They crossed the blown open doors of the slanted building, easing down the sloping floor. Storefronts turned to handholds as the incline deepened, descending into an abysmal maw. The world changed as the descent went on—darkness inhaling, breathing them in. New York subways were only 173 feet deep, but it felt like they passed it years ago. They thought they’d run out of stores before they hit the ground. They thought they’d run out of rope, when that thought was proven true. Instead they heard knotted ends slap the floor below. Sliding carefully, they reached the ground, letting their visors shape the void. Their sight went on, stretching down the jagged throat of a tunnel. Judge flashed signals—weapons drawn; three miles to go. He pressed the base of his band, and battle axes filled his hands, coming together with pops of light. They did the same and he noted their weapons. Dual Short Swords for Fang and Assassin. A mid-lance and shield combo for Abigail and Knight. Raven and King were armed with glaives. While blades stuck out from Ace and Hunter’s forearms. Good, not a one of them was a bad choice. The faux-iron came together in taut forms, telling him each one was confident in their weapons. Judge signaled more—they were ready to carry forth.

The first mile was more of the silence; their breath filling it, giving it life. They crept forward in confidence of their visors. As it filled their vision, a reticle waited, cautious of sudden movement. It jumped to the tumble of pebbles. It locked eyes with rats, stopping to watch the Numbers pass. Mostly the reticle sat still, even as they crossed the second mile into a dome like cavern. Porous holes of different sizes covered the curving ceiling. It hung sixty feet above their head, capping the mile to the sole exit on the other end. Judge signaled—more of the same; stay alert. They nodded and followed, ears as ready as their visors. This cavern was alive—the holes above whistling hoarsely. Each one was a wheeze of breath, trying to fill a lung of stone. Inhalation after inhalation, as if the darkness had to breathe. It breathed in sync with them, then finally called out.

“Not fair…” The phrased dropped like a stone, bringing them to a stop. “Not fair!” It cried again, and all eyes went up. Their reticles went wild. Bouncing from hole to hole, they traced the outline of a building cloud—gray, bright, fat with a coming storm. “Not Fair!” The cloud screamed as it grew closer, and the Numbers saw the truth. Not a cloud but a horde of bodies tumbling through the air. The Numbers ran to the other side. The bodies crashed, rupturing the silence. Beholden no more, Judge signaled aloud.

“Get ready!” He roared over the thunder of Grays piling on each other.

“Not Fair!” The Horde answered as the unbroken rose, pouring toward their targets of envy.

The Numbers did not need the command. As the wave rushed them with blind aggression—ramming, shoving, crushing the fallen—their weapons were ready. They parted the horde with a few swift strokes. Bodies tumbled into a mob around them—the first to rise falling for the final time. Surrounded, things were according to design. The Grays pushed forward and got cut down. Glaives spun, parting flesh like clay. The fallen fell into a ring, forging a border few could cross. Those who did found no celebration. Pale faces were smashed with shields, pushing them back, as lances pierced their chest. Their bodies were driven into the crowd, breaking the wave as they were tossed aside. Swords and arm blades cut in next, spreading like an infection. The Grays might as well have been standing still. They were always too slow to see their deaths coming. They were always too blind to focus their endless rage. Each individual Number was too much to see beyond, leaving even Judge forgotten. Watching the massacre, he was taken back to yesterday.

The administrator had summoned him into her office. When he arrived a tablet awaited with a list of numbers brightening its screen. He picked it up without a question, and immediately found them familiar. Numbers, with a capital N. There was twelve of them on the list, and he could imagine each of their faces as he read it. Eyebrow raised, he looked to the younger woman.

“Of those twelve, Judge, can you pick eight who are ready to graduate?” Could, yes, but he didn’t want to. He fought to keep his face blank, but his voice came low.

“I don’t see why I need to. Isn’t that what the lottery is for? Isn’t the rule that if your number is higher than 100, you’re not eligible?”

The woman sat back. “Did you hear about Silas’s group?”

Silas. The youngest of the Class-A’s. While Numbers climbed just to get names, Classes were identity themselves. They were the faces that kept the Enclave safe. They were the figures on posters, guiding youthful eyes toward dangerous acclaim. They were the people Numbers dreamed of being, and no one was as recognizable as him. His was a name that everyone knew. When you thought of Class A, his face filled your mind. Even if Judge stayed at home to rest, when Silas went on a mission, he’d find out. The boy was only twenty-eight, but it was impossible not to know him. Judge’s whole body went cold. He hadn’t heard about Silas’s group. He didn’t even know they were back. His face told the administrator that much.

“Out of eleven Class-A operatives, only three of them returned. Silas was one of them. He came back missing both legs and his right arm.” Narrow eyes watched him, searching for a reaction. He couldn’t hide it, his jaw was tightening; his heart was ready to race. How does a person even come back with only a left arm?

“What the hell happened out there?”

“Do you want the full breakdown, or the short version?” Her face said it was classified—even the full breakdown wouldn’t be everything. She couldn’t risk the wrong peep leaving this room.

“Short version.”

“Times are changing in New York. We’ve been complacent, Judge. When I took over this position, they told me the main goal was to keep the Enclave alive. I always thought it was strange. I was only thirty-six at the time, but they were ready to pass the buck. When have you ever seen some old bastard hand the reigns over that easily?” That was six years ago. The previous administrator was living as a civilian now.

“In the old New York, never. Hell, people older than I am now were in Washington.”

“It’s passing the buck. Or cleaning their hands maybe. If all of this goes to shit, it’ll be on me not them.”

“So you think they knew things were going to get bad?”

“I don’t think it, I know it. That’s why we have to get these kids out there. I know it sounds like I’m throwing them to the wolves, but trust me, Judge, this is desperation. Our strongest goddamned Class-A came back three limbs lighter! While we’ve been sitting safe, that city has grown its fangs.”

“How the hell are these kids going to change anything?”

The administrator scoffed. “I wish I could tell you.” Not classified, she really didn’t know. “My predecessor couldn’t even tell me. All I can say is that those twelve are special. I would love to train them for another five years, but Class B and C aren’t going to survive the next week at this rate. I don’t know what those kids can do, but here’s what I do know.” She picked up the tablet and flicked through the apps. A recording began to play when she put it down.

“When the dark buildings glow with gray light, save the children inside. If you can get them to the place where the Grays don’t gather, you might be able to save this city.”

“Who is that?”

“A messenger. Apparently, we used to have contact with some places out there. Some young man fought his way here to tell us that.”

“Where is he now?” The administrator frowned. “Don’t tell me you don’t know that one either.”

“He went back out there right after delivering his message. According to my predecessor, he sounded like he had to go back out.”

Silence lingered as Judge gave the moment to thought. The Administrator just waited, knowing the same as him that a decision was inevitable. If three out of eleven Class-A’s came back, that meant they had about seven remaining. Well, six, since Silas would have to retire. He was the strongest too. Whatever killed his squad would make easy work of the B and C. It’d make easy work of the Numbers too, but the Administrator seemed to hope otherwise.

“Why only eight of them?”

“Because we need a lot, but if this doesn’t work out, I want as many as I can get.”

Judge frowned. “Who’s overseeing this Graduation?”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Why are you even asking? You know I wouldn’t send those kids out there to die alone.”

The Administrator took a deep breath and leaned forward. “If Classes were around when you were younger, which would you be?”

“Don’t know,” Judge picked up the tablet, “Never really thought about it.”

“Well, you’re the only one I can depend on. You’ve been fighting all this time, Judge. If you’re going to die, get at least one of those kids to the site.”

No matter what. And yet, Judge wondered if they needed him. The final Gray fell at the hands of Assassin, and the Numbers moved forward like it was another part of training. He could only stare wide eyed as they headed to the exit.

“Not Fair!” A a chorus of screams ripped down the holes. For the first time ever, it didn’t sound like they were jealous. “Not fair,” as if they knew they didn’t have a chance.

“More Grays,” Fang turned.

“Keep going!” He ordered. “I’ll handle this horde. Your objective is to reach our destination.”

“Are you sure?” Knight hesitated, as if he could catch every Gray on his shield.

Judge thought back to the administrator’s question. What Class would he be? He hefted an ax on his shoulder, and gave the kids a smile. “Judge is the name I was given by my parent, but there’s one they used to call me in the Enclave.” Back when he was a stranger, and people were in desperate need of a hero. “Slasher,” like the film genre. The Numbers wouldn’t quite get it. They didn’t need horror movies in this kind of world, but it still made the other 12,000 survivors write stories. Judge thought about Silas. If he was the face of Class-A, then there was only one place Judge could be. He was in a Class of his own. “To graduate, you all have to get to the site, cut down anything that glows and gets in your way.” They nodded and took off, leaving him to face the coming storm…

♦

Meanwhile, the Numbers went on. The sounds of Judge’s battle followed them through the exit of the second mile, staying on their tail as the tunnel inclined. It was gone by the time they found themselves at the door of a building. It rose through the ceiling above their heads, and cursory glances revealed no other routes. Fang took charge, flashing signals. Knight and Abigail formed the vanguard as Raven and King brought up the rear. The building opened into a hotel lobby. Bones crunched under their feet as they proceeded forward, walking them through the day the world changed. They could hear the past in every brittle crack. They could see the people on vacation reflected in their visors’ sight. How did this day go? The Numbers saw the people in their room, looking at the skyline of New York. There came a scream, and then an orchestra. The building became loud with people crying out, and confusion mounting the beast of fear. And on fear, people rode, out into the hallway and fury of the Grays. The Numbers found doors torn off, as they walked on. The windows were broken inside the rooms, saying many didn’t even make it out. Those that did almost always pointed forward—arms stretching and hands clawing to the elevator and the stairs. A pile of remains held the stairwell shut, until the Numbers pushed, checking the halls as they preceded up the flight. The emptiness was foreboding; most of the Grays managed to get out on the street. The last floor didn’t have a bone in sight, and that somehow made it worst.

Penthouse Suites and Rooftop access. This was the final leg of their climb. Through the door an obsidian wall blocked most of their progress. It slanted and curved, closing the path to all but one room. Fang flashed signals. They’d go through and scale to the walls to another. The other nodded and kept formation, heading to the glass door of its veranda. Suddenly, their visors caught movement. A Gray clawed at the base of a fireplace, so entirely obsessed they might as well be the wind. Fang signaled to leave it—one wasn’t enough of a concern. They saluted their confirmation, and were almost through the room when a red light filled it. The Gray held something up to the ceiling. Glowing bright, it looked like a heart dangling from a grapevine. The Gray took a bite, and the floor undulated, tossing the Numbers from their line. Most were thrown toward the door, but Raven was blocked by a thin glass wall. She swung her glaive but it rang off! Meanwhile, the Gray finished its meal—the light in its chest becoming mercurial. It erupted, burning the upper body, cooking the flesh to a silver shine. It burned to the lower half of its face; everything above the nose becoming a slanted jagged crystal. The thing brought its hands to its face and smiled.

“Silver.” It spoke. Ice ran through Raven’s veins. That utterance let it free, promoting it from the rank of Grays. She could not leave this thing alive. If every bone was a vision of the past, then that phrase was the sound of a bleaker future. She spun her glaive toward it, drowning out the others banging on the wall. The glass shook but gave no sign of breaking. This fight was entirely hers. Fang flashed signals. Make this quick.

The Silver saved her the trouble of charging, throwing itself into a reckless dash. She met it with the tip of her glaive jammed into the chest; a light flashing as its body rolled back. A Luminance—a field of light serving as a barrier. Grays had them too, but theirs split with ease. This, however, felt like striking stone. A Luminance could be worn down, but this made her grip tighten. The weapon bands made fighting easy, and if this thing resisted them... She didn’t want to imagine a horde. Make this quick. She cut down before it rose, but a handstand carried it away. She cut up as it landed on its feet. Light flashed off its head, and off its neck as the glaive came around. It barked as its body went left, and she silenced it with another stab. And then another. To the face and chest. She threw in an extra for the stomach, and put the cycle on repeat. The Silver could only flail as she thrust. The flashes grew dimmer all the while, bringing the blade a little closer. It threw out its hands as the glaive cut through, striking with something that tossed her across the room. As she came down, it look at its hands. A greatsword formed of silver crystals hung in the air before them. It took hold of the hilt and smiled again.

“Sword.” It said, leaping through the air.

Raven barely rose as it crashed down, springing away from the impact. It turned after her, catching its sword on her weapon’s shaft. She flew again, tearing through a counter. Their blades clashed as it dashed and swung, Raven pushing it as she rose. They drew back and swung again—blades flashing sparks in the darkness. She cut through its defense, and spun. The Silver managed to catch her blade, shrieking with delight. Reeling her in, it smashed their heads together. She cried out as she toppled back, and its sword came around. The crack of her armor was almost drowned out by her scream. The sword bit into her flesh, stopping in the edge of her stomach. The Numbers banged on the glass again, and the Silver turned to grin at them.

“Luminance… amplify.” Raven coughed out. A sparkled twirled in her breastplate, dying the rest with a slow glow. The Silver leaped back as it swelled, looking her from head to toe.

“Purple?” It sounded like a question. “Dim!” And that an exclamation. “Weak!” The upward curl of its lips.

“Three minutes.” Her weapon band chimed in response. She, however, let her glaive do the talking.

She charged, tucking the weapon in. The Silver cut down as she drew close; its blade splitting as she tore its stomach. It didn’t go down. She didn’t stop her assault. The glaive came back for its head. It tossed itself to the right, and she pushed her blade through its leg. It fell this time, and the glaive followed; floor breaking as it rolled away. It rolled again as she came after it, but the glaive flew, pinning it down.

“Auxiliary weapon.” A hand ax popped out. If damage to the body wasn’t enough, she was just going to take off its head. The ax cut down and the Silver cried out!

Then the ax disappeared, and the glaive followed. Error flashed in all caps on her band. The glow of her armor faded too, and as if to take its place, a red flare glared out from the Silver’s face. Raven pressed her band but neither weapon came back. The Silver savored the sight of her, slowly pulling its own together.

“Weak.” It said as if this was the final bit of proof it needed.

It hadn’t been three minutes—had barely been one. Neither of the Numbers knew what went wrong. The Silver, however, saw things going right. It darted with a new found glee. Raven took a breath, and closed her eyes. The sword wrote a line of blood on the glass as it passed through her. The Numbers roared. As her body fell in two pieces, the Silver punched a hole in its chest and knelt to hers. It ripped the centerpiece free and shoved it in the wound. It took the band from her arm next, glaring at them as it put it on.

“Luminance Amplify.” The spark twirled, burning red. A ravenous flame burst free, once more pushing the Silver to the forge. They watched its flesh burn crimson, and the light that once shone out, rushed to its head. The crystal exploded as the light filled it, becoming the half-mask upon its face. The exposed half glowed red—the shards once covering it, forming a horn. “Good.” It said, looking at its hands with silver-flaring eyes. It turned to them and pointed up. Instinctively, they followed the finger, and saw the ceiling shatter as the Crimson jumped through it.

The glass melted on the tail of its departure, no longer tasked with keeping the creature contained. As if it also shielded their minds, the Numbers forgot the mission as they looked at their slain friend. A part of her still clung to their hearts, gripping tightly, begging them not to let her go…