The lantern light in the subway station had been turned down to a sullen glow, just enough for the survivors to pretend they were safe in the dark. Blankets rustled. Someone coughed. The air was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, canned beans, and the faint metallic tang of old blood that never quite washed out of the tiles.
Leon sat against a concrete pillar, hammer resting across his thighs like a sleeping guard dog. His eyes were half-closed, but they tracked every shift in the shadows. Frieda lay on her side a few feet away, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other wrapped around the grip of her empty pistol as if it could still bite. Evie sat cross-legged beside Jarad, palm flat on his chest it was safe to assume that he was getting better, feeling the steady rise and fall. Maya and Halie had taken the farthest corner, Halie's dimmed orbs drifting in slow, tired circles above them like fireflies on the verge of death, she was running low on Aether, all of them were running low on it except maybe Jarad who was healing and not doing anything.
They were all awake. They had been for hours.
Soft footsteps padded along the far wall. Then another set. A third. The quiet scrape of metal on metal—a knife eased from a sheath.
Frieda's fingers tightened.
The first attacker came out of the dark like a shadow given hunger. He was thin, desperate, his knife raised high for Leon's exposed head. Evie moved first, rolling sideways, heat blooming in her palm as she caught the man's wrist. Flesh hissed. The scream started but never finished—Leon's hammer was already moving, a short, economical arc that ended with a wet crunch against the man's temple. He dropped without another sound.
The platform erupted.
Shouts exploded from every corner. Blankets flew aside as bodies surged up. Lanterns swung on their wires, shadows whipping across faces contorted with fear and greed. The scarred leader—his name was Kilamich, they'd learned—bellowed something lost in the chaos and threw a short black blade at Leon's skull.
Leon knocked it away with the haft of his hammer. Metal rang like a cracked bell. The short blade bounced away hitting the wall and shattering into a few pieces Kilamich staggered, eyes widening as he realized the mistake he'd made.
Frieda was on her feet in the same heartbeat, fists glowing faintly as she absorbed the momentum of the nearest rush. A woman with a spear made of flames slashed at her; Frieda stepped inside the swing, took the force into her shoulder, and drove her knuckles into the woman's sternum. The redirected impact lifted the attacker clear off the ground and hurled her backward into two others. Ribs snapped like dry kindling.
Maya slipped low between legs, fingers brushing exposed skin. A man froze mid-charge, eyes bulging as she seized his heartbeat and squeezed. He collapsed, clutching his chest. Another clawed at his throat, blood vessels rupturing under her invisible command.
Halie's light flared—sharp, blinding prisms that stabbed across the platform. Attackers shielded their eyes, stumbled, swung at phantoms. One walked straight into the Obsidian Fang that was with Evie ; heat shimmered along the edge as it slid between ribs, cauterizing as it went.
Jarad, sat down on a crate, lifted a semi-steady hand. Gravity warped around three rushing figures; the air folded, and they slammed into the tile hard enough to spiderweb the stone. None of them rose,
But the survivors had numbers. Thirty against six, even exhausted six, was not nothing.
A cluster broke through the chaos and reached Jarad who was being sparing with the Aether he was using, one of them grabbed his arm, another raised a pipe. Evie spun, heat flaring hot enough to singe hair—but she was too far.
Then something new moved in the flickering light.
A figure stepped between the attackers and Jarad—no, not stepped. Flowed. The shape was androgynous at first, lean and hooded, face hidden in shadow. Then the body shifted, bones subtly reshaping, muscles reknitting, height adjusting by inches. In seconds the figure settled into a broader, male form: shoulders squared, jaw sharpened, skin taking on a faint metallic sheen.
The first pipe came down. The newcomer—male now—lifted an arm and met it bare-handed. The pipe struck flesh that had gone rigid as steel. The impact reverberated; the attacker's wrists cracked instead. The pipe bent.
The newcomer's other fist drove forward, hardened knuckles punching straight through the man's guard and into his solar plexus. The attacker folded and dropped.
Another lunged with a knife. The newcomer twisted, skin flashing diamond-hard across the torso. The blade skittered off like it had struck concrete.
Carver saw the shift in momentum and roared, "Take the stranger too! Gear's gear!"
Three more closed on the newcomer.
The body rippled again.
Shoulders narrowed, waist curved, hips widened. Hair lengthened under the hood. The metallic sheen faded, replaced by a soft shimmer in the air. Female now—smaller, faster. She ducked under a wild swing, palms coming up.
A translucent dome of force snapped into existence around her, Jarad, and Evie. The next attacker hit it and bounced back as if he'd run into glass. Another stabbed; the knife stopped inches from her throat, tip quivering against invisible resistance.
She flicked a hand. The dome pulsed outward. The three attackers flew backward, crashing into crates and bodies alike.
Leon glanced over mid-swing, hammer pulping another skull. "Friend of yours?" he grunted to Evie.
"Never seen them before," Evie snapped, but her tone held reluctant gratitude.
The stranger—female form still—turned toward the main fight. Force fields blossomed like blooming flowers: small shields catching blades mid-arc, larger barriers shoving groups aside. Every motion was precise, economical.
Frieda laughed once, sharp and fierce, as she used a rebounding shield to launch herself into a knot of attackers, fists blazing with borrowed momentum.
Maya darted past the stranger, fingers brushing an attacker pinned against a barrier. "Thanks for the assist," she muttered.
The stranger's voice came soft but clear—feminine now, calm. "Couldn't let them finish the wounded one."
The fight lasted less than three minutes, but it felt eternal.
When the last attacker dropped—some dead, some groaning, some crawling away—the platform fell into stunned quiet. Blood slicked the tiles. Lanterns hissed. The surviving camp members huddled at the far end, hands raised, faces drained of fight.
Carver knelt in the center, one arm hanging broken, rebar clattering from numb fingers. He stared at the newcomer with something between terror and calculation.
Leon stepped forward, hammer dripping. "We told you once. We're taking what we need. Anyone else?"
No one spoke.
The stranger shifted again—fluid, painless—settling into a neutral, androgynous midpoint. Hood pushed back revealed a face that could have belonged to either gender: sharp cheekbones, full lips, eyes an unsettling pale gray. Short-cropped hair, neither distinctly masculine nor feminine. They wore scavenged fatigues that hung loose enough to accommodate both forms.
Evie lowered her blade but didn't sheath it. "Who the hell are you?"
The stranger glanced at the cowering survivors, then back to the group. "Name's Riven. I was watching from the shadows. Saw you come into the tunnels a few days ago, I've been laying low for a while." A pause. "Didn't expect to walk into this."
Frieda snorted. "You picked a hell of a time to introduce yourself."
Riven's lips twitched—almost a smile. "Seemed like you needed one more body."
Leon studied them, eyes narrow. "You alone?"
"Always."
Jarad coughed, managing a grin from his crate. "Convenient timing. Almost too convenient."
Riven met his gaze steadily. "I don't like bullies. And I really don't like people who prey on the hurt." Their voice carried a faint echo, as if two timbres overlapped briefly.
Maya tilted her head. "The shifting. That's not usual, System related? ."
Riven's expression shuttered. "Yeah It's…kinda complicated."
Halie, quiet until now, sent a soft orb drifting closer to Riven, illuminating their face. "You helped us fight. That buys you a conversation, at least."
They moved quickly after that—packs filled with canned food, clean water, fresh bandages, a few scavenged painkillers. Riven helped without being asked, lifting crates with male-form strength, then shielding the group from a last desperate lunge by one of Carver's men with a quick female-form barrier.
When they were ready, Leon looked at Riven. "You coming with us, or staying with what's left of this lot?"
Riven glanced at the huddled survivors—fearful now, broken. Carver wouldn't meet their eyes.
"I think I'll take my chances topside," Riven said quietly.
No one argued.
They climbed the rusted stairwell in single file, Halie's dim orbs lighting the way. Jarad walked unaided now, the fresh supplies and adrenaline giving him strength. Riven brought up the rear, shifting to male form for the climb, hardened skin shrugging off sharp protrusions on the railing.
The night air hit them like cold water when they emerged. Wind moaned through the ruined buildings. The Dome's distant curve caught faint starlight, an impenetrable wall against the sky.
For a long moment they simply breathed.
Then Maya stiffened. "Listen."
High above, on the shattered overpass that overlooked the subway entrance, loose concrete trickled down a broken pillar. A low vibration rumbled through the air—not the mindless shriek of a horde, but something deliberate. Measured.
Leon's grip tightened on his hammer.
Frieda looked up, fists already gathering faint glow from the breeze.
Evie's palms warmed, heat haze shimmering.
Riven shifted instinctively to female form, a soft dome flickering into existence around the group—translucent, barely visible, but strong enough to hum against the night.
Halie sent an orb drifting upward, light probing the darkness.
The orb revealed nothing but empty concrete and rebar… for a heartbeat.
Then a shape detached itself from the shadows atop the overpass.
Tall. Humanoid, but wrong. Skin pale and stretched tight over elongated limbs. No visible weapons—none needed. It crouched motionless, head tilted, nostrils flaring as if tasting the air. Eyes caught the orb's light and reflected it back like polished glass.
Subject 001.