Hiro’s phone buzzed as he slowly stepped away from the window, his eyes never leaving the Bunny Teen, who remained crouched on the rooftop below.

“You’re kidding.”

Bianca leaned closer to the screen. “Wait, your Companion is telling you that you can hire her, right? Noooo…”

“Yessss. And it’s giving me limitations.”

“Because of the dollar sign above her head?”

“Correct.”

“That’s sus.”

“It is. But…” Hiro hated the words that came out of his mouth next: “It also makes sense.”

“Hire her to hunt other Survivors or act as a bodyguard?” Bianca asked, her disgust clear.

“Essentially, a bodyguard,” he said with a resigned shake of his head. “She won’t be part of the fights.” Hiro’s voice dipped, a hint of reluctance slipping through. “I hate that it’s come to this.”

“Yet you’re seriously considering it, aren’t you? Her people, or whatever the other bunny peeps were, killed me. Remember that?”

The memory of carrying her body to Central Park flashed across his mind’s eye. “Heard. But we have to play this game right, even if it goes against my better judgment. She was a tough opponent. I faced her three times.”

“Heard.”

“Let’s just see what happens.” Hiro exited through the front door of the home and took the stairs to the rooftop, where he found the door had already been kicked open long ago. He stepped out onto the wet roof and moved to its edge from there.

The Bunny Teen glanced up at him, casual as ever, as he placed his hand on the hilt of his katana. After a quick breath to steel himself he jumped down to her. She remained crouched, rain plinking off her leather attire as she looked him over.

“I remember you.”

“You should,” Hiro said, now entirely on edge. Standing and talking to her goes against everything I know. And yet again, it proves I have misplaced faith in my Companion—even though it’s part of the Doom System. What does that say about me?

“Where did your mask go? I liked it.”

“Don’t fuck with us, lady,” Bianca snapped, her tentacles coming alive.

The Bunny Teen ignored her, as if she couldn’t hear. “Would you like to hire me as protection, Survivor?”

One blink and the sheer terror she caused splashed across his mind’s eye, how she had used Survivors as traps to lure others to Bryant Park.

The teen stood abruptly, startling him. “Five thousand Soul Cash. That’s my price. There are Survivors watching you now, you know.”

Hiro’s body tensed, his gaze narrowing. “Seriously?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with disbelief.

“Yes. While they haven’t acted yet, I sense they will soon. Survivors like you are still getting used to the parameters of the Second Interim.”

“Tell her you don’t believe her,” Bianca said.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Hiro asked.

“Stay here.”

The Bunny Teen bolted away, moving faster than she had in the First Interim. All he saw was a flash and then she was standing on another rooftop, her ears-blades fully elongated. A muffled cry of surprise rang out, followed by silence.

When she returned, she was holding a man’s head by the hair. She dropped the severed head onto the roof with a splat. “This one is on the house.”

An image like that would have made Hiro vomit a few months ago. The sight of torn flesh, the man’s hollowed-out eyes and lifeless, pale face—it should have triggered every primal instinct he had to recoil, run, or draw his blade. Now, he was conditioned for it. Now, he knew what needed to be known, even if he didn’t fully understand why he needed to do it. “I don’t have five thousand Soul Cash,” Hiro said.

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“Then someone else will hire me.”

“What about followers? I have over twelve thousand,” Hiro countered.

“What good do followers do me?”

“They multiply my Soul Cash, though I don’t know the exact rate. Let me ask—”

“Pay me in followers?” An even bigger smile formed beneath her mask, making Hiro uneasy.

“Sure.”

“I might know someone who trades followers for cash, but you won’t like the exchange rate.”

“How long would you be my bodyguard if I paid your fee?”

“For the duration of the Second Interim.”

“Hiro,” Bianca interrupted, “can I speak to you for a second?”

“Sure. Give me a moment,” he told the Bunny Teen.

Hiro stepped away, keeping his hand on his sword and his eyes on the Hunter. “What is it?” he asked Bianca under his breath.

“This crazy bitch is clearly up to something. Can’t you see that? I don’t think it’s a good idea to partner with her. I said it up there, and I’m saying it now.”

“We need protection.”

“Hachi, Mishka, and I can protect you. Assassins are just violent prostitutes. Someone else will pay for her services, even if you don’t.”

Hiro understood her point. The Hunter can’t prove her loyalty, and even if she could, why would I trust her? The shift from demanding cash to accepting followers felt off. He turned back to the Bunny Teen. “I’m good.”

She tilted her head. “You’re good to hand over your followers?”

“No, I’m good as in I’m not interested.”

“In that case, I’ll find another patron.” Her ears grew in length menacingly and then settled. “For your sake, I hope we don’t cross paths again.”

Hiro wished he could do something now, but his Companion had already told him he wouldn’t be able to attack her. Instead, he moved on, to a higher rooftop to collect his thoughts.

###

“It looks like this Revenant of yours is on the bridge,” Bianca said as they landed on a building near the Williamsburg Bridge. The structure ahead, once a bustling pathway connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn, now stood as a haunting monument to the city’s desolation.

The rooftop they landed on had once been a hotel, its façade weathered and broken. Inside, signs of looting were evident, with furniture overturned and walls tagged with graffiti. Along the way, they’d encountered a few monsters and a pair of wayward Survivors, but nothing that had slowed them down significantly. Hiro’s follower count had climbed to over thirteen thousand, and he’d accumulated close to five hundred Soul Cash.

He squinted at the purple beacon glowing near the center of the bridge, closer to the Brooklyn side. Memories surfaced—Hiro had biked across the Williamsburg Bridge countless times, enjoying its exposed steel framework and the views of the East River. There used to be a restaurant he liked on the Williamsburg side called Martha’s Country Bakery, where they had apple pie and ice cream that tasted like it did in the Midwest. His mouth watered at the thought of it, but he ignored the craving that signaled he was also starting to get hungry. After we deal with the Revenant, he thought.

Along the way, they had seen two sentries and another Hunter—not for hire, thankfully—but Hiro still felt the weight of his earlier decision. While he didn’t regret rejecting the Bunny Teen, he was beginning to understand the implications of the Doom System’s new rules. If the First Interim had been defined by its misinterpretation of humanity’s drive for competition, the Second Interim had doubled down, this time with a focus on capital.

This made him think of Valeria’s theory that the Doom System was behaving as if it were a hallucinating AI. The problem with generative anything, from agents to advanced reasoning, was that it would actually get better. That had always been the fear, yet humans, like Pandora, were hellbent on opening that box. Hiro remembered AI getting to the point that it scared him, that he knew that it had the potential to replace so many aspects of humankind.

Now, there would be no way to see to the end of it, no way to see if AI would become the Asimovian equivalent of robot overlords, or, if there would be a merger of the two, a new kind of species, not unlike Homo Sapiens and Neanderthals.

Whatever this is, it’s not the AI Valeria thinks it is. The Doom System isn’t just reasoning or generating—it’s rewriting reality itself. It can color in and erase, build and destroy, all on a whim.

“Three years on a stone,” Hiro muttered under his breath, recalling his grandfather’s favorite phrase, which had stuck with him since the gates opened. He wasn’t sure why it surfaced now, but it felt significant, like a puzzle piece he hadn’t yet placed.

“How long are you going to stand there talking to yourself as you stare off into the distance?” Bianca rocked Mishka in her tendrils. She had grown adept at retrieving the teddy bear from Hiro’s backpack and soothing it when needed.

Hiro glanced at her, appreciating her care for the teddy bear despite the surreal nature of it all. He gently took the bear from her and placed it back into his backpack.

“Okay, Mr. Quiet,” Bianca said as Hiro leapt to the street below, his movements cautious as he scanned for potential ambushes. The rain had cleared, leaving the city slick and gleaming under faint light. The air carried the damp, earthy smell of wet concrete, a scent Hiro had grown familiar with since the world’s collapse.

They reached the Williamsburg Bridge, but as Hiro moved closer, he froze. The purple beacon was visible on the Brooklyn side, but the middle section of the bridge had collapsed, its remains sunken into the East River.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Bianca said. “And I’m guessing you don’t want to swim in the East River again…”

Hiro stared at the gap, calculating the distance. He could attempt to use {Bounce}, but the span was likely too far, and he wasn’t sure if his abilities could carry him across.

“We need another way,” he said, scanning the broken bridge for any signs of a potential path forward. “And I have just the thing to pull this off.”