"So about that gun," I said.

"Nine already told you no. Just don't get in my way, and we'll be fine. The other two will hear the commotion and come running," he said.

Fuck that. I'm not hanging out here, waiting for him to miss a monster or accidentally kill me himself. We walked for somewhere around fifty minutes to an hour, and the average walk speed is two to four miles an hour. Evening it out at three miles means that's how far away the cabin is. But the snow definitely slowed us down, so the cabin might be closer. A sprint in this weather runs the risk of tripping or slipping, but a jog should be acceptable. If I'm careful and keep a steady pace, I might be able to get there in twenty minutes, grab the chemicals, and come back to kill him. It's better than staying here.

I wait for the tide of monsters to get closer and then start moving away as Forty-four engages them in battle. That'll keep him busy for a while. He might not even notice I've left. Or that I'm hiding. I get into a good rhythm, slightly faster than a regular jog. Just like working out, but I need to stay present and focused. Letting my mind wander out here could prove fatal. Kai's going to get his volunteers even if I have to start abducting people in broad daylight. Being this useless leaves a disgusting feeling in my mouth and a pain in my gut. Could he create new bones, made out of stronger material like his prosthetic arm is? Then, upgrading my muscles so that they can handle more strain, and some kind of on-command chemical release to flood me with adrenaline and cortisol when I need it. Pay attention. I look around, really looking to see if anything is out there or following me. Luckily, my lapse in focus didn't cost me.

The cabin is exactly as we left it, besides the small dusting of snow on the floor that's blown in from outside. Now that I'm by myself, I can actually inspect the building. Bare wooden walls surround the three-room cabin. A bathroom, a bedroom, and the majority of the space dedicated to the living room/dining room/kitchen area. Thick quilt carpets cover the floor without a care for color or design. A couple of wicker rocking chairs and a clearly custom, handmade couch are the only real furniture. The wood frame of the couch is exposed with cushions that look like they're made of animal fur. Probably not faux either. Instead of recessed lights in the exposed truss ceiling, there are polished bronze sconces in the shape of lanterns branching off the exposed beams of the roof. Whoever lived here was old school. They don't have a dishwasher and have a gas stove, which I didn't even know were still being made. If the rest of the homes have gas stoves, I could have another method of killing the others.

I didn't get to check the bedroom last time. The door is cracked slightly ajar. I nudge it open with my foot before entering. You never know if someone or something is waiting to ambush you. Inside the room is a single cot with one pillow, and a pile of thick blankets. The closet in the corner has a couple of flannels hung up along with a black tuxedo inside plastic that looks like it hasn't been disturbed in decades. Below the hanging clothes is a large dog bed, which has clumps of fur on it, and a chewed-on stuffed purple dinosaur. The stained oak dresser next to the cot has a brass lamp with a pull chain and a half-read mystery novel. The only other piece of furniture is a large chest at the foot of the bed. Judging by the sparse decorations and overall lack of personal touch, it's clear the homeowner is a single, elderly man who lives with his dog. But the tuxedo might mean there once was another soul in this home.

This is someone who was obviously living a solitary life: no neighbors or friends, just his dog for companionship. A widower? There isn't a single photo in the entire cabin, and that's kind of sad. There's something about a person spending years in lonely isolation just to die to the shadow monsters that stirs my emotions. What is wrong with me? What confluence of emotions is making me feel like this? When did this mandatory mission become a spiritual journey of enlightenment? Through the bedroom window, I notice the snow still hasn't stopped; it's coming down harder than before. That could become a problem.

Rummaging through the closet, I toss the flannels out. Carefully, I remove the suit, making sure I don't rumple it as I lay it down on the bed. Further within is a beat-up sunbleached canvas bag. That'll do. It's already empty, and there's enough space for me to fit my cleaning chemicals. The cabinets under the sink have a jug of bleach and another of vinegar. I definitely saw it earlier. Where the heck is it? There! A white, slightly brown plastic funnel is in the junk drawer. I pop out the vials from my helmet and take out the other two from my pockets. Grabbing the used, grimey, yellow rubber gloves off the counter, I put them on. Safety first. My talk with Vixen was sloppy, but it was also inefficient. Spraying the mixture down her throat was uninspired, and I shouldn't settle for that. If I had just switched it to the mist setting, I could have had a toxic chlorine gas that would be more effective. I won't make that mistake again.

Two vials full of vinegar and two of bleach, but I might need more. Both jugs go into the bag. Is there anything else? Searching the bathroom rewards me with a certain brown bottle with a white label—hydrogen peroxide. Mixing hydrogen peroxide with bleach creates an exothermic reaction, which I might be able to use to make an explosion later on, if I need to. The wind is really whipping up, and the frigid air blowing through the opening in the cabin is chilling my bones. This place is a death sentence if I get trapped here by the storm. I need to get going. A quick stop in the bedroom to put on one of the flannels is all I do before I take off into the white void.

If it weren't for my incredible memory, I might have never gotten back. But because I am exceptional, I navigate the blizzard to reach the intersection where I left Forty-four. The snow has covered everything, but signs of the battle are everywhere. The juxtaposition between the sterile serenity of the storm and the collapsed roofs, shattered walls, and overall destruction is painting worthy. We haven't found a single person or body, and I wouldn't be surprised if they're all dead. Nestor Falls is a frozen wasteland, an empty mass grave, a ghost town. Now, where would they all go?

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Ever since I left the cabin, I haven't seen a single shadow monster. There's no way the Ruler responsible doesn't have more. I guess it could be a Tinkerer who's somehow transforming people, or maybe a Caster who shoots shadow-monster-making blasts. Theorycrafting can wait. I need to get out of the storm. The general store is where we were supposed to meet up, so I'll stop there to wait it out. The snow is now above my ankles, and my foot gets buried with every step, but I make my way over to the store. The front door isn't locked, but the wind and the built-up snow make getting it open a tribulation the likes of Odysseus would complain about.

I tumble through the doorway, boots sliding on the smooth wet floors. Bracing against the door, I shove it close and lock it, fighting against the forces of nature conspiring against me. The temperature outside is so low that just being out of the wind makes the store feel warm by comparison. The general store is a lot bigger than it looks from the outside. What I thought were neighboring businesses are just the other entrances into the place. It's more of one one-stop shop retail store.

"ANYONE IN HERE? YOU HAVE TO TELL ME IF YOU'RE HIDING SOMEWHERE," I shouted.

No one replies to me, which is a worrying sign. The store is large, but they should've heard me yelling if they were here, which could mean a number of different things. Like they're all dead after being murdered by the tide of shadow monsters. Or they found the person responsible, took care of them, and Waters provided evac already. Well, not much I can do except wait for the blizzard to pass. I walk further into the store, away from the entrance, and I find a camping section. There's a thick outdoors sleeping bag that I drag over to the bottom shelf in an aisle. After knocking all the products out of the way and off the shelf, I lay the sleeping bag on it. I drop the backpack a good distance away and then unzip my bed for the night and climb in. Sleeping in the helmet is going to be terrible for my neck, but I don't want to take the chance that I inhale something toxic in my sleep.

All things considered, I get a decent night's sleep. The cold has finally left my body, so I'm already feeling better. Shaking off the grogginess, I stretch until I'm fully awake. It better not be snowing still. I don't know what I'll do if I get stuck here for another day by myself. The dark store doesn't bode well for my hopes of the storm passing. I take a right at the end of the aisle to get to the front and see the last thing I wanted to see. I'm snowed in.

Three days. Three fucking days, since we got here. I said the store was a one-stop shop, but I was grossly overstating the inventory of this place. They don't have any cell phones or generators, and the computers are all dead thanks to the electricity going out. I know that I've been feeling like my plate was full with everything going on, but now I have nothing to do but eat, sleep, and wait for the storm to let up finally. But even when it stops, I'm going to have to shovel my way out. Is this the longest I've ever gone without human interaction? At this point, I'd take a shadow monster just to shake up the routine. Maybe I could communicate with their creator if their power works like Rorschach's does. I can't do another day in here. Eating nothing but dried deer jerky is getting to me.

I start gathering supplies for what I want to do: cardboard boxes, loose trash, a metal garbage can, fuel logs, gasoline, and a lighter. It feels good to be working toward a goal again. Dragging the metal garbage can to one of the emergency exits, I throw everything inside it and dump the gasoline all over it. The exit alarms should be on backup batteries so as soon as I push the door open, they're going to start going off. The noise plus the smoke should work to attract someone to me. Either I meet up with the others or the rogue Neuvohuman, but I'm done being stuck here by myself. Slowly, I force the door open, and the shrill ringing bells of the alarm activate. There isn't much snow blocking the door because of a large overhang above it. The chilling wind hits me immediately, and I fumble with the lighter till the fire starts. And boy, does it. Flames roar to life, licking at my face as I finish pushing it outside. Now, we wait.

I moved my sleeping bag set up to be closer to the exit, and I've been mindlessly feeding the fire every couple of hours. Nine, Forty-four, and Eleven are nowhere to be seen, and the alarms are starting to get on my nerves. I'm calling it. I push open the door fully, moving the metal trash can to an uncovered spot away from the overhang. Then I walk back inside and slam the door shut, silencing the alarms. My ears are ringing with phantom alarm sounds and metal objects being struck, and my desire to kill Technologica grows by the minute. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be stuck in this bumfuck nowhere town freezing to death. I freeze. I heard something, and it wasn't the after effects of my sonic self-torment.

"Nine? Are you guys there?"

Crickets are all I get in response. Shadows or a different party entirely?

"I mean you no harm," I shouted, raising my hands in a show of placation. "I didn't want to come here. I was forced to by the others. Can we talk?"

It's doubtful that the creator of the shadows is here in person. But that's why I have a knife in my waistband and a flashlight in my pocket. I stay perfectly still, avoiding spooking the curious party.

"The um, shadow spawn, occasionally show a level of intelligence that makes me think you can control them more actively if you choose. I'm not here to fight you. I just want to go home. The other three won't let me go. I'm sorry about the shadows," I apologized.

The noise I heard could've been a rat, and I'm trying to communicate with a rodent, but it would be nice if it isn't. The silence stretches on, but just as I'm going to give up and go to bed, I hear another noise. Out from behind the aisle comes one of the monsters. As they all do, it looks completely different from the others. The only thing they all have in common is their skin color and immortality. This one is a humanoid, but smaller than the others I've seen by a noticeable amount. It has small, stumpy legs with eight nubs that I believe are meant to be toes by the long, gnarled black nails coming off them. The body is hunched over, and the arms are quadruple-jointed zigzagging limbs with thin fingers longer than two drumsticks. The face is pointed and angular like a rat's, but with just a hole at the end of it with blackened teeth in a circle like a fleshy garbage disposal. Matted, greasy hair hangs all over the face, so I can't tell whether it has any other sensory organs.

"Who are you?" The thing asked.

I've got to stick to the role I've created. I tap my helmet with my ring, catching the mask as it falls from my face.

"I'm Eryk, nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand and smiling as harmlessly as possible.

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