We heard footsteps above us.
Real, heavy human footsteps.
"Looters?" Silas whispered, his hands lighting up purple again.
"Maybe."
We crept up the fire escape, the cold wind whipping at our faces. The city below was burning in patches, orange fires reflecting off the purple clouds. It was beautiful in a terrible way.
We reached the window of Apartment 4B. The glass wasn't broken. There were no barricades. Inside, an old woman sat in a rocking chair, knitting a scarf that was already ten feet long.
"Mrs Higgins?" Silas whispered. "She lived here before. She used to give me cookies."
"She isn't Mrs Higgins anymore," I said softly, spotting the blue cursor floating above her head.
[NPC: Wandering Merchant] [Status: Neutral]
The System had repurposed her. It often did that to the elderly or the very young, turning them into assets rather than casualties. It was cruel, but right now, it was lucky.
I tapped on the glass.
Mrs Higgins didn't jump. She looked up, smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and beckoned us in.
"Come in, dears," she said. Her voice sounded like a recording played on a high-quality speaker. "I have such lovely things for sale today."