The group was silent, slumped in the corner of a dusty building, hidden behind collapsed shelves and torn curtains. Their clothes were torn, their bodies aching, and their minds far too exhausted to process the chaos they had just endured. No one had the strength to speak. Even breathing felt like a task.
Henry stood alone on the balcony, leaning against the rusted railing, eyes scanning the streets below. He hadn't said a word since they entered the building. The tension in his shoulders spoke volumes—ready to shoot at the first sign of movement.
Tara was kneeling beside Mark, her hands trembling as she wrapped gauze around his injured leg. Tears shimmered in her eyes, not just from exhaustion but from sheer relief. Mark was alive. Barely. But alive.
"I thought I lost you…" she whispered, brushing the sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.
Mark gave a weak smile, eyes half-closed. "You married a cockroach, remember? I'm hard to kill."
She chuckled softly, even though her hands were still shaking.
Jack sat a few feet away, leaning against the wall. His face was smeared with grime and blood—some of it not his own. He was breathing heavily, but there was still a flicker of that familiar glint in his eye. Always the one trying to lift spirits.
He looked over at Tara, then grinned faintly.
"Well, I hate to say this… but looks like your fortune-telling was wrong." He gestured with a tired hand. "Death card came up, didn't it? Yet here we are. All in one piece."
Tara paused for a second, then gave him a look—part exhausted, part amused.
"Jack… death doesn't always mean literal death," she said quietly, wiping her hands on her bloodied sleeves. "It means change. A transformation."
The words hit Maarg like a brick. His eyes widened slightly as he stared ahead. Transformation. It echoed in his head, overlapping with Charity's voice. "That is The Activator." He clenched his jaw, realizing the terrifying implication—he was changing. Into what, he didn't know. But it was happening. He could feel it in his blood, his bones, his thoughts.
He didn't say anything. Not yet. Not until he was sure.
Quietly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the slightly crumpled strip of multivitamins his brother had sent him—the last piece of normalcy he had from the world before all this madness began. For a moment, he just stared at it, remembering his brother's handwriting on the parcel, the small notes he used to send.
He popped a pill and swallowed it dry, letting the taste linger longer than it should've. Maybe it did nothing. Maybe it was his last connection to who he used to be.
Jack noticed the movement and gave him a small nod. "Still got those, huh?"
"Yeah," Maarg muttered. "it was the last one." maarg shakes the empty strip of multivitamins between his fingers.
***
They couldn't afford to stop. Not now. They were running out of time.
Despite their injuries and exhaustion, everyone understood that their break was over. They began packing up, reloading, and checking supplies. Henry came back in from the balcony, dust trailing behind him.
"We move in five minutes," he said. "There's a narrow path through the east alley that might be safe. But we can't delay."
Jack looked up. "You think they're tracking us?"
Henry nodded grimly. "I don't think. I know."
The air inside the garage grew heavier.
Maarg finally spoke, his voice low. "We're going after Carla, right? She's why we're doing this?"
Henry nodded. "Yeah. Carla's everything holding the Vipers together. If she's lost... Cobra's done. The Vipers are done. And all those people at the base? They'll have no real leader to lead them."
Henry's eyes lingered on the dusty floor, his voice taking a solemn tone.
"Carla was never just Cobra's wife. She ran the operations, the Scoy, even handled people like Andrew. You think Cobra can keep that psycho kid in check alone? Hell no. Carla made that place livable."
"She sounds like a badass," Jack said, strapping his axe to his back.
"She is," Henry said simply. "Beautiful. Strong. Tactical. She could make a grown man piss his pants with just a look. Cobra might wear the crown, but Carla built the kingdom."
Maarg was quiet for a second. "So what happened to her?"
Henry exhaled sharply. "She got curious."
He walked to a nearby workbench and leaned on it, folding his arms.
"A few days ago, Carla caught wind of something strange with the Man Eaters. Their movements changed. They weren't just scavenging or raiding anymore. They were testing something—or someone. No one knew what, but whatever it was… it had Carla worried."
"She requested permission to investigate. Cobra tried to say no, but she reminded him that she wasn't some damsel. So he let her go."
Jack frowned. "That didn't end well, did it?"
Henry shook his head. "She didn't come back. That same night, some half-dead envoy stumbled into the Viper base. Barely alive. He said Carla was a prisoner now. And that the Man Eaters would release her only if we surrendered everything—guns, food, territory. Total control."
"Cobra told them to rot in hell."
Silence fell over the group.
"They've been sending teams to retrieve her ever since. None returned. Cobra's losing hope, even if he won't admit it."
"But we're not like the other teams," Jack said.
"No," Henry agreed. "You've fought that Charity guy and lived. That makes you something else."
Tara finally stood, wiping her hands. "Then let's not waste any more time. Carla's waiting."
They left the garage in silence, stepping into the fading light. The wind picked up, tossing dust across their boots. A hollow silence echoed down the streets as the city watched them—scarred, broken, yet still moving.
Maarg lingered at the back for a moment, glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting Charity's voice to return. But the only sound he heard was the wind.
Transformation, he thought.
Whatever was happening to him, it had already begun.