Tracking Vomi wasn’t the challenge—predicting her next move was. Instead of waiting for her to strike, every faction in San Francisco seemed intent on hunting her down. The result? A bloodbath that only seemed to escalate. Sasha sifted through the footage she’d gathered, watching the chaos unfold: past, present, and the grim inevitability of what was to come. She couldn’t help but think back to the day Vanguard, the talking cat, had warned her never to reveal their shared secret. At the time, the idea of a cat giving life-or-death advice was absurd. Now? It felt like an omen.

San Francisco’s newsfeeds were dominated by stories of Vomi, painting her as a monstrous force of destruction. Sasha dug deeper into older footage, tracing the changes in her former partner. The progression was undeniable: Vomi grew weaker and paler while the red symbiote became stronger. The bloodlust, the utter disregard for life—it was increasing with every encounter. Sasha suspected Vomi wasn’t even fully aware of what she was doing anymore, reacting instinctively to external threats, emotions, or, perhaps worst of all, sheer boredom.

But Vomi’s path of destruction wasn’t the worst discovery.

Sasha had also reached out to Liu Jinxiu, leveraging her vast surveillance network across San Francisco. Officially, the request was to assist with tracking Vomi. Unofficially, Sasha wanted to check on the rest of The Refused. She needed to confirm who, if anyone, was still alive.

What she uncovered wasn’t good. And Raven? Raven was going to lose it.

The problem wasn’t just the news—it was the fact that Raven wouldn’t hang up. She stayed on the line with Sasha, demanding answers, her voice a mix of anger, fear, and desperation. Sasha hesitated, knowing what she had to say would only make things worse.

“What about them? Where are they?” Raven’s voice cracked with desperation. “Please, just tell me they’re alright...”

Sasha exhaled sharply. She couldn’t sugarcoat this. False hope was crueler than the truth. “Raven… I don’t have good news.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that,” Raven pleaded, her words breaking into muffled sobs.

“Fuck,” Nieme muttered before cutting the call off the speaker. “Raven’s not going to handle this. Not now. Look, Sasha, just say it straight to me. We’re all too close to this mess, too close to each other. Maybe not with Heitor or Carmine, but… you get it.”

Sasha’s lips tightened, hesitation flashing across her face even though no one could see it. “Heitor didn’t make it. He was killed at the same spot Vomi was when he injected her with the syringe.”

A long, heavy silence filled the line.

“...Fuck,” Nieme finally whispered.

And then Sasha heard it: distant screams, cries of disbelief, someone—Raven, most likely—breaking down completely. The sound of pure anguish cut through her like a blade. It didn’t stop there, though. Sasha’s heart sank further when she caught the faint wailing of a child in the background.

A kid? There’s a kid in all this? Sasha’s stomach twisted. Nothing about this situation was easy, but this? This made it so much worse.

“What about… shit… what about Blaze? And Carmine?” Nieme finally managed to ask, his voice strained. Sasha guessed he was probably watching Raven unravel completely, judging by the discomfort in his tone.

Sasha hesitated, knowing how much worse this was going to get. “Blaze was last seen near the gym. But… if the wreckage I’m seeing in the news is what I think it is…” She paused, trying to soften the blow, but there wasn’t a delicate way to say it. “It looks like he was caught under the debris.”

The line went dead quiet.

“Blaze…?” Nieme’s voice cracked, barely audible.

Before he could spiral, Sasha pressed on. “Carmine was last seen inside the M-Tech building. But that was hours ago—two, maybe three. I haven’t been able to find out anything else.”

Silence settled over the call again, heavier this time. It felt like the weight of every loss was pressing down on them all at once. Sasha gritted her teeth, feeling the same helplessness creeping in. Sure, Sasha isn't close to them, but this is spiraling fast, and they were running out of time to save anyone left standing.

“Is… is there a way?”

Sasha frowned. “A way to what?”

“To save Vomi,” Nieme said, his voice hollow and devoid of emotion. He was clearly trying to push through the immense weight of his feelings, grasping at any sliver of hope. “We can at least save someone.”

Maybe, Sasha thought, though she wasn’t optimistic. M-Tech was reportedly working on a serum, but whether it would work was another matter entirely. And with her being stuck in Night City, there wasn’t much she could do directly.

“Look, I’ve done everything I can from here,” she admitted. “If there’s anything else I can offer, aside from keeping you updated on Vomi’s location, it’s knowing her main target right now.”

“That’s… that’s fine,” Nieme replied, his tone barely above a whisper.

Sasha winced at the response but continued, “There’s a manufacturer near the harbor district. They’ve got a cluster of factories and facilities—I think you know the one I’m talking about.”

“Ascendant Innovations?” Nieme asked, a note of recognition creeping into his voice. “I’ve heard of them a few times. They keep a pretty low profile in the media.”

“Exactly,” Sasha said, even though he couldn’t see her nodding. “There’s a gonk running things there, the head of some big operations. If the gym Vomi hit earlier was the recruitment hub, this place is the supplier. Let’s just put it that way.”

“Supplier?” Nieme asked, confused. “You mean like… weapons or cyberware?”

“Cyberdecks, specifically,” Sasha clarified as she scrolled through her files. “They’re heavily connected to the Black Daggers. But here’s the thing—if Vomi found out what I’ve pieced together, it wouldn’t just grab her curiosity. It’d make her obsessed.”

“Let me guess,” Nieme sighed. “She’s going after that gonk.”

“Exactly.”

“Why?”

Sasha took a deep breath, knowing the next part wasn’t going to sit well.

“Because he’s the one who ordered the attack on your warehouse.”

Silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Nieme didn’t respond immediately, but Sasha could hear faint movements on his end of the call. Maybe pacing, or just the sound of Raven quietly sobbing in the background.

Finally, Nieme spoke, his voice low and strained. “He’s the reason Heitor’s gone? The reason Blaze…” His words trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” Sasha confirmed, her tone softer now. “And he’s probably the reason Carmine’s stuck at M-Tech, assuming he’s still alive. Everything points to him pulling the strings.”

Another pause. Nieme let out a deep breath, one that carried the weight of grief and simmering anger. “Do you have a name? Or are we just storming a facility blind?”

“My files are from Ascendant,” Sasha said simply, her eyes scanning through the data, blueprints flickering across her screen. “Blindness? Cured with optics. Unknown territory and Netrunners? Solved. They’ve made sure there are no gaps.”

“Good to know,” Nieme replied flatly.

“Here,” Sasha continued, forwarding a file. “I’m sending you the location. Vomi’s going there—I’m sure of it. What you plan to do when you arrive, though? That’s up to you. For all I know, she could—”

“Kill us too. Yes, I’m aware,” Nieme cut her off sharply, his irritation clear. “Look, thanks for everything, Sasha. We’ll arrange your payment.”

“Wait,” Sasha interjected, surprised. “Are you sure? I can still keep you updated on—”

“It’s fine,” Nieme interrupted, his tone cold and final. “Raven got a call.”

Sasha’s brow furrowed. “From who?”

“M-Tech.”

----------------------------------------

Raven answered the call, her voice trembling with the weight of her anger and sorrow. Cinthia stood nearby, silently watching as Raven’s dark mascara streaked down her face, a messy mix of tears and sweat born from raw fury.

“Who the hell is this?” Raven demanded, her voice breaking between sobs and sharp sniffs.

“I believe we’ve never met,” came the calm, calculated reply from the other end.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Raven snapped, wiping her face in a futile attempt to regain composure.

“I am Graves. I represent M-Tech.”

The name alone froze Raven mid-motion. Cinthia noticed immediately, the emotional shift as Raven’s grief drained into something sharper, colder—hatred.

“You,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. “Give me one reason not to hang up right now.”

Graves didn’t flinch at her hostility.

“Carmine delivered us the biomass,” he said matter-of-factly. “Thanks to him, we’ve been able to develop a serum that could help your… choom.” He hesitated, the word sounding foreign, uncomfortable, as it left his mouth.

Friendship wasn’t exactly a concept that thrived in the corporate world, after all.

“Carmine,” Raven repeated, her voice low but laced with sharp anger. She noticed how cold and detached the name sounded when it came from Graves, like it held no weight to him. “Has he been disposed of as well?”

“Naturally,” Graves responded without hesitation, his tone devoid of remorse or pretense.

Raven’s jaw tightened as her knuckles turned white. “And I’m supposed to care about anything you say because…?”

Graves sighed, dropping the corporate facade for a moment. “Because, whether by luck or misfortune, your little group might be the only chance this city has to avoid falling into absolute chaos—or worse, having Arasaka step in to clean up the mess.” His tone grew serious, his words sharper. “None of this should’ve happened. Not the media coverage, not the exposure of our projects, not the public learning about the symbiotes. Nothing.”

“And the deaths,” Raven shot back, her voice a dangerous growl, as much a demand as a statement.

“Details,” Graves replied with maddening indifference. “The point is, you’re likely the only person who can get close to Vomi without being killed outright.”

“And why the hell should I help you?” Raven snapped, her emotions bubbling over into fiery rage. “Why should I believe anything you’re saying? What’s in it for me? I don’t trust a single word out of your mouth! For all I know, this is a setup—you’ll send me to my death, my choom’s death, or worse. Maybe you want me to deliver her right to your doorstep, only for you to kill us both and call it a day!”

Graves paused, his calm demeanor unwavering. “You’re right not to trust me,” he admitted, his voice low but firm. “In your position, I wouldn’t either. But trust isn’t what I’m asking for. I’m asking for action—because if we do nothing, everyone dies. Including Vomi.”

Raven gritted her teeth, her grip on the phone tightening as she paced the room. “You’re real good at dodging the point. Why does M-Tech even care if she dies? You’ve already killed Carmine. What’s stopping you from just waiting this out, letting her burn herself out, and swooping in to clean up the aftermath?”

Graves chuckled dryly, the sound cold and calculated. “Because waiting isn’t an option. Vomi is evolving. Every second we hesitate, the symbiote becomes stronger, smarter, harder to contain. If we wait until she burns out, the collateral damage will leave this city in ruins. And if it gets beyond San Francisco? Arasaka or Militech will see to it that neither you nor anyone else has the luxury of surviving this.”

Raven stopped pacing, her breathing heavy as her mind churned. He wasn’t lying, at least not entirely. She could feel it in his tone—the urgency, the desperation he was trying to mask with professionalism.

“And the serum,” she said at last, her voice quieter now but still edged with venom. “You’re telling me you have a cure for her. A way to stop this without killing her.”

Graves nodded, as if she could see him through the agent. “Yes. It’s experimental, and it’s far from perfect. But it’s the only chance she has—and the only chance this city has. Without it, she’s already dead. And so are the rest of us.”

Raven swallowed hard, her gaze flicking to Cinthia, who was watching silently, her eyes wide with concern. “Why me?” she demanded, her voice cracking slightly. “Out of everyone you could send to deliver this, why the hell do you think I’m the one who can pull it off?”

“Because,” Graves said simply, “she won’t see you as a threat. You’re not just some random bystander or hired gun—you’re someone she knows, someone she cares about. That gives you an advantage no one else has. It’s risky, sure, but it’s the best option we’ve got.”

Raven hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. The thought of facing Vomi—her friend, her bandmate, her choom—in her current state was terrifying. But the alternative was even worse.

Cinthia finally spoke, her voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to do this, Raven. We’ll figure something out. Together.”

Raven shook her head, her decision already forming in her mind. “No. If this is the only way to save her… I have to try.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Graves’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. “Good. I’ll send you the details. And Raven—don’t screw this up. There’s no second chance.”

The call ended, leaving Raven standing in silence, her agent still shining in her eyes. She turned to Cinthia, her expression a mix of fear and determination.

“Thanks, Sasha, but I need to go,” Nieme said, ending the call. He turned to Raven. “I got some tidbits, but we’re going after Vomi, right?”

“This is suicide,” Frank warned again, leaning over his cluttered desk, which was covered in reports of monster sightings. “I can’t back you up, and the PD won’t either. Think long and hard before any of you make a stupid decision.”

Thiago, who had been sitting quietly nearby, tending to Katie, finally spoke. “Frank’s right. It’s a terrible idea to leave the PD. Especially now.”

“At least someone’s thinking straight,” Frank said with a sigh of relief.

Raven’s eyes swept across the room. The only two willing to join her were her sister and Nieme, her longtime choom. She couldn’t really blame Thiago for wanting to stay behind. His daughter had almost lost him twice in one day, and it was clear he wanted to protect her above all else. Still, a small part of Raven felt let down—he’d been so eager to help before.

“What did Graves say?” Nieme pressed, ignoring his father’s scolding.

“He’s sending details. They’ve made a serum, thanks to Carmine, but—”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Cinthia interrupted, the realization dawning in her voice.

Raven’s silence answered the question.

“Shit… So it’s just us?” Nieme muttered, shaking his head. “God damn it…”

“Is the serum even going to work?” Cinthia asked as she stuffed a few weapons into a nearby gym bag. It wasn’t hers, but no one would complain—not when they were the only ones trying to face the symbiote head-on.

“I don’t know,” Raven admitted, her voice heavy. “But it’s all we’ve got. It’s do or die.”

“Let’s hope we don’t die, then,” Cinthia replied grimly.

Frank pushed away from his desk in frustration, standing abruptly. “Ah, fuck this. If I can’t stop you idiots, the least I can do is make sure you don’t walk into this unarmed.”

He stormed off toward the back of the PD, heading straight for the armory. Moments later, he returned with an arsenal—submachine guns, assault rifles, and boxes of ammo—dumping it all unceremoniously onto his desk. Other officers nearby exchanged glances, muttering among themselves, but no one stepped in to stop him.

Except one.

The commissary, a stern-faced man with a reputation for not tolerating breaches of protocol, approached Frank, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You know I can’t let this slide,” he said, his tone heavy with authority. “Supplying civilians with weapons? From the armory? That’s crossing the line.”

He tolerated the civilians sleeping on the PD, since that's unavoidable, even more with the constant shootings and, well, the symbiote, as well as the fact that Nieme and Co. are relatives to Frank. But guns? From the Police Armory? That's too much to ask.

Frank straightened up, meeting the commissary’s glare without flinching. “Crossing the line? You’ve seen what’s out there. You know damn well this isn’t just some turf war or corpo dispute—it’s a goddamn nightmare. If they’re walking into this, I’m making sure they’ve got a fighting chance.”

“They’re not officers,” the commissary countered, his voice low and stern. “And this is a police armory, not some free-for-all.”

“They’re the only ones willing to do something,” Frank shot back, his voice rising. “What’s your plan? Wait for backup? Wait for the corps to clean this up? We both know no one’s coming to save us.”

The room grew tense. Officers whispered among themselves, but no one dared to step between the two men.

Raven, not one to sit back while others argued, stepped forward. “Listen,” she said, her voice sharp and unwavering. “We don’t have time for this. You wanna lecture us? Fine, but do it after we stop her. Right now, we need the iron.”

The commissary turned to her, narrowing his eyes. “And what makes you think you can stop her? You’ve seen what she’s capable of. This isn’t bravery—it’s suicide.”

“It’s suicide if we do nothing,” Nieme interjected, standing beside Raven. “She’s not just going to stop, and you know it. We have to try.”

The commissary’s jaw tightened. He looked between them, then back at Frank, whose expression was set with defiance. After a long pause, he sighed, stepping back.

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “Take what you need. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you, Frank.”

“It was always on me,” Frank replied, already packing the weapons into bags.

Raven glanced at Nieme and Cinthia, giving a nod. “Let’s move.”

As they finished gearing up, Thiago stood, his daughter clinging to his leg. “Wait,” he said, his voice conflicted.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“I…” He hesitated, looking down at Katie. Her wide, tear-filled eyes made it clear she didn’t want him to go. But then he looked back at the group, at the friends who were risking everything.

“I can’t leave her,” he finally said, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m sorry.”

Raven gave him a small nod, her expression softening. “We get it, Thiago. Stay safe. Take care of her.”

“Good luck,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

With that, Raven, Nieme, and Cinthia left the PD, their bags brimming with weapons and their resolve like steel. The streets outside were eerily quiet, the silence pressing down on them as if the city itself was holding its breath. It was a fleeting calm before the chaos waiting ahead.

“Let’s end this,” Raven muttered, her knuckles white as she gripped her rifle.

----------------------------------------

“Sir, I know these are desperate times…” the advisor began, his voice cautious as his eyes locked onto the warhead looming before them. “But are you absolutely sure this is the best course of action?”

Kaneda stood still, his gaze fixed on the device. His expression betrayed no hesitation, only grim determination. “It’s a last resort,” he said with quiet conviction.

Despite Kaneda’s assured tone, the advisor’s unease only deepened. He glanced at the glowing console monitoring the warhead’s status, his stomach knotting. “If this goes wrong—”

“Nothing else has worked,” Kaneda interrupted sharply, turning to face the advisor with a cold, unwavering gaze. “This isn’t about whether it’s the best course of action. It’s the only course we have left.”

The advisor hesitated, his throat tightening before he finally spoke. “I… unfortunately agree. Better to scorch the entire city than risk an epidemic disaster spreading beyond control.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the gravity of their decision suffocating. Kaneda didn’t respond immediately, his eyes drifting back to the warhead, as if silently steeling himself for what was to come.

Then came a call.

“Jinxiu,” Kaneda said flatly, his voice void of pleasantries.

“You’re fortunate, I’ll give you that,” she replied, her Chinese accent sharpening as irritation seeped into her tone. “I’ll be reaching out to support the group heading for the symbiote. With luck, this won’t turn into a total catastrophe for KanedaCorp—or should I say, future AscendantCorp.”

“Hilarious,” Kaneda deadpanned, his tone as dry as a desert. “You sound disappointed.”

“Barely,” Jinxiu scoffed. “It’ll still benefit me, though not as much as I’d hoped.”

“How enlightening,” Kaneda replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Did you call just to gloat?”

“No, though that would’ve been entertaining. I actually have good news.” Jinxiu’s expression shifted slightly, her lips curving into what might have been a frown. “M-Tech is assisting Vomi’s associates. As I mentioned earlier, I’ll be aiding them as well.”

“And this matters because?”

“Because,” she said, exhaling slowly, “

Kaneda grunted, a rare sound of approval. “That’s… promising. It means my work won’t be lost.”

“Not entirely,” Jinxiu corrected. “The serum M-Tech developed is lethal to the symbiote, but its biological adaptability has proven exceptionally resilient. It’s unlikely to be a clean kill.”

“They’re planning to kill it?”

“Can you blame them?” Jinxiu’s tone grew bored. “The experiment, orchestrated by three corporations, led to one of the most catastrophic outcomes in recent history. This is either a warning to avoid such experiments in the future or a blueprint to try again—but more effectively next time.”

“As if humanity learned anything after the Fourth Corporate War,” Kaneda chuckled darkly. “People are both stupid and stubborn.”

“Don’t exclude yourself, Kaneda,” Jinxiu said, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “Your research is what sparked this holocaust in the first place.”

Kaneda bristled but forced himself to stay composed. She wasn’t wrong, but admitting fault was something Kaneda would never do.

“I have constant updates on the symbiote’s location. If nothing else, the planning should be simple—even if the execution won’t be,” Jinxiu said after a pause. “For now, all we can do is wait.”

Kaneda’s eyes flicked to the warhead in front of him, its activation command loaded into his agent. If the worst-case scenario unfolded, he wouldn’t hesitate.

“So long, then.”

The call ended abruptly.

The advisor stood nearby, unable to piece together the full scope of the conversation but acutely aware of its implications. The warhead’s detonation was no longer an idle threat. It loomed as a final contingency—wise or reckless, it didn’t matter.

----------------------------------------

How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? The symbiote couldn’t tell. Time blurred amid the endless carnage, a haze of violence and survival. It had fought, killed, ripped, and torn through anything and everything that posed a threat. Black Daggers, M-Tech agents, KanedaCorp forces, minor gangs, the police, and even civilians—it didn’t discriminate.

The Black Daggers’ presence was waning, their numbers scattered or obliterated, but they weren’t the only threat. New enemies emerged to fill the void, each one testing the symbiote’s limits.

Through it all, it adapted. It consumed when necessary, evolving its biomass to withstand the ceaseless assault. It fought relentlessly, each kill an act of survival, but even with its regenerative capabilities, it couldn’t ignore the toll.

Physically drained and mentally frayed, the symbiote finally sought refuge. It found shelter in the skeletal remains of a half-destroyed building, its structure battered by explosives meant to end its existence. For now, it was a sanctuary—a brief reprieve before the next wave of enemies came.

The symbiote had the biomass to keep going. It had the will. But for now, it needed to rest.

“Our next step should target the project’s owners,” the bloodthirsty voice growled, already shaping a plan. “Rest for now. We’ll decide the details later.”

A quiet, detached voice hummed in agreement. “They turned the vessel’s friends against us—not all of them, but enough. The owners need to pay. Only then can we evolve further.”

The distant, calculated voice offered a new angle. “Perhaps. But they’ll be seeking refuge, fortifying themselves. Pursuing them now wastes effort. We should minimize our presence, adapt, grow stronger… then strike.”

Vomi, lost amid the chorus of voices, felt the symbiote retract slowly across her body. The purple biomass retreated, shielding only the essential parts of her form. Her clothes were shredded, destroyed during the chaos, leaving her nearly bare. It didn’t matter. Rest was paramount—wars weren’t won by the exhausted.

“Shut up,” she muttered, her face finally free from the symbiote’s hold. She exhaled sharply, her voice cutting through the noise in her mind. “I need silence.”

The voices quieted, though their presence lingered in the back of her mind like faint whispers, a reminder that they were always there—watching, waiting, scheming. For now, they obeyed.

Vomi leaned against the crumbling wall of the ruined building, her breath ragged. Her vision blurred at the edges, a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline dulling her senses. The city outside was quiet, an unnatural stillness after the cacophony of battle. Fires still burned in the distance, their glow casting flickering shadows over her makeshift shelter.

She closed her eyes, her body trembling as she fought to steady herself. The symbiote coursed through her veins, repairing damage, mending fractures, yet it could do nothing for the emotional weight crushing her. For a moment, she allowed herself to think of her friends—their faces, their laughter, their fear.

Heitor is gone.

Carmine betrayed us.

They’re all gone… or against us now.

Her fists clenched, the goo creeping up her arms in response to her rising anger. She slammed a hand against the wall, leaving behind a faint purple stain as the symbiote rippled with agitation. Vomi only tried to protect them, and yet they turned. They forced her hand, forced her actions. They did it. And yet all she can think, all she can rationalize is that she still needs to protect them, even if they don't want it.

“No,” she hissed to herself, her voice low and resolute. “I can’t stop now.”

The voices stirred faintly but did not interrupt.

A noise outside caught her attention—a faint shuffle, too deliberate to be the wind. Her senses sharpened immediately, her exhaustion buried under a surge of instinctive alertness. She crouched low, the symbiote beginning to cover her limbs once more, preparing for another fight.

The sound grew closer, accompanied by whispers.

“The monster's in there,” a voice muttered.

Vomi’s eyes narrowed, the purple goo fully enveloping her again. She wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t hide.

The whispers turned to commands. Footsteps drew near.

They had found her.

Five targets. Armed. Inadequate firepower.

The symbiote crouched low, instincts flaring as it assessed the group. Movements sharp, deliberate, scanning for hidden threats—snipers, traps, anyone lying in wait to strike from a distance. Nothing. The ruined structure offered no vantage points for long-range shooters. It was a confined space. Advantage: us.

Its focus shifted to the leader. Shotgun. Hands trembling, grip unsteady, but the weapon was aimed and ready. A threat. Not insurmountable, but enough to warrant caution. The others were less concerning—smaller firearms, loose postures.

Weak. Still dangerous if we underestimate them.

One of them broke the silence. “This room is clear,” he muttered, his voice shaky but low.

Behind him, another asked, hesitant, “Do we spread around?”

“No. Stick together,” the leader replied. “If anything, the monster will try to split us apart, flatline us one by one.”

He was smart. Frustratingly so.

The symbiote’s body coiled, tension building like a drawn bowstring. Its instincts screamed to act, to strike now while they were unaware. But not yet. Not yet.

Wait. Watch.

Weak link… find it… break it.

Their heartbeats were loud—thumping, irregular. Fear. It could almost taste it, a faint electric pulse in the air. The leader was keeping them together, but that resolve was thin, stretched like glass about to shatter.

The symbiote adjusted its position silently, shifting into the shadows. Each movement was fluid, calculated. The walls, crumbled and jagged, provided cover. Its instincts sharpened, narrowing in on the weakest of the five—the one near the back, clutching his pistol too tightly.

Isolate. Strike. Consume.

But the leader’s voice rang out again, halting its advance. “Eyes up. Don’t lose focus. It’s here somewhere.”

The symbiote seethed, a low growl escaping through Vomi’s clenched teeth before it faded into silence. The prey was too alert. It would have to wait for their nerves to falter. For one mistake.

And then?

Rip. Tear. Feed.

The group waked forward, slow and cautious. The symbiote’s senses buzzed, looking for the slightest lapse in concentration. Every sound, every heartbeat, all amplified by its heightened senses. It could taste the fear that hanged in the air.

They are weak.

The leader walked first, trying to appear confident as his eyes darted around. He was smart, no doubt, even more when he had some strategy to take on the monstrosity he was about to face. But there was that thing. That stance. Uncertainty. Weakness.

The back one. Scared. Slow. Dies first.

The symbiote’s eyes arrowed to the man in the back. Eyes wide. Fingers trembling around his pistol. An obvious liability, a dent on the chain. He couldn't be trusted to survive long. The others were useful, trying to cover any open spaces on their field of view. They would be dealt with time, no need to rush. But the back one? The first to fall. A mistake was coming.

Wait. Let them grow impatient. Then strike.

The symbiote's body cloaked in the darkness, the dark goo allowing for great camouflage, even in daytime. It's tendrils curled, they flexed, anxious for food. Hunger. The others talked, instructed, informed. They knew how to operate in situations like this, but they didn't know.

Isolate? Strike?

Then, the symbiote's pulse quickened, no more waiting. One move, quick and clean, a single slit on the throat. A single lunge, so fast that the victim didn't even had time to scream, the tendrils enveloping the man, bringing to the symbiote.

Then silence.

Silence.

“What the—?”

“Where's Kyle?”

“Kyle? Don't joke around, gonk!”

“Shh! Shut up!”, The leader hushed their talk, trying to listen closely for any movement.

A wet, guttural sound. A faint sound, but audible. Munching? Chewing? Sounded like it. They looked up, only to find “Kyle” already half consumed, blood dripping from the ceiling.

The others froze.

Now.

The symbiote, dripping from its meal, covered the area with it's tendrils, throwing around like a grenade exploding, hitting the entire group all at once. The leader managed to dodge by taking cover on a wall. He even aimed the shotgun at the symbiote’s face. He is trying to fight.

Foolish.

The shotgun was raised, yes, but his hands shook too much.

Weak.

Rip. Tear. Consume.

They stuck again, pushing the gun away and grabbing the man by the throat, slamming him on the wall. It was painted with red immediately, the other members staring in horror as the, supposedly, most prepared man, died in a matter of seconds. The symbiote, still with a hold on the body, slowly drained the meat, consuming the man, biomass helping even more them to regenerate, to rest.

The remaining three scattered, but it didn't matter.

Chase. Kill. Feed.

One tendril met the first, piercing it's skull. The other one had a pike made of metal on its chest, thrown by the symbiote. The last one backed off to a wall, pleading for mercy, babbling something about family, friends, even eddies. The symbiote didn't care, nor it was listening. It only put a hand on his shoulder and started consuming when the victim was still alive. The screams of pain filling the building with death, agonizing death.

It let out a soft hiss, seemingly content with the results of the hunt. The symbiote retracted again, allowing Vomi to emerge. They didn't need victory cries or a parade right now, merely rest. And a place where they'd be allowed to stay inside and uninterrupted. Hunger. Survival. Death.

Evolve. Transcend.

Vomi stared at “her” hands.

“We wonder… how long until they see it's futile to kill us.”, Vomi muttered, staring at San Francisco through the holes of the building.

It was already… what, maybe 11 AM?

“They will never stop. That means we need to have allies. People we can control.”, One of the voices said, contemplative, yet whispering.

“Something that won't turn on us.”, The bloodthirsty voice said, a faint idea forming.

“Offspring.”, The last voice said, decisive and cold, “That's easy to control.”

“Understandable.”, Vomi said aloud, nodding to herself.

She jumped down, dropping to street level.

The future, somehow, looked even darker.