The stupid guard was awake tonight. No easy way through. So, tarp it was. Again.

The city was dead quiet. Uneventful. But my body knew better. The nap earlier hadn’t been enough. Usually, by the time I reached the tunnel, I still had something left in me. Not tonight. My legs burned, every step sending fire up my shins. My body ached in places I thought Bea had fixed this morning.

Then I saw the worst possible thing.

Way off in the distance, three white specks stood out. Two faced the tunnel, while the third looked outward.

I yanked off my white tunic, dropped it to the ground, and hid it and the food I was carrying away before feeling under the road. It was hot yesterday, so I was banking on the road being scorched nicely. Sure enough, I found what I was looking for. Some of it was still liquidy—I only had to wipe my hand on it twice before I was practically covered. I smeared it all over, thankful my pants and boots were already black. Then I crawled forward, inching toward the tunnel’s mouth.

As I got closer, I recognized them—the same guards from before. The man and woman I’d knocked out were back, along with the one who had come to relieve them.

I tried to think of a way through but kept coming up short. Creeping forward, I caught their whispers.

“Are you really sure something’s breaking out each night? Cameras didn’t show anything,” the man—Max, I think—muttered.

“I’m sure. We both blacked out, and the cameras went down. Something’s coming and going here at night,” the woman whispered back, like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “Probably a mimic. Looks like a really skinny Sleeveless, but wrong, like it can’t get the proportions right. We need to catch it, make sure the brass knows a monster is escaping every night.”

I was immediately offended. Wrong? The fuck? I wasn’t that skinny. I've been here a week—I'm sure I’ve gained weight.

None of this helped me get past them, though.

“How do you know we can even take it if it got this far, Andrea?” the first guy I’d knocked out asked, shaking his head and scanning the area nervously. “It would’ve had to get through a lot of floors. Sure, the higher ones aren’t fully colonized, but making it through this floor undetected? It could kill us in a heartbeat.”

Andrea stayed confident. “Sure. But it snuck up on us. It isn’t confident facing us head-on. And it left us alive. Means it’s either too stupid or too scared to finish us off before someone else arrives.”

Her eyes kept scanning the darkness, passing right over where I was pressed against the wall, just beyond her line of sight.

I had somehow crawled close enough to hear them whisper, but they were still too close to the gate for me to slip through. Maybe if I sprinted, I could make it—but I’d studied them long enough to know two of them had rifles. Even with my dice, I couldn’t outrun a bullet.

“Okay, sure, makes sense. But can’t we just kill it? Bring the body to the higher-ups?” the one I’d knocked out on the first day asked.

That caught my attention.

The others shook their heads.

“There’ve only been two types of mimics ever recorded. One on the third floor, one on the seventeenth. Both of them were made of some kind of goo. Kill them, and they dissolve almost immediately,” Max muttered, sounding irritated. “The ones that don’t? They get turned into skin cream for the high rankers.”

I almost laughed. The high rankers were smearing monsters on their faces to stay pretty.

“I got bullets made for mimics,” Andrea said, like she’d solved every problem in the world.

“And if it’s not a mimic?” Max shot back, glancing over his shoulder. “Because I know for a fact those things won’t even slow anything else down.”

That sparked hope in me. I started crawling forward.

“Every second bullet in the magazine is a regular round. I’m not stupid,” she snapped.

The hope died. I froze on the spot.

“Not stupid. Just crazy,” Max said, reclining in his chair, not even worried.

They were still arguing when I slunk away. I crawled back toward my tunic, my mind racing. No other way through. No better plan. I’d just have to rush them, lean into the mimic idea—maybe scare them enough to hesitate.

Then, I reached for my tunic, fingers brushing against the hidden crevice—

And stopped.

Empty space.

My stomach clenched. I pushed my arm in deeper. More space. Then—metal. Steel.

I froze. My fingers traced the shape, the smooth, familiar feel of something that wasn’t just an obstacle—

An opportunity.

A pipe. Big enough to squeeze through. Big enough for my skinny ass.

I didn’t hesitate. Grabbing the food, I crawled inside. The tunnel swallowed me whole. On my hands and knees, I hauled ass through the gaping maw.

It was pitch-black. The air was thick, stale, reeking of rot. Every noise—every tiny scrape of claws, every distant chitter—set my teeth on edge.

Something hairy skittered under my hand.

I jolted up. My head slammed into solid metal.

A manhole cover.

I forced myself to breathe. Got to my knees. Pressed my hands against the metal and lifted, just enough to peek through the gap.

Stolen story; please report.

Two hundred meters from the gate.

The guards sat facing each other, arguing and oblivious.

I grinned, looking up at heaven. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Then I crawled out, sprinting toward my church.

A while later, with my lungs burning and my heart on fire, I arrived. I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to relearn how to breathe. My ribs ached with every pant, but I forced myself upright and slipped inside.

As always, I woke the others, met with warm hugs and puzzled stares.

“Why are you covered in black, Boris?” Irina asked, arms raised, waiting to be picked up.

I scooped her up and said slowly, “Had to sneak past those finks, kiddo. How else am I gonna get food for you guys?”

“But you look silly,” she said, as if that alone was reason enough not to see her.

I sighed, solemn. “The price I have to pay, I guess.”

As I spoke, Natalie handed me a bucket of water. I gave her a smile and a quiet “Thank you” before some of the kids helped scrub the black tar off.

Afterward, I started handing out food, piling it up for them to share. But I must’ve been distracted—too tired, not paying attention—because I made a mistake. A man in my position can’t make mistakes.

One of the smaller boys snuck back, reaching into the bag for another handful before the older kids had their share. I caught his hand mid-grab, lifting him off the ground with the same arm.

“You’ve had yours, Pasha. Now it’s their turn,” I said, my voice firm.

His eyes went wide. Then, in a small voice that shattered me, he whispered, “Yelena only had one handful. I was just getting her more.”

Guilt hit me like a fist. That was me, today. That was my voice when the Lieutenant yelled at me.

I pulled him into my arms, pressing his small body against my chest, stroking his hair. “You’re right, kiddo. I didn’t realize she got less. I’m sorry.”

Tears welled in his eyes, and he buried his face in my neck.

“Yelena, come here, kiddo,” I said, glancing at the others. They all watched, wide-eyed. Yelena rushed forward as I knelt.

“I’m sorry, Yelena. You should have told me,” I said, sighing as I reached into the bag, scooping out more food than any of the little ones had gotten. I beckoned her closer.

“I wanted to wait until everyone else had eaten,” she admitted, voice small.

I smiled. “You’re a saint, just like Maria. And saints should show gratitude to the people who help them, shouldn’t they?”

She nodded fiercely, spun toward Pasha, and threw her arm around him “Thank you, Pasha!” she squealed.

Then, after a beat, she turned back to me before glancing at him again. “Do you want some too? We can share!”

Pasha wiped his sleeve across his face, still shaken, but then rushed to join her.

They each grabbed handfuls from my outstretched palm, their little fingers barely able to hold it all.

I needed more. So much more.

This wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

I hadn’t asked Tom, even though I’d felt smart—so fucking smart—when I realized I could double the food I brought with his gift. But no. He’d ask why. I’d have to tell him why. And then I’d have to slit his throat.

We finished eating, the kids hanging on my every word as I spun tales of my adventures with the finks. Eventually, it was time for bed. I realized they were staying up far later than usual, but when I mentioned it to Maria, she just shrugged.

“They don’t need to wake up so early now,” she said. “They’ve eaten enough for the day.”

Finally, I was tucking Yelena and Pasha in. Maria, as always, wrapped them in her arms, but before I could pull away, Yelena grabbed my hand, her big, pleading eyes locking onto mine.

“Boris, can you bring me a fink food? Like the stuff you were telling us about?”

What did I say before? That a girl can ask a question and break your heart with it?

Guess I was right. Again.

I could never say no to them. I’d have to break into the mess hall late at night, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

“Sure, kiddo. I’ll get you some real food.”

Pasha stiffened beside her, like he wanted to ask too but thought I’d turn him down. I patted his head.

“All of you will get some real food.”

His face lit up for a moment before sleep claimed him, his small hand tightening around Yelena’s.

It was Maria’s turn with the blanket. I pulled it over them, leaving her top half exposed. She was staring at me, her lips pressed tight.

Then, in a whisper, like the words hurt her, she said, “Boris... I think you shouldn’t come around for a while.”

I froze, still crouched beside her. “What?”

Her eyes flicked to the kids, then back to me. “I heard one of the neighbors talking. About a fink with a trash bag. If word gets back to Vincent, and he finds out...”

“I can just kill them.” The words came out flat, simple—like I’d found not just the solution to our problems, but to the entire township’s.

Maria let out a sharp snort—but she didn’t laugh.

“You might be... blessed now,” she started carefully, her eyes flicking toward me like she didn’t want to offend. “But Boris, murder is still wrong.”

She clutched her crucifix like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

“God would understand.” My voice didn’t waver.

Her face softened, sadness flickering in her eyes. “God knows more than us, Boris. And He said murder is wrong. It doesn’t matter what reasoning we bring—He already thought of it, and He still says it’s wrong.”

Her voice trembled, just a little. She clutched her crucifix so tightly her knuckles went white, like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off, sharper now.

“It’s not God who doesn’t understand, Boris—it’s you.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then, after a pause, she added, carefully, “Even a fink can’t kill them all. Do you think the kids will be safe if Vincent sends someone after us when you're gone?”

Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against mine. “Just for a week, Boris. That’s all I’m asking. I think the rumors will die down after that. Just one week.”

Her plea hung between us, quiet but heavy.

I looked down at her, my chest tight. “I’ll think about it, okay? I’ll try and steal some clothes for you next time. Should sell for a lot.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Goodnight, Boris.”

I waited until she drifted off. Gave them a final pat on their heads. Then I slipped out, running.

I hadn’t noticed the air on the way here. Too focused. Too determined. But now? Now, every step back to base felt like the city itself was trying to break me.

The heat from the day still clung to the streets, thick and heavy, like the concrete had been hoarding it just to mess with me. Sweat dripped down my back, my breath coming ragged, dragging like I was inhaling leftover sunlight. The exhaustion. The pain. The weight of everything—it had been waiting for me.

My legs felt sluggish, my body screaming at me to stop. I made it halfway to the pipe before my lungs started burning again, shins on fire, pain lancing through me with every step. I ignored it. I had to.

Dropped to my stomach. Crawled back, inch by inch, elbows scraping against the rough concrete. The night was too quiet. Every sound felt amplified—my breath, the rustle of fabric, the faint chirping of night insects tucked away in the cracks of the city.

I froze. I swear I heard a noise.

Footsteps?

I pressed myself flat against the ground, heart pounding in my ears. A moment passed. Then another. Just the wind shifting loose trash.

I exhaled slowly and kept crawling.

Slipped through the pipe, emerging into the tunnel. Glanced back.

The guards were just playing cards. One of them laughed, flicking a cigarette away, its ember glowing for a second before dying against the concrete.

I looked up to heaven once more. “Thank you.”

Then I left them to their game and hauled ass back to base on my broken legs.