The system had already given him something. Not much. Just enough. He sidestepped the crowbar swing, grabbed the wrist, twisted until bone popped. The man screamed. Richard drove a knee into his stomach, then slammed him face-first into the brick wall.
The third man hesitated. Saw his friends down. Saw the leader on his knees, shaking, eyes glassy.
Richard turned to him.
"You next?"
The man ran.
Richard exhaled. The pressure in his head eased.
System notification flashed.
[Command successful: Temporary domination]
[Target loyalty: 0% — will expire in 60 seconds]
[New skill unlocked: Intimidating Gaze (F)]
[Experience gained: +50]
The Loyal Hound sat down and watched the scene like it was normal.
Richard picked up his bag. Stepped over the leader, who was now whimpering on the ground.
"Good choice," he muttered to the fleeing third man's back.
He kept walking.
The hardware store was three blocks away. He reached it in ten minutes. The back door was still propped open with a brick. Same lazy manager. Same old habits.
Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed. Aisle after aisle of tools, nails, lumber, propane torches. Richard moved with purpose. Crowbar. Heavy-duty flashlight. Box cutter. Duct tape. A sledgehammer. A pack of heavy zip ties. He filled the duffel until it strained.
At the counter, the cashier—an older man with a name tag that read "Carl"—looked up from his phone.
"Cash only," Carl said. "No card."
Richard slid two hundred-dollar bills across the counter. More than enough.
Carl counted. Frowned. "You robbing somebody?"
Richard met his eyes. "Preparing."
Carl stared for a long second. Then shrugged. "Your funeral."
Richard left through the back door.
He found an abandoned warehouse two streets over. Chain-link fence. Broken windows. Perfect. He slipped through a gap, the dog following.
Inside, dust and shadows. Rusted machinery. Empty pallets. Good sight lines. Multiple exits.
He dropped the bag. Sat on a crate.
Opened it. Laid out every item. Counted. Planned.
Then he looked at the Loyal Hound.
"Scout."
The dog's ears perked.
System responded instantly.
[Command accepted]
[Scout radius: 50 meters]
[Duration: 10 minutes]
The dog trotted out the side door. Disappeared into the dusk.
Richard waited.
Ten minutes later the dog returned. Sat in front of him. System pinged.
[Scout report: Three feral rats detected 40 meters north. Aggressive. No humans.]
[Additional: Small seismic tremor recorded 2 km east. Magnitude 1.8. Increasing frequency.]
Richard's jaw tightened.
The rifts were already stirring.
He stood. Grabbed the crowbar. Walked toward the north exit.
Three rats.
Small prey.
Perfect practice.
He stepped outside.
The rats were waiting. Bigger than normal. Eyes already tinged red. Early mutation. The virus was in the air, in the water, in everything. It just hadn't broken out yet.
The first rat lunged.
Richard swung.
Metal met fur and bone. Crunch. The rat flew into the wall. Dead.
The second leaped from a pile of crates.
Richard dropped the crowbar. Met it mid-air. Grabbed its throat. Squeezed. Felt the system kick in.
Dominate.
The rat thrashed. Claws raked his forearm. Blood welled.
He didn't let go.
The pressure built. The rat's eyes flickered from red to glowing crimson.
Then it went limp.
Dropped to the ground.
Knelt.
[Minion acquired: Feral Rat Scout]
[Loyalty Tier: F]
[Command unlocked: Swarm (Basic)]
Richard released. The rat stayed down. Obedient.
The third rat hesitated. Then charged.
Richard didn't swing.
He stared.
Dominate.
This one went faster. Less resistance.
[Minion acquired: Feral Rat Scout]
[Swarm count: 2/5]
Richard looked at the two rats. Then at the Loyal Hound.
Then at the darkening sky.
He smiled. Thin. Dangerous.
"Swarm."
The two rats moved as one. Flanked the dog. Perfect formation.
Richard nodded.
This was power.
Not much.
But enough.
He turned back toward the warehouse.
Thirty days.
He had thirty days to turn this scrap of power into an empire.
And he was already counting bodies.