The rain started after midnight.
It wasn't gentle.
It came down like it hated the ground — like the sky had finally snapped and decided to drown the world it couldn't burn.
Elias sat with his back against the steel shelf, jacket pulled tight, watching it smear the grime on the garage windows. The storm masked the city. Made it easier to ignore the things that crawled past on broken limbs. The moans that rose like breath from a grave.
Max was asleep again. His chest rose in slow, uneven waves, skin glistening with sweat that didn't come from heat. The fever had returned. Elias could feel it radiating off him like an engine left too long on idle.
The food helped. But not enough.
Max needed antibiotics. Real ones.
And Elias had one.
Just one.
A white capsule buried in a system-bought medkit — something he'd picked up during a moment of panic when coins felt worthless and the world still had rules. The kit had cost him nearly everything he had at the time. He'd never opened it.
Now it sat in his inventory, glowing like a guilt-shaped icon. Untouched.
He pulled up the system.
Inventory: [Basic MedKit – 1x Use]
Contains: 1x Antibiotic, 1x Painkiller, 2x Clean Gauze, 1x Injection Tool
He hovered over the "Use" option.
But didn't tap it.
Because the truth was cruel.
Max wasn't going to make it.
He could feel it — like instinct or math. The weight behind each shallow breath. The skin so thin now it barely covered the boy's bones.
Even with the pill, it might only buy him hours. A day at most.
And Elias?
He might need that pill later.
For someone who could walk. Who could shoot. Or for himself, when everything went wrong and bleeding out became a near certainty.
He stood.
The room felt smaller than usual. The storm outside sucked the oxygen from the air.
He couldn't think.
So he moved.
Grabbed the old rain jacket. Checked the tire iron. Tucked the silence under his boots — his new skill dulling the impact of each footfall like padding. Then he slipped out the side door into the storm.
The city looked different in the rain.
Less ruined. More drowned.
It washed the blood from sidewalks, pushed corpses into gutters, peeled old posters from walls. But it couldn't hide the smell. Nothing could. Rot stuck to the lungs now. It lived in the throat.
Elias moved block to block, careful, scanning windows. He wasn't looking for the undead this time.
He was looking for survivors.
One in particular.
He found her by accident.
A little over a mile south, in the half-destroyed pharmacy near the tracks. He'd been searching the backrooms when he heard the voice. Soft. Whispered.
"Don't."
That was all.
One word.
He turned. Slowly.
She stood behind the broken counter, knife in hand. Thin frame, torn hoodie, eyes like a trapped animal's. Her fingers were shaking — not from the cold.
From hunger.
He raised both hands.
"No threat," he said, voice low. "I'm alone."
"You lie like the rest?"
He shook his head. "I don't need to lie. If I wanted what you have, you'd already be bleeding."
She didn't drop the knife.
But she didn't move, either.
That was enough.
"I'm looking for medicine," Elias said.
She snorted. "Then you're three days too late. This place got stripped clean."
"I know," he said. "I was hoping."
"You should hope less. It's slower to kill."
He nodded once. Fair point.
She hesitated. Then: "You said you're alone."
"I am."
"No family?"
The question stung.
"No one left," he said. "Except one kid. He's sick. Might not make it."
"Mine didn't."
Something in her eyes went dark then. Not angry. Just… vacant.
Elias recognized it. It was the look of someone who had already buried what mattered.
"Sorry," he said.
She shrugged.
"You have food?"
He reached into his pack. Pulled out the stale chips he'd saved. Handed them across the broken counter.
She stared at the bag.
Then at him.
Then took it.
No thank you. Just silence. Just chewing.
He watched her. Tried to judge the edge in her voice. The way she moved.
She was barely surviving.
And yet — she hadn't killed him when she could have.
So he made a choice.
"I have medicine," he said. "But not enough for both."
She paused mid-bite.
"I'm offering a trade."
"For what?"
"For truth. I want to know what you've seen. What works. What doesn't. How far the spread has gone. You've survived alone. That means you're smart — or lucky. Either way, I need data."
She looked at him like he'd spoken in code.
Then she smiled.
Not a nice smile.
Just... tired.
"You want to trade antibiotics for stories?"
"I want to trade possible death for possible answers."
She laughed. Once. Harsh.
"You're weird," she said. "But fine."
And then she talked.
Not everything. Not names. But she told him what streets to avoid. Which gangs had started forming weird cults. Which buildings the mutated ones seemed drawn to — places with light. Mirrors. Things that reflected.
"Why mirrors?" Elias asked.
She didn't know.
But it mattered.
Because if the mutated ones were drawn to reflections — then light wasn't the only enemy.
He left the pharmacy two hours later.
No medicine found.
But he'd gained something more important than gauze and bandages.
Knowledge.
Back in the garage, Max hadn't moved.
Elias knelt beside him.
Took out the medkit.
Snapped it open.
Used the pill.
No hesitation now.
Because sometimes — mercy wasn't a weakness. It was a decision. A loaded gun pointed at your own foot.
Max swallowed it in a fog of half-sleep.
Didn't even realize.
Elias leaned back against the shelf.
Watched the rain drip down through a crack in the ceiling.
Didn't say a word.
Quest Update: "First Mercy"
+50 Coins
+Passive Bonus: [Emotional Resistance +1]
System Note: Some choices cannot be undone. Some weights never lift.