The afternoon light was thin and sickly, crawling through the cracks of the boarded-up window when Aaron opened his eyes. For a few slow breaths, he didn't know where he was. The ceiling above him looked unfamiliar.
There were wooden beams, faint mold stains, dust dancing in slow spirals. It took a moment before memories of last night settled in.
His body felt heavier than usual, like someone had laid stones on each limb. He was still wearing the armor suit that Quanta had given him. It was cold against his skin.
Only his right sleeve was torn open, where the ghost-formed amulet clung to his arm. The bead set into the band had lost its glow, but Aaron could still feel the faint presence there-like a heartbeat he couldn't name.
He sat up. His head throbbed, not from pain, but from the leftover hum of illusions. Each breath tasted metallic. When he blinked, for an instant he saw the silhouette of a woman standing in the corner. When he looked again, nothing.
"Residual silt," he told himself aloud. Or so he seemed to.
He stood, brushed off the dust clinging to his armor, and stepped out of the small room. Outside, the hallway was as dim as ever, lit by a single candle stub that somehow never burned down completely. He went next door, the room where the old man stayed.
He knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, as if the old man was waiting behind it.
"You're awake," said the old man. His voice was rough, but stable. "Good. I thought you'd be out for another day."
"I'm leaving," Aaron said. His voice was without the slightest hesitation. "Today."
The old man regarded him for a long moment. Not with anger. Not even surprise. But the look one would give a bird taking flight after nursing its broken wing.
"…I figured you would," he said quietly. "A person like you doesn't stay in one place."
He fell silent and then added, "But before you go, can I ask something?"
"Mm?"
"If possible… help us clear the next three floors. The fourth, fifth, sixth. After what happened last night, I don't think my current old body can handle. More people will gather. I need more space. Even if nothing is there, we won't be able to sleep knowing the upper floors might hold something. What if it comes down."
Aaron nodded with no emotion but just acceptance.
"I'll take care of it."
The old man exhaled, relieved and exhausted. "Thank you. After that… no one will stop you from leaving. Not like anyone could."
Aaron didn't answer. He stepped past him, heading for the stairs.
Fourth Floor
The fourth floor was quiet.
Not the type of silence that came when a place was vacant-the kind that came when something had siphoned all sound out of the air. Even the sound of footsteps felt muted, as if the floorboards were swallowing the noise before it could echo.
It had once been storage with old frames, scattered wooden pallets, torn packaging. But even the darkness between the shelves felt deeper than it should. As Aaron walked through, he felt cold spots drift around him like someone invisible kept brushing past.
Nothing attacked him.
Nothing spoke.
Nothing breathed.
And somehow, that made it worse.
It wasn't until he had reached the far side that he realized he had been clenching his fist the whole time.
"Nothing here," he muttered. "But it remembers."
The floor felt haunted not by a ghost, but by the memory of one.
He kept on going up.
---
Fifth Floor
The fifth floor smelled of dust and stale air. Broken chairs, abandoned furniture, scattered cloth. Aaron stepped forward but then stopped.
Something moved.
At first it was just a blur, the streak of white that drifted between shadows. Then two pale eyes appeared behind a fallen shelf. They didn't look human.
The creature stepped out.
It was a fox-or something shaped like one. Its body flickered, edges dissolving and reforming. Patches of fur were missing, replaced by faint smoke. Its tail split into two thin trails that wavered like thread in the wind. Its jaw hung slightly open, not from aggression, but as if stuck between a scream and a whimper.
A phantom animal.
The ghost of a dead creature.
It looked at Aaron with hunger.
Before he could move, it darted forward.
Its body tore across the room in jerking motions, like a broken video skipping frames. Aaron ducked, but the fox's claws grazed his shoulder, leaving a faint, icy burn.
He countered with a swing of his arm using the blunt end of a broken chair leg. The fox dissolved, reappeared behind him, trying to bite at his neck.
Aaron grabbed it by instinct. His hand sinking into its smoke-flesh and tore it downward. The fox screeched, in a sound too thin to belong to a living throat.
He slammed it once.
Twice.
The body weakened, flickering uncontrollably.
Then came silence.
The fox dissolved into pale shards of light.
Aaron felt them sink into him before he could block it. The sensation was like a rush of cold water filling his veins. His breath thickened. His heartbeat spiked. For a moment, his vision reddened at the edges.
A sound escaped his throat not quite a growl, not quite a gasp.
He staggered back.
An urge rose in him. It was violent, sudden and directionless.
He grasped the nearest chair and slammed it against the wall. The wood splintered. Splinters flew. He felt nothing, no satisfaction, no relief but the pressure inside him eased, just slightly.
He broke another one.
Then a shelf.
Then a stack of collapsed crates.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't madness.
It was instinct forcing the animal residue out of his system.
When the haze had passed, he was panting.
"…I see," he whispered, straightening. "So this is what it is like to consume animals."
His hands shook once and then became still.
He strode up the stairs.
---
Sixth Floor
Empty.
But this, unlike the fourth floor, felt clean of emptiness, strangely so. Almost peaceful. It felt as though something had passed through years ago, and nothing was left in its wake. The air was cold, yet somehow comforting.
Aaron walked the perimeter, checked the corners, searched for movement.
Nothing.
"This place…" he whispered, "…doesn't hate."
It was the closest thing to rest he had found since the world fell apart.
So he stayed.
He sat back against the wall, let his armor relax around his body, and closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly but, when it did, was heavy and dark. That night he had no dreams and illusions. Just the sort of empty rest that the living don't always get anymore.
When morning arrived, light from a broken window touched his armor. Aaron opened his eyes, rubbed the dryness from them, and stood.
It was time to be off.
---
Back on the first floor, he entered the supply corner the camp had built. He found a small bag, filled it with dried food, sealed water bottles, and a cloth sheet he could use for shelter, if needed.
He stepped outside.
The old man was there, standing in front of his door. The young man beside him. Neither said anything at first.
Aaron adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder.
"…I'll be going," he said.
The old man nodded. "You cleared the floors. That's more than enough. Thank you."
The young man bowed slightly, awkward and sincere. "Safe travels."
Aaron gave a small nod, the closest he had to a goodbye. He turned and began walking down the cracked road that led deeper into the ruined Neon City. Above him, the sky was gray. Distant buildings leaned, like broken bones. The silence ahead felt wide and endless. Somewhere far away in this city lay the surviving residential district, the seat of former state administration. Aaron walked towards it alone, the amulet on his arm cold as stone, the power inside him quiet. The ruins swallowed him as he went.