We stood at the base of the skyscraper, its once-grand entrance now a gaping maw of shattered glass and twisted metal. The interior was cloaked in shadows, faintly illuminated by rays of pale sunlight slipping through cracks in the walls and ceiling. Anna paused, her eyes darting carefully around the entrance, assessing threats with practiced vigilance.

  My heart raced, my pulse pounding deafeningly in my ears, and despite the chill in the air, sweat trickled uncomfortably down my back. Anna stepped forward silently, signaling me to follow with a curt gesture. Her movements were confident and deliberate, while mine were hesitant, slow, painfully aware of every creak and groan beneath my heavy feet.

  The lobby was a scene of desolation, littered with overturned furniture, scattered documents, and shattered glass. Remnants of a reception desk stood in splintered ruins, papers yellowed and crumbling on the cracked marble floor. As we navigated the debris, Anna stopped abruptly, holding up her hand in a gesture to halt. My heart froze in my chest as I followed her gaze.

  A lone roamer stood at the far end of the lobby, swaying mindlessly near a half-collapsed staircase. Its clothes hung in filthy, ragged strips, revealing skin mottled with decay and grime. Its vacant, milky eyes stared blankly into the darkness, head tilting unnaturally to one side. The stench, even from a distance, was potent—an awful mixture of rot, mold, and something disturbingly metallic.

  Anna motioned me closer, speaking in a hushed but firm voice. “It's just a level one. Weak and slow, easy enough to handle. But this one is yours.”

  My stomach twisted in protest, nausea surging violently. “Mine?” I whispered incredulously, voice cracking under the weight of panic.

  She shot me an irritated glance, impatience evident in her narrowed eyes. “If you ever want to survive here, you need your mark. Now's your chance. I'll distract it—you finish it off. Aim for the head. Don’t hesitate, or you'll get us both killed.”

  Before I could argue or protest further, Anna moved swiftly, drawing the creature’s attention with a calculated noise. The roamer’s head snapped sharply in her direction, emitting a guttural, rasping groan as it stumbled awkwardly toward her. Anna expertly dodged its clumsy advances, maneuvering effortlessly around debris.

  My breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, fear nearly paralyzing me. Gathering what little courage I could muster, I grabbed a heavy piece of metal pipe from the ground, feeling its rough, rusty texture bite into my palms. My vision blurred slightly from the adrenaline as I forced myself forward, heart hammering violently.

  I swung with all the strength my trembling body could manage, striking the creature hard on the back of the head. It staggered briefly, turning slowly toward me, grotesque mouth gaping, rotten teeth bared in a ghastly snarl. Panic surged anew, but desperation and Anna’s expectant gaze forced me to swing again, harder this time, with desperate intent.

  With a sickening crack, the roamer crumpled heavily to the floor, motionless. My arms shook uncontrollably, breath heaving painfully from my chest as I stared numbly at my first kill. Anna moved swiftly to my side, her expression one of grim approval. I looked down at the now disfigured pipe I held in a white knuckled grip, I set the pipe down cautiously to limit the noise.

  “Good,” she said softly, eyes scanning the surroundings once more for any additional threats. “Now, let's hurry, you need to get its core before we move on.”

  I grimaced as she handed me a small folding pocket knife.

  "do I actually have to do this? it's revolting."

  Anna glared back at me with an expression that said what kind of man are you nut up or die.

  My breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as I stared down at the unmoving roamer sprawled grotesquely on the cracked, debris-strewn floor. Anna’s voice echoed harshly in my ears, her instructions repeating relentlessly.

  “Get the core. It’s in the back of its neck. Hurry up.”

  My hands shook uncontrollably as I fumbled with the pocket knife that Anna had handed me. The blade trembled visibly in my grip, reflecting the pale, sickly light of our surroundings off of its rusted pitted blade. Sweat trickled coldly down my spine, mixing with fear and disgust in equal measure.

  I knelt hesitantly beside the roamer’s decayed form, my heart hammering painfully against my ribs. Up close, the creature was even more repulsive—its rotting flesh mottled in nauseating shades of greenish-gray, riddled with oozing lesions and thick black veins that spidered grotesquely beneath translucent, putrid skin. The stench rising from the corpse was overpowering, a thick, acrid combination of decaying meat, spoiled milk, and the faint metallic tang of blood.

  I gagged violently, turning away as bile surged into my throat. Anna stood nearby, arms folded tightly across her chest, expression set in grim impatience mixed with clear contempt. Her eyes drilled into me, radiating silent disdain.

  “For God’s sake, just do it,” she hissed, impatience and disgust heavy in her voice.

  Gritting my teeth and fighting back another wave of nausea, I reached out slowly, gripping the creature’s head roughly with one trembling hand, trying desperately to steady myself. The skin beneath my fingers was slick, oily, and disturbingly loose, shifting and sliding grotesquely with my movements. I suppressed another violent gag as my blade pressed cautiously into the rotted flesh, the knife slipping easily through skin softened by decay.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The first incision released a sickening gush of thick, dark fluid, the liquid seeping sluggishly around the blade and over my fingers, warm and viscous. I recoiled sharply, vomiting onto the pavement beside the corpse, the acrid sting of stomach acid mingling horribly with the vile odor of decay. My body shook violently, and tears blurred my vision as I retched uncontrollably.

  Anna watched silently from a short distance away, arms crossed tightly, expression a mixture of impatience and thinly veiled disgust. Her harsh gaze burned into me, a silent judgment of my weakness and incompetence. Gritting my teeth, embarrassed and desperate to regain some semblance of dignity, I turned back to the horrific task.

  With renewed determination fueled solely by shame, I forced the blade deeper, sawing roughly through decomposed muscle and sinew. A wet, sickening squelch echoed through the stillness as the knife finally penetrated fully. Thick, dark fluid oozed sluggishly around the blade, the smell intensifying unbearably, choking me with its putrid intensity.

  Fighting back yet another retch, I finally located the pearl—a small, hard, pearlescent sphere nestled deep within the ruined muscle and cartilage. My fingers slipped repeatedly, slick with foul fluid, as I struggled desperately to extract it. Eventually, with a final determined tug, the pearl popped free, landing wetly in my trembling palm.

  I fell backward immediately, dropping the corpse’s head with an audible, wet slap against the concrete. I hunched over, vomiting violently once more onto the ruined pavement, my body convulsing helplessly from revulsion and despair.

  Anna sighed audibly, shaking her head with disgusted pity. “Pathetic,” she muttered softly, eyes cold and judgmental. “But at least you got it. Now stand up—unless you’d rather join it.”

  Her words cut deeply, shame and humiliation intensifying the nausea roiling inside me. I forced myself upright shakily, wiping my mouth with the back of my trembling hand, and stood on unsteady legs. With shaking hands, I clenched the small, pearlescent core tightly, feeling its strange, cool smoothness pressing into my sweat-soaked palm. My breath still came in uneven gasps, each inhale stinging my raw throat, which burned from the acid of my own vomit. The pungent smell of the rotting corpse lingered in my nostrils, thick and suffocating, forcing me to take shallow breaths to avoid gagging again.

  Anna had already turned away, her movements sharp and practical as she began scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. I watched her for a brief moment, shame burning hotly beneath my skin. Her obvious disdain intensified my embarrassment, but I had neither the strength nor the courage to confront her judgmental gaze.

  “Clean yourself up,” she ordered brusquely, tossing a stained rag in my direction without looking back. It landed at my feet, already damp and crusted from previous use. Grimacing, I stooped slowly, joints aching fiercely as I wiped at the foul residue smeared across my trembling fingers. The fabric of the rag was rough, gritty with dirt and dried blood, yet oddly comforting against my clammy skin.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled quietly, not daring to meet her eyes. My voice trembled, weighed down by shame and anxiety. “I didn’t mean to—”

  She interrupted abruptly, her voice cold yet resigned. “Save it. Apologies don’t mean shit here. Either you toughen up, or you become food for them.” She gestured sharply towards the shattered storefront, beyond which faint, distant groans still drifted ominously in our direction.

  I swallowed hard, fresh panic rising sharply again at the reminder of our perilous situation. My stomach churned uncomfortably, hunger clawing viciously at my insides despite the lingering nausea. Anna glanced back at me briefly, eyes narrowing as she took in my trembling frame.

  “We still need supplies,” she continued firmly, her tone softer yet no less severe. “Food, water, medicine—anything useful. But if you’re going to vomit every time you see a roamer, you’re not going to last a day. Do you understand?”

  I nodded rapidly, desperate to prove my willingness to cooperate, desperate to demonstrate I wasn’t entirely useless. “I’ll do better,” I promised weakly, hoping more to convince myself than her. “Just—tell me what I need to do.”

  She hesitated slightly, visibly torn between suspicion and the practical necessity of cooperation. “Stay quiet and follow closely. Watch carefully, and don’t do anything unless I explicitly tell you to. Got it?”

  “Yes,” I replied immediately, grateful for her begrudging acceptance, however tentative. “Understood.”

  We moved cautiously forward, slipping silently from shadow to shadow, navigating the debris-strewn aisles and scattered remnants of a world long past. Broken shelves loomed overhead, their contents decayed or scavenged away long ago, leaving only dusty husks and empty boxes behind. The stale, musty air was thick with dust and mildew, each breath grating harshly against the rawness of my throat.

  Anna led the way with practiced ease, her movements fluid and silent, each step calculated to minimize sound. In stark contrast, I struggled behind her, painfully aware of my clumsiness and noisy stumbling. Every crackle of broken glass beneath my feet was amplified tenfold, echoing in my ears, magnifying my already crippling anxiety.

  We navigated through narrow aisles filled with remnants of everyday life—abandoned clothing racks, empty shelves, shattered mirrors reflecting distorted images of our weary, frightened faces. Occasionally, Anna paused to investigate potential supplies, quickly and methodically sorting through debris with practiced efficiency. I stood silently, feeling useless and exposed, heart racing nervously as my eyes darted around the shadowed surroundings, fearfully expecting danger at every turn.

  Eventually, Anna’s search yielded a small cache of canned food, partially concealed beneath a collapsed shelving unit. Her expression remained wary but softened slightly with relief at this small victory. She swiftly stashed the supplies into her battered backpack, then glanced sharply back at me, clearly evaluating my physical and emotional state.

  “We’ll rest here briefly,” she said quietly, her voice cautiously softer. “Eat something—you’re useless to me if you can’t keep moving.”

  My eyes widened in surprise and gratitude as she tossed me a small, dented can of beans. Hunger overwhelmed me as I quickly opened it, using my pocket knife, and ate hungrily, the bland, cold food tasting oddly wonderful despite its simplicity. As I ate, Anna watched silently, expression unreadable but slightly less harsh.

  “Thank you,” I murmured quietly, feeling slightly less hopeless as the emptiness in my stomach began to subside.

  “Don’t mention it,” she responded shortly, eyes distant, already scanning our surroundings again. “You still have a long way to go before you’re anything close to useful.”

  Her blunt assessment stung, yet I couldn’t deny the truth in her words. I finished the small meal quickly, energy returning slightly despite lingering fear and shame.