Coughing up a thick glob of gunk, Fon groaned, and her weighted eyelids inched open. Her body felt better than it ever had before, refined and boundless with energy. Her muscles felt sinuous and smooth, and her organs warmed her insides pleasantly as they pulsated with newfound vigour.

Although, for some reason, she felt immensely… sticky?

Groaning once more, Fon got to a seated position and looked at herself. Her eyes widened and she did a double take. Her face fell.

“What… the… hell…?”

Clinging to her skin was the very same blackened gunk that hung from her lips. It smelled rancid, and was slick like slime, the scent rising up into her nose and curling the hairs within. She gagged, instantly moving to roll off the bed. Her eyes began to tear up as she viewed the gunk that had soaked into the sheets and tainted them black.

Some of it had even dried already and left the fabrics stiff.

She’d only had her eighth fruit, which had boosted her all the way from race level 48 to 60 in one go this time, though she supposed that something must have been different, as this hadn’t happened with any of the prior Treasures she’d consumed. She glanced at the ajar bathroom door.

“It’s… probably better to do it in there…”

The mere thought of what she was going to have to tell room service made her want to scream.

**

Like what Brock had originally predicted, the ensuing drive back was awkward. For an entire two days, the woman remained in silence, only voicing herself when she needed to exercise her bodily functions.

The only sound that populated the trip was the noise of the roaring engine and that of the wheels on the ground. Brock couldn’t even bring himself to talk over the awkward veil that had settled between them, and dearly, he wished Harry was here to accompany him, if just to say something.

Covertly, he glanced at his passenger.

Briefly, he had considered throwing her out and enduring the drive back alone, though he discarded it due to a number of factors. For one, the woman was only level 38, at least from what he could sense, and the average monster levels in the area were in the 50s. And secondly, he didn’t know where they were originally heading, but he assumed it would be a long walk back.

He did wonder what would happen to her once he gave the truck to Maxwell, but he just decided to ask for her to be left alone. With a blade in his hand, he knew he could be quite persuasive.

And so, he drove. Plains passed him by, as did arid landscapes and sparse forests, until finally, two days after the vehicle was hijacked, he saw the foggy walls of New Paris loom in the distance. At the sight, the female passenger squirmed uncomfortably and threw a wary glance his way.

He waved her concerns away, “It’s normal.”

She did not seem convinced.

A further ten minutes passed, and the cab of the truck blasted through the edge of the fog, surrounding them in ivory obscuration. From the shattered window, some of the stuff drifted in, but was quickly lost to the speed of the vehicle. The woman looked around in a mix of awe and fear. Brock chuckled.

Soon, the auras of the guards blipped in his senses, and he detected them approach rapidly. Seconds later, a series of silhouettes appeared in the fog, and he slowed the truck to a stop. Oppressive Might helped with that. His passenger became somewhat panicked as they appeared and she looked to Brock for comfort.

Two of the guards stepped forward and revealed themselves; a man and a woman. The former was holding a spear, while the later was wielding an assault rifle like he’d seen before. A sword was sheathed at her waist. They diverged and one arrived at each window.

The woman, who was probably taller than Brock himself, stepped up to his window and looked inward. She glanced around, before meeting his eyes, “Brock Carter?”

“Yep.” He nodded. Beside him, he heard the man speak, and the woman mutter something shyly.

There was an exchange back and forth, and the female guard remained quiet all the while, as if waiting for her companion to finish up. Finally, it did, and Brock heard the truck door handle click, “Mr. Carter, you’re free to go. The woman will be coming with us thou-”

Oppressive Might shut the door just as it began to open. The woman leaned away, and her breathing accelerated. She didn’t say anything, but he could tell she didn’t want to leave with these people.

“No.” Brock inched his foot on the pedal, before leaning his head out the window and calling to the others in the fog, “You might wanna move.”

The woman hefted her gun at him, and the barrel bent at a 90-degree angle. Seeing this through the other window, the man jumped back, and the woman followed a beat later, confused as to what had happened. Brock remarked how the fog did an excellent job of hiding the darkening atmosphere, even as O.M.’s effects receded.

A second later, the truck rolled forward and he witnessed the figures disperse into obscurity. He kept his eye on the side mirrors in case they tried anything, but nothing happened, and they passed into the city without trouble. Sunlight shone into the cab, and Brock felt the warmth of it on his skin.

Idly, the bullet wounds still stung somewhat, even though the lead had long been pushed out.

To his side, he heard the woman shift in her seat, “…T-thank you…”

“Eh, it’s alright,” Brock waved her off, “I don’t really like these dickheads anyway, so it’s fun giving them the finger.”

“…Right…”

While absentmindedly boosting the woman’s word count to three in the past two days, Brock steered through the streets and drove toward the HQ. The vehicle did cause quite the spectacle by the populace, as he doubted any vehicle this big had travelled the streets for a long while.

Plus, it also had taken quite the beating during the actual hijacking, and he could tell people would be curious.

Eventually, Genesis’ HQ loomed in the distance, and Brock made a beeline toward it. He did find that driving a truck in a city was quite difficult, as the vehicle was rather unwieldy, but he managed, nonetheless. It was his first time driving one such locomotive, in fact.

He believed he did relatively well.

Even as he parked the vehicle in Genesis’ lot and crashed into another. An armoured Mercedes.

Ignoring the fact that the scrape was fucking massive and that’d he’d taken up two parking spaces too many, Brock applauded himself for his parking, and jumped out of the vehicle. Reluctantly, the woman followed, probably not wanting to be left alone in the city. Their feet tapped down on the concrete.

With the unnamed girl following close behind, Brock passed through the glass doors and entered the interior of the building. People of all manner were moving about holding clipboards, files, or even various pieces of tech. In a way, it reminded him of Iz’ Takon’s hive. In a very distant way.

There was a buzz in the atmosphere from their idle chatter.

A few looked up from what they were focusing on as the duo appeared, but none took all that much interest, and quickly got on with whatever they were doing. Brock approached the receptionist, and with fingers blurring on her keyboard, she looked up at them and smiled.

“Hi, what can I do for you today?” Her voice was even and practiced. He could tell the smile was fake.

Brock jerked his thumb toward Adam’s office, “Just here to see Adam. Stole a truck for him.”

The receptionist paused in her typing for a second and raised a brow.

“It’s exactly how it sounds.” Brock’s expression remained still.

After a few seconds, the woman once again resumed her typing and nodded, “Well, Adam will be free in ten minutes. You’re free to wait in his office until then, if you would like.”

Brock gave her a thumb up and strolled over to Adam’s under-the-stairs office. People walked up and down it, their legs skipping and muscle twitching as they descended or the opposite. Another man was standing outside Adam’s office, clearly waiting, and Brock paid him no notice as he opened the door and slid inside with his unwilling companion.

It wasn’t much different than how he’d seen the place prior, mostly occupied by stacked documents and messy boards. Adam wasn’t sitting his chair. However, Brock could detect his aura a ways above him, probably in a meeting of some sort.

Brock halted in his step, and so did the woman. Adam wasn’t here, but he sensed an aura in the room with them.

He gritted his teeth, “Maxwell. The fuck do you want?”

A head of greying hair peeked over a stack of papers, and the chair behind it promptly wheeled around the desk, revealing the form of a seated Maxwell, one leg crossed over the other and his hands interlocked neatly in his lap. He was grinning.

“I knew you’d come back to us. I didn’t expect you to actually hijack the truck, though. A pleasant surprise,” His voice was filled with satisfaction, as though he’d come out victorious. Brock felt his hand inch toward Lament, but he stopped himself.

A silence fell over the room, and the woman’s eyes darted nervously between the two. Neither removed their gaze from the other. Brock searched the older man’s eyes for any sign of malice but found none. He clicked his tongue.

“Whatever. I gave you the truck, now gimme what I came for.” Brock’s voice was harsh, and the tone brokered no disagreement. Maxwell seemed to think otherwise, however.

He began to laugh boisterously, his whitened teeth showing, and his eyes curved with mirth, “Certainly, youths these days are enthusiastic. But it isn’t so simple as for me to just give you the directions, you see.”

Brock felt his anger mounting, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Maxwell leaned back and spread his arms wide, “that is classified information after all. Classified to all but members of Genesis. Simply put, join us, and get what you came for.”

Brock stepped forward aggressively. The woman moved back. Maxwell’s grin widened, “I got you the fucking truck, don’t pull this bullshit.”

Maxwell shrugged, his eyes sparkling with triumph. Brock’s fingers found themselves around his neck the next moment and he was smashed into the wall. The plaster dented. The older man coughed at the force. His eyes widened, and he finally came to the realisation that he’d fucked up.

One angry Brock Carter leaned in real close, “I’m going to give you one chance mate. Give me the directions, or I’m going to throw you out of this office and under the truck I stole for you.”

His fingers tightened until Max’s face became blue.

Needless to say, Brock had the directions uploaded to his phone five minutes later, and he walked out of the room by his lonesome. Maxwell had also agreed to take care of the woman, even though she herself disliked the idea, and Brock knew he wouldn’t fuck that up. Because if he did, Maxwell knew that was the final straw.

Brock wondered if killing someone a second time would hurt less than the first. He hoped it would. The man was a menace.

The sunlight warmed Brock’s cheeks and soothed his volatile mood as he exited the lobby and stepped out into the realm of fresh air. He was rather sour that he hadn’t been able to meet with Adam, as he actually found himself rather fond of the man but getting to roughhouse Maxwell was a satisfactory compromise. He chuckl-

Abruptly, Brock was beset by a series of racking coughs, his throat rapidly becoming hoarse and his tongue picking up the taste of blood. As they finally stopped, a soft sigh escaped his lips, and he wiped the crimson from them. Strangely enough, his blood was far darker than before, less vibrant to the point that it was concerning.

That… is not a good sign.

Protectively, Brock clutched the spatial ring his phone was stored within and felt the cool metal in his palm. That was his ticket to his chance at survival. Images of a black desert flashed in his mind. He sighed and resigned himself to his fated struggle.

He had never liked the heat.