The elevators had died with a mournful ding, forcing a gruelling trek up four flights of stairs. Silas complained with every step, his stamina bar clearly hovering in the single digits, but fear kept his feet moving.
The penthouse was spacious, modern, and entirely ill-suited for the apocalypse. The walls were lined with expansive glass windows that offered a breathtaking view of the burning city. In the real world, these windows were a selling point. In the System, they were an invitation for every Drake and Gargoyle to come in for a snack.
The [Reinforce] skill was put to immediate use. Steel harvested from the kitchen appliances was fed into the window frames, turning them from aluminium to hardened iron. The stone from the kitchen island was fused over the glass, leaving only narrow, arrow-slit gaps for viewing.
The apartment darkened, transforming from a luxury suite into a bunker. The air grew stale and quiet.
"It feels like a prison," Silas murmured, sitting on the floor and nursing a bottle of warm soda.
"A prison keeps people in," the reply came from the darkness. "A fortress keeps things out. Try to sleep. The night is when the real game begins."