The darkness in the sewer tunnel was total.
It was a cold, wet, tactile thing that pressed against Zane's skin.
The only sound was the rush of filthy water around his ankles and the faint, distant drip... drip... drip... from a crack in the ceiling.
Then, Zane screamed.
The withdrawal was instant and absolute.
The battery in his gut wasn't just empty, it was now a collapsing void, a black hole sucking his own life force into it.
It was a thousand times worse than the agony in the Sump-Pit. This wasn't a shredder; this was an un-making.
His muscles seized in a full-body convulsion so violent he slammed his head back against the slimy brick wall.
"GAAAAH! FUCK! FUCK!"
His shout was swallowed by the rushing water.
He wasn't Zane. He was a bundle of screaming nerves, dying in a sewer.
He was a junkie who had just mainlined jet fuel, and now his veins were empty.
[...Anomaly is adapting...]
The Exterminator's cold thought echoed in his memory. He'd adapted, alright. He'd learned to burn his entire fucking fuel tank in one glorious, stupid burst of shadow.
He'd been a bonfire for exactly ten seconds, and now he was ash.
"Mortis..." he gasped, his voice a wet croak. "You... you fucking BASTARD..."
He was dying, really dying. And he was pissed.
He didn't know the rules. He didn't know the cost. He was an intern with no fucking manual.
"What am I supposed to DO?!" he roared at the darkness, at Mortis, at God.
The pain peaked. His vision dissolved into grey static. His heart hammered, stuttered...
And in the blackness behind his eyelids, something flickered.
It wasn't a light; it was a construct.
A faint, pale blue line of text burned itself into his vision.
...Pain threshold surpassed. Cognitive mapping unlocked.
Zane stopped screaming, gasping, and staring into the dark.
"What...?"
More text flickered into view, like a malfunctioning computer terminal booting up in his skull.
REAPER INTERFACE
USER: ZANE (INTERN, SECTOR 7-G)
STATUS: WITHDRAWAL (CRITICAL)
ESSENCE: 0.1% (DEPLETED)
SKILLS
SKILL NAME:SOUL SIPHONTYPE: Passive (Taker) DESCRIPTION: The primary function granted by Mortis. Allows the user to forcibly absorb Soul Essence—the concentrated negative energy and despair released upon death—from expiring assets. COST / EFFECT: Essence gain based on Despair/Terror signature. Requires proximity (1km leash).
SKILL NAME:WHISPERS OF DESPAIRTYPE: Active (Sensor) DESCRIPTION: Allows the user to detect and mentally hear the surface thoughts of individuals suffering from extreme mental or physical anguish. Higher anguish results in greater clarity and range. Hidden exceptions. COST / EFFECT: Range variable (Current: 10m). Requires mental focus.
SKILL NAME:UMBRAL CLOAKTYPE: Drain (Utility) DESCRIPTION: Allows the user to draw shadows to their physical form, granting silent movement and powerful camouflage against light and visual sensors. Advanced usage allows for movement between deep shadows. COST / EFFECT: Burn stored Essence to Blend with Shadow. Cost: 10% per minute.
Zane stared at the ethereal text, his mouth open.
It was a fucking UI.
His mind, in its absolute, final agony, had finally unlocked the fucking user manual.
It wasn't Mortis; it was him. He was making sense of the chaos.
He was no longer blind, and he knew exactly what was wrong.
ESSENCE: 0.1%
He wasn't just hungry; he was empty.
UMBRAL CLOAK (DRAIN) - Cost: 10% per minute.
"Ten percent a minute..." he whispered.
He'd used it for maybe two minutes total: the escape from the Nails and the chameleon trick with the Exterminators.
He hadn't just used his power; he'd set it on fire. He'd burned through the souls of Gart, Slag, and the old woman in less than five minutes.
The pain spiked again, reminding him of his predicament.
STATUS: WITHDRAWAL (CRITICAL) flashed red.
He had to feed. He had maybe minutes before that 0.1% became 0.0% and his heart stopped for good.
He was in a sewer, in the dark.
"There's nothing down here..." he groaned. "No one dies down here..."
SPLASH.
The sound was not a rat; it was too heavy.
It came from deeper in the tunnel, from the pitch-black void ahead.
Zane froze.
His new UI flickered, but his Whispers skill was active.
[...]
Nothing.
No despair. No anger. No fear.
It wasn't a victim; it wasn't a hunter.
"Who's there?" Zane croaked, his voice pathetic.
The splashing stopped.
"You gonna stare at the void all day, or are you gonna shut the fuck up?"
The voice belonged to a girl. It was young, raspy, and annoyed.
A pinprick of light flickered in the darkness, thirty feet away—a small, oily lantern.
It illuminated a silhouette belonging to a young woman, maybe twenty, thin as a rail, dressed in patched leather and rags. She was standing on a raised walkway Zane hadn't even seen, holding a long, thin spear made of sharpened rebar.
She wasn't scared. As a matter of fact, she looked bored.
"I... I..." Zane stammered. He was still curled in a ball, shaking. He was a fucking junkie, and he'd just been caught crashing in her living room.
"You're one of them, aren't you?" she said, her voice flat. She gestured up, toward the grate. "A 'Stain'. A 'bonfire'."
Why do they always have several names to call him? Or are they just coming up with more?
"I... I'm starving," Zane gasped. It was the only truth he had. The convulsions were starting again.
The girl watched him twitch, her expression unreadable in the flickering light.
"Yeah," she said, her voice losing its edge. "You look like shit. You're in the crash zone."
She knew. She talked like she had seen it before.
"You're loud," she said, lowering her spear. "You're like that bitch, Silas… but messy. You bring the Cleaners down here. You bring the Purge."
"Silas... you know Silas?"
"Everyone knows a Spark," the girl muttered. "And everyone knows a Stain. You feed on the end. She feeds on the terror. You're both fucking noise."
She looked at him, shaking on the ground.
"You're gonna die in about ten minutes," she stated, not unkindly. "Your organs are shutting down."
"Help... me," Zane begged. He hated the word. He hated the weakness. But the pain was too much.
The girl was silent. She looked back up the tunnel toward the grate, as if measuring the distance.
"The Cleaners are up there," she said. "A Purge squad. Because of you."
"I... I didn't know..."
"They never do."
She looked back at him. A decision was made.
"This is the deal, Stain," she said, her voice all business. "I know where a meal is."
Zane's head snapped up. The hunger roared at the word.
"A big one," she continued. "A real feast. Enough to fill your fucking battery for a month."
"Where?" Zane gasped.
"Not so fast." She planted the butt of her rebar spear on the walkway.
"You're a monster. Right now, you're a weak, dying monster, but in about an hour, you'll be a strong one."
"I need that strength."
"I'll take you to the meal. You feed."
"And in return," she continued, "you get me the fuck out of this sewer and past the city wall."
It was a devil's bargain: a vulture for a guide.
"Deal," Zane rasped, his vision fading to black.