Keith sobbed in a way only someone could who had just realised how close to death they really were, and had somehow survived. His loud wailing died down to quieter, more broken leaking sounds that dragged out of him in uneven breaths. His hands shook where they clutched at Tyler’s jacket, fingers digging in with the unconscious strength of someone afraid the world might come apart if he let go.

  Tyler waited patiently and let Keith process. He didn’t tell him to calm down or say everything was going to be okay. He let the man be, let him process his own fear on his own, just lending a shoulder for support. Anyway, he really couldn’t say he was safe now. Tyler just didn’t know how much truth those words held.

  As Keith sobbed away, Tyler played the fight back over in his head. He had seen Keith’s wooden weapon—much like an old cane or walking stick—bounce off the squelchy, yet his metal bar had penetrated right through the creature.

  “Al, any reason why I was able to slice into that squelchy? Why Keith’s weapon was bouncing off it like it had no effect?” He wasn’t sure he’d get a sensible response, but while he waited he had nothing better to do.

  “I am still and have always been right. Terrible weapon, that. No numbers at all. But it is metal. All metals have an inert piercing—some more than others—and even with that squelchy having way, way, way more numbers than you, it still was squishy. That cane is a better weapon. It has numbers, hmm, but not better here. That makes no sense.”

  “So how many numbers, as you say, would that stick need to have to be able to pass through a creature like that?” Tyler was making an educated guess here, but numbers were not the absolute defining statistic of a weapon—and did that lead to other things, including people and creatures?

  “Hmmm… that depends, but more. Quite a bit more. Hey, wait—no, that can’t be right. That’s a whole different level. I take it back. I like your bar. Keep the bar, for now anyway.”

  Just as Tyler thought: even a weapon that seemed more powerful would still fail against a squelchy if it couldn’t penetrate. Numbers were not the only factors at play here.

  “Thanks for your approval. And using the Aggregant Core—what happened there? I suspected it might do some damage, burn it or react with it, but it seemed to have a cataclysmic reaction with it.”

  “Yes. No. Well, yes. It didn’t like it. Two corrosives don’t make a right. Or is that wrongs?”

  Keith dragged in a breath that hitched halfway, then forced another through clenched teeth. He looked up at Tyler, nodded once—sharp and reluctant, like a man agreeing to terms he didn’t much like. Tyler backed away, giving the old man some room.

  “Thought I was gone,” Keith muttered after a moment. “Proper gone. Felt like… like falling asleep standing up, getting thrown about as it moved.”

  Tyler swallowed. “You were awake for all that? Hell, man, I thought you were out— even dead.”

  Keith gave a humourless huff at that. He didn’t answer—maybe because it was too hard, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it. Tyler let the silence hang between them.

  They stayed there for a bit, just sitting. Tyler noticed how Keith’s injuries were now almost all healed. He even had all the fingers on both hands. He was tempted to ask what was happening with him, but thought better. There was time for such questions.

  The world seemed to give them space. Behind them, what was left of the creature finished dissolving into the soil, the last of it drying into cracked earth like it had never been anything at all.

  Eventually, Keith wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, looking more embarrassed than ashamed.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to carry on like that.”

  “You nearly died. You don’t owe anyone tidy behaviour. And no need to explain yourself to anyone.”

  Keith snorted weakly. “That thing didn’t get the memo.”

  He shifted, then—without ceremony—pushed himself upright, checking himself over. Lifting a leg and stamping down, making sure everything was working as it should.

  Tyler noticed how he stood too easily. Not with the careful hesitation Tyler remembered of the old man. Not with the stiff, familiar roll of someone coaxing old joints into cooperation. He just stood there—balanced, steady—like his body had finally decided to work with him instead of against him.

  Tyler kept staring, and Keith noticed.

  “What?”

  “You shouldn’t be moving like that,” Tyler said before he could stop himself.

  Keith blinked, then looked down at himself, flexing his fingers, rolling his shoulders once. There was no surprise on his face—only a quiet confirmation of something he already knew.

  “Yeah. Been like this since it started.”

  “Since…?”

  “Monday morning. When the messages came. Soon as they did, it was like someone turned the clock back. Back pain gone. Knees stopped complaining. Woke up every day since feeling like I’ve shaved twenty years off.”

  He chuckled, soft and incredulous. “Haven’t felt this good since I was about thirty. Strong as an ox, too. Picked up one of the bollards outside the gate without thinking about it.”

  There was more information in that reply than Tyler had expected. It had been days here. Was that the same for everyone else? Was his disappearance different? He needed to know more, but thought it better to keep what he knew to himself—for now anyway.

  “That didn’t worry you?”

  Keith considered that. “Course it did. Still does. But when the world’s already gone batshit crazy, kid, you take the good where it turns up.”

  Tyler watched him carefully. Keith’s posture, the ease of his movements—it wasn’t just strength. It was alignment, like his body had been recalculated.

  Al whispered faintly in Tyler’s mind.

  “Optimised.”

  Tyler ignored it.

  Keith looked at him properly then, recognition settling in.

  “…You’re Tyler. Lab bloke. Always in early. Drinks coffee like it’s going out of fashion.”

  Tyler blinked. “You noticed that?”

  Keith smiled faintly. “Security notices things people don’t think matter. Who rushes. Who doesn’t. Who still says ‘morning’ even when they’re already somewhere else in their head.”

  That landed closer than Tyler liked. He was sure he fell into that category. He rarely took much notice, only offering a quick hello.

  “Keith. Gatehouse. You used to complain about the new barrier arm.”

  “Still do. Don’t like machines deciding when they’re allowed to behave.”

  That earned the ghost of a laugh from Tyler. He liked the nonsense of it all. Older people were always scared of automation—robots, AI—thinking they might one day take over the world, when they couldn’t do anything without human input.

  “I like him. His numbers are bigger than yours.”

  Then again, maybe the older generation had a point. It’s not like Al wasn’t now free to do and say what he wanted.

  “World’s been a mess. Hard to tell where anyone is anymore. Roads don’t quite go where they should. People turning up miles from where they went to sleep. Figured you were somewhere else, same as everyone.”

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Tyler nodded. “More or less.”

  Keith didn’t press. He leaned back against the tree, looking out at the reshaped land.

  “When the system came, it didn’t wait for anyone. Just sort of arrived. Stats. Numbers. Little boxes popping up in your head like they’d always been there. Said integration would begin in seventy-two hours.”

  “Integration into what?” Tyler asked without even thinking.

  Keith shook his head. “Don’t know. Just like everyone else. All I know is that clock’s ticking down to something.”

  Tyler nodded, but his attention had already slipped inward. Two days. So, he was gone for two full days while the rest of the world got introduced to the system. Two full days of learning the system, or understanding what happened. Did this mean he was behind? Al had just mentioned Keith’s numbers were higher.

  “Forty-eight hours,” Tyler said quietly, more to himself than to Keith.

  Keith glanced at him. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  “You were not inactive,” Al murmured, close and immediate in his thoughts. “You were with me. In the room. Time is funny. Well, not time, but the concept. Fast and slow.”

  Tyler felt the familiar tightening behind his eyes. The ever-present Al.

  “So everyone else had two days to adjust,” he thought. “Two days to experiment. To make mistakes. To learn what worked.”

  And he’d arrived at the end of that window, carrying none of that lived experience.

  “People started chasing levels straight away,” Keith went on. “Comparing stats. Showing off. Arguing about the fastest way to level. Like schoolkids with exam results.”

  Tyler listened, but the words landed differently now. Taking everything in, just nodding back in agreement. So people had already levelled and were actively engaging in the system.

  He looked at Keith again—at the ease with which he spoke about stats and levels—and realisation hit him. People had had time to normalise events. Not a lot of time, but enough to be running now, while he was barely walking.

  Keith hesitated, noticing Tyler lost in thought, but shrugged, then added, “Couple of people hit level five already.”

  “And?”

  “You should see them move,” Keith said. “Fast. Strong. Like physics has started giving them special treatment.”

  “And you?”

  Keith smiled, modest and honest. “Only level three. I’m working on it.”

  “Working on it how?”

  Keith glanced away to where the squelchy had died. “Helping where I could. Clearing things out. Keeping people safe. Hunting these little nasty things down. Even had a core to make things easier.”

  “The squelchies.”

  Keith snorted. “That’s not what they’re called.”

  “No?”

  “Myxid aggregants,” Keith said. “Juveniles, mostly. Horrible things.”

  Tyler felt the weight in his pocket—the smooth, warm certainty of the Aggregant Core—and decided to push Keith on the subject.

  “You said you had something about a core to make things easier?”

  Keith grimaced. “Aggregant core. Handy bit of kit. Destabilises them. Makes them… stop agreeing with themselves.” He sighed. “Dropped mine when that big bastard hit me.”

  “…Right.” His fingers curled around the core in his pocket unintentionally. Keith noticed the movement.

  “You got one?”

  “I might.”

  Keith didn’t push any further, just nodded. That mattered to Tyler. It showed Keith had an understanding that many others lacked. He was able to read the room, to judge the situation, and right now Tyler didn’t feel much like divulging what he had.

  After a moment, Keith straightened. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Nothing of use, as far as I can see.”

  Keith headed off through the trees, and Tyler followed, keeping up with uncanny speed for an old man.

  “You heading somewhere?” Tyler asked finally.

  Keith shook his head. “Not far. There’s a bit of a camp set up. Few of us banded together first night it all kicked off.”

  “A camp?”

  “Aye. Nothing grand. Just people who didn’t fancy sleeping alone while things were still trying to eat us.”

  “How many?”

  “About a dozen or so. More people arrive every day. Some stay, some just move on looking for people. Hell, probably would’ve been one less if it wasn’t for you.”

  Tyler’s step faltered for half a heartbeat. Maybe Ned or Matt were at this camp.

  “Anyone I know? Anyone from work, that is?”

  Keith glanced over. “You know a couple. Penny’s there. Hit level four yesterday morning.”

  Tyler stopped walking as he recalled the name.

  “Penny? From Unit Twenty-One?”

  “That’s the one. Chemical safety lead. Quiet. Turns out she throws a punch like a sledgehammer now.”

  Tyler let out a short, incredulous breath. “She used to apologise when you bumped into her.”

  Keith smiled faintly. “World’s full of surprises these days.”

  “And the others?”

  “Carl’s there. Also Unit Twenty-One. Level one still. Keeps saying he’s fine with it, but you can tell it eats at him.”

  Tyler nodded slowly. He could picture Carl perfectly—methodical, risk-averse, always triple-checking figures before committing.

  “That tracks,” he murmured.

  “Friends, friends are great. I can’t wait to meet them,” Al said giddily.

  Tyler ignored it.

  “Anyone else?” he asked.

  Keith hesitated. “Not sure you know a Rafe or a Syed?”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  “Fair enough. Said they were working in the old Edmunds building. I can’t remember seeing them myself, but they seem to be on top of things. Unofficial leaders of our makeshift community.”

  They walked a few more steps in silence before Tyler spoke again, asking a question, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer he liked.

  “Have you seen anyone else further out? Like from town, or further afield?”

  Keith shook his head. “Bits and pieces. Two people passed through the first day but kept going, and a young girl this morning, but she kept her distance. Can’t blame her. Everyone is a little scared.”

  “What about Matt? Or Ned? My lab partners.”

  Keith slowed, giving him a look that held no pity—just honesty.

  “No, sorry. Not seen them. Like I said, not seen many people.”

  Tyler just nodded. He thought it was a long shot, yet he had a feeling they couldn’t be too far. They had all been in the same lab when this had started. Even with two days’ head start, they shouldn’t be too far away.

  Keith exhaled through his nose. “Roads don’t quite go where they used to. Distances feel off too. Some folks swear they walked ten minutes and ended up miles away. Others say they’ve been walking for hours and can still see where they started.”

  “He’s funny. Places are just moving. Where do you think the squelchies come from? Between the gaps.”

  Tyler frowned, his steps slowing a fraction. “What do you mean, moving?”

  “The ground is learning how to hold more than it used to. How can everything fit if not?”

  “You’re saying it’s getting bigger.”

  “Not exactly bigger. More… less finished. Places that were neighbours are being given room to breathe. Some distances are stretching. Others are folding.”

  “So finding people isn’t just about where they were, but where they could be after this alteration.”

  “I say people are where they are. It is that simple.”

  Tyler kept walking, but the world around him felt different now—not just broken, but unfinished, as if the ground itself hadn’t yet decided how far apart things were allowed to be.

  They passed what used to be a bus shelter, now half-consumed by ivy, the timetable still clinging stubbornly to one side, as if pretending it mattered.

  Tyler broke the quiet again. “Why stay put?”

  Keith shrugged. “Because everyone needs somewhere to stand while they work out what the hell they’re doing. Because being alone right now feels… risky.”

  “You don’t seem scared, even after what just happened.”

  Keith smiled, tired and honest. “Oh, I am. I just don’t find it useful to pretend otherwise.”

  That earned a genuine nod of respect. And Tyler was not about to bring up what had happened just after the previous fight. None needed to be reminded of that.

  They walked on, the land gently rising ahead, the shape of something—tents, tarps, repurposed fencing—beginning to resolve in the distance.

  Tyler felt the pull of two directions at once: forward, toward people and answers; and outward, toward everyone not here yet. The world hadn’t just changed—it had scattered everyone, and Tyler had arrived just late enough to feel it.

  They crested a shallow rise and the camp came into view. It wasn’t much: just a few tarps strung between broken fencing, a scavenged fire barrel, crates dragged into a rough circle. Enough to mark territory. Enough to say someone had decided to stop here.

  Three figures stood near the centre of a clearing as they approached. They were hunched close together, shoulders tight, attention fixed on something on the ground between them.

  From a distance, Tyler’s brain tried to make sense of it. A carcass. Had they just hunted down some food? He hadn’t noticed until just then, but he was starving, a stray hand resting on his stomach. Or was it something dragged in from the wild? One of the creatures Keith had been talking about?

  The shape was wrong. Crumpled in on itself, dark against the grass.

  Then one of the figures shifted. Tyler’s breath caught. “That’s Carl,” he said quietly.

  Keith glanced at him. “Nice to see a familiar face, eh lad?”

  Tyler nodded, appreciating Keith’s warmth. They were close enough now that Tyler’s brain stopped lying to him.

  It wasn’t an animal the three people were stood over.

  It was something much worse.

  The limbs were wrong. Bent at angles that made his stomach twist. One arm lay outstretched, fingers half-curled in the grass like they’d been reaching for something that hadn’t come.

  “Oh.”

  “Penny.”

  Her hair was matted dark with blood. Her body lay twisted on its side, clothing torn and soaked through, skin bruised and broken beneath it. Not eaten. Not dissolved.

  Beaten.

  Again and again.

  Long after it had been necessary.

  Tyler stopped dead, not wanting to move any further. He felt Keith halt beside him, the air between them going heavy and still.

  Penny had always been careful. Methodical. The sort of person who triple-checked a procedure and apologised if she thought she’d inconvenienced someone.

  Tyler didn’t need to ask. He felt it in the way the air around Penny’s body seemed finished with her—not drained, not eaten, just ended.

  No creature had done this.

  This was intent.

  This was purposeful.

  Carl stood a step back from the body, hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white enough to ache. His gaze flicked between Tyler and Keith, then away again, never quite settling, like he was afraid his eyes might land on the wrong answer.

  “We found her like that,” one of the others said, and a large man started pointing at each of them.

  Tyler’s eyes tracked the damage with cold, unwilling precision. The pattern of injuries. The distribution of force. The places that had been hit more than once.

  Too many times.

  Al was very quiet in Tyler’s mind, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

  Then something moved out the corner of Tyler’s eye. It moved fast, and as he tried to track it, a hand grabbed around Tyler’s jacket and lifted him into the air.

  His jacket pulled tight as knuckles dug into his chest, and he found it hard to breathe. The lifeless body of Penny was no longer the centre of his world, but the towering stature of a man holding him off the floor with one hand, the other curled into a fist.

  “Did you do this?” the man snarled, face inches from Tyler’s, eyes bright and furious, foam forming on the edge of his mouth. “Did you kill her?”