The walk back to the substation was a slow and agonizing crawl through a world composed of nothing but long shadows and the sharp rhythmic pulse of pain. Mike did not take the main roads. He did not dare to set foot upon the secondary paths usually frequented by the more adventurous scavengers. Instead he kept to the veins of the city that only the vermin and the truly desperate ever bothered to learn. He found himself squeezing through the narrow and jagged gaps between tenement blocks that looked as though they might collapse at the slightest breath of wind. He navigated the hollowed out drainage pipes that reeked of sulfur and the cloying heavy scent of old death. The concrete walls were slick with a black mold that seemed to drink the meager light. Every movement was a struggle against the gravity of his own exhaustion.

  Every single step Mike took was a measured calculation. His left arm had been hastily bound with the grease stained rag Sara had given him. It throbbed with a dull wet heat that seemed to keep time with the pounding of his heart. The bleeding had stopped some time ago. His metabolism had become heightened and strange. It had already seen to the repair and was knitting the torn flesh together with a speed that was almost nauseating to contemplate. While the skin was closing the internal bruising from the strike of the rifle butt remained. It was a deep and resonating ache that felt as though it had been etched directly into the marrow of his bones. He could feel the pulse of his own blood against the makeshift bandage. The pressure was constant and unforgiving.

  Grim moved ahead of him and acted as a massive shifting silhouette in the pervasive gloom. The Alpha Rat did not scamper like the lesser creatures of his kind. Instead he seemed to flow over the mounds of debris. His movements were silent and heavy like thick oil spilling over a jagged rock. Occasionally the great beast would pause in his progress. His ears swiveled with predatory precision toward some distant and unseen sound. He would then glance back at Mike with eyes that reflected the dim and sickly light of the sector. There was a haunting intelligence in that gaze. The rat was waiting for him. Grim was judging his weakness with every heavy breath Mike drew.

  I am fine Mike whispered into the stagnant air. The words felt like they were scraping against the raw lining of his dry throat. He was not entirely certain if he was lying to the rat or to himself. The sound of a human voice offered a small measure of comfort in the dark even if it was only his own. The silence of the sector was too heavy. It was a weight that pressed against his ribs and made it hard to fill his lungs.

  The truth of the matter was that Mike was far from fine. The events at the market had been nothing short of a disaster. Five thousand credits was the number that now hung in his mind. It was heavy and sharp as the blade of a guillotine. In a place like Sector 4 life was a cheap commodity. One could usually buy the loyalty of a grown man for the price of a clean water filter or a few meager strips of dried protein. Five thousand credits was not merely a bounty. It was a lottery ticket that promised a way out of the filth. It was an amount of money large enough to turn even the most trusted neighbor into a hungry hunter. It was enough to make the apathetic and drug addled denizens of the Heap sharpen their rusted shivs and look at Mike with new and calculating eyes. He was no longer a person to them. He was a payout.

  Mike knew then that he could not return to the market. The time for trading and simple repairs had come to an abrupt and violent end. Rigg was not merely a common thug who ruled through muscle alone. He was a man of business and authority. This was no longer about the credits he had lost or the filters Mike had fixed. It was about the preservation of his power. If a man like Rigg could not eliminate a single low level scavenger who had defied him his grip on the sector would begin to loosen. Mike knew the man would send every soul he commanded to find him. There would be no negotiations. There would be no second chances. The bounty was a signal to the entire sector that Mike was already a dead man.

  They eventually left the suffocating density of the tenements behind and began the trek across the desolate expanse of the Wastes. The landscape in this part of the sector was a skeleton of the old world. It was a moonscape of crushed concrete and twisted rebar spines. Everything sat under a sky that was perpetually choked with smog. The air here was thinner and tasted of copper and ash. They traveled for what felt like miles though it was likely less than two. The familiar perimeter of the substation finally came into view through the haze.

  The old power relay sat amidst the wreckage like a fallen and dead titan. Its concrete walls were heavily scarred by years of acid rain and the scorched marks of old blaster fire. Layers of bioluminescent moss covered the lower reaches of the structure. It glowed with a sickly and pale green light that did little to dispel the darkness. To any other soul it was a ruin to be avoided. To Mike it was a fortress. It was his nest. It was surrounded by a moat of treacherous and unstable scrap that would claim the footing of anyone who did not know the path. He knew every loose plate and every jagged edge of the surrounding junk.

  Under normal circumstances the sight of those walls brought a profound sense of relief. It was his domain. It was the one place where he held a measure of control. However as Mike stumbled through the main breach in the wall his boots scuffed heavily against the grit covered floor. He found that he lacked the strength to perform his usual checks. He did not inspect the perimeter. He did not take the time to set the traps that usually guarded his sleep. He simply needed the world to stop moving. His vision was beginning to fray at the edges.

  We are clear Mike breathed. The words came out as a ragged exhale. The tension that had been holding his frame together finally leaked out of his shoulders.

  He collapsed against the cool metal casing of a massive and dormant turbine. He slid down the side until he hit the floor with a heavy thud. The concrete was cold. The chill seeped through his thin clothes and offered a brief respite from the feverish heat that was radiating from his skin. The wound in his arm felt like it was glowing. He could feel the strange chemistry of his body working overtime. It was a frantic and desperate process that drained his remaining energy.

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  Grim padded into the room after him. The massive rat circled Mike twice. His heavy claws clicked softly against the floor. He flopped down beside Mike with an exhausted huff. The beast rested his heavy head upon Mike's knee and closed his eyes. His breathing fell into a deep and rhythmic cadence. Mike leaned his own head back against the metal turbine and tried to find a moment of silence in the dark. He told himself to just rest and let the system do its work. The peace he sought did not come.

  The change did not begin in his injured arm. It started in the crystal. The shard that was embedded in the back of his right hand was the physical anchor that bound him to the System. It suddenly began to pulse with a renewed and violent intensity. It was not the rhythmic and cold thrum Mike had grown accustomed to over the past weeks. This was a sharp spike of something altogether different. It was a jagged surge of energy that felt like a rusted nail being driven slowly into the center of his bone.

  Nngh Mike groaned. His teeth gritted together so hard he feared they might crack. His head snapped back against the hard metal of the turbine as the sensation intensified. The pain was not local. It was spreading through his veins like liquid fire.

  The crystal was no longer merely active. It was reacting to something deep within his own biology. It began to glow with a light that was not its usual faint and ghostly blue. Instead it became a blinding and searing white. The pain traveled up the length of his arm like a lightning strike. It bypassed every dampener and every ounce of adrenaline he had left. It slammed directly into his central nervous system with the force of a physical blow. He could feel his heart stuttering in his chest.

  Grim lifted his head instantly. A low and dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. The rat was not looking at the glowing shard in Mike's hand. He was staring toward the entrance breach through which they had just come. The rat's fur stood on end. He bared his yellowed incisors at the darkness.

  Through the rising scream of his own shattered nerves Mike heard the sound as well. It was not the whistling of the wind through the scrap. It was not the sound of a lone scavenger looking for a place to hide. It was the low and guttural thrum of a heavy internal combustion engine. He heard the sound of thick tires crushing the gravel outside the perimeter. It was a vehicle. That sound should have been impossible. Vehicles did not come to the Wastes unless they were part of a coordinated hunt. They were loud and they were expensive. They were tools of the powerful.

  The sound grew louder. It was accompanied by the distinct and high pitched whine of a hydraulic brake engaging just outside his walls. The vibration rattled the loose stones on the floor.

  Grim Mike gasped. He tried to force his body to move. He knew he needed to get up. He needed to run or find a place to hide. But the crystal flared again. It created a blinding supernova in his vision. The world turned a violent shade of crimson.

  His entire body seized in a rigid and trembling spasm. His muscles locked up with such force that he was pinned against the metal turbine. He was gasping for air that his lungs refused to take in. Sweat erupted from every pore and soaked his rags in an instant. He felt Grim nudging him. The wet nose pressed against his cheek as the rat whined in a mixture of confusion and genuine fear. The beast nipped at his sleeve and attempted to drag his dead weight into the deeper shadows of the room.

  Mike screamed internally for his legs to obey him. The connection between his mind and his limbs had been completely hijacked by the signal from the crystal. He was a prisoner in his own flesh. He was locked in a rictus of agony that made the earlier beating seem like a distant memory.

  It was then that the text appeared. It floated in his vision with those familiar crimson letters that always seemed to burn against the darkness.

  LEVEL 15 REACHED

  EVOLUTIONARY THRESHOLD DETECTED

  INITIATING BIOLOGICAL RESTRUCTURING

  The text did not fade away as it usually did. It hung there and pulsed in time with the erratic and frantic thumping of his heart. The crimson light began to fracture and tear. The letters bled into a jagged noise that Mike could barely decipher. A series of system errors began to scroll past his eyes.

  ERROR: DNA REJECTION

  ERROR: UNSTABLE STATUS

  WARNING: SYSTEM INTEGRITY COMPROMISED

  The crystal in his hand detonated with a surge of silent energy. Mike's back arched off the floor as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. It was no longer just pain. It was a total seizure of his very reality. For one long and terrible second the world simply stopped. The sound of the vehicle outside and the growl of the rat vanished into a vacuum of white noise. The distant hum of the sector was gone. His muscles contracted with enough force to threaten the integrity of his own skeleton. He felt something snap deep in his shoulder.

  The glitching red text multiplied until it filled his entire field of view. It was scrolling faster than any human could possibly read. It was a silent and screaming warning written in a broken and ancient code. He felt a final and violent electric jolt pass through him. It was a sensation that felt as though it lasted for an eternity before it finally subsided into a cold and hollow numbness.

  Mike slumped back against the metal. He was gasping for breath. His vision was swimming with digital artifacts and a heavy corrupted red static. He could not move his fingers. He could no longer feel his legs. The connection between his mind and his body had been severed as cleanly as if a blade had passed through his spine. He was a spectator in his own corpse.

  Through the haze of his lingering agony he heard the sound of heavy doors slamming shut outside. The echoes rang through the hollow substation like gunshots. Then came the unmistakable crunch of boots approaching the breach in the wall. These were not the uneven steps of a scavenger. These were the rhythmic and heavy footfalls of trained men.

  Target location confirmed a voice said from the darkness.

  It was a cool and clipped and professional tone. It chilled Mike more than the cold concrete ever could. It was the voice of a man who was performing a routine task. It was the voice of an executioner.

  Mike tried to snarl. He tried to summon some kind of defense or call to Grim. But the System remained silent to his commands. The red static in his vision obscured everything. He lay there on the floor and was utterly helpless as the shadows of men stretched across the floor of his sanctuary. They moved with a terrifying and calculated speed. The fever had Mike in its grip and the hunters had finally arrived to claim their prize.