"It's not very likely," Albert said after a dry cough, mind wandering. "Did you notice? The paper was wrinkled—and a bit dirty. Jameson has absolutely no reason to fake those kinds of marks on a forged map."
"—The map was found inside the shelter."
At that exact moment, all of them reached the same conclusion.
Miguel's voice shot up several degrees. "That's why he snatched it back so quickly—because he doesn't want us to know he's already been inside!"
Hayes's expression darkened as well. "He must've discovered something in there. That's the only reason he'd suddenly agree so easily today. He probably already has his own plan."
They returned to Creek City University, all of them wearing heavy expressions.
Miguel let out a long sigh and began counting how many people he could bring the day after tomorrow.
In Creek City, aside from Jameson—whose influence was the widest and who controlled most of the strongest mutants—Miguel's group of "strays" was the largest in number.
According to Miguel, when the apocalypse struck, he had been attending a lecture on campus. Outside the school fences, deranged mutated animals flooded the streets. The students and faculty inside Creek City University were trapped and gradually gathered into a fixed community.
They took turns sending people out to search for supplies, and together used improvised tools to hunt prey several times their size. In the beginning, survival was brutally difficult, and many died. Later, as more members awakened beast-like mutations, they finally gained some breathing room and could drag back more food.
But even so, it was only enough to keep everyone barely above starvation.
Jameson's gang controlled the vast majority of resources in Creek City. To get supplies, Miguel's people could only trade their cheap labor.
Over time, the survivors in Creek City split into two clear factions: Jameson's side, and Miguel's growing community of displaced people.
—Even though Jameson offered generous deals, some capable mutants disliked his methods, or were strong enough to live independently without his protection. They lived with friends or family beyond the faction lines.
They weren't exactly Miguel's "subordinates," but if a conflict arose, they would undoubtedly stand with him.
Miguel was their spokesperson. Which meant that if Jameson wanted to rely on anyone else's strength to enter the shelter, he first needed Miguel's approval.
[After that little 'meal' this morning, you won't need to eat for at least three days. But that amount of food was nothing more than an appetizer. You need to find your next feast.]
[You need to go underground.]
[You need to go underground.]
[You need to go…]
The voice nagged inside Albert's mind the entire night.
"…"
Albert was about to die from the noise. "Got it. Are you a broken recorder? Important things don't need to be repeated three times."
It finally quieted. [I merely wanted to remind you: opportunities don't wait. And now that you possess the regenerative ability of the Multiheaded Parasitic Eel, unless someone can crush your heart in a single blow, even if you're chopped down to just a head—]
"Stop."
Albert cut it off without hesitation. "Any further and that gets disgusting."
He truly couldn't understand—this journey was clearly extremely dangerous, yet that so-called "god" was buzzing with excitement, as if he were about to attend some luxurious banquet. Albert simply couldn't relate.
"I'm going anyway," he said at last, irritation creeping in.
[In any case, you won't die easily. God is with you.]
Perhaps because they were preparing for battle, both Hayes and Miguel seemed deeply preoccupied.
Several of Hayes's subordinates shifted into beast form and went hunting outside the campus. They returned dragging a few massive, well-fed rats—each larger than a car.
Creatures that once would have been exterminated on sight had now become sought-after delicacies in this ruined world, making everyone's eyes gleam.
The gray, grimy rat weighed at least six or seven hundred pounds. Even after removing the bones, the meat from a single rat was enough to feed dozens—possibly over a hundred—people.
The campus grew lively again as people scrambled to help skin the rats, chop the meat into various sizes, and skewer the pieces onto branches for roasting.
A rich aroma gradually drifted up from the bonfire. Albert poked the piece of meat on his stick with a twig, finding the texture and grain strangely familiar.
"…," Albert finally realized. "So the first thing you fed me that day was—"
Rat meat.
A cool smile lifted at the corner of Hayes's lips, as if Albert's reaction had been fully expected. "Yeah. What, don't want to eat anymore?"
Albert turned his head toward a freshly severed rat head lying not far away. Its two beady black eyes, round and glossy, stared lifelessly at nothing—yet still somehow gleamed with a cold, eerie sheen.
He silently pulled his gaze away, feeling his appetite vanish all at once. "…Not really. Just surprised."
Albert's appetite was gone, but the mouth on his hand was very clearly interested in the rat meat. It lifted its lips slightly, revealing the faintest seam, greedily absorbing the tempting scent—like it was saying, "Give me some."
The sight was… unsettling.
Albert glanced up at Hayes. The man hadn't noticed.
So Albert sliced off a chunk of the sizzling roasted meat. After a moment of hesitation, he blew on it gently, then covertly brought it toward his second mouth.
Two rows of sharp, needle-like teeth snapped shut instantly, clamping down on the offered food. Crunch, crunch, crunch—meat flecks sprayed everywhere as the rat meat disappeared into that "stomach" in seconds.
Then the mouth obediently opened wide again—ahh—
Like a dog waiting to be fed.
Albert: "…"
Staring at that hollow, obviously inhuman maw full of pointed teeth, he really didn't want to think about where all that meat—and brain matter—ended up.
Expression dark, he cut off a slightly larger piece of meat and tossed it into the bottomless black hole again.
They lay down to rest early that night.
Before Albert could go find the snow leopard pillow he planned to sleep against, he spotted Miguel helping a little girl with her math homework.
"Miguel's… kinda interesting,"
Albert said later as he nestled once again into Hayes's warm chest, shamelessly taking advantage of his "injured" status. He lazily stroked the snow leopard's fluffy head. "He hid some things from us at first, sure, but given the circumstances, it's understandable. He seems a lot more normal than Jameson anyway."
Hayes didn't speak. A thin puff of air escaped his nose—barely countable as agreement.
Sensing his silence, Albert tilted his face upward. "Are you worried about the day after tomorrow? Or about Jameson?"
Hayes let out a faint snort, finally responding. "Does talking about it now change anything? Whether Jameson has his own plans, or the monsters below are strong enough to kill us all, we still have to go down there in the end."