Inside hit me with stale air and dust so thick it felt like breathing through a sweater.
The place had been picked clean. Not looted once clean, looted repeatedly by increasingly desperate people clean. Living room first. Bare floor. No furniture. Not even scraps.
The walls were tagged with old graffiti, most of it obscene, some of it desperate. WE WERE HERE. NO FOOD. SORRY
"…well that's comforting,"
I murmured. Genesis drifted through the room, glancing around.
"Congratulations,"
She said.
"You've discovered a historical landmark known as 'Everyone Got Here Before You.'"
I moved on as I gave Genesis the stink eye. Kitchen: empty cupboards hanging open like broken teeth. Sink ripped out. Someone had even pried loose the pipes.
The fridge was gone entirely, just an ugly square shadow on the wall where it used to be.
"For fucks sake who the fuck steals a fridge in the apocalypse,"
I muttered.
"Someone colder than you,"
Genesis replied without missing a beat. Upstairs was worse. Bedrooms stripped to studs. No mattress. No dresser.
Just dust, broken boards, and a pile of ashes in the corner of one room where someone had burned something they didn't want anyone else to find. I paused there for a second, scanning it carefully.
"…what a fucking letdown,"
I said finally.
"No loot. No enemies. No trauma monsters,"
Genesis agreed sarcastically.
"Oh yes truly disappointing."
I exhaled, turned, and headed back down the stairs, boots thumping dully on wood that barely bothered complaining anymore.
As I stepped back outside, sunlight hit my face again, and I felt that familiar itch. The keep moving itch. I stopped on the porch, rifle hanging low, and scanned ahead.
Another house waited just beyond this one. Smaller. Narrower. One-story, but intact enough to still cast shadows that didn't feel empty.
"…alright,"
I muttered, adjusting the leather strap across my shoulder.
"Last one sucked. That means statistically..."
"...that the next one will also suck,"
Genesis cut in smoothly.
"Statistics don't love you. Luck does. And luck is a fickle, stupid bitch."
I snorted and stepped off the porch.
"Oi don't call Fortuna a bitch shes been nothing but kind to me recently"
I barked back.
"Oi yeah just wait until you start getting bad luck"
Genesis barked back. The next house sat a little back from the street, half-hidden behind a dead tree that looked like it had tried to crawl away and failed. One story. Narrow. Roof intact.
Windows grimy but unbroken. Too intact. My boots crunched over gravel as I approached, every step measured. The air felt thicker here, like the house was holding its breath.
I paused at the door, listening. Nothing. No buzzing. No skittering. No wet breathing or distant scraping. Just wind and the low, far-off groan of the city tearing itself apart one molecule at a time.
"Usually that's never a good sign."
Genesis said quietly.
"When is it ever?"
I replied, nudging the door open with the barrel of my rifle. It swung inward easily. No creak. No protest. That somehow made it worse. Inside smelled dry. Old dust. Rust.
The faint metallic tang of something long forgotten. The layout was simple, a short hallway straight ahead, two doors on the left, one on the right, kitchen at the end. I took one step in.
Then I heard it. Click-click-click. Low. Fast. Too close.
"…oh fuck me, why the hell does It have to be cockroaches again?"
I cursed as two shapes burst into motion along the wall to my right, glossy black carapaces catching the light as they skittered into view. Mutated cockroaches, big ones. Dinner-plate sized.
Legs moving in a blur, antennae twitching like they were tasting the air. One of them reared slightly, mandibles clacking.
"Oh for fucks sake"
Genesis groaned.
"Just kill them already I fucking hate roaches."
Hearing this, I raised the rifle. The first shot cracked loudly in the confined space. Too loud. The round punched into the wall just above the nearer roach, spraying plaster dust everywhere.
"...fuck."
The roaches scattered, one darting straight for the hallway, the other lunging toward me with a wet, chitinous screech. Second shot. This one hit.
The roach exploded mid-lunge, shell rupturing as green-black ichor splattered across the floor and lower wall. Its legs spasmed for a second, then went still.
"Okay,"
I breathed, tracking the second one as it scrambled across the kitchen tiles.
"One down."
The last roach tried to vanish under a cabinet. Third shot. The round punched straight through it and into the baseboard behind, pinning the thing in place.
It twitched, then collapsed into a leaking, stinking mess. Silence rushed back in, heavy and abrupt. Smoke curled from my barrel. My ears rang. I lowered the rifle slowly.
DING.
YOU KILLED A MUTATED COCKROACH +XP
YOU KILLED A MUTATED COCKROACH +XP
Genesis stared at the notifications, then at me.
"…three shots,"
She said flatly.
"One miss."
"Improvement,"
I said.
"Statistically."
She made a noise that might've been disgust or might've been resignation. I cleared the rest of the house carefully, stepping around the remains like they might get ideas. Bedrooms were empty.
Bare floors. A dresser with all the drawers ripped out. No bodies, thankfully. In the kitchen, though, tucked beneath a bent metal table, I spotted it. A pre dimensional crack metal medkit. I froze.
"…don't get too excited,"
Genesis warned immediately.
"That's how you get tetanus."
I crouched anyway, dragging it out into the light. The casing was dented, paint flaking, latch stiff with rust, but intact. I flipped it open. Inside sat a single foam slot. And in it, one syringe.
Clear casing. Faded white label. ARS. I blinked.
"…no fucking way."
Genesis leaned closer, her usual snark gone for once.
"Accelerated Regeneration Serum,"
She said slowly.
"Military issue. Pre-collapse. Extremely restricted."
"A relic,"
I finished, a grin creeping across my face.
"A fucking good one at that."
My hands were steady as I lifted it, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, almost viscous, like it didn't quite belong in this reality anymore.
"With this,"
I murmured,
"Broken bones heal in seconds. Tissue regen. Scar rollback."
Genesis exhaled, something like awe slipping through.
"…don't waste it."
I looked at her.
"I don't waste things."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You miss bullets."
"Different category."
I slotted the syringe carefully into an inner pouch, padding it with cloth like it was fragile glass, or a small miracle. After that, there was nothing else. No hidden safes. No extra ammo.
Just silence and the faint smell of bug guts. I straightened, rolled my shoulders, and headed back toward the door. Outside, the light felt brighter somehow. The air colder.
Like the world was reminding me, it was still trying to kill me. I stepped onto the porch and glanced down the street. Another house waited further along. Bigger.
"Alright,"
I muttered, adjusting my grip on the rifle.
"Your turn."
Genesis hovered at my side, tone dry as ever.
"Oh, I'm sure it'll be memorable."
I stepped off the porch and kept moving. The houses front yard was choked with dead grass and rusted debris.
I stopped short of the porch, scanning the windows, the roofline, the shadows under the eaves. Nothing moved. No buzzing. No skittering.
No telltale sounds of something breathing where it shouldn't. Too fucking quiet. I mounted the steps slowly, testing each one before committing my weight. The porch groaned but held.
I leaned in and pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. Still nothing. I slipped in.
The interior was darker than the other houses. Thick shadows clung to the corners, swallowing the light that filtered through broken windows. Dust hung heavy in the air, undisturbed.
"No enemies,"
Genesis observed.
"That's either very good or very bad."
"Yeah,"
I murmured, sweeping the entryway with my rifle.
"And we never get very good."
I moved room by room, methodical. Living room, empty. Dining area, collapsed table, chairs overturned like they'd tried to flee. Kitchen, bare shelves, cracked tiles, no surprises.
Then I spotted it. The safe. Built into the floor near the base of the stairs, partially concealed under a threadbare rug that fooled absolutely no one. My pulse ticked up immediately.
"Oh no,"
Genesis said.
"Absolutely not. That is a screaming trap."
I knelt anyway, carefully peeling the rug back. Thin metal wires glinted faintly in the low light. Tripwires. Connected to two compact frag grenades taped neatly to the underside of the safe's lid.
I froze.
"…okay,"
I breathed.
"That's just fucking rude."
Genesis leaned in, eyes narrowed.
"That's not even subtle. Whoever set that up wanted someone very dead."
"Yeah,"
I muttered,
"And unfortunately for them, I'm annoying instead."
I slowly set my rifle aside and reached into my pocket, fishing out a length of bent metal wire I'd scavenged earlier, some scrap fencing twisted into something vaguely useful.
My hands were steady, but only because they'd learned to be.