He didn't dream again.
Not because he didn't sleep. He did. For maybe two hours, curled up behind his barricade, back aching, jaw clenched even in unconsciousness. It wasn't rest. It was escape. Just a forced blink of time where he didn't have to remember the woman behind the counter. The way her eyes had cried even as her mouth opened wide enough to tear at her own jaw.
But when he woke, he was still tired.
And the world was still broken.
Elias sat up slowly, fingers curled around the base of his bat. The tripwire alarm was still intact — the can hadn't moved. Good. He hadn't been followed.
Still… something felt off.
He rose and checked the window. The street was fogged in faint mist. Cold morning air hugging the ground like a low tide refusing to recede. No movement. No moans. No screams.
No birds either.
Just nothing.
That was becoming a theme.
He checked his inventory again.
No new items. But the system had given him something yesterday. Not just a warning about a mutated carrier — but a name.
Mutation Tier 1 – "Singers"
Singers.
It sounded poetic.
But what he saw was anything but.
She hadn't screamed. Not like a human. Not like a zombie.
It was more like a pressure. Like something in the air had pushed into his skin. A feeling, not a sound.
And yet… the system called it a Singer.
He grabbed the notebook he found earlier and wrote it down.
"Singers — Mutation Tier 1 — Semi-conscious — Shows awareness — Air pressure attack???"
Then he paused.
Underlined that last part three times.
Because that… that was the part he couldn't shake.
She hadn't just seen him.
She had noticed him.
That was new.
He flipped back through his notebook. A few pages of notes now — how to purify water using charcoal and cloth. A sketch of the apartment layout. A very rough attempt at crafting a basic spear. But none of that felt urgent anymore.
Not compared to this.
The virus was evolving.
Which meant the system would, too.
And right now, he had only one weapon left.
Understanding.
He turned on the old radio.
It had been silent for two days now. Static mostly. Once, a high-pitched tone like a signal test. Then more static.
But today…
Today, it whispered.
Not clearly. Just low. Like a breath trapped between the channels.
He adjusted the dial slowly, moving it one notch at a time.
—zzzt—...testing…—zzt—...repeat…no survivors past—...zzt—...transmission point unknown...
Elias froze.
Held the radio up closer.
No survivors.
Transmission point unknown.
He tried to isolate the voice. Pin it down.
It was male. British accent. Military, maybe? Hard to tell through the garble.
He adjusted the antenna. Climbed onto the countertop near the window. Lifted the radio higher.
Another crackle. Then—
"...system interference...cannot trace signals… not atmospheric… repeating: do not trust sound-based entities…"
He dropped the radio.
Not from fear.
From sudden, painful clarity.
Do not trust sound-based entities.
Singers.
They weren't just mutated.
They were intelligent.
And they were learning how to lie.
He paced the room, heart pounding now — not with fear, but with urgency. He needed more than books and bandages. He needed a way to test reality. If sound could be manipulated, then everything from voices to alarms to even his own thoughts could be vulnerable.
The system hadn't spoken since the bookstore.
That made him nervous.
He didn't like silence anymore.
Because silence didn't mean safety.
It meant something was thinking.
He opened his bag, pulling out the wilderness survival book. Skimmed the table of contents. Found a page about basic tests for hallucinations in isolation. It mentioned mirrors. Repetition exercises. Sleep tracking.
It felt ridiculous.
But then again…
So did dying twice.
He grabbed a shard of mirror from the bathroom and propped it against the wall. Drew a mark with ash on his own cheek. Stared at himself for five minutes straight.
No movement.
No delay.
Good.
He repeated his name twenty times aloud. Wrote it down. Spoke it again. Watched for differences in tone.
No slippage.
Still sane. Probably.
Then he did the only thing he hadn't dared yet.
He opened the Book of Instructions.
The one that had spawned in his hands after his rebirth. The one that disappeared after reading, like it had downloaded straight into his bones.
But when he opened it now — nothing.
Just blank pages.
Except one.
Quest Available: Identify Mutation Tier 1 – Reward: 25 Coins
Finally.
A real direction.
He tapped the page.
The system responded in that same cold, internal tone. Not a voice — a vibration, almost.
Objective: Lure, Observe, Survive a Tier 1 Mutation Encounter. Optional: Record new behavior.
Warning: Completion rate under 40%. Proceed only if prepared.
Elias laughed under his breath.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was honest.
The system didn't care if he died.
It cared if he learned.
That made sense.
If knowledge was power, then this wasn't a game.
It was a test.
One where failure meant extinction.
He wrote down a plan.
1. Find high ground. Observe without engaging.
2. Draw noise without entering space.
3. Record behavior. Movement. Response. Pattern.
4. Retreat and write. Upload data into system — if possible.
He underlined "Retreat."
Because the last time, he didn't get a second chance.
This time — this time he had to treat the world like it wanted him dead.
Because maybe it did.
He geared up.
Backpack.
Wrench. Bat. Shiv.
Water. Book.
Matches. Lighter. Twine.
He added a whistle from his keychain. Just in case he needed a sound trigger.
Then he left.
The hallway outside was still dark. No new bodies. He moved down the stairs, pausing every few steps to listen. Still no movement.
The street was quiet.
Eerily so.
But Elias had picked his location the night before.
A half-collapsed church four blocks north — high steeple, broken windows, and most importantly, a bell tower.
He had seen it during his earlier scavenging runs. Never entered.
Now it was the best vantage point he had.
He reached it by noon.
Slipped inside through a cracked side door. Broken pews scattered. Dust motes in the sunlight like falling stars.
No bodies.
That was somehow worse.
He moved quick.
Up the staircase behind the altar. Tight spiral steps. Rusted railings.
Finally, the top.
The bell was gone — shattered on the floor below.
But the view?
Clear.
Almost beautiful.
He could see the bookstore from here. The schoolyard. Even the edge of the collapsed supermarket roof.
And then — movement.
He almost missed it.
Far down the street, near the broken parking meters.
A figure.
Limping. Jerking slightly. Like its limbs didn't remember how to walk.
But its head?
Snapping side to side.
Listening.
That was no normal zombie.
He raised the binoculars he found earlier.
Focused.
The face was wrong. Jaw too wide. Cheeks torn back, but not rotted. And its ears — they were twitching. Like they were hearing things he couldn't.
Then it turned.
Not toward him.
But toward a bird.
A lone pigeon had landed on a car hood nearby.
And the thing… it sang.
Not with a voice.
But with something else.
A frequency.
And the pigeon exploded.
Blood. Feathers. Gone.
Elias fell backward, breath caught in his throat.
That wasn't sound.
That was pressure.
Like before.
Like with the woman.
Singers didn't speak.
They vibrated.
Their voices were weapons.
He wrote it all down. Hands shaking.
Then the system pinged again.
Quest Complete. +25 Coins
New Entry Added: Singer – Capable of emitting focused sonic bursts. Attracted to living bio-signatures. Avoid creating echoes.
New Shop Item Unlocked: Sound Dampening Boots (800 Coins)
Elias stared at the entry.
800 coins.
He had 25.
So that was the price of silence.
He backed away from the window slowly. Took one last look at the creature down below. It didn't look up.
Good.
He turned to leave—
And the floor creaked.
He froze.
Then heard it.
Another sound.
Not a Singer.
Worse.
A human voice.
From below.
"Hello? Anyone up there?"
No.
No no no no—
He didn't speak.
Didn't breathe.
But the Singer heard.
It turned.
Looked straight at the church.
And smiled.