“You’re angry because I belong to the Network?” Rebecca shot back. He sat near the outside wall of the Burger Shack or Station 5, as the Network called it.

Outside the 4 x 8 foot wooden planks covering the shattered windows, shadows moved. The thrall paced outside, their forms appeared and vanished through narrow gaps in the boards. Rebecca’s gaze drifted past him. Erik followed it— and flinched.

 A cancerous eye peered through a sliver of broken wood, unblinking and wet. From another gap, fingers twitched, gripping the edge of the plank as if testing its strength.

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know much about the thrall,” Erik admitted. “But they seem… different here. More focused. Like they know something we don’t.”

“At least you’ve been outside,” Rebecca muttered. “I’ve been stuck in Black Lake my whole life—even before they built this prison around us.”

Rebecca held her breath for a moment.

“They do that sometimes,” she said. “I’m sure one of us is a target of Dr. Cross.”

Erik sat up, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Loran Elias Cross is the shepherd of these things?” He exhaled sharply. “I heard rumors outside of M.A.R.S., but I didn’t believe them.”

Erik rubbed his free hand over his bruises, wincing. His other hand, wrapped in stiff bandages, throbbed with every heartbeat.

“Sorry,” he said. “I assumed you were a prisoner, not a local. The Network is what, exactly? And what the hell were you doing in that van? Why would you be out there with those maniacs?”

A partial smile flickered across Rebecca’s face. Erik caught it immediately—along with something else.

An elongated tooth.

The realization settled in, slow and unwelcome. Vampire.

They had come over the Bridge from Kymara—human-like immortals, lurking for years, maybe even decades. Bloodthirsty, power-hungry, meta-humans with too many secrets. Their status didn’t stop them from being arrested and sent to M.A.R.S., so Erik wasn’t exactly shocked she was a vampire—just disappointed.

That would explain—

“I know what you’re thinking,” Rebecca interrupted.

Rebecca explained that she worked for the Network as a Guide—a designated escort responsible for safely transporting people through the streets.

“You were a real Guide yesterday when twenty people, including me, almost died right at the gate,” Erik’s voice cut through the cacophony of pounding outside.

Rebecca didn’t flinch. “We’re not allowed to help outside the street out there called the Avenue,” she said flatly. “Anything near the gate is guarded by auto-guns, and entry is always chaos. We’d be insane to show up. So we wait. One day…”

She let the sentence hang. Erik grumbled, processing her words, her lack of sympathy—and the growing certainty that she was a vampire.

“I’m going to stay quiet,” he muttered after a pause. His eyes flicked toward the rattling walls. “Are they ever going to stop pounding? I hate these goddamn thrall.”

Erik grasp the fingers of the thrall and broke them. The noise echoed through the small building. The thrall, incensed, reacted immediately.

The pounding intensified. The pattern changed. No longer just mindless hammering—now there was rhythm, urgency. The thrall weren’t just slamming the walls. They were coordinating.

A guttural wail from the Collectors rose, echoing through the gaps in the wooden planks.

Then came the heavy thuds. Bigger. Smarter. Stronger.

Across the room, a large man, the size of a former linebacker, slammed his cards down, the slap of plastic on wood sharp and final. He stood abruptly, his shadow stretching across the dim interior.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” His voice was low, controlled—but his glare was razor-sharp.

Erik didn’t answer. He could feel the vibration in his bones from the last impact outside.

The man took a step closer, eyes locked onto Erik like he was the real threat. “You trying to get us all killed? I should kick you ass and throw you back outside.”

Erik looked at the towering man. Without a thought he spat, “You can’t threaten an old, angry drunk waiting

It was pity.

He crouched slightly, close enough that only Erik could hear. “I’m sorry you don’t value your life. But my brother and I value ours. So check yourself.”

The man stared. Whatever anger had been simmering behind his eyes flickered—then faded. What replaced it wasn’t fear or rage.

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned.

The tall man stood in front of the others in Station 5.

“Listen up,” he called out, his voice sharp enough to cut through the pounding outside. “This is different. They’re not just hammering at the walls. This man drew the abominations, called the Collectors here, so we are all going to die. 

Erik exhaled, running a hand over his face. “They were not after me!” He shouted. They didn’t even know I was there half the time.”

Sean’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

Erik hesitated. He looked at Rebecca and she shook her head. “If they were after me, they would have killed me. I think they wanted her.”

Rebecca frowned. 

“There is something strange with this girl. She is not normal…” He continued but Rebecca stepped close to him and jammed her heel into the side of his foot. 

“They were hunting. Yes,” she admitted stepping in front of the group. “…but it’s not me. I don’t know why the Collectors want us but we only have a few moments.”

Another impact rocked the structure as the Collectors focused on the same section of the outside wall. The plywood inside groaned. The metal nails struggled to paste the wood to the building frame. 

The thought sent a cold weight settling in Erik’s gut.

Sean rubbed a hand over his jaw. “We don’t have time for bullshit. Board up anything loose, check the weapons, and someone keep an eye on that back exit.”

His gaze flicked back to Erik. “And you—try not to make things worse.”

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