This city is ruined already.

Half-eaten skyscrapers lean over broken sidewalks and garbage-infested streets. Abandoned vehicles sit empty under the relentless desert sun. My heavy footsteps echo through the desolate alleyways where not one soul exists to welcome me. Worn-out markets and apartments tell tales of the people who should be here, children's voices and shouting merchants and hellish dogs still sound their alarms in the depths of my imagination. But as I turn corner after corner searching for the expected city chaos, I am only ever met with silence.

"Where did you hide them, Z?" I ask. "Or did the Corrupted claim them already?"

A pulsing beat rockets through the gravel underneath me. I hold my breath and squeeze my bruised eyes shut as I bend down and burn my palms on the hot asphalt. My broken ribs shift into my lungs, my spine aches from wounds not yet healed. A few loose strands of hair cascade to the ground where Countess tore out patches of my scalp. I touch my ear to see if it's still bleeding, then follow a line of dried dirt and ichor across my cheekbone, reminiscent of a head wound that should have killed me.

"Ah.” A hundred squelching hearts resound below, detected by my inhuman senses heightened by self-infection. "There you are, crammed up in the subways. Clever, but that won't save you."

I close my eyes and focus. Rats scurry miles below and clamber beneath endless rows of restless feet; their squeals send vibrations through the ground. Putrid waves of body odor and illness overwhelm my already-hungover brain with an even more powerful headache. Hushed voices press into my temples as the forlorn civilians pray for their own hopeless salvation. And they should, as far as they know, their shallow humid breaths may very well be their last.

However, I'm not here to save them. I have a far more pressing matter on my hands. There's an army of Martian soldiers coming to destroy these people for harboring disease, and my kid is hidden somewhere among them. A complex plot to take my life.

"The plan is good though." I take my burnt palms from the ground and stand. "How do you kill a spiteful god?" I ask the quiet city. To no one's surprise, it doesn't answer me. "No idea? Answer is simple; have someone else blow it up for you."

I take out a piece of paper and delicately hold it in my heat-blistered hands. I uncurl the directions Saint sent me, squinting at undecipherable words and blotched ink. "Motherfucker." I tear it to pieces and let them fall to the ground. "I told you to send me a hologram. Ah, it's no matter. Wherever there's alcohol, I'll find Z." And with that, I stumble through the streets, scanning the barren skyscrapers for the comfort of a neon sign and the sounds of grungy rock music.

Pipes, wires, crates, boxes, trashed appliances, and rancid puddles of sewage attempt to trip me as I pass the groaning towers. The stench of rotten meat from an old grocery wafts through the air and turns my hunger pains into nauseating cramps.

Disgusting. I make my way to a sad excuse for a bar, avoiding a big puddle of water seeping below a fire hydrant, sticky with oil and green sludge that smells like sewage. I can't believe you live here, Z. My thoughts spiral further into distaste as I stand for a moment at the disintegrating building. Swallowed by contempt, I fill my nostrils with the city's rancid-moldy air, choke down my bile, and step through the crooked door.w

Inside lie the ruins of an old restaurant, a fitting scene for the wrecked city it calls home. The floor crunches beneath my feet where glass shards spurt under the edges of my holey boots. Broken chairs and dusty tables rest upside down on the sides of the crumbling brick walls, and spider webs hang over them in sheets so thick I mistake them for curtains. The dim sunlight pours down charred and broken rafters and fools the bar into thinking it's constantly nighttime. Blue colors explode in my brain as I step out of the blinding desert gleam into the dim room and struggle to adjust.

A large man sits behind a cracked and dirty bar table, his figure shrouded in cigarette smoke and a weird dusty haze. He immediately comes to his feet as I approach and casts a cold massive shadow on my short frame. Sharp silver eyes stare at me from a full face where delicate wrinkles curl together as he smiles at me with clean pearly teeth. Worn clothes cover his stocky well-built frame. Dark skin gracefully hides sharp cheekbones that were once too visible; this is the healthiest I'd ever seen him.

"What took you so long?" he asks. He grabs a bottle from the wall behind him along with a chipped glass, then sets them down on the table.

"Saint wrote out the directions she gave me." The uncomfortable wooden stool wobbles underneath me. I take off my jacket and drop it on the dusty floor, neglecting the glass to drink straight out of the bottle. The amber liquid fills my mouth with spider webs and battery acid; I resist the urge to spit it out over thef table.

"What's the matter with that?"

"I can't read, so I got lost," I say, and we both have a good laugh.

"Are you alone?" he asks. The smoke fills the space between us; it dances up in spirals to greet the sunlight on the rafters.

"Yep."

"Hm," he grunts and throws away the butt of his cigarette. "That's just like you, taking on enemies all by yourself, and now you're here to do it again. Your pride will kill you someday, I guarantee it."

I smile. "Hasn't killed me yet," I take another sip of my drink and swallow it down. Despite the awful taste, I relish every drop, praying that it would somehow take me out of my broken body and help me forget the gravity of my situation.

"So," I wince as I force down more gross stinging alcohol. "Saint mentioned that you were hiding the residents underground. How many are there in the subways?"

"Well, half of them made a break for it a couple hours ago, they took off towards the mountains. The Corrupted have probably picked them off by now. The other half makes up about 700 or so, probably less depending on how far it's spread." He rubs his eye with a bandaged hand.

"But you said no one had reached the later stages. Are they actually sick? Or did someone falsely report them?"

"Nothing substantial,” he says. He stops rubbing his eye and squints at me.

“No mutations, just self-infection,” I finish for him.

“Yes.”

"Makes sense. Those filthy Martian bastards are gonna clear it out anyway. I saw it happen myself a few miles back, same thing."

He raises his eyebrows. "They killed everyone?"

"They said that they transported them to a testing and treatment facility. But we both know that's not true."

"I see. You got right in the middle of it, didn't you?" He sizes up my injuries.

"No, not this time. This is from Countess. You know the Warlord from the East? She's been planning an attack on my district for months, so I decided I'd get to 'er first." I point to my black eye.

"Did you win?" I don't bother to answer. He knows I wouldn't be here if I hadn't. He leans back comfortably and puts his hands behind his head. "Her allies will be coming after you next."

"Thief said the same thing. I'm not too worried about it."

He grabs a glass of his own and raises it. "Cheers. I don't care if people call Countess a hero; I always knew that bastard was trouble. Good riddance." We sit in silence for a few moments, just breathing in the hot dry air, trying to prepare for the inevitable.

"As much as I enjoy catching up with you, Z," I say, breaking the stillness and my brief opportunity to rest my aching legs. "I don't have time to waste."

"I know, I know," he says. "It’s been so long, I don't want to let you go."

"I'll have to save it all for next time, unfortunately. I keep Saint updated though, you could always come visit me instead of making me drag my ass all the way to this shithole," I finish my bottle and smash it on the floor. I want them to know that I'm here.

"Visit you? You never stay in one spot long enough for me to do that. The second Saint's transmission comes through with your update, you've moved on to someplace else."

"Wonder who I learned that from?" I shoot him a sideways glare, then hide my smirk under my palm as I pretend to scratch a sudden itch on my nose.

He chuckles. "Maybe so. I'll cut you a deal, if we both make it out alive today, let's catch up in that old city of yours. Hell, I'll even make you a drink."

"Let's hope it's something better than this shit," I stare down at the drippy broken shards that litter the floor. He laughs and puts another cigarette between his teeth, takes a long drag, then breathes it right into my face.

"You've got about twenty minutes before they get here," he says, his tone thoughtful and serious. "I picked up a radio signal before you came in and I was able to locate their position."

I taste his nicotine on my lips as I breathe it in. "That's not a lot of time."

"I know, I'm sorry. If I could buy you some more I would. Fix is in the next building waiting for you, I rented my apartment to him. He doesn't know that you and I are working together." He gestures to an opening in the left wall of the restaurant. "I don't know what business you have with him, but leave me out of it. The whole situation looks messy."

"You have no idea.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my transporter, my prized possession. I hand it over to him and he slips it into a leather bag draped across the back of his chair. "It only has enough charge for one more trip, so use it wisely," I say. "Do NOT activate it in the tunnels, it will collapse the entire underground. And don't break it, you have no idea what I had to go through to get my hands on one of those."

"This is extremely unusual for you, King. I honestly didn't think you'd come. Risking your life for a district you don't even own is something I'd never thought I'd see you do."

"You know that's not what I'm here for. Your city can rescue itself, and your people better hope they don't get in my way."

"Checked and fucking noted," he laughs. "So, you haven't changed. I was worried you were getting soft."

"Not a chance." I stand up, grab my shit, and drag my war-torn body away. A powerful wave of urine and mold floods my senses as I confront the rotting steps. Despite my desolate surroundings and what a fucking terrible shape I'm in, I can't help my excitement.

"Get lost, Z," I yell back behind me. "I better not see you here again--" but I know it's hopeless; he's already gone.