Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Water dripped from broken pipes and cracked gutters, seeping into the cracked pavement below. The slow corrosion ate away at the city, dragging it further into decay.
Dragstead had once been a haven for survivors of the pollution accident a century ago. Now, it was a festering pit.
Sewage overflowed, crawling through gutters and flooding entire streets. A horrid stench clung to the air, mixing with the ever present haze that shrouded the city. Despite the rot, people still lived here. Some had nowhere else to go. Others simply refused to leave.
A few days ago, those same residents had sent out a complaint.
A Myutant had torn through their homes.
Now, they had an Exterminator.
Massiah Devereaux vaulted over a rusted fence, his boots hitting the pavement with a splash. He grimaced, his stomach turning at the warm, sludgy water soaking into his soles.
"Disgusting."
He pressed on, weaving between abandoned cars and collapsed structures. He had worked for Dead End Solutions long enough to see the worst of these hellholes, but Dragstead? This place was particularly awful.
A thunderous crash shattered windows, shaking the very ground beneath him. The scream that followed was unlike anything human, a warped, ear-piercing shriek that sent a cold chill down his spine.
Massiah didn't need to look back. He knew the Myutant was close.
He bolted, slipping into a narrow alleyway as debris rained down behind him. A thick mixture of dust and concrete swirled through the air, choking his lungs as he pressed forward.
"I hate this job."
The thought burned in his head as he reached the alley's end and vaulted over another fence.
The Myutant was relentless. It had caught his scent, and unless he found a way to throw it off, it wouldn't stop until he was nothing more than a smear on the pavement. There was a way to mask his scent, but the thought of rolling in sewage made his stomach churn.
"I'd rather die."
The world shrieked.
A deafening crash erupted beside him as the Myutant lunged from the ruins, its massive pincers snapping shut around his torso. A split second later, he was airborne.
The impact hit hard.
He slammed into the ground with bone rattling force, his gas mask cracking on impact. Fractured glass dug into his cheek, and a sharp pain shot up his spine.
The pollutant that had caused the collapse of humanity didn't affect humans—not to the point of total mutation at least.
It mainly affected wildlife, twisting insects and animals beyond recognition and for the first time in his life, he wished he'd been in an altercation with a man instead.
The creature's pincers dug into his protective suit, slicing through fabric and drawing blood. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
"Kill it, kill it now."
His fingers grasped blindly at the ground—until they found something solid.
A rock.
With a desperate swing, he slammed it into the Myutant's eye. The creature shrieked, its grip loosening just enough for him to break free.
Massiah didn't hesitate.
He scrambled to his feet, bolting toward a nearby building and bursting through the door.
"Mass, what's your location?"
The voice in his earpiece crackled with static, but he recognized it instantly. Echo. His partner. They had gotten separated when the Myutant first emerged.
"Did you find my scythe?" Massiah gasped, taking the stairs two at a time.
"We have it. Where are you?"
Almost there.
He needed higher ground—needed to spot his teammates before the Myutant found him again.
The rooftop. That was his best chance.
The iron door at the top of the stairwell came into view, light streaking through its crevices. His fingers brushed against the handle, ready to yank it open—
But then—
A thump.
The walls shook.
A second later, the Myutant's pincers clamped down on him again, yanking him through the broken wall like a ragdoll. The world blurred as he was dragged skyward, twenty feet into the air.
"Okay, now I know where you are."
Echo's voice crackled through the headset, dry as ever.
Massiah barely registered Echo's words over the roaring wind. His ears rang, his breath caught in his throat, and before he could fully comprehend what had happened, gravity took hold. The Myutant released him, snapping its pincers open and letting him plummet.
He hit the ground hard, crashing through layers of stone and metal, each impact rattling his bones. The final slam sent a fresh shockwave of pain through his back as he collided with the cracked pavement below.
Dust and shattered concrete rained around him, filling the air with a heavy smog.
He gasped, trying to move, but his body refused to respond. His vision blurred, his mind dancing on the edge of unconsciousness. He had been in bad situations before, but something about this one felt really bad.
A low, chirring growl resonated above him, and through the pulsing pain in his skull, he saw the Myutant watching him from above.
It retracted its pincers, raising its hideous head as its mouth—a festering pit nestled between its mandibles—slowly unhinged.
Bubbling green saliva dripped from its throat, falling onto the ground and sizzling against the stone. Acid. If he didn't move soon, he wouldn't have to worry about his injuries—he'd dissolve into nothing but a puddle of liquefied flesh.
His entire body ached. He had been an Exterminator for four years now, long enough to have faced death on multiple occasions. But exhaustion clawed at him, pressing against his body as his pulse struggled to keep up.
His fingers twitched against the dirt, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that could help him move.
"Stand up. Stand up!"
His own voice screamed inside his mind, urging him forward, but his limbs refused to cooperate. His breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps as he forced himself to lift his head.
Through the fractured visor of his gas mask, he saw the Myutant inching closer, its mouth twitching as it prepared to launch a barrage of acid.
"You're one ugly bastard," he muttered, voice hoarse.
A chuckle crackled through his earpiece. "Indeed it is, sir."
Before he could react, something whistled through the air, cutting through the haze. A blade spun toward him, the handle clattering against the cracked pavement just within reach of his outstretched hand. His fingers twitched toward it instinctively.
"Finally," he breathed.
The moment his fingers curled around the handle, adrenaline surged through him, pushing away the mist clouding his thoughts.
With a sudden burst of movement, he yanked himself upright, the long handle of his scythe gripped tightly in both hands. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain, twisting his body and swinging.
The blade carved through the Myutant's face, a sickening squelch filling the air as blood sprayed from the wound. The creature shrieked, rearing back, but the cut wasn't deep enough—it was still alive, still moving, and in seconds, those massive pincers would be upon him again.
It lunged, its mandibles snapping forward, but Massiah had already shifted. He sidestepped, pivoting on his heel as he brought the scythe down again, this time with brutal force.
The sharpened edge tore through its hide, splitting through its layered exoskeleton. The Myutant let out a final, high-pitched wail before its body collapsed, its severed head rolling across the pavement in a splatter of blood.
The tension in his body unraveled all at once. His grip slackened on the scythe, the blade dipping toward the ground as exhaustion finally overtook him. His knees buckled, and before he could stop himself, he crumpled to the pavement beside the fallen creature, the last of his strength slipping away.
Somewhere in the distance, footsteps splashed through the growing puddle of blood. Voices echoed in his ears, distorted and far away, but his mind was already fading.
"Massiah—"
Gentle hands, soft as an angel's touch, lifted him effortlessly, cradling his battered body in a warmth that eased every ache.
"Massiah—"
They fed him grapes, their silken skin brushing against his own. Blissful, angelic, healed—had he died? Was this heaven?
Whatever it was, he never wanted to leave.
"Massiah!"
When his eyes finally opened, the world around him felt muted, the steady beeping of medical equipment filling the air. The scent of antiseptic clung to the sterile white walls, an all-too-familiar reminder that he had, once again, ended up in the infirmary.
This wasn't heaven.
It was a place worse than hell.
He exhaled sharply, rolling his head to the side, and his gaze immediately landed on Sabrina Khusanov, the woman seated beside his bed.
Doctor. CEO of Dead End Solutions.
And an absolute pain in the ass.
She watched him with a smirk, her fingers tapping idly against a clipboard. "You're being charged by the minute, by the way," she said smoothly. Her voice was deceptively melodic, carrying the kind of effortless charm that almost made you forget how ruthless she was. Almost. "Don't worry. If you can't pay, we'll just take it from next week's earnings."
Massiah exhaled, pushing himself up into a seated position, only for the blanket to slip away from his body. His brain barely had time to process the cold air against his skin before he realized—
He was completely naked.
His eye twitched. Of course they had stripped him.
Perfect.
"For a man of your stature, you sure are packing," Sabrina mused.
Massiah scowled, gripping the bedsheet tighter as he pulled it over himself. He moved toward the chair where his clothes were folded, his bare feet pressing against the cold floor. "You could've at least let me wake up before throwing out the insults."
Sabrina shrugged, unfazed. "Just making an observation."
"Where's Echo? Therapist?" he asked, already tugging on his pants.
"They got promoted," she replied casually, rising from her seat with a thermometer in hand. Before Massiah could react, she shoved it into his mouth, waiting a few seconds before yanking it back and glancing at the screen. "Finished their rank-up assignments."
Massiah exhaled through his nose, saying nothing. He merely shook his head, dropping the bedsheet and slipping into his clothes.
His basic uniform was nothing special—a faded punk rock tee, baggy gray cargo pants, and heavy boots that had seen better days. But the second layer, his company-issued coat, was unmistakable.
The thick gray fabric draped over his frame, its oversized fit designed for protection rather than comfort. The high collars reached just above his mouth, and a metal buckle at the hem secured the gas mask that hung from its strap.
Fully dressed, he glanced toward Sabrina.
She was beautiful, the kind of effortless, dangerous beauty that could make a man give up his house if she asked. A hot brunette, sharp-eyed and confident—though not untouched by hardship. Her left eye was hidden beneath an eyepatch, a mark of past battles.
But the worst part?
She was taller than him. Everyone was taller than him.
Unfortunate, really. Being born in an area still saturated with pollutant residue had stunted his growth, leaving him with the body of a fourteen-year-old despite being six years older. He had learned to live with it, but the constant reminder grated on him.
He reached for the door handle. "My scythe."
Sabrina didn't hand it over. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "One more thing, Mass."
He sighed and yanked at the doorknob, only to find it locked. Figures.
Reluctantly, he turned back to her. "What?"
"You're a capable Exterminator, you know that?" she said, tilting her head slightly. "Closer to first grade than you are to fifth. So why don't you finally take a respectable rank?"
Massiah knew exactly where this was going. He rolled his eyes, yanking at the door again just to be sure.
"You've completed every task required for promotion. Every task except one."
"No."
"Yes."
She barely reacted to his refusal, simply shifting her gaze toward the door. "Open up, guys."
The door swung inward, and Massiah instinctively took a step back as two figures entered—a young man and woman, both fresh-faced, sharp-eyed, and annoyingly tall.
He felt his stomach sink.
"No," he said again, this time firmer.
Sabrina ignored him. "It's either you get promoted, or you lose your job entirely." She stood up, smoothing out her coat as she walked toward the door. "Your choice."
Massiah clenched his jaw, staring at the recruits. He already hated them.
"I hate you," he muttered under his breath.
"Noted," Sabrina replied, already halfway out. Then, as if just remembering something, she glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, right. You've been assigned a job at Khankar Haven—one myutant, threat level one, should be easy enough. Teach the recruits something useful while you're at it, okay?"
And just like that, she was gone.
Leaving him alone.
With them.
The male recruit was the first to speak, his voice laced with forced enthusiasm. "Mr. Devereaux, we've heard so much about you! About your immense strength—"
"Can it," Massiah muttered, shoving past them and stepping into the hallway.
Once again, he was thrust so soon into yet another day of sewage-treading and garbage disposal.
Fantastic.