John managed to find a smaller lounge empty of humans after a little searching, and the breath he released left him feeling like a deflated balloon. The tension that had been coiling in his shoulders loosened slightly, though not entirely. He needed a moment of solitude, or at least something close to it, before facing the daunting prospect of addressing two hundred people.

  Not that he was truly alone. This place, it seemed, had been designated as the animal zone.

  The German Shepherd was the first to notice him, its ears perking up from where it lay sprawled near one of the undamaged sofas. The dog's tail began a slow, rhythmic thump against the carpet, and it lifted its head to regard John with canine expectation.

  "Hey there," John said quietly, and the dog immediately scrambled to its feet and trotted over, panting happily with its tongue lolling out of one side of its jaws.

  The Labrador followed suit, emerging from behind an overturned chair with a lazy stretch followed by shaking out its golden coat. Behind it came the terrier mix, a scruffy little thing that had somehow managed to keep itself surprisingly clean despite everything. Both dogs joined the German Shepherd in surrounding John, tails wagging, tongues lolling, presenting a wall of canine affection that was oddly grounding.

  John crouched down, reaching out to pet the German Shepherd first. The fur was soft beneath his fingers, not a single tangle or mat to be found. His hand moved to scratch behind the dog's ears, and the creature leaned into the touch with its eyes narrowing in pleasure.

  "You've all been so good," John murmured, dividing his attention between the three dogs. The Labrador pressed its snout into his free hand, demanding equal attention, while the terrier mix darted around to nuzzle against his leg. "Seriously. I know this situation has to be fucking weird for you lot too, but you've handled it better than half the humans, it feels like."

  Movement near the bar caught his eye—one of the cats, a sleek grey tabby, was perched on the counter, tail swishing lazily as it observed the proceedings with typical feline disdain. The second cat, a ginger tom with a white chest, was curled up on one of the armchairs, watching John through slitted eyes.

  The rabbits were here too, half a dozen of them, scattered throughout the lounge in various states of repose. One was grooming itself near the bar area. Two were huddled together beneath a side table. Another sat perfectly still near the window, its nose twitching as it surveyed the burning sky beyond the glass. The remaining two had claimed positions on opposite ends of a low coffee table, looking for all the world like they were standing guard.

  The entire scene should have been chaos. Cats and dogs and rabbits, all in close quarters. By all rights, they should have been tearing each other apart, or at least maintaining a wary distance. Predator and prey, after all, not even mentioning the powers all but one of the cats wielded.

  John found himself wondering at the intelligence behind it all. Did they understand the apocalypse had rendered old hierarchies meaningless? Or was it something deeper, some shift in their very nature that the System had imposed?

  His thoughts drifted to the birds. To Polly and Zazu, the profane parrots who'd become oddly dear to him despite their tendency to curse like sailors. To the crow, massive and growing larger with each passing day, its feathers dripping that oily shadow like it was bleeding darkness itself. To the dove, radiant and brilliant with its crystalline plumage.

  The quartet of birds had a habit of disappearing on their own adventures, vanishing for hours or even days at a time before reappearing as if nothing had happened. It had been a while since he’d seen them, in fact. Last he recalled, they’d been around when he’d brought the arguing couple back to Micklefield Hall, but not afterwards.

  John hoped they were okay out there.

  He'd grown attached to the birds, he realised. They were comrades, in their own way. Allies who'd fought beside him, saved his life more than once, and asked for nothing in return except the occasional scratch behind the crest or under the beak.

  They've survived this long. They're probably stronger than half the humans in this building. They'll be fine.

  John stood, his knees protesting slightly from the crouch. The dogs didn't seem to mind, settling back into their various positions around the lounge. The rabbits continued their quiet vigil, and the cats remained supremely unconcerned with everything.

  He turned his attention to the lounge itself, really looking at it for the first time since they'd claimed the royal suite.

  The damage was there, of course. It would have been impossible for any building in this apocalyptic hellscape to escape completely unscathed. Several of the windows were cracked. Part of the ceiling near the far corner had collapsed. There was a dark stain on one section of the carpet.

  But despite all that, the opulence was still evident.

  The furniture alone spoke of wealth beyond anything John had encountered in his pre-apocalypse life. The sofas were deep and plush, upholstered in leather dyed a rich burgundy. The coffee tables scattered throughout the room were constructed from dark wood, their surfaces inlaid with intricate patterns in lighter wood.

  The navy blue carpet beneath his feet was thick enough that his boots sank slightly with each step. The walls were panelled in more of that dark wood. Artwork hung between the panels, or at least it had. Several frames lay shattered on the floor, their contents destroyed or missing. But a few pieces remained, oil paintings in elaborate gilt frames that looked like they belonged in museums rather than airport lounges.

  A sleek bar dominated one entire wall, constructed from that same dark wood. Behind it, shelves of glass held bottles of liquor, most shattered or missing. Bar stools upholstered in the same burgundy leather as the sofas stood in a neat row.

  What remained of the ceiling featured an intricate system of recessed lighting and decorative moulding. A chandelier hung near the centre of the room, crystal and chrome, somehow having survived whatever had collapsed part of the ceiling nearby.

  Near the windows stood a grand piano, its black lacquer surface scratched and dusty. John had no idea if it was in tune, if it even worked anymore, but its presence here felt almost absurd. Who the hell needed a piano in an airport lounge?

  Rich people, apparently. Very rich people.

  Standing here, surrounded by this casual display of wealth, John felt profoundly out of place. This was the kind of space that guys like him weren't supposed to occupy. Working-class kids from Dagenham didn't get to stand in anything labelled royal.

  If he'd tried to walk into this place before the apocalypse, security would have been on him in seconds. They'd have taken one look at his faded jeans and scuffed trainers and cheap hoodie and known he didn't belong.

  The wry smile that pulled at his lips carried no humour. He felt like an imposter, like at any moment someone was going to burst in and demand to know what he thought he was doing here, sullying their precious royal suite with his plebeian presence.

  It made him think about the social stratifications that had existed before the world ended. The invisible lines that separated people like him from the wealthy elite who could afford royal suite amenities. The barriers—economic, social, cultural—that had kept working-class kids in their lanes and ensured that luxury remained the province of those who'd been born to it or clawed their way up through acceptable channels.

  All of that was gone now, wasn't it? Burned away in the apocalypse along with the familiar sky. The money in people's bank accounts meant nothing. The titles and positions and social capital that had once opened doors and commanded respect were worthless.

  What mattered now was strength. Power. The ability to kill monsters and protect yourself and those around you. The System didn't care about your accent or your postcode or whether you'd gone to the right schools. It just cared about whether you could survive its twisted games.

  In a way, that was almost liberating. John could stand in this royal suite without anyone questioning his right to be here because there was no one left to enforce those old hierarchies. He could sit on furniture that would have been forever out of reach in the old world and no security guard would escort him out.

  But the liberation came at a cost so steep it bordered on obscene. The world had burned. Billions were probably dead. And in the small pockets of civilization that still existed—if they existed at all—who knew what kind of social structures were forming?

  That uncomfortable thought settled in his gut like lead. The resistance could realistically be the most significant gathering of humanity left. Two hundred people, give or take, huddled in an airport suite while monsters prowled the ruins of London.

  Was that it? Was this all that remained?

  No, he told himself firmly, pushing back against the despair that thought threatened to invoke. That's ridiculous. There have to be other survivors. Places with dense populations would have managed to gather people together, form their own resistances.

  Surely Beijing or Shanghai or one of the “lesser” cities of China that boasted populations larger than Scotland and Wales had managed to organise something. Surely with that many people, enough would have unlocked powerful abilities to mount a defence.

  India, same story. Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore—cities with populations in the tens of millions. They couldn't all have been reduced to mere hundreds of survivors, could they? There were loads of massive cities out there where survivors surely must have gathered.

  And then there were the places with advantages the resistance didn't have. Military bases with weapons stockpiles and trained soldiers. Islands that could be more easily defended. Underground bunkers and facilities designed to withstand catastrophe.

  Out there, somewhere, there had to be people who'd grown even stronger than he had. People with more powerful systems, better abilities, greater resources to draw on. The resistance couldn't possibly be the pinnacle of human achievement in this new world.

  Could they?

  John let out a long sigh. At this point, he was trying to occupy his mind. Filling it with speculation and analysis to distract himself from the real source of his anxiety. Well, sources, plural. As long as he wasn’t overthinking about Lily, he’d take anything, but fate was a cruel thing, and it’d given him something else to fret over.

  The Walkie-Thinkies had been silent for an uncomfortably long time.

  After he'd finished explaining the theories about the System—about how merely surviving the apocalypse could lead to them becoming red-souled monsters defending portal cores themselves, about how they had to do better than surviving, they had to win—he'd told them about the cosmic tug of war. About the black hole and the unknown other entity or entities fighting over the monsters near Heathrow. About how it showed that the System's architects had factions in disagreement, and how that disagreement could potentially be exploited.

  He’d wanted to make sure his team was all briefed on the situation before heading into the meeting he’d called for, that was all. So, he’d told them all he knew, and then he’d waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Minutes had passed with no response, and that was before he’d even managed to find his way to the animal lounge.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He didn't want to rush anyone. The information he'd shared was heavy. They deserved time to process, think, and come to terms with what it all meant. But the silence was starting to make him anxious, his thoughts spiralling into increasingly paranoid territory.

  Had he messed up somehow? Made some social blunder he didn't recognize? Said something offensive or insensitive? Had he failed to actually activate the Walkie-Thinkie properly, and they'd never even heard him?

  Were they talking amongst themselves, discussing what he'd said without him? Making plans that excluded him? Deciding that his theories were too far-fetched, that he couldn't be trusted to lead anymore?

  Stop it, he commanded himself, but the anxiety didn't listen. It never did.

  He was debating whether to repeat his explanation or check if the connection was still active when a voice suddenly crackled through the mental channel.

  "I'll never be someone's attack dog again."

  John flinched badly enough that he was intensely grateful no one was around to see it. His whole body jerked, muscles seizing in startled response, and only his enhanced coordination from his various abilities kept him from stumbling backward into the wall.

  It had been Doug’s voice, but without a trace of the old man's usual gruff humour or world-weary cynicism. This was something rawer, harder. Emotion stripped down to its core, uncharacteristically fierce.

  "We'll have to find a way to bring the bastards running this whole thing down," Doug continued, his mental tone almost a growl. "No matter what it takes."

  "Agreed." Jade's voice joined in, and the hardness in her voice was even more alarming. It sounded almost pained. Fury and agony, barely held in check.

  "Agreed," Lily echoed, her tone vehement in a way that made John's chest tighten. He'd never heard her sound quite like that before, like she was barely containing rage that wanted to burn the world down.

  "I... I don't want to be a monster either," Chester said, his voice shaky but determined. Then, more hesitantly: "But how are we even going to go about defeating the very System that gave us these powers?"

  "We'll figure it out!" Doug's voice snapped back with such force that John half-expected to feel it physically. The harshness of it was shocking coming from the old man.

  There was a beat of silence, then Chester's voice came through again, much quieter: "Sorry. I didn't mean—"

  "No." Jade's tone was gentle but firm. "Doug, that wasn't fair. Chester's asking a reasonable question."

  Another pause, then Doug's sigh echoed through the mental channel, heavy with exhaustion and shame.

  "You're right. I'm sorry, Chester. It's not you I'm angry at. It's... it's the whole fucking world, really. The System. Whatever bastards designed it. All of it."

  John found his voice, pushing down the anxiety that had spiked when Doug snapped at Chester. "I'm angry too," he said, keeping his tone level. "But we need to use that anger productively. Direct it against the true enemy, not each other."

  "Aye," Doug agreed slowly. "Right. Speaking of which, John: everyone's going to be gathering in the main lobby for that meeting you wanted. We're ready when you are."

  John swallowed hard, the anxiety that had briefly receded surging back with a vengeance. Two hundred people. Waiting for him. Expecting him to lead.

  "I'll head there now," he said.

  He cut the connection with a thought, letting the Walkie-Thinkie's link dissolve. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the burning sky, trying to gather himself.

  The German Shepherd had approached silently while he'd been lost in thought, and now it pressed against his leg, whining softly. John looked down to find the dog staring up at him with what looked absurdly like concern.

  He crouched down, giving the dog more scratches behind its ears. "I know, boy. This is going to be the most daunting task yet."

  The dog made a soft huffing sound.

  John took a deep breath, using Biomancy to force his heart rate down, smoothing away the tremors that wanted to start in his hands.

  This was going to be like giving a presentation in front of an entire school. The kind of social nightmare that would have reduced his pre-apocalypse self to a stammering, sweating mess. Hell, it still wanted to reduce his current self to that, despite all the power and abilities he'd accumulated.

  But it had to be done.

  "Right," John muttered. "Let's do this before I talk myself out of it."

  The dogs, cats, and rabbits followed him as he headed out of the lounge, forming an impromptu escort. The German Shepherd took point, walking just ahead of him with its tail high. The Labrador and terrier mix flanked him on either side. The cats prowled along behind. The rabbits brought up the rear, hopping along in formation that seemed almost military.

  He was halfway to the main lobby when he encountered Alissa, Sam, and the two children.

  They emerged from a side corridor, and John's step faltered slightly as he registered their presence. Caught off guard, he found himself briefly uncertain how to greet them.

  Technically, he'd known them as long as he'd known Doug—they'd all met on the same day, during that chaotic convergence of survivors. But he hadn't interacted with Alissa and Sam anywhere near as much. Doug had a way of filling space with his presence, making it easy to fall into comfortable rhythms with him despite John's social awkwardness. Alissa and Sam were different. More reserved in ways that made John's anxiety spike because he couldn't read them as easily—and he wasn’t exactly great at reading the others in the first place.

  He settled for a stoic nod, keeping his expression neutral.

  Alissa returned the nod, her red locks swaying slightly. Her expression was tired, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she hadn't slept well despite their relative safety. She’d ditched the tight bodysuit at some point, dressed now in a parka coat and jeans, looking for all the world like a normal woman.

  Evidently, she’d decided to completely reject the System, which John had mixed feelings on. On the one hand, he couldn’t blame anyone for putting a middle finger up at the sadistic architects of the apocalypse.

  On the other, he really didn’t want too many people to see her defiance and start getting ideas. The point of the resistance was to build up a fighting force, everyone gathering power in a safer manner. Much as his Enchantment menu was a power multiplier, it would be ruinously expensive to outfit everyone.

  Sam gave him a nod as well. His white martial artist robes had returned to a pristine state despite everything—at least he was still playing the game to that little degree, even if he hated it. The calm in his expression was almost eerie, like he'd found some kind of inner peace that let him observe the apocalypse with detached serenity.

  But it was the little girl who surprised John.

  She looked up at him, and for the first time since he'd known of her existence, there was something in her expression beyond that haunted, vacant stare. Her hazel eyes met his, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a shy smile. Even more, she gave him a little wave.

  It was a small thing. Barely there, really. But it hit John with unexpected force.

  These kids had been through something horrific. He didn't know the precise details, but the way they'd been before, with those empty eyes and expressionless faces, painted a clear enough picture. They'd seen things no children should see, experienced traumas that had stripped away their capacity for normal emotional response.

  And now this little girl was smiling at him.

  John felt something warm settle in his chest, pushing back against the anxiety that had been gnawing at him. He couldn't quite manage to return the smile, but he gave the girl another small nod, trying to put something reassuring into the gesture.

  Before he could move on, Sam stepped forward, reaching into his robes to pull out one of the Walkie-Thinkies.

  "John. I was happy to act as your eyes on the ground on the way to Heathrow. But I don't want that kind of leadership position on a longer term."

  He held the Walkie-Thinkie out.

  "I believe you should hand this to someone else," Sam continued. "Someone who can make better use of it than I can."

  John blinked, taken slightly off guard. But looking at the way the man stood protectively near the two children, John understood that Sam didn't want the responsibility or the expectations that came with being ostensibly part of the leadership structure. He wanted to focus on what mattered to him: keeping these kids safe.

  "Alright," John said simply, taking the Walkie-Thinkie and dismissing it into his Inventory with a thought. "Thank you for your help getting here."

  Sam inclined his head in acknowledgment, and even John couldn’t fail to read the relief in his expression.

  John went to move on, already mentally cataloguing who might be a good candidate for the sixth Walkie-Thinkie, when he felt a small tug at the hem of his coat.

  He looked down to find the little boy staring up at him with wide hazel eyes. The boy's small hand was clutching something, and after a moment's hesitation, he held it up toward John.

  It was a coin. Blackened and worn, edges irregular like it had been through fire. John couldn't make out what denomination it had been—the apocalypse had done its work too thoroughly for that. But the offering was clear.

  A token of appreciation or thanks, he supposed?

  Hero worship, maybe, given the way the boy was looking at him.

  The thought made John deeply uncomfortable. It was hard to feel like he deserved to be looked at like that. But the boy was offering this with such earnest sincerity, with hands that trembled slightly as they held up the blackened coin, that refusing would have been a dick move.

  "Thank you," John said quietly, taking the coin carefully. He examined it for a moment, turning it over, then looked back at the boy and gave him the same small nod he’d given the girl. "I'll keep it safe."

  The boy's eyes went even wider, and that shy smile the girl had shown spread across his face too. Not quite as hesitant, a bit more genuine.

  He dismissed the coin into his Inventory—it registered simply as "Blackened Coin"—and this time when he went to move on, he didn't stop. Couldn't afford to. If he lingered any longer, if he let this moment stretch out, his anxiety would interpret it as awkwardness and start spiralling.

  Better to leave on a good note.

  The animals had waited patiently during the exchange, and now they resumed their positions around him as he continued toward the main lobby. John was acutely aware that he'd just been stopped twice in quick succession, each time adding to the pressure building in his chest.

  Don't think about it, he told himself. Just keep moving. Get to the lobby. Do the speech. Don't think about all the ways this can go wrong.

  The advice was, of course, completely useless. The more he tried not to think about it, the more his mind helpfully supplied him with detailed scenarios of potential humiliation.

  He could trip walking in. Could forget what he wanted to say mid-sentence. Could have his voice crack or stammer or betray his anxiety in any of a dozen different ways. Could say something that came across as offensive or stupid or weak. Could look uncertain or afraid or any of the thousand other things that would shatter the careful persona he'd built.

  John used Biomancy like a crutch, manually adjusting his body's stress responses as he walked. Forced his breathing to remain steady. Kept his heart rate from spiking. Smoothed away the tension trying to build in his shoulders and jaw.

  The main lobby of the royal suite came into view, and John's enhanced perception immediately registered the sheer number of people packed into it.

  The resistance in its entirety, minus a few stragglers still making their way here, like Alissa and Sam behind him. They filled the lobby to capacity, standing shoulder to shoulder, sitting on the floor in places, pressed against walls and clustered around pillars.

  And every single one of them was looking at him.

  The weight of their collective attention threatened to squash him flat. John wanted to shrink away from it, or turn around and flee back to the safety of the empty lounge.

  But he forced himself to keep walking. The animals stayed with him, the German Shepherd still taking point, the other dogs flanking, the cats and rabbits following behind.

  I have killed thousands of monsters, he told himself. I have defeated red-souled enemies single-handedly. I can talk to a room of people, god-fucking-damn it.

  Doug, Lily, Chester, and Jade were waiting at the front of the room, positioned near a broken mess that had been the reception desk before the apocalypse. They watched him approach, and John caught Doug's encouraging nod, Lily's warm smile, Jade's hesitant thumbs up, Chester's nervous but supportive expression.

  With them behind him, he could do it.

  John reached the front of the room and turned to face the crowd. The animals lined up in front of him like an honour guard. The sight of it actually helped calm his nerves. If he was going to make a fool of himself, at least he'd have the world's most unusual backup.

  He used Biomancy one more time, weaving it together with his Ventriloquist skill. Enhanced his vocal cords, adjusted his diaphragm, ensured his voice would project clearly throughout the room without needing to shout. The combination of biological manipulation and supernatural technique would let him be heard by everyone present, his words carrying to even the furthest corners of the packed lobby without having to actually raise his voice, mitigating the possibility of voice cracks.

  Two hundred faces stared back at him. Exhausted, traumatised, desperate for guidance. For something to believe in.

  John took a deep breath.

  Then he spoke.

  "Welcome to the resistance. Let's talk about how we're going to make those fuckers pay."

  +25000 Aura