The sky was dark.
Not the usual murky blood-red, but a deep black, stretching westward like spilled ink on a white canvas. And that was very bad.
Eric could smell it before he even reached for the radio in his only real possession—a battered green car that screamed more than it revved and spent more time at the mechanic than with him.
Still, it had its uses. A quick money-maker when he was desperate. And it carried memories, like the night he’d fled the research center with Kael in the backseat, sirens blaring in his ears. He remembered the car rolling downhill, slamming to a stop against a rock.
Ha. Good times.
Now, though, he needed cash. Kael’s meds were empty. The pantry was nearly bare. A couple of passengers would cover both. Transport was expensive.
Except that wasn’t happening.
The radio crackled and the music was cut out.
"This is an official government announcement," a voice cut through the rusted speakers. "This information is of utmost importance and will be repeated every thirty minutes."
Eric exhaled. Shit.
"Neal City lockdown. High-threat warning issued. Everyone remain indoors. Reinforcements en route. Next update in thirty minutes."
The broadcast cut to static, and after that, it went silent.
Eric leaned back, staring at the cracked windshield. Great. No passengers. No extra cash. No food run. And most importantly, no meds.
No wonder the streets were empty. Not even the smugglers were out. Neal City never slept; however, tonight, it felt dead.
His phone buzzed. Sighing, he picked it up.
Kael: Guess who’s here?
He was about to reply when another message popped up.
Kael: Natalie!!! And she’s demanding you get your ass home if you haven’t heard the news.
Another buzz.
Kael: I''m still mad you messed things up with her, by the way. What am I saying? You mess up everything.
If Natalie was there, it meant Kael had called her way before or after she called him during her episode. And his ex was the only person, aside from him, who knew his sister was an uncontrollable Ashborn.
They’d stayed friends (if he could call it that.) after the breakup. He’d ended it a year ago, knowing he couldn’t give the spoiled heiress anything but baggage while her father kept demanding his head to leave his priceless Gem alone.
Probably for the best.
Eric chuckled into the silence, the familiar emptiness settling into his core. He should go home, get some rest and rise up very early when the scum of the earth began to roam.
However as soon as his fingers brushed the steering wheel, there was a knock. Small and firm. Eric held the wheel before his gaze snapped to the window.
A silhouette stood just outside, like a shadow beneath the weak glow of a streetlamp. Didn''t help that he was dressed in an attire so black he merged with the dark.
Eric didn’t move.
No one was supposed to be out. No, No one was out. The lockdown had turned Neal City into a ghost town.
But there was another knock just outside his door.
Eric rolled the window down an inch, ignoring instinct telling him to grab the knife under the seat. "Sorry, man. I''m closed for the day." He started rolling it back up.
"Six hundred."
Eric halted. His brows knit. His gaze flicked over the man; tall, wrapped in a heavy coat that hid most of his form. Probably armed. Probably dangerous.
Probably rich.
And six hundred was a whole lot of cash to give up on. A week’s worth of provisions. A month of Kael’s meds. Enough to fix the damn house.
Real easy, but definitely a bad idea.
Another knock but this time quick and loud. "Don''t know if you can tell, but I''m in a hurry."
Eric exhaled. “Where to?”
“South checkpoint.”
His heartbeat stopped. The f—?! That— that''s suicide!
Neal City had three major checkpoints, each leading into different territories. The South checkpoint was the worst—right in front of what used to be an industrial sector before the First Wake turned it into an Ashspawn breeding ground. Even smugglers called it a last resort.
Eric squinted. “You looking to die?”
The man didn’t even give the courtesy of a reaction. “No.”
Great. That was so reassuring. I definitely feel safer now.
"That''s dangerous," he stressed out the obvious.
"Going or not?"
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
He hesitated, glancing at his phone. Kael’s texts still glowed on the screen. He should go home. Natalie was probably waiting to skin him alive.
But Kael needed her meds and this was certainly the only cash he’d see tonight.
Eric clicked his tongue. Fuck it, his lids dropped, bargaining mode activated. “Eight hundred.”
“Six.”
He snorted. “You hit your head? City’s locked down.”
“Seven.”
“Eight,” he repeated flatly. “And you don’t die close to my car.”
The man paused, then, finally: “Fine.”
Eric sighed, unlocking the seat beside him. "Just in case you move funny."
The man slid in. No gun like Eric expected, just a black briefcase he hugged close. He turned his face to the window, hood pulled low.
"You can drive now."
His phone buzzed again.
Eric clenched his teeth and started the engine before he could change his mind. The car wheezed like an asthmatic chain smoker, then roared to life.
Too late to back out now.
━━???━━
The route to South Checkpoint was dark and unnervingly silent. Normally, even past curfew, someone would be lurking—smugglers, desperate runners, patrol drones sweeping the alleys with sterile white lights. But tonight?
Nothing.
The sky was getting even darker.
Eric kept his grip steady on the wheel, even as his mind itched with second thoughts. This was stupid. An eight-hundred-dollar job to the South Checkpoint? He might as well have set himself on fire and asked for a tip.
The man beside him hadn’t moved an inch since getting in, shoulders hunched, face buried in his hood. The only thing he held onto was that damn briefcase, clutched and hugged against him in a death grip.
He still hadn''t even caught a glimpse of his face.
“So,” Eric drawled, tapping the wheel, “what’s so important that you’re risking your life out here?”
Silence.
Eric threw him a glance. The briefcase was still hugged to his chest, knuckles pale on the leather handle.
"Just drive," the man said after a moment.
Eric exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. He hated jobs like this. Too much unknown, too much quiet. The kind of quiet that made your skin itch, made you wonder if you were walking into a grave before you even saw the shovel.
But eight hundred was eight hundred.
The road ahead was uneven, cracked asphalt blending into dirt the closer they got to the outskirts. A few of Neal City’s infrastructure had been rebuilt after the First Wake, but the southern districts never made the cut. Too close to the Ashspawn ruins and most of all too hard to control.
Eric’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Still no drones, no patrols. Still too quiet.
He adjusted his grip on the wheel.
"You military?"
The man didn’t answer.
Eric rolled his jaw, narrowing him another glance. Still hunched, still gripping that briefcase. Not military, then. Or at least, not active. The military was stiff, sure, but they didn’t shake like this guy was shaking.
"Smuggler?" Eric tried again.
No response.
"You know, conversation’s free with the fare," he muttered. "Won’t even charge extra."
Silence.
It’s just the checkpoint, he told himself. One drop-off, then you’re done.
And finally, they were here. Rows of reinforced concrete barriers lined the road, merging into a single entry point.
Thick chain-link fencing, double-layered with barbed wire, extended along both sides, curving inward like teeth. High above, watchtowers stood, their searchlights sweeping the area in white circles, briefly slicing through the shadows.
At the center stood the main gate, a massive plate of steel embedded with reinforced plating, designed to withstand both explosions and Ashspawn attacks.
It was flanked by automated turrets, some new, some worn out. Normally, they moved, but now they didn''t.
"Here." The man''s voice cut through the silence. "That''s a thousand."
Eric turned to the outstretched hand, brow lifting. He took the notes, counting them before shoving them into his back pocket.
"Dude, you sure you wanna go in there?" He asked again, because, honestly, the two-hundred-dollar tip had just unlocked a little sympathy for this stranger. "The sky is—"
Without another word, the man unlocked the door and stepped out.
The checkpoint gates were open.
That alone was weird enough. South Checkpoint was a fortress, meant to keep things out—or in. The guards were usually a pain in the ass, barking orders, checking papers, searching cars like they expected a bomb in every compartment.
And yet… no guards. No inspections. Nothing. Just the man, vanishing through the gates.
Alright then. Eric thought. At least he tried. Yet it felt wrong. He couldn''t place it, but something felt off.
His fingers brushed over the money in his pocket. Still there. Cool. Every other thing wasn''t his business.
His phone buzzed and he looked at the screen. Natalie was calling . His fingers twitched then dropped. Eric blew out a breath. Was there any point in answering just to hear her scream when he’d be home in two hours max?
He shoved the gear into reverse, but just as he was about to pull away—
*Thud*
Eric flinched, twisting toward the passenger seat. Immediately sighting that rectangular shaped, black leather coated object.
The briefcase.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
An eight-hundred-dollar fare. A two-hundred-dollar tip. And the dumbass had forgotten the one thing he’d been clutching so tightly, white knuckles and all.
Eric rubbed a hand down his face.
He should leave. Really.
Just drive back, buy the meds, get food, let Natalie chew him out, and forget about it.
Instead, he stared at the case, that gut feeling kicking in. Specifically the one that had kept him alive in the worst parts of Neal City.
Check it.
There were rules to shit like this. And the first was never open what isn’t yours.
Eric cursed under his breath, grabbing the handle and pulling the case onto his lap. It wasn’t locked, but he still didn’t open it.
Instead, he glanced toward the checkpoint again.
The man was gone. Probably inside. Probably wouldn’t even notice he’d left it until it was too late.
And Eric had just made a thousand bucks. No reason to go back.
His fingers tightened around the briefcase.
“…Fucking hell.”
He turned the engine back on.
It screeched, rumbled, and with a heavy sigh, Eric drove back toward the checkpoint.
He’d wait five minutes. If the man didn’t come back out, he was going home. All for the kindness of a two-hundred-dollar tip.
He parked. At intervals, he made the light blink, just in case it was too dark for the man to see. Other times, he watched the briefcase.
Check it.
Maybe he should. He could close it back. Nobody had to know. Not even the little mysterious dude. If he walked in on him with the lid flipped open or he noticed, Eric could just say he wanted an ID...
But then there was a tiny beep.
Eric pushed his ear closer.
Another beep.
He held his breath as he straightened up. He wasn''t hearing things, it came from the briefcase.
Check it.
Curiosity gnawed at him as he clicked the briefcase open—
The glow hit first. Warm red, blinking like a pulse and beeping like a heartbeat. His stomach turned even before he saw them.
The wires. Red, blue and yellow. Weaving around in curls and attached to a timer.
00:04.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Eric didn’t have a chance to think. He moved. The car door slammed open as he flung himself out, hitting the ground hard just as the briefcase exploded.
The force caught him mid-roll, launching him backward like a ragdoll.
His shoulders slammed into the chain-link fence. Pain reverberated through his body, enough to ignore the searing heat and the blast still echoing in the air.
His car. His only car was gone. Bits of metal rained down, clattering against the pavement, still hot enough to sear skin where they landed.
Eric sucked in a breath—then choked on it as the heavy air invaded his nostril. And there amid the pain and almost dead ears, it dawned on him—
He was out in the open. Right in the center of an Ashspawn-infested street. Bloodied and actively bleeding. And right next to him was the warmth of his burning car.
That bastard.
Eric stared at the destruction, pupils blown wide. He needed to get out of here. Needed to stay alive.
But that—he realized, as the familiar monstrous screeches drew closer, sending a deadly chill down his spine—
Was rapidly not becoming his choice to make.