Stanley stayed on the rooftop.
He did not trust the quiet the machine had left behind. He crouched low between two old ventilation units, one knee on the concrete, fingers spread flat as if the ground itself might move.
The city lay beneath him in broken layers.
Buildings leaned at uneven angles. The sounds of explosions and collapsing buildings crawled through his spine.
He waited.
Nothing moved below. Only the wind sliding across metal and glass. Then the light above him shifted.
Stanley lifted his head slowly.
A dark swarm crossed the sky, cutting through the fading afternoon light. At first glance, it looked scattered.
Birds.
The shapes tightened. They moved in perfect rhythm.
"Those aren't birds," he said quietly.
He slid backward without hesitation and pressed himself behind the machines. He kept his body low, careful not to scrape or knock anything loose.
The buzzing reached him a moment later. It was a high-pitched, mechanical whine that vibrated in his teeth.
Drones.
"I thought something was missing," he muttered, a dry breath of a laugh slipping out.
They swept across the airspace in wide arcs, dozens of them moving together. Their formation shifted as they passed over rooftops and open streets, spreading out, then pulling tight again.
Stanley stayed still.
They were far enough away. Dozens of meters, maybe more. He tracked their movement without turning his head, following the rhythm of their passes.
The swarm drifted slightly to the east. The buzzing softened, but it did not fade completely.
Five seconds. Seven. Ten.
He loosened his grip on the ground.
Then something tore through the air. It moved fast. It streaked in from a rooftop several blocks away. Stanley's eyes snapped upward.
The swarm reacted instantly.
Their loose pattern collapsed inward as the object slammed into their center. The explosion burst open in the sky. The sound cracked across the rooftops, pushing a hot gust of air into Stanley's cover.
Several drones scattered, spiraling down in sparks. One clipped the edge of a building and vanished from sight. Another struck a wall and dropped straight down, trailing smoke.
Stanley flinched but stayed down.
The remaining drones snapped back into formation, tighter than before. A triangular shape formed at the front, the rest falling in behind it with mechanical precision. They turned as one and surged toward the rooftop where the shot had come from.
Stanley stayed where he was and watched the drones move away. As the buzzing faded, the last few seconds replayed in his mind.
When the object was only a few meters away.
The formation had shifted.
Four or five drones broke away without warning and moved ahead of the swarm. The explosion followed almost immediately, cutting off the object early. The rest of the drones pulled back and closed the gap, their pattern settling again as they
He crawled closer to the edge of the rooftop and peered down. A damaged drone lay tangled near a coil of thick cables, smoke curling faintly from its body.
He approached carefully and picked it up with both hands.
The metal was still warm. He didn't try to check it now.
"Time to find a place."
Stanley left the rooftop before the light changed again.
The sun sank lower. Light stretched long across the streets, turning broken glass into dull streaks. Shadows pooled at corners and beneath vehicles, shifting as he passed.
He found the bag back on the way, and checked the places. A few things he thought could be useful, he put inside.
A distant sound echoed once. Then nothing.
He crossed an intersection and felt it again.
He slowed.
The street ahead was empty. But the quiet felt wrong, too even, as if something were being held back.
Stanley turned his head slightly.
A narrow road branched off to the right. At the far end, a two-story house stood alone.
He watched it for a long moment. Nothing moved.
"You can show yourself now," his voice sounded flat in the open air.
No answer came.
Stanley waited. Five seconds passed. Then ten.
He stepped forward. The feeling did not fade.
He walked a little farther, then stopped again.
Footsteps behind him paused.
Stanley did not turn.
"Just letting you know," he said calmly, "you aren't very good at this."
The footsteps stopped completely.
He resumed walking toward the house. Whatever was following him stayed silent.
Stanley reached the front steps and went inside.
The door creaked softly as it closed behind him.
The floor creaked as he moved farther in. Furniture lay overturned in places. A table on its side. A chair missing a leg. The walls were bare, paint peeling in thin strips.
He headed for the stairs.
At the top, a narrow hallway stretched ahead, doors lining both sides. He chose one at random and pushed it open.
A bedroom.
It was small but enough. A single bed pressed against the wall, its metal frame rusted and bent. A cracked window let in the last of the daylight.
He tossed his backpack onto the bed.
Stanley reached for the switch and flipped it.
Nothing.
He tried another.
The bulb flickered a few times, then it held, casting a weak yellow glow across the room.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
The moment he did, everything caught up with him. His legs trembled. A dull ache spread through his shoulders and down his back. His breathing grew heavier for a few seconds before he forced it down again.
He exhaled slowly and stood. Stillness felt wrong.
His eyes moved around the room. Corners. Then the ceiling. Then the doorway.
Stanley stepped closer and pulled the door open.
A bathroom.
Spiderwebs clung to the ceiling, thick and layered. Dust coated the sink and mirror. He turned the tap.
Water burst out with a sudden rush. Stanley watched the stream.
"The place still has life," he murmured.
He shut the tap and went back into the bedroom.
Stanley opened his bag and pulled out a cloth. He wiped his hands, then his face. His eyes never left the doorway.
"Stalking is bad. You know that, right?"
A pair of eyes quickly vanished from the edge of the doorframe.
Stanley put the cloth down and waited.
Seconds stretched.
A floorboard creaked.
Stanley stayed where he was.
Another step followed. Then another. A figure eased into the doorway.
A girl. Not more than fifteen. Her hair hung loose around her face, tangled and dull with dust. She wore a yellow dress, faded but still catching the weak glow from the bulb.
Her hands shook as she raised a dagger.
The blade was small. Its grip was worn smooth from use.
Stanley glanced at it. Then at her face. She looked terrified.
"Nice outfit," he said.
Her grip tightened. The tip of the dagger wavered, but it stayed pointed at him.
"I'll kill you."