Leaving District 2 was supposed to be simple. Just walk out and move on.
Instead, here they were, piling sacks of supplies onto a wooden cart like some medieval caravan setting off on a cross-country journey.
What started as "let's check on Grandpa and find food" had somehow turned into becoming supply runners for an entire district.
"Farming," Iris said, tightening the ropes around another sack of fertilizer. "District 2's leaders want self-sufficiency. If we can't grow our own food, we're finished."
She tapped the folded map resting on the cart. District 2's leaders had marked it carefully—every known warehouse within range, the ones still standing, and the ones rumored to still have farming equipment or leftover supplies. It saved them the hassle of checking every random building inside the fog one by one.
Their job was clear: head to the marked warehouses, gather whatever was left, bring it back. The citizens of District 2 would handle the actual farming setup.
And, truthfully, none of this was part of the original plan.
But Iris had made her pitch.
"If we're going to keep diving into the fog in the future, we can't just 'survive'—we need to get stronger," she'd told them. "The creatures out there are getting worse. The fog's changing people faster. If we don't improve, we'll end up just like the others… dead or mindless. These supply runs are the perfect chance to train, test what we can do, and work as a team before we run into something we can't handle."
Bob had shrugged, unimpressed. "As long as there's food."
And Gabe? Well, after some grumbling, he had to admit she had a point.
"We're just the delivery crew," Gabe added now, strapping down the last of the spare toolkits. He wiped sweat from his forehead and shot a look at Bob. "And, apparently, the muscle."
The "muscle" just nodded.
Gabe sighed, transforming into his griffin form with an exaggerated groan. "And why am I the one pulling this thing?"
"Four legs," Bob answered flatly.
"I swear, that's not how this works!"
"You want me to do it?" Iris offered, hands on her hips.
Gabe glanced between the cart, the supplies, and Bob—who looked like he might accidentally tear the cart in half just by sneezing. "Fine. Whatever. I'll be the horse."
And so, the griffin pulled the cart while the Goliath and the Valkyrie walked behind like royalty.
After several trips in and out of the Pink Fog, hauling load after load back to District 2, they finally managed to gather enough supplies to kick-start the farming project. It wasn't just one big haul—it was days of back-and-forth, they didn't rush to gather everything in one go—there was no point. The fog wasn't going anywhere, and they were smart enough to return to the Safe Zone between runs before the madness could take hold. Little by little, they collected everything the district needed to give farming a real shot.
It was finally time for their well-deserved rest. As Iris leaned back, exhaustion settling deep into her bones, her mind wandered over the past few days. What a blur. What felt like a simple mission on paper—gathering tools, seeds, and sacks of fertilizer—had been anything but. Every trip into the Pink Fog was a gamble. Every warehouse run meant another fight. Another chase. Another close call.
Because the fog was never empty.
Creatures lurked in the shadows. Twisted monsters. Mindless wanderers who used to be people. Packs of nightmare beasts that never stopped prowling. And from time to time, there were still those half-sane transformed humans—territorial, desperate, and just lucid enough to be dangerous.
So, every trip became a balance between scavenging and survival.
She and Gabe did most of the actual gathering, carefully loading up the cart with seeds, tools, and equipment. A lot of it was delicate—solar water pumps, fragile bags of chemical fertilizer, old irrigation parts scavenged from destroyed farms. Stuff that would snap like twigs if the wrong set of hands touched it.
Which is why Bob, in all his towering Goliath form, wasn't allowed anywhere near the loading process.
His job was simple.
Guard the cart.
Which mostly meant standing around looking like a mountain and getting bored out of his mind.
Until something decided to attack.
Then his job got interesting real fast.
Every trip through the fog, they had to fight. Sometimes it was goblins. Other times, dire wolves. Once, a twisted, three-headed lion tried to take the entire cart with it.
And every time something charged at them, Bob flattened it.
That's how they collected more pink fragments than they knew what to do with. Every dead creature left behind a few, and while Iris and Gabe stored theirs for later, Bob popped his like snacks whenever the boredom got too heavy.
Standing there with his arms crossed, waiting for the next ambush, he'd occasionally lift a fragment to his mouth and crunch down like it was a bag of chips.
"Bob, maybe slow down on those," Gabe warned once.
It became routine. Gather supplies. Smash monsters. Pocket fragments. Repeat.
They stayed near District 2 for days, not just to collect what they needed, but to train. To sharpen their teamwork. They rotated who scouted, who hauled gear, who kept watch. They practiced quick retreats and ambush tactics.
Because they knew this was only the beginning.
And it was during one of these trips that Gabe noticed something strange.
Gabe glanced down at the pink fragment hanging from his neck—a trophy from one of their earlier fights. But now… it wasn't as bright as before. The once-vibrant glow had dulled, and the shard itself looked thinner, like it was slowly being whittled away.
He rubbed his thumb over it. Smaller. Dimmer. Lighter.
"Huh," he muttered, lifting it toward the faint light bleeding through the fog. "It's... shrinking."
Iris checked the fragment tucked beneath her collar, her brows furrowing deeply. Same thing. Duller. Thinner. Definitely smaller.
"They're being absorbed," she said, her voice quiet with realization. "Our bodies are pulling them in. The longer we stay in the fog... the more they sink into us."
It wasn't long before they noticed the pattern. The fragments only shrank while they were inside the Pink Fog. Back in the Safe Zone, the process stopped completely. But out here? The fog made sure the fragments never went to waste.
And for once, Bob didn't look happy about it.
While Gabe and Iris inspected their fragments, Bob stared longingly at the pile of pink shards they'd collected from defeated creatures. His usual stash. His snacks. What used to be his private supply.
Now, every piece mattered to all of them.
Which meant... sharing.
Gabe clapped him on the back with a grin. "Tough break, big guy. Looks like we're all eating now."
Bob scowled, his gaze drifting between the growing pile and his teammates.
"My snacks..." he muttered under his breath.
Iris smirked. "Relax. You still have your share, right?"
Bob let out a heavy sigh. "Ugh... my favorite snacks," he groaned, like someone had just taken candy from a kid.
Gabe laughed. "Guess the apocalypse hits everyone differently."
---
After nearly a full day of rest, Iris, Gabe, and Bob decided it was time to move. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, they stepped back into the Pink Fog. Their destination? The next city over. Just the first stop in what would be a long journey. It wasn't close, and timing would be everything. Stay too long in the fog, and they'd end up just like the creatures lurking inside it.
The most important rule was simple:
Stay in the fog too long, and it takes everything.
Your body. Your mind. Until there's nothing left but a monster craving the next fight.
So, they made a promise.
For every hour they thought they could handle, they'd leave at least an hour early to recover inside a Safe Zone.
No exceptions.
Their journey was only beginning.
And the Pink Fog wasn't about to make it easy.
Because waiting for them just up ahead...
Was an entire tribe of lizardfolk.
They hadn't even made it two blocks into the fog before trouble found them.
The first hiss echoed from the ruins of a collapsed storefront. Gabe's ears twitched, his griffin eyes narrowing. "We've got company," he warned from above, circling on silent wings.
They slithered out from the pink fog, emerald scales glinting under the faint, unnatural light. They were tall, lean but muscular, walking upright with long, thick tails dragging behind for balance. Clawed fingers flexed as they eyed the cart like a prize. Their yellow eyes gleamed, slit pupils narrowing like knives.
Lizardfolk.
Or as Gabe whispered from above, "Great. Just what we needed. Fogged-up geckos."
They weren't mindless monsters. The way they moved—circling, testing the group's defenses, clicking low in their throats to each other—it was clear they had some sanity left. Enough to hunt together.
There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more slipping through the fog behind the first wave.
Iris stepped forward, her spear materializing from the dense fog. "They're trying to surround us."
Bob cracked his knuckles. "Good. Saves me the steps."
The first lizardfolk lunged, claws flashing straight for Bob's throat. Bob sidestepped, grabbed the thing midair by the tail, spun it twice over his head, and launched it like a living battering ram into three others trying to flank from the left. They crashed together in a pile of limbs and scales.
"Bob!" Gabe shouted from overhead. "Right side!"
Bob turned, but a second too late. Something slashed across his shoulder, sharp and fast—four glowing pink lines tearing through his skin.
Bob staggered back.
Gabe's voice cracked through the fog. "Bob...?"
And then the lizardfolk lunged again.