The silence that followed the snap of the dog’s neck was heavier than the water in the filter tanks. It was not a peaceful silence. It was the suffocating and pressurized quiet of a grave waiting to be filled.

  Mike slumped against the curved metal wall of the silo and let his legs slide out into the muck. The adrenaline that had turned his blood into rocket fuel was evaporating to leave behind a cold and trembling exhaustion. His chest heaved against the damp air and every breath tasted of ammonia and wet fur.

  "Show is over."

  The voice drifted down from the grate fifty feet above. It was bored and tinny as it distorted against the curved acoustics of the shaft.

  "Enjoy the company rat. Shift change in six hours. Try not to die before then."

  A heavy metal clang echoed as the grate was sealed. The circle of light remained as a pale and indifferent eye staring down at the bottom of the well but the connection to the world above was severed. Mike was alone.

  He sat there for a long time and listened to the drip of condensation running down the walls. He did not look at the dog yet. Instead he brought his right hand up to his face. The System had healed the exit wound but it had not done it cleanly. The skin where the bone spur had erupted was shiny and tight and angry red like melted wax that had cooled too fast. It throbbed with a dull hot rhythm that felt like a second heartbeat separate from the one in his chest.

  Mike ran his left thumb over the scar. He could feel the ridge of the bone underneath. It was thicker now. Denser.

  Bio-Projectile, he thought as the System text flashed in his memory. That is what it tried to do.

  He closed his eyes and visualized the moment of the strike. He replayed the sensation of the heat in his gut and the way the System had tried to push the energy out of his palm like a bullet. He had mentally grabbed it by the throat and forced it to stop. He had jammed the gears of the biological printer halfway through the job.

  I changed the density, he realized with a strange cold clarity. I did not just stop it. I molded it. I told the bone to stay anchored.

  A shiver went through him that wasn't from the cold. It was the thrill of the tinkerer. It was the same feeling he used to get when he bypassed a security lock on a water pump using a stripped wire and a battery. The System thought it was the architect and treated Mike like a blueprint to be followed. But if he could intercept the command and grab that boiling energy before it solidified then he could reshape the output.

  He flexed his fingers and watched the tendons shift under the scar tissue. It was not magic. It was biology. And biology was just a machine.

  The triumph was short-lived. As the adrenaline fully faded the bill came due.

  It started as a cramp. A sharp twist of his intestines made him double over and gasp. It spread outward as a cold and desperate ache that radiated into his muscles and his marrow.

  Hunger.

  It was not the hunger he was used to. Mike had grown up in Sector 4 and he knew the dull lethargic emptiness of starvation. This was violent. It felt like a vacuum had opened inside his cells. The regeneration that had knit his jaw and sealed his wrist had not come from nowhere. The System did not create mass. It reallocated it. It had burned through his fat reserves and his muscle density to keep him alive.

  Now the tank was empty.

  Biomass required, the impulse flashed across his synapses. Critical reserves depleted. Refuel immediately.

  Mike gripped his stomach and his nails dug into his own skin. He tried to think of the nutrient paste Jory sometimes shared but his body did not want bread. Slowly his gaze was drawn to the center of the pit.

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  The mutated mastiff lay in a heap of tawny fur and tumors. It was a mountain of dead weight and the silence of the silo magnified its presence. Its jaw was slack and the massive tongue lolled out into the sludge. Minutes ago it had been a nightmare designed to tear him apart.

  Now?

  Mike wiped his mouth. His hand came away wet. Saliva was pooling in his mouth and dripping from his lips before he even realized he was salivating.

  "No," Mike rasped. His voice was a wreck and dry as sandpaper. "I am not doing that."

  He squeezed his eyes shut. He was a human being. He was Mike. He fixed filters and he had a code. You did not eat the sick. You did not eat the mutated. You definitely did not eat a dog that looked like it had been grown in a vat of chemical waste.

  It is meat, the voice in the back of his head whispered. It sounded like the System but older. It is proteins. Calcium. Carbon. It is survival.

  Mike opened his eyes. The light from above seemed to have dimmed. The only thing in focus was the dog. He did not see the tumors anymore. He saw the wound on its shoulder where his bone spur had punched through. He saw the deep red tear in the muscle and the glistening wet interior of the beast.

  The smell hit him. Under the ammonia and the rot there was the metallic tang of iron. The rich heavy scent of raw red meat smelled like a feast.

  Mike’s stomach let out a sound that was a low predatory rumble vibrating against his ribs. The pain of the hunger sharpened like a knife.

  You want to keep that arm? his mind argued. You want to heal? You want to climb out of this pit and kill Riggs? You need calories. You need mass.

  He tried to push himself deeper into the wall to get away from the corpse but his hand slipped in the grime of the floor. It was a mixture of oil and runoff water and the decayed organic refuse that had been thrown down here over the years. Even the rot smelled like food.

  A wave of dizziness hit him so strong the room spun. The System warning flashed red in the corner of his eye.

  [Warning: Metabolic Collapse Imminent.]

  He was dying. Not from a bullet but from the engine running dry.

  Mike looked at the dog. The line between person and animal dissolved. The Heap did not care about morality. The Heap only cared about the cycle. Things died and they became food for the things that lived. That was the only law that mattered down here. The Eaten and the Eaters.

  If he stayed in this corner clinging to his disgust he was the Eaten. He was just another corpse waiting to rot.

  Mike moved. He did not stand up. He crawled. He dragged himself through the sludge on his hands and knees and let the cold filth soak into his trousers. He moved like the rat the guard had called him. He stopped at the carcass and reached out with a trembling hand.

  He grabbed the torn flap of skin on the mastiff's shoulder. The texture was rough and warm and wet. He did not think. If he thought he would vomit. He just let the hunger take the wheel.

  Mike leaned down and buried his face in the wound.

  The taste was copper and salt. It was warm and revolting. But as the first mouthful of blood and raw muscle hit his stomach the sensation was electric. The cramping agony was replaced by a surge of vitality that flooded his veins. It was better than any med-stim. It was pure distilled life.

  Biomass acquired. Processing toxins. Extracting nutrients.

  Mike did not stop. He tore at the tough muscle with his teeth and his jaw worked mechanically. He ignored the fur in his mouth and the taste of the chemical runoff. He ate with the frantic speed of a starving animal until the emptiness in his gut was a heavy warm weight.

  He could feel the change happening. The bruises on his ribs stopped aching. The deep exhaustion that had settled into his bones evaporated and was replaced by a humming energy. He was not just surviving. He was thriving on the filth.

  Mike pulled back and gasped for air. He sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with a blood-slicked arm. He looked at the mangled carcass. He felt a wave of nausea and a sudden spike of human horror at what he had just done. He was covered in blood. He had eaten raw mutated meat. He had eaten garbage.

  But he did not feel sick. He felt strong.

  A red light pulsed and filled his vision brighter than before.

  [LEVEL UP]

  [Level 10]

  [System Alert: Adaptation Limit Reached]

  [New Passive Skill Unlocked: Toxic Digestion]

  [Description: You can now consume rotting organic matter and raw meat without suffering disease. Consuming such matter grants accelerated regeneration.]

  Mike stared at the words. He looked at his hands which were stained filthy claws in the making. He had thought the System would make him a hero. He thought it would give him armor and a sword. Instead it had given him the ability to eat trash and grow stronger from it.

  He let out a low dark chuckle that echoed in the pit.

  He was not a hero. He was a cockroach. He was the thing that lived in the walls and grew fat on what the world threw away. And he was okay with that. Because cockroaches survived.

  Mike stood up. He did not wobble this time. His legs were steady. His eyes burned with a green intensity that pierced the gloom.