The campfire crackled, throwing long, jittery shadows against the rusted walls of the terminal. It was the only warmth in a world that had turned cold and digital, but for Ren, even the heat felt clinical. He sat huddled in his coat, his hood up, watching the flickering flames through the interface of his HUD.

  "The count is 1,500," Mel whispered, leaning close so her voice wouldn’t carry to the other side of the camp. She was counting out the glowing green and gold Flux coins they had scavenged from the Syndicate corpses. "That’s it, Ren. Every single coin we took from Lars’s men. If we give this to Amiel, we’re landing in Brooklyn with empty pockets."

  Ren’s chest hitched, a sharp pain radiating from his ribs. [Health: 15/21]. He had been eyeing the System’s 'Void Shop' for days, looking at high-tier regenerative salves—potions that cost hundreds of coins because they were the only things capable of overriding a status like his.

  "I was going to buy the Alveoli-Mend tonic," Ren said, his voice a dry rasp. "And a few 'Blood-Replenish' vials. Without them, I’m one bad hit away from a permanent debuff I can’t come back from."

  Chloe looked at her hand, where the hilt of her Flame Sword rested. The weapon hummed with a faint, comforting heat. "Ren... take the sword. If we trade the Flame Sword to Amiel, he’ll definitely lower the price. It’s a Rare-grade pull. It’s worth more than 500 coins on its own."

  Ren looked at her, his eyes hard and unyielding. "No. We’re going into the most dangerous territory in the city. I’m a nocturnal anchor, Mel is half-deaf in one ear, and you’re our only consistent damage dealer during the day. You keep the sword. We can always kill more Winners for their coins. We can’t replace your primary weapon."

  "He's right," Mel sighed, dropping the last coin into the leather pouch with a heavy clink. "We pay the man. We cross. We survive. That’s the order of operations."

  Across the fire, Kyle sat with his halberd across his lap, his eyes fixed on them. He hadn't stopped staring since the "reveal." But it wasn't the stare of someone who was afraid; it was the sharp, jagged look of a boy who felt cheated by the universe. He watched Chloe meticulously open a tin of pre-Integration peaches and offer the first slice to Ren.

  To Kyle, the scene was an insult. He saw Ren—a pale, sickly kid who couldn't stop coughing—being waited on by two beautiful, clearly capable fighters.

  "Don't you guys get tired of it?" Kyle suddenly blurted out, his voice echoing in the small fort.

  Chloe paused, a piece of peach halfway to Ren’s mouth. "Tired of what, Kyle?"

  "The act," Kyle said, gesturing vaguely at Ren. "I get it. He’s the 'Ghost of Lexington.' Big name. But look at him. He’s practically a corpse. Why are you guys serving him like he’s a king? Is it some kind of high-level 'Winner' perk? Does he have a [Mind Control] skill?"

  Kyle straightened his shoulders, trying to look imposing. "The girls are the real muscle here. I can tell. You guys are the ones doing the heavy lifting while he just sits there and acts tough because he’s a guy. You should be with a group that actually respects your power. Not... this."

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  Mel let out a sharp, jagged laugh. She leaned back, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Oh, Kyle. You’ve got it all wrong. Ren isn't our king." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that everyone could hear. "He’s our favorite plaything. He's just so fragile, you see? We like to keep him around to see how much more he can take before he finally breaks."

  She winked at Ren. "If you wanted to be served, Kyle, all you had to do was ask. But I don't think you could handle the 'training' Ren goes through."

  Ren let out a chuckle that immediately devolved into a wet, rattling cough. He wiped his mouth with the back of his glove, seeing a fresh smear of indigo-tinted blood. Kyle turned away, his face flushing a deep, angry red. He stayed quiet after that, brooding over his halberd, but the resentment in his heart was practically visible to Ren’s [Thermal Vision]—a hot, pulsing knot of orange in the boy's chest.

  Trying to break the tension, Chloe moved over to the older couple. The woman, Sarah, smiled weakly as she rocked the baby. The man, David, had his leg propped up, wrapped in dirty bandages that smelled of infection.

  "His name is Leo," Sarah whispered, looking down at the infant. "He was born three days before the Integration. We thought... we thought the world ending meant he wouldn't get to grow up. But David and Kyle... they’ve kept us moving."

  David reached out, squeezing Sarah’s hand. "We used to own the brownstone Kyle lived in. He was a quiet kid. Good at games. When the sky turned green, he was the only one who didn't run. He stayed to help us. He’s a bit arrogant, yeah, but he’s got a good heart."

  Ren listened from the shadows. A good heart was a liability in the East River.

  The conversation was cut short by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the concrete. Amiel emerged from the darkness of the pier, his black raincoat slick with river water. Behind him, he was dragging a thick rope strung with four massive, mutated fish. They were Scissor-Mouth Gobies (Level 5), each the size of a large dog, with jagged, metallic teeth that groaned as they scraped against the ground.

  "The river is hungry tonight," Amiel said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I didn't see a single thing under Level 5. The water is thick with Flux. It’s changing them faster than the land-dwellers."

  He pulled a jagged dagger from his belt and knelt by the fire. With a practiced, surgical motion, he began to gut the fish. The smell was horrendous—like rotting copper and swamp gas. He tossed a massive hunk of grey, sinewy meat toward Kyle.

  "Cook it," Amiel commanded. "We need the protein. The crossing takes more out of you than the fight."

  Kyle gingerly picked up the meat, looking nauseous, but he did as he was told. Amiel moved to the last fish—a particularly bloated specimen with glowing purple veins. He sliced into its belly, and instead of grey guts, a cascade of shimmering, golden orbs spilled out onto the concrete. They looked like oversized pearls, pulsing with a soft, rhythmic light.

  "Jackpot," Amiel whispered.

  The camp went silent. Even the baby stopped crying.

  "Gold-fish eggs," Mel murmured, her [Street Hustler’s Ear] picking up the faint, high-frequency hum coming from the orbs. "Those aren't just food. Those are raw Flux concentrates."

  "Level 3 Mana Reagents," Ren noted, his HUD identifying the items.

  Amiel looked up at Ren, a strange, calculating look in his amber eyes. "One of these is worth a hundred coins to the right alchemist. Or..." He picked one up and held it out toward the fire. "You eat it raw, and it let's you breath underwater for about an hour. But it tastes so bad you'd want to burn your tongue afterwards.

  Chloe looked at Ren, knowing what Ren's [Status Permanence] can make with a 1 hour timer.

  Ren looked at the golden eggs, then at his own stagnant stats. He was flat broke. He was dying. And the river was full of things that wanted to eat his soul.

  "How many are there?" Ren asked.

  "Ten," Amiel replied.

  "I’ll take five," Ren said, his voice cold.

  Amiel stared at Ren for a long beat, the silence in the camp stretching until it felt like it would snap. Then, the Guide chuckled and pushed five of the glowing eggs toward Ren with the tip of his knife.

  "I like you, Lexington. You’ve got the stomach for this world."

  Ren took the five and split in evenly among the Chloe and Mel, only keeping one for himself. "In case the waters get dangerous, use this." Ren said, "I only need one."

  Kyle watched from the corner, his knuckles white as he gripped his halberd. He looked at the golden eggs, then at the "weak" girl feeding the "sick" boy, and his jealousy finally curdled into something much darker.