Hannah didn't waver as she raised the gun, ready to put the man down if he gave her any reason.
For a moment, time seemed to stall. Hannah reevaluated the house—shadows danced in the lamplight like strangers watching them, silent witnesses to the standoff.
The man stood with his one good eye wide, still frozen in shock.
Another moment passed—he burst into a fit of haughty laughter, his face twisting into something wild.
She stared at him in silence. The worst type of Outskirter.
Unpredictable and nothing to lose.
Slowly, his laughter faded. His expression shifted into calm calculation, as his eyes studied her up and down.
She watched the gears turn in his fried brain as he glanced from the gun back at her, then spoke in a raspy, high pitched voice:
"Put that thing down. I don't care what you do. Ain't gonna bite ya."
He barked out another mocking laugh. It echoed off the cracked walls until it seemed too loud for the frail man standing before her.
This old man didn't know who he was messing with. She raised the gun higher, finger brushing the trigger, the barrel locked between his eyes.
"I've seen things worse than the average ruffian. Your threats can't scare this old man."
She exhaled through her teeth, eyes sharp as razors. "You're insane."
He guffawed. "No crazier than anyone else willing to be out here. Anywho, I know you probably don't care, but the name's Herd."
"Yeah I really don't," she retorted.
"You really break into a stranger's home and then act like this? Kids these days got nothing real to worry about anymore." He paused, then went on. "You planning on staring all night? I get hungry around now. I can hear the mushroom soup calling."
He laughed again as if he told the funniest joke. Hannah wasn't in the mood to care; there were more pressing matters.
She lowered the gun, though her finger still lingered near the trigger. One wrong move and she'd paint the wall with his brains.
The second she did, the man shuffled away, his cane thumping a steady beat across the wooden floor.
It made Hannah wonder if he knew about that thing lurking outside. She decided to press for information.
"So. Heard anything about the rumors—that monsters exist out here?"
The man seemed preoccupied with his cans of soup, ignoring her.
"I know you heard me," she growled.
"I see…" He seemed off in his own world. Before Hannah could threaten again, he turned to her, soup can in hand. "You're seriously going to bother me all night?"
He didn't laugh this time. His voice was cold, almost catching her off guard.
"Even an Outskirter mutt knows better than to bark up the wrong tree. This ain't how you'll get anything useful out of me." His voice lightened again. "If you want anything, you're gonna have to trade for it." He gave another haughty laugh and started eating his soup.
Hannah didn't enjoy being made a mockery. That last comment enraged her, but she knew he was right.
Just an Outskirter mutt.
She swallowed her anger and gave a small grunt of agreement.
Still, in the back of her mind, thoughts of that beast outside lingered. She knew she'd have to squeeze everything out of Herd before it showed up and tore them all apart.
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Arman sat slumped in the truck, chest tight, his head swimming in fog and sickness. He waited for the world to steady itself, for the dizziness to ease.
That strange sensation from earlier crept back—like wires clinging to him, trying to drag him under again.
He clenched his fists and buried his head in his arms as he curled up.
Sounds.
Something moved. Closer. He felt it before he saw it—heat radiating, dread prickling his skin until every hair stood on end.
Slowly, he peeked out from his fragile cocoon. At first, nothing. Then a shadow slipped into the edge of his vision. A shambling form. Not quite human.
It looked like that monster in the alleyway: formless, yet solid enough to exist.
His breathing grew shallow, his body trembling as he watched the figure creep closer, ready to devour him. Like he was that cat.
The shadow swallowed him whole—until the truck's dim headlights revealed a familiar face.
Hannah's shape cut through the blur of shadows—so sharp against the dim glow that it almost hurt to look at her
"What's that look for?" Hannah's glare was sharp, though her voice carried no anger.
Arman steadied himself, struggling for words, but nothing came.
"Whatever. We've got a roof and maybe answers. Now get your ass out—stop sitting there like a kid about to piss himself."
Her voice reverberated in his mind as he climbed out without protest, moving to her rhythm. Together, they grabbed random items left in the car for trading and went inside the house.
Still, something tugged at him, unseen hands clawing from the alleys. He saw nothing—but he knew it was there.
Inside, the stench of rot and decay hit him hard. It clung to his tongue like ash, sour and damp, as though every breath fed him more of the house's decay.
He forced the bile back down, the sour taste clinging to his tongue.
This place was drab and bare, things scattered without rhyme or reason, most of it destroyed. It was worse than he ever imagined people could live in.
His eyes landed on an old man eating from a can. He sat in a tattered chair, one leg propped on a stack of books.
The wet scrape of his spoon against the can was louder than it should've been, each bite punctuated by the slurp of broth that reeked of rust and mold.
Arman's stomach tightened—the man was Outskirts through and through. Ragged. Unpredictable. Dangerous. Yet Hannah scared Arman more than this wreck ever could.
The longer he stared, the more it unnerved him, until finally the old man broke the silence.
"Are you gonna introduce yourself, or keep staring?" His voice carried a kindness that surprised Arman.
"Uh, my name is Arman, sir," he answered politely.
"Never heard of anyone named Armaan," Herd replied, drawing out the second 'a' too harshly. "That's beside the point. Name's Herd. You seem much kinder than that girl with no manners beside you." He chuckled.
Arman felt Hannah's gaze burning through him as she leaned against the wall, tapping her fingers impatiently, making a muted click sound with each finger.
"Well, it's just been a long day. She's probably as tired as I am," he said with a halfhearted laugh, knowing it was a lie.
"I see…You two from Lumenport, then?"
"Well, I was born there, but I no longer live there due to my contract." His throat tightened, but he pushed through. "I work in New Democracy now. Pay is better."
Herd's eyebrow twitched—New Democracy? Hannah cut in before Arman could say more.
"Enough Arman. You'd better keep your trap shut before you spill something you shouldn't." Her fingers drummed harder against the moldy wall.
"How unfortunate. Learning something new might've given something back to you both." He gave a dissatisfied shrug, guffawed, "Guess that's that, then." Moving to get up Hannah stormed forward and shoved a hand on Herd's shoulder.
"Sit." Her voice was a command.
"You're not getting out of telling us what we want to know." Herd didn't flinch, but sat calmly again. The lack of fear made Arman uneasy.
"Hey, we could just tell him a little." Arman blurted. "It's only fair…" He felt Hannah's stare burn through him. "But…what exactly are you trying to press Herd for anyway?"
"Something about rumors. Monsters." Herd answered.
"Yeah. That thing we saw not far from here." Hannah's voice went cold. "The monster that would turn this man into a meal if he was even able to hobble himself outside. You know anything about that?" She pointed that question towards Herd.
"Well if you insist…" Herd scratched his face, eyes narrowing. His tone turned dark. "There was this one man who came running, screaming—said his own shadow came to life and tore his arm off."
Herd mimed the tearing, sound effects and all. "Said it was like tar come alive. Stank like burning flesh. Grew razor teeth out of nowhere that tried to shred him into pieces and devour him."
Rustling stirred outside—then cut off just as quickly. The silence that followed pressed down heavily, tightening Arman's chest.
"Made me think of a mimic. You know, those old fantasy oozes that turned into treasure chests. This thing didn't have treasure inside—just teeth."
Herd lunged forward in a mock snarl, teeth bared, his motion rattling the lantern at his side. Its light wavered, and for a heartbeat it almost seemed a monster loomed behind him.
When the lantern stilled, the shadow snapped back into place—like it had been caught in the act.
Herd must have seen Arman's horrified face, because he broke into a jagged cackle, shattering the fragile dread that had filled the room.
"So…this thing could be hiding anywhere?" Arman gulped.
Hannah stayed stern, pressing harder. "When was this? How long's it been around? Have you ever encountered it, or are you just making this shit up?"
Herd shrugged. "At my age, details get hazy. But maybe, if you told me a little about this New Democracy place, it'd jog my memory."
Hannah's patience snapped. "Fine," she hissed, mocking his tone. "If you insist—I'll tell you everything I know."