Benson wasn't used to silence. Not the kind that hung heavy in the air, pressing down on you like it knew your secrets.
The dormitory was usually alive with muttering or the restless shifting of people who couldn't sleep. But this morning, it was silent, and the reason became clear as soon as his eyes adjusted to the dull lighting.
There, sprawled in the middle of the room, was the lifeless body of a woman.
She was young—couldn't have been older than twenty-five. Her face was pale, her eyes half-closed as if she'd been caught in the middle of a thought. Blood pooled beneath her, dark and still.
Benson blinked at the sight, his heart steady, his mind clear.
"Oh," he said softly.
He climbed out of his bunk, careful not to step on anyone, and stood a few feet away from the body.
Around him, the other players were beginning to stir, their reactions ranging from wide-eyed horror to complete indifference. Malik was among the latter.
"Second one this week," Malik muttered as he laced up his boots.
Benson didn't respond. He crouched down, tilting his head as he studied the woman's face. Her expression was frozen, her mouth slightly open. She didn't look scared. Just surprised.
"Who was she?" Benson asked, his voice low.
"Don't know," Malik said. "Don't care. She's dead. That's all that matters."
"Do they tell us why?"
Malik gave him a look that said, You're an idiot. "No. People die here all the time, Benson. It's just the way it is."
Benson nodded slowly, standing up and brushing off his hands. "Right."
The others were moving around the room now, stepping over the body like it was just another part of the floor. No one screamed or cried. No one even flinched.
Except for one guy in the corner, who was muttering prayers under his breath.
"You okay?" Malik asked, pulling Benson's attention back.
"Yeah," Benson said. And he was. The sight of the body didn't bother him. The blood didn't make his stomach churn. He felt… nothing.
Malik smirked. "Good. You're learning."
Breakfast was quieter than usual. The mess hall was filled with the usual gray slop and blank stares, but the air felt heavier somehow.
Benson sat across from Malik, his spoon scraping against the metal bowl as he forced the food down. Around them, conversations buzzed in hushed tones.
"Think she pissed someone off?"
"Maybe she tried to escape."
"Could've been the system. It does that sometimes."
The last one caught Benson's attention. "What do they mean, 'the system'?" he asked Malik.
Malik leaned back, crossing his arms. "The Fold doesn't tolerate weakness. If you're not useful, you're expendable."
"Expendable how?"
"Could be anything," Malik said. "They starve you out, throw you into fights you can't win, or just make you disappear. Some say the system decides who lives and who doesn't."
Benson frowned, his mind racing. "So the Fold's been around before the Red Moon?"
Malik's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"
"I mean, it feels too… organized," Benson said, gesturing around the room. "The rules, the system, the tournament. They've been running this for a while. Long before the world went to hell."
Malik shrugged. "Yes they have, this place has been around for a long time, there's only so much I know, haven't been all that long since I got here either. Does it matter?"
"It does to me," Benson said quietly.
He couldn't stop thinking about it. The Red Moon had felt like the end of the world, but here in the Fold, it was business as usual. Like they'd been preparing for it, waiting for it.
But why?
And more importantly, how?
The training yard was busier than usual. Word of the tournament had everyone on edge, and the stronger players were already showing off.
Benson watched from the sidelines as a group sparred in the center of the yard. Their movements were precise, their abilities terrifying.
One man summoned a spear of ice, driving it into the ground with a deafening crack. Another woman wielded a glowing blade that seemed to hum with energy.
How…. How do they use abilities like this?
Benson clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He didn't belong here. He wasn't strong like them.
"Greed," he muttered under his breath.
"Yes?"
The system's voice was smooth, almost soothing.
"What else can you do?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
"Greed," Benson said again, louder this time. "You're supposed to make me stronger. So what else can you do?"
The hunger surged inside him, sharp and overwhelming. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse.
"Consume," Greed whispered.
"What does that mean?"
"Everything."
Benson gritted his teeth. "You're useless."
"No," Greed said, its tone dark and amused. "You are."
Later that day, Benson found himself back in the dormitory, his mind buzzing with questions.
Why was he here? Why was any of this happening?
The Rot. The Fold. The system. None of it made sense.
And yet, none of it mattered. Not really.
Because no matter how many questions he asked, the answer was always the same: survive.
That was the only thing that mattered now.
As he lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, he thought about the woman who'd died. He didn't know her name or her story. He didn't know why she was here or why she'd been killed.
And he didn't care.
Not because he was heartless, but because caring didn't change anything.
She was dead.
And he was still alive.