"One need not believe that evil has a supernatural source; man alone is quite capable of every wickedness." — Joseph Conrad
"Evan…" Sloane slowed her steps. "What's your class?" She had explained her own, but she wasn't sure he truly understood.
Evan hesitated as he walked. At the end of the corridor, a rusted exit door was visible, but he wasn't looking at it. His eyes moved through the side tunnels, as if he were searching for something in the darkness rather than beyond the door.
"Pathfinder."
Sloane frowned. "What does that do?"
"I see paths," Evan said with a shrug. "Which ones are safer, which ones are deadlier… they're marked in my head."
"So… like a map?"
"No." He took a short breath. "More like… probabilities of death."
Sloane stopped walking. "Is that why you didn't want to go outside?"
Evan didn't answer. He remained silent for a moment. Then he whispered: "Because outside… everything is red."
Sloane understood immediately. This wasn't fear. It was knowledge. Evan's class constantly reminded him how dangerous the world was. Other people saw danger when they lived through it. Evan saw it before he took a single step.
"It makes sense that you're scared," Sloane said softly. "You see death before the rest of us do."
Evan gave a faint smile. "Yeah. Lucky me."
The corridor widened into a collapsed waiting area. The windows were shattered, the turnstiles overturned. Loose cables hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly in the wind. Evan stopped abruptly. His voice dropped. "There's a group."
"Where?"
"Coming from the right corridor. Three… no, four people."
Sloane felt her heartbeat spike. "Armed?"
"Two with guns. One with a knife."
"Do they see us?"
"Not yet."
But they were getting closer. They quickly hid behind a corner. Sloane experienced firsthand how useful Evan's class was. Being able to see a group before it arrived multiplied their chances of survival.
She noticed the discomfort on Evan's face and whispered, "What's wrong? Did they see us?"
"No," Evan said. "But they're coming this way, and I dont' see an escape route." His voice grew thinner.
Sloane followed his gaze. He wasn't focusing on one point—he was scanning the walls, the fallen signs, the cracks in the ceiling. As if reading invisible lines between them.
Footsteps were now audible. Voices… muffled, fragmented.
"Someone's smoking," Evan said. "I can smell it."
Sloane swallowed. They were that close. Light from around the corner cast human shadows onto the wall. Long, distorted silhouettes… One had a rifle on his shoulder. Another walked with a hand in his pocket. Sloane held her breath. Evan didn't move. But Sloane felt something swelling inside him. Her Perspective skill triggered involuntarily.
[Perspective triggered]
Inner monologue: Every path is red. If we run right, they'll see us. If we run left, it's blocked. If we remain... remaining is worse.
Sloane's chest tightened. This wasn't panic; it was cold, calculated despair. The footsteps were very close now, perhaps ten seconds before they rounded the corner, or maybe less. She remembered her newly acquired ability. She could use it, but she didn't know what to imagine. Writing had never been an interest of hers—stories never formed in her mind. She needed something simple, something effective.
Think quickly and convincingly.
She focused on the opposite corridor. Someone should be there. A man—no! A woman. Calling for help. Desperate. Realistic.
[Skill activated: Fiction Draft] [First use tutorial displayed]
[Tutorial: For a short time, the author's imagination reaches reality.]
[Description: Creates sound and visual illusion. No physical interaction.]
A scream echoed between the metal walls.
"Help! Please— is anyone there?!"
The sound… was close. Not from where she had intended. The group's footsteps stopped instantly.
"Did you hear that?" A man's voice said.
"It came from there."
"Above us?"
The shadows shifted direction. The footsteps retreated. Someone cursed. Then another voice said, "Let's check it out." Silence.
Sloane realized her knees were shaking. She leaned against the wall and finally let out her breath.
Evan stared at her. His eyes were wide. "That…" he said slowly. "Did you do that?"
"I think so," Sloane said. "It only lasts a few seconds."
The silence lingered too long. Sloane straightened. "We can't stay here. We need food."
Evan nodded. "There was a kiosk. Behind the turnstiles."
They moved toward a wider section of the station. Old advertisement boards hung from the walls. One still showed a faded poster: Hot Coffee – Morning Menu. Beneath it stood a kiosk with shattered glass.
Their hope shrank as they approached. The shelves were empty. Wrappers lay torn on the floor. Only loose change remained in the register. The mini fridge door was open; inside was only darkness.
"Looted," Evan said.
Sloane still crouched and searched. Under the counter, behind broken boxes, beneath collapsed shelves… Maybe something remained. A few seconds pasted and she found a single biscuit and quickly put it in her pocket. Nothing else.
Then Evan raised his hand. "We're not alone." Sloane froze.
Three people stepped out from between the columns behind the kiosk. Two men and a woman, bundled in heavy clothes. One held a metal bar. Another wore a backpack. No one raised a weapon. They only stared.
Both groups thought the same thing:
Is there any food here?
The woman stepped forward. "We're not here to fight," she said. "If you're not either, then there's no problem."
Sloane nodded. "We're not."
Silence. Neither group trusted the other. Sloane sensed the woman wasn't lying, but she didn't want to blindly trust the system either. They had arrived first—it was natural they searched first. Her conscience said otherwise. They're hungry too.
Deciding there was no more food, Sloane stepped away from the kiosk and gave them space, hoping they might find something she missed. Watching them search from a distance, the kiosk seemed smaller now. The man checked the shelves. The woman knelt to look beneath them. Empty.
Sloane's chest tightened. And a thought came to her. Maybe… They could join us? Evan stood silently beside her, watching. Two figures appeared from the direction the group had come. Evan immediately called out, not wanting them to be caught off guard. The figures stopped. A thin voice rose.
"Mom?"
The woman at the kiosk looked up at the familiar voice. Two children ran in and clung to her legs. In Sloane's world, children's voices had become rare. To be a child here… was a different kind of survival.
Sloane felt both lighter and heavier at once. She wasn't married. She had no children. But she had already been pulled too deeply into this world to deny it: raising children here was almost impossible.
Disappointment was clear on the group's faces. No food. The presence of children only made things worse. But they were together. Sloane realized: They hadn't come to fight. They hadn't come to hunt. They had come to survive. If they moved together, maybe they could. Maybe in this awful world, they could. She hoped so.
If we joined them… would we have a chance? That was the question in her mind.
She approached. Evan followed immediately. The group, seeing Evan's imposing figure, pulled the children behind them. Their faces were serious, people forcing down their fear.
In this world, trust was the most expensive thing.
"I was hoping, maybe—"
The woman cut her off. "We'll go our own way," she said. Her eyes flicked to Evan's intimidating build. "You should do the same."
[Perspective triggered]
She heard the woman's thoughts.
Inner monologue: The last people we trusted hurt my brother. We can't trust anyone but ourselves. Never again.
She heard the man beside her.
Inner monologue: They seem decent, but no. The more of us there are, the more attention we draw. And more mouths to feed.
As Perspective faded, Sloane understood she couldn't convince them.
"I understand." she said, then bent down and held out the biscuit from her pocket to the child hiding behind his mother's leg. The child hesitated and looked up at his mother. When she nodded, he smiled and took it. The woman thanked her in a strained voice. "Good luck." she said coldly.
Mercy, at times, was priceless.
Sloane walked into the darkness without looking back. Evan turned and waved. Sloane didn't see whether the children waved too. She was lost in her thoughts. She had gained nothing from this encounter. Worse, she just had lost her food.
Why did I give my only food away? she asked herself. But she knew the answer. Because that's what it takes to remain human.
Time passed. Evan guided them through safer routes. Sloane noticed the system hadn't punished her. She had expected a penalty for failing to persuade the group, but none came. Nor had she received a reward for giving the biscuit. Not every interaction triggered the system, it seemed.
The tunnel between the rails grew narrower. The hanging lamps were long dead; only the flicker of broken screens lit the floor. Their footsteps echoed in the void. Sloane didn't speak. What had just happened wouldn't leave her mind. The biscuit in the child's hand, the tired gratitude on the woman's face… then darkness.
Evan didn't notice at first. He was focused ahead, walking as if following invisible paths. Then he sensed the change in Sloane's steps. Slower… heavier. He broke the silence.
"They were good people. I hope they make it," he said. His voice echoed strangely in the tunnel.
Sloane looked up. Evan wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the walls, the cracks in the ceiling, the shadows between the rails.
"I don't know," Sloane said. "Being good in this world… is expensive."
Evan was quiet for a moment. "I see most paths as red," he said. "But theirs… wasn't completely red."
It was a compliment. And a wish. Sloane didn't understand it all.
The second kiosk was at the far end of the station, where an old metro line merged with another. At the end of a narrow passage, its door was half open. The windows were shattered, but inside was dark. Whether it had been looted or not, they couldn't tell. As they approached, Evan slowed.
"Sloane," he said.
"Something wrong?"
"No… I mean… yes." He stopped. His brows knit together. He touched his temple. "The paths… they're changing."
Sloane tensed. "What do you mean? How?"
Evan closed his eyes. Opened them again. "I used to see mostly shades of red. Now…" He swallowed. "Now some of them are… pitch black."
Sloane saw him reading something ahead. Probably his system window. She had assumed every class had different objectives. Maybe he was getting a reward or an upgrade.
Evan's breathing quickened. "I can see more than just death probabilities now…there's more content."
Sloane frowned. "How so?"
Evan slowly pointed ahead, toward the narrow passage leading to the kiosk. "That place isn't red," he said. "It's… dirty. There's something there I can't understand."
Something scraped between the rails. It wasn't metal. It wasn't flesh. Something between the two.
Evan's evolving ability allowed him to partially perceive the threat ahead. In the darkness, a shape shifted. Long… crooked… close to human but wrong. A silhouette that resembled a person yet didn't. Evan stepped back. "That… isn't human."
The shadow lifted its head. And the darkness of the station seemed to breathe for a moment. As if it had noticed Evan too. His throat went dry as he stared at the system window.
[New Threat Detected]
[Category: Not Yet Identified]
[Pathfinder Ability Active]
[Threat Intensity: Extreme]
[Escape Route: None]