The pickup truck rumbled through the endless Pink Fog, its tires grinding over broken asphalt as Bob's crew traveled cautiously through the desolate world. It had been days since they last saw signs of the Red Hands, but Bob's mind wasn't on that. His hand hovered over a small Pink Fragment, his fingers twitching as he hesitated before tossing it into his mouth.
Closing his eyes, he whispered to himself, "I'm not an addict. I'm not an addict." Then, in one quick motion, he gulped it down.
A snort came from the side of the truck. "That's exactly what an addict would say," Sly quipped, jogging beside the vehicle in his Specter form.
"Yeah," Gabe called from above, flapping his massive Griffin wings as he scouted ahead.
"You're really selling it, Bob. Maybe if you mutter it one more time, we'll believe you."
Bob grunted, gripping the wheel. "I can stop whenever I want."
"Sure," Sly smirked. "But you won't."
Iris, marching calmly beside the truck, sighed. "Can you three not do this first thing in the morning?"
Their travel through the Pink Fog had become routine. Bob drove the truck at a steady pace while the others stayed outside, maintaining their Glint forms to be combat-ready in case of an ambush. From time to time, one of them would hop into the truck to revert to human form, preventing them from turning into Fades. They cycled through these rotations as they journeyed, taking breaks when necessary, scavenging for supplies, and killing stray Fades whenever they crossed paths.
It was dangerous, but necessary. The Pink Fog made them stronger, and absorbing Pink Fragments was the only way to progress their Glint abilities.
Gabe returned from his latest aerial scout, landing lightly beside the truck. "Still no sign of Callers, but I don't like how quiet it's been. Either we're getting lucky, or something's waiting for us."
"We're not fighting unless we have to," Iris reminded them. "If a Caller is in the way, we deal with it. If not, we move around. Simple."
Bob grumbled. "Doesn't feel right. We've been in the Fog this long, and not one big fight?"
"We're not complaining," Sly muttered, flickering ahead in his Specter form, scouting the path before the truck. "Maybe the Red Hands got tired of chasing us."
"Doubt it," Gabe said. "They're just waiting."
Days passed in relative peace. The crew hunted stray Fades, scavenged abandoned stores and ruins, and refueled the truck whenever they could find extra gasoline. The Fog was their battleground and their training ground, but they remained cautious, only engaging in fights when necessary.
Luck, it seemed, was on their side. They hadn't encountered another Caller since their battle alongside the Archivists. And they hadn't seen the Red Hands either. Maybe they had finally given up hunting them. Maybe they had found something more important. Maybe.
Then, on the morning of the fourth day, everything changed.
Gabe flew down from his latest scout, his wings kicking up dust as he landed beside them. "We've got something ahead. A safe zone. A big one."
Bob perked up immediately. "City-sized?"
Gabe nodded. "At least. And it looks lively."
Bob's stomach growled. "Meat," he whispered, almost reverently. He looked at Iris and Sly. "Hop in. We're getting to that city fast."
Iris rolled her eyes but climbed into the truck along with Sly. "Just remember we're not here just for food. We need real supplies."
Bob ignored her, already accelerating toward the city.
---
As they neared, the massive walls of the safe zone loomed ahead. Unlike the smaller, barely-surviving settlements they had seen before, this city stood strong. Tall barricades, fortified gates, and watchtowers gave it an air of power and control. As they drove closer, Bob could see lines of people waiting at the entrance, traders carrying goods, and guards carefully inspecting each traveler before allowing them through.
It almost felt normal. Like the old world, before the Pink Fog.
"Looks organized," Gabe muttered. "Not like the other places we've seen."
"They're trying to rebuild something here," Iris said, watching as market stalls filled with food, clothing, and weapons came into view just beyond the gates. Vendors called out to travelers, haggling, selling, creating a sense of commerce that had nearly disappeared from the world.
Bob pulled up to the entrance checkpoint, rolling the truck to a stop. A guard in reinforced armor stepped forward. "Welcome to the City of Graves. State your business."
Bob blinked. "The what now?"
A boy, no older than twelve, leaned against the nearby gate, flipping a coin between his fingers. He smirked. "First time here? Then for a small fee, I'll tell you everything you need to know."
Bob gave him a flat look. "You want me to pay you to tell me where I am?"
"It's a big city," the boy said. "You don't want to step on the wrong toes."
Bob crossed his arms. "We'll take our chances."
The boy shrugged. "Suit yourselves. Just don't act surprised when you realize this place isn't what it seems."
Bob exhaled and looked at Iris. "See? This is why we don't trust kids."
Iris gave him a deadpan stare. "No, this is why kids don't trust you."
Bob smirked but said nothing as the gates creaked open, revealing the heart of the city.
Inside, the safe zone was alive. People filled the streets, merchants peddled their wares, and despite the post-apocalyptic world beyond the walls, there was a sense of stability here.
"They really are trying to bring back the old world," Gabe said, watching as a group of children ran past, laughing as if they had never known the horrors outside.
But not everything was as perfect as it seemed.
A crackling radio broadcast played from a set of loudspeakers positioned throughout the city. It was a repeat of a previous transmission, but one they were hearing for the first time, having been away from safe zones for days.
Dr. Halbridge, in a live interview with a field reporter.
"…our latest observations confirm how Callers are formed. Stray Fades gradually group together, and as their numbers increase, one among them begins to mutate beyond the others. This new entity produces an aura, changing the lesser Fades under its control into its own race. Once a pack reaches fifty, the Caller becomes a pseudo-Boss, and when it claims territory, it transitions into a full-fledged Boss, ruling over a domain of two hundred Fades or more."
"As for Fragments… our understanding continues to evolve. Pink Fragments, as most of you know, enhance Glint abilities and have become the world's unofficial currency. White Fragments, rarer and far more valuable, are the key to establishing and maintaining protected zones. Small White Fragments harvested from Fades can also be used by Glints to safely enter existing safe zones."
"Further research has shown that these same White Fragments can be combined. When twelve are placed in close proximity, they magnetize and generate a small, temporary safe zone, roughly a one-foot radius. While limited in size, this effect has proven vital for emergency use."
"In a separate development, vehicles can now travel through the Pink Fog by embedding enough White Fragments to generate a continuous protective field. When properly equipped, the entire vehicle becomes a mobile safe zone, allowing passengers to move through contaminated areas without triggering Glint transformations."
"Additionally, recent field experiments have uncovered a promising survival breakthrough. Nightmare creatures, animals or plants mutated by prolonged exposure to the Pink Fog, can now be safely consumed. Once killed and brought into a safe zone, their bodies revert to their original, pre-mutation state, making them viable for food. This has already led to organized hunts in several regions, helping settlements supplement their dwindling supplies."
"We advise extreme caution when handling these creatures outside a safe zone, as their behavior remains erratic and highly aggressive."
The broadcast continued, but Bob had already stopped listening.
Bob listened, only half paying attention. Right now, he was more focused on what really mattered.
"Bob's eyes widened with excitement as he processed the last part of the broadcast. "Did you hear that? Meat! Let's find a place to eat!"
Sly snorted. "You just learned about Callers, Boss Fades, White Fragments, and safe zone technology, and this is what you're focusing on?"
Bob shrugged. "I don't see any Callers or Boss Fade here. I see food stalls. Priorities, Sly. Priorities."
They moved deeper into the city, unaware that beneath its thriving surface, the true nature of the City of Graves was waiting to be revealed.
The deeper they went into the city, the more the initial sense of normalcy started to fade. The bustling streets, the traders haggling over goods, the faint scent of cooked meat in the air, it was all a thin veil covering something darker. There was an edge to the way people moved, an unspoken understanding that things operated under strict rules.
Bob slowed his pace, taking in the atmosphere. "Alright. This place feels... different."
Sly glanced around, his usual smirk absent. "Yeah, not just 'big city energy.' More like 'don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.'"
Just then, the same boy from earlier appeared at their side, flipping his coin lazily. "Still lost?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.
Bob sighed. "Alright, kid. You win." He pulled out a Pink Fragment and handed it over. "Tell us what we need to know."
The boy grinned, pocketing the fragment. "Smart choice. Welcome to the City of Graves, one of the biggest safe zones left. But this isn't some hopeful little settlement, and it sure ain't a democracy. It's a place where money talks and power walks."
He gestured around, his voice lowering slightly as he spoke. "Five major factions keep this place running, and if you're planning to stick around, you better know who's who."
"The Hooks are the slavers, if you've got a rare Glint, they'll find a buyer. Elves, Succubi, anything exotic, they'll sell them for pleasure, labor, or worse. They're well connected, and people who cross them tend to disappear".
"Then you've got The Gloves, the bounty hunters. If someone wants you dead or alive, they're the ones to make it happen. They work with anyone who needed, kidnappings, retrievals, anything that keeps the market moving. If you're worth more breathing, they'll bring you in still kicking. If not, well… you get the idea."
The boy flicked the coin in his fingers, his voice dropping lower. "Then there are The Orphans, kids left behind, no families, no homes. They survive by running scams, setting traps, and stealing. Some are just pickpockets, but the organized ones? They can take down a full-grown Glint if they work together. They're smarter than people give them credit for."
"Then we've got the Blood Creed and the Fog Walkers, cults, two different flavors of crazy. The Blood Creed worships the Pink Fog, believes Glints are chosen beings, and that everyone else is just waiting to be converted. The Fog Walkers? They think the Fog should consume everything, that resisting it is unnatural. The only reason they haven't torn each other apart is that they keep each other in check."
Bob exhaled. "Great. A whole city run by criminals, fanatics, and mercenaries. Just my kind of place."
The boy chuckled. "You haven't even met the boss yet. The Graves Family owns this place. Built the walls, set the rules, and enforce them. Dante Graves runs the show now, and let's just say he doesn't like competition. He's got a Glint called Blood Revenant—the longer he fights, the stronger he gets. He doesn't need to show off. Everyone already knows he's top dog."
For the briefest moment, Iris tensed. Her hands curled slightly before she forced them still, her expression remaining unreadable. No one noticed the faint hesitation, the way her posture stiffened before she carefully turned away, masking whatever reaction had almost surfaced. The moment passed, buried beneath the weight of the conversation.
But she knew that name, Dante Graves.