I didn't answer, just stared out the door, the city's glow flickering orange against the night. Fires still burned—distant, relentless, eating up what the Skraiths hadn't smashed. My hands itched, the flame from the mimicry flickering in my mind, weak but there. Eighteen hours. What happened when it ran out? Would I lose it? Or would the system pull something new?
A scrape outside—metal on concrete, too close—snapped me straight. Liv tensed, pistol rising, her other hand sparking blue. I gripped the weapon, its hum spiking, ready to fire if I had to. My system chimed. Proximity Alert. Skraith Energy Signature Detected. 50 Meters.
"Shit," I whispered, heart kicking hard.
"Stay low," Liv hissed, edging to the doorframe. "Could be a scout."
I nodded, sliding to her side, weapon aimed. The scrape came again, slower, deliberate—like it knew we were there. My palms sweated, the rod's warmth seeping into me, syncing with the hum. Weapon Interface Active. Fire on Command.
I didn't fire. Not yet. The shadow moved—tall, jagged, its armor glinting under the moon. A Skraith, alone, weapon glowing green as it scanned the alley. Liv's hand crackled, ready, but she held back, waiting. I held my breath, the flame in me itching to burst, but I didn't trust it—not with eighteen hours left, not with this thing's tech humming back at me.
It turned, claws scraping pavement, and moved off, fading into the dark. I exhaled, shaky, and lowered the weapon. Liv relaxed, but her eyes stayed sharp.
"Close," she muttered. "Too close."
"Yeah." I wiped sweat from my forehead, the hum settling. "What's the plan if they find us?"
"We run," she said, simple and cold. "Or we fight. You're proving you can do the second."
I didn't argue, just nodded. The safehouse wasn't safe—not with Skraiths sniffing around, not with Sector 9's static fading into silence on the radio. But I wasn't ready to bolt, not yet. The weapon, the flame, the system—they were pulling me in, deeper than I'd ever planned.
Night stretched on, heavy and quiet, the city's glow a grim reminder. I didn't sleep, couldn't—too wired, too scared, too alive with that hum. Eighteen hours. And counting.
Morning hit like a punch, gray light seeping through the safehouse's cracks, dust motes dancing in the gloom. I rubbed my eyes, the alien weapon still in my lap, its pulse steady but softer now. Seventeen hours left, the system reminded me, cold and clinical. Mimicry Active: Tier 1 Pyrokinesis. Output Stable. Energy Weapon Analysis: 18% Complete.
Rylan stirred, groaning, his side bandaged tight but still leaking red. Liv stood by the radio, twisting dials, her face tight. Jace cursed, clutching his ribs, while Tucker sharpened his machete, the scrape of steel on stone grating my nerves.
"Sector 9's gone quiet," Liv said, voice flat. "Could be dead. Could be overrun."
"Or hiding," Rylan rasped, sitting up with a wince. "We need to check."
"Suicide," Jace shot back, wincing as he shifted. "Skraiths are thick out there."
"Thick or not, we're screwed if we stay," Liv snapped. "Ammo's low, food's lower. Sector 9 might have supplies—or intel."
I shifted, uneasy, the weapon humming against my palms. "What's in Sector 9?"
"Last stand," Rylan said, grim. "Superhumans, soldiers, civvies holding the line. Or they were."
My stomach twisted. Last stand. I'd barely survived one Skraith—now they wanted me to walk into a warzone? The flame in me flickered, weak but there, begging to flare. Seventeen hours. What if I lost it mid-fight?
"You in, Kai?" Liv asked, eyes sharp on me.
I swallowed, gripping the weapon tighter. "Maybe. If I don't blow us up first."
She smirked, faint. "You won't. You've got guts, even if you're green."
Tucker grunted, sheathing his machete. "Guts don't stop Skraiths."
"Tech does," Rylan said, nodding at the rod. "That thing's our edge. Kai's our edge."
I didn't feel like an edge—just a guy with a borrowed flame and a buzzing head. But I nodded, the hum pushing me forward. Compatibility with Mimicry: 85%. Recommend Integration.
"Fine," I muttered. "But I'm no soldier."
"None of us are," Liv said, loading her pistol. "We just don't die."
We geared up—me with the weapon, Liv with her pistol and sparks, Rylan limping but stubborn, Jace with his stun baton, Tucker with his machete. The van rumbled to life, Tucker behind the wheel, and we rolled out, the city's ash and smoke choking the air.
Sector 9 loomed ahead, a jagged scar of collapsed buildings and burning streets. Skraith crafts buzzed overhead, their green beams slicing the dark. My system pinged. Proximity Alert. Multiple Skraith Signatures Detected.
"Hold tight," Tucker growled, swerving as a beam scorched the pavement. Liv fired, sparks blasting a craft's wing. It spiraled, crashing into a building with a crunch.
I gripped the weapon, heart slamming. A Skraith dropped ahead, armor gleaming, claws raised. I pointed the rod, praying I wouldn't choke. A beam ripped out—jagged, green—slamming the Skraith back, cracking its shell. It fell, twitching.
"Nice shot," Rylan grunted, firing his own weak burst.
I didn't answer, just stared at the weapon, the hum syncing tighter. Seventeen hours left—and I was still alive.
Sector 9 was a graveyard—burned-out buildings, shattered glass, blood pooling in the cracks. The van jolted over debris, Tucker cursing under his breath, Liv scanning the ruins with her pistol ready. My hands shook, the alien weapon pulsing in my grip, its green light matching the fires flickering outside. Sixteen hours left, the system chimed, cold and steady. Mimicry Active. Energy Weapon Analysis: 22% Complete.
"Stop here," Rylan rasped, clutching his side. "Supply depot's two blocks east."
Tucker cut the engine, the silence hitting hard, broken only by distant screams and Skraith screeches. We piled out, weapons drawn, the ash thick in my throat. My system buzzed. Proximity Alert. Skraith Energy Signature: 30 Meters.
"Stay sharp," Liv hissed, sparks crackling at her hands.
We moved fast, sticking to shadows, the city's glow casting long, jagged shadows. A Skraith loomed ahead—taller, uglier, its armor gleaming wet. It swung, green beam slicing a wall, and Tucker lunged, machete flashing. The blade bounced off, useless, and the Skraith backhanded him into a car. He hit hard, groaning.
"Kai!" Rylan shouted, firing a weak blast. It clipped the Skraith's arm, buying seconds.
I raised the weapon, heart pounding, the flame in me flaring. Fire on Command, the system whispered. I squeezed, and a beam ripped out—wild, jagged, punching through the Skraith's chest. It dropped, black blood pooling, its weapon clattering.
Liv grabbed Tucker, hauling him up. "Move!"
We bolted, dodging beams, the depot ahead—a rusted warehouse, doors hanging off hinges. Inside, crates loomed, some smashed, some intact. Supplies—cans, ammo, water—but no people. Just silence, heavy and wrong.
"Check it," Rylan said, leaning on a crate.
I moved, weapon ready, the hum syncing tighter. Foreign Substances Detected. Human Blood (Type B-). Enhanced Cellular Structure Confirmed. Blood streaked a crate—red, fresh, superhuman. My system flared. Mimic Ability Possible. Subject 'Unknown.' Potential Abilities: Electrokinesis.
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the blood. Sixteen hours left. Could I take this—steal another power? The flame in me flickered, weak but there, and the weapon hummed, eager.
"Kai, what's wrong?" Liv asked, sharp.
"Nothing," I lied, pulling back. "Just… checking."
She narrowed her eyes but didn't push, turning to Rylan. "We've got enough to last a week. But we're not alone—Skraiths are close."
"Too close," Jace muttered, nursing his ribs.
I nodded, the hum buzzing on. Sixteen hours. And a choice I wasn't ready to make.