/LEVEL 04
/Initiating Phase Shift
Days had passed since the faulty landmark scanner incident, and Patrick hobbled around the store, his crutches scraping against the dusty floor as he shifted the broken remains of chairs and tables into piles.
Most of the cracked wood and other debris had already been hauled off to Gabi, not for repairs but for something else. Jude had asked for some of it to be repurposed—he wanted new furniture built for George and the other apes. A couple of sturdy shelves, maybe a table. Something that might make their new home more welcoming than skulls and dead bodies rotting.
Jude helped Patrick by stacking what little was left in order; his mind would still be humming about too many things. One of them was Lucy.
Ever since she had met Paris, she hadn’t been the same. She stayed curled up in her bed, her usual chatter replaced by short words. No more bright laughter, no more playful teasing—just a quiet, sulking presence.
Lucy’s bedroom door would remain shut; her faint crying and moaning barely fell through the walls. Jude tried several times to knock. Once, twice and more through several days, but there was no answer. Just her silence pressing back. She hadn’t come out for breakfast or lunch, and when she did, her face was clouded, eyes distant, as if she were still somewhere else.
She looked like a kid who had been stripped of everything.
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Day after day, Jude kept working introspectively in the store, stacking items back onto the shelves, and the clink of bottles and the shuffle of stock lists filled the space. Patrick limped on his crutches in pain, checking obsessively the inventory with a furrowed brow. He hadn’t said much either, only murmuring when Jude asked about Lazaro.
“Not here.”
Jude glanced quickly over at the store owner, and it was clear he wouldn’t again get any more answers today.
He just, in auto-pilot mode, slid cans onto shelves, his mind far from the store. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall more times than he could count, then away just as quickly. What time was it there? Had Marta already gone into labour? Was he a father now?
He dragged a hand through his hair, sighing, as the thought gnawed at him. The days blurred together. Disconnecting felt like a distant dream. His mission seemed like a pointless script he was supposed to follow, but the lines didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was getting out.
Somehow.
But the longer he stayed, the more he noticed the others—Patrick, Delila, even Lazaro—settling into this strange existence as if the thought of leaving didn’t cross their minds. The way they moved and talked about the next day, the next project. They acted like this was home as if they weren’t itching to escape.
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Another day bled into night, indistinguishable from the last. Jude lay on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His body wasn’t tired, but there was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do.
Then, a noise broke through—soft at first, barely a whisper. He paused, listening. It came again, sharper this time, rising in pitch. Not words. Something else.
Jude sat up slowly, the sound coming clearer now—a muffled cry, like someone trying to swallow down a scream. His heart clenched—Lucy.
Without thinking, he swung his legs off the bed and moved toward her door. His knuckles rapped gently on the wood. “Hey, princess... everything alright?”
There was no answer at first, just a soft, shaky breath from the other side.
“Don’t come in!”
Jude pressed his palm against the wood. “What’s wrong?”
The only response was more muffled sobs, rising and falling like waves, each one dragging a little more air from the room. Seconds stretched painfully, her sniffles breaking the silence between them.
“I’m hurt,” she finally gasped. “It won’t stop.”
“What?”
“It won’t stop…”
Jude’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “Lucy, I’m coming in.”
“No!” Her voice hit a higher pitch, frantic. “Don’t!”
His grip faltered, and he took a step back, helpless. “Lucy!”
“Call Delila... please. Call her.”
Jude froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob, useless. His pockets were empty—no phone, no way to call for help. His eyes darted around the hallway, searching for any idea of how to connect to Delila, but there was nothing.
He glanced out the window, where the jeep sat parked under the dim light. His chest tightened. There was only one option. The decision made itself. He turned, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door, the keys jangling in his hand as he stepped outside.
As Jude reached the car, he stopped short. One of them was there, between him and the jeep. An Eidolon, pacing in the shadows, its glowing eyes fixed on him. It moved back and forth as if it had been waiting, restless. Jude's breath caught in his throat. He stood frozen for a moment, unsure—was it guarding the entrance or just wandering?
The keys in his hand jingled, and the sound seemed to echo louder than it should. He raised his hand slowly, showing the keys to the creature like a truce. Jude kept his eyes locked on the hound with careful steps as he edged toward the jeep.
The door clicked open, and just as he slid into the driver’s seat, a sharp bark cut through the air, freezing him in place.
“I need to get Delila. Something’s wrong with the kid.” The words spilt out before he could stop them. Why was he talking to this thing? The creature didn’t react; it just stared at him with those unreadable eyes.
He slid into the driver’s seat, watching the hound follow him without hesitation, settling into the passenger side like it had every right to be there. Jude’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t help but glance over as it sat, calm, its snout sticking out the open window, catching the cool night breeze.
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The engine rumbled to life, and Jude gripped the steering wheel, trying to ignore the uneasy knot twisting in his stomach. The Eidolon seemed distracted by the blurry road ahead. Jude kept driving, stealing a glance now and then, unsure if he should feel relieved or more on edge by its quiet presence.
The settlement loomed in the darkness, the buildings barely outlined under the faint glow of the lamppost. Jude cut the engine, the silence rushing back. He hadn’t even fully stopped before the hound leapt from the window, a blur of movement disappearing into the shadows of the central unit.
For a moment, nothing. Jude sat gripping the wheel, his knuckles pale, waiting. Then, lights flickered on, cutting through the stillness like a ripple in calm water. Doors creaked open, and there they were—Delila, hurriedly pulling on her coat, and Lazaro trailing behind, his face drawn in shadows.
Jude blinked. "Hey," he muttered. Confused to see Lazaro. What was he doing here?
Before he could process it, Delila, with a calm haste, slipped into the backseat. Her small bag was clutched tight. No questions. No hesitation.
She knew.
Jude opened his mouth to speak, but the words tangled on his tongue. "What... how..." he stammered, confused as Lazaro followed, taking the passenger seat. They moved as though they had been expecting him. But how? Did Patrick stash a secret phone?
Jude waited in his driver’s seat, eyes flicking to the side mirror as he waited. The quiet stretched out, his fingers tapping absently on the steering wheel.
Delila leaned forward. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for... you know, the four-pawed friend,” Jude muttered, glancing toward the entrance where the hound had disappeared. He didn’t quite know why, but it felt wrong to leave without it.
Delila exchanged a look with Lazaro from the backseat. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “He’ll be fine,” Lazaro said, settling back like it was nothing.
“Are you sure?” Jude’s eyes darted between them as if he was the only one who missed the pun of a joke.
Delila just nodded. “We’re good, Jude. Let’s go.”
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The jeep rolled to a stop outside the gas station, gravel crunching beneath the tyres. Before the engine even cut off, Delila swung open the door and slipped out, heading straight for the prefab house without a word.
Jude stretched as he stepped out, eyes drifting toward Lazaro, and he noticed the black jumpsuit clung to him like a second skin.
“You really like that suit, huh?” Jude muttered, one eyebrow raised.
Lazaro glanced down at himself, brushing off some invisible dust. “Yeah... it comes in handy,” he said with a casual shrug.
Jude didn’t linger on it; he just shook his head and walked into the store. His hands moved automatically, sliding behind the counter, fingers curling around the neck of a random bottle. A glance down revealed it was tequila.
“Drink?” he asked, holding it up.
Lazaro settled onto a stool, giving a quick nod. “Yeah, sure.”
Jude poured the tequila, the liquid sloshing into the glasses, and without hesitation, he tossed one back, feeling the burn trail down his throat.
Lazaro watched him, his expression hardening. “You need to take the kid out to level up.”
Jude exhaled, setting the empty glass down with a clink. “Why?” he asked, his tone flat.
“You heard Paris. She needs to.”
Jude rolled his eyes, grabbing the bottle to refill his glass. “I heard a lot of nonsense,” he muttered, downing the next shot just as fast as the first. “I’m tired of this shit. My mission failed, and I'm not fucking staying here. I’m waiting for Len to fucking wake up so I can figure out how to get out of this shithole.”
“Jude, this is important.”
But in response, Jude slammed the glass onto the counter, frustration bubbling over as he opened his arms wide, almost daring Lazaro to challenge him. “Why? Why is it so damn important?”
Lazaro didn’t blink. “What if it was your kid?”
“How the fuck do you dare…” Jude’s fists clenched on the counter as he leaned forward. “What do you mean, if it was my kid?” His posture was tense, almost daring Lazaro to keep pushing.
Before Lazaro could respond, movement caught Jude’s eye. Delila stepped into the store, Lucy trailing behind her. Jude froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Lucy wasn’t the same small girl who clung to his side not long ago. She stood taller now, almost at Delila’s height, her chest and frame filling out in a way that was impossible to ignore. Her face had changed too—roundness giving way to sharper angles, the innocence slipping away from her features.
What once was a little girl now looked more like a teenager, a young woman standing where a child once was.
“Lucy… had a few... menstrual, lady problems, but we took care of it, right, kiddo?” Delila teased, giving Lucy a playful punch on the shoulder.
Lucy barely reacted, her hands tucked into the oversized pockets of her jeans.
She stood there, her hair a tangled mess framing her face. The oversized jeans she wore hung loose, dragging slightly at the hem, and the black shirt—plain, shapeless—clung to her in a way that made her seem older, sharper. Not a hint of the pink she used to love.
“Are you okay, princess?” Jude asked, her nickname slipped out.
Lucy’s face twisted, her eyes narrowing as she sat down. “My name’s Lucy, for fuck’s sake. I'm not a princess!” She grabbed Lazaro’s shot glass, swirling the amber liquid inside before lifting it to her nose. “What is this?”
“Tequila,” Jude muttered absentmindedly, not even registering how strange the moment was.
Lucy raised the glass to her lips, her expression defiant as she tipped it back. The burn of the tequila hit immediately, her face twisting in disgust. She grimaced hard, holding it in for a moment before spitting the bitter liquid back into the glass with a loud sputter.
“Ugh, this is fucking awful,” she choked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Potty word!” Jude almost shouted at her.
Lazaro reached for his glass, snatching it from her, a frown pulling at his features. “You might be taller, but you’re still a kid,” he said, shaking his head laughing as if to remind her—and everyone else—of what she was trying to forget.
Lucy straightened in her seat, her shoulders rigid, eyes locking onto Jude. “I need to level up to 16,” she said.
Jude leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as if trying to create some distance between them. “You’ve got plenty of people around here to help with that.”
“It has to be you,” she shot back.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a sigh escaping. “Me? Why me? Lucy, I’m—”
“Paris said you’ll only find the answers if you level up too. This is important, Jude.” Her hand twitched, almost rising to her chest as if she wanted to make him feel the weight pressing down on her. “Today, it’s me. Tomorrow, it could be a whole lot of other kids. And you... you’re about to be a dad.”
Jude’s face twisted in frustration. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t want my kid coming into some fake world! That’s all bullshit.”
Lucy didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned away from his outburst, her voice commanding. “Abel, report the news from the last 24 hours on Earth.”
Abel’s voice sliced through the store like a machine rattling off facts. "Satellite data reveals that 88% of Earth's surface is now uninhabitable," the monotone words rolled out, "due to extreme weather conditions, toxic air quality, and water contamination."
“Next,” Lucy commanded.
"Global seismic activity has skyrocketed, with over 20 major earthquakes recorded in the past 24 hours." Jude’s breath hitched, his mind spinning as the report continued. "The most devastating, a 9.1 quake in Southeast Asia, has left millions without homes."
Jude's grip tightened on the counter, his knuckles turning white as the information washed over him. His only thought: Was Marta okay?
"Experts warn that tectonic shifts may worsen due to the destabilised environment," Abel continued. "They call this the most unpredictable era for geological activity in modern history."
“Next,” Lucy commanded again.
Abel’s voice continued, delivering the news like a monotone recital of doom. "Nations with any remaining fertile land are closing their borders. In Europe, fires ravage the Mediterranean. Food scarcity has become critical, and global crop production is at an all-time low. The UGS has labelled the situation a Level 10 Crisis, the highest in its history."
Lucy didn’t wait, and she repeated. “Next.”
Abel’s flat voice paused before delivering the final blow. "I think it’s clear—the world is killing. Killing everything and everyone."
"This doesn’t make any sense,” he mumbled under his breath, the words slipping out almost unconsciously. “This is just a simulation.”
Delila exhaled with a tiresome resignation. She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto Jude’s, cutting through the fog of disbelief clouding his mind. “Do you have scars?”
Jude furrowed his brow, his instinctive reply snapping out. “Of course I do.”
Delila’s eyes stayed locked on his, unwavering. “Show us,” she repeated, her voice sharp, cutting through the disbelief still clinging to him. Then, she pointed to her own face, her expression hard. “Because I’m a third-degree burn survivor, and I don’t have a single scar. Now, why would that be, Jude?”
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Jude’s breath caught, his mind scrambling for an answer, but nothing came. He glanced at her skin, flawless, unmarked. It didn’t make sense—he knew what burn scars looked like, knew they never fully healed.
"Now show us your scars, Watcher Jude of James."
image [https://i.imgur.com/qHXNCFs.png]