“Well, should we get at it?” Lucas asked, turning to Isabelle, who stood at his side, and then glancing back at Apollo, who stood just behind him.

  The girl nodded, letting out a sigh and hiking her backpack higher. “The whole town is a mess,” she said, throwing a look over her shoulder.

  Lucas followed her gaze. Rust-colored stains streaked across the asphalt like dragged paint, darker where they pooled in the cracks between paving stones. Shattered glass glittered in storefront frames, jagged teeth catching the afternoon light.

  A child’s shoe lay abandoned near the curb. Papers tumbled past in the breeze—receipts, flyers, a homework assignment with careful handwriting now smudged and torn. The debris told the story: people had run. Fast. Car windows spider-webbed with cracks or blown out entirely, the interiors visible, emptied in desperate flight.

  The flameback wolves had torn through here a day ago, and the evidence clung to everything like a stain that wouldn’t wash out.

  “Yeah,” he said, “but for now, we can only focus on ourselves.” Stepping away from her, he raised a hand, pointing to the other side of the store. “You take that side, and I’ll handle over here.”

  Apollo’s ears perked, and the dog began wagging its tail.

  “You keep guard, alright, buddy?”

  The creature let out a low whine, then trotted forward, before settling near a shelf in the store’s entrance. Lucas regarded its contents for a moment, noting the packets of sweets and other confectionery. That’d be good as a treat. Roland and Shasha would probably love it, sure, but it sat firmly at the bottom of the list when it came to things that they should prioritise bringing home.

  Minutes blurred together as they worked. Lucas moved methodically through his section, checking dates, testing weight, hoping that everything he picked would be of some use in the coming days.

  A loaf of bread sat on a lower shelf—he grabbed it, squeezed. Soft. Too soft. He brought it close, caught the sour tang even before he saw the green-white spots blooming along the crust. Mold. He dropped it back with a grimace and walked on.

  The fizzy drinks aisle drew his attention next. Bright labels promised sugar and caffeine, and for a moment, he considered it. He’d need the energy when things got rough, and they’d be easy enough to carry. The kids back home would probably also lose their minds.

  But no, it was the same problem as with the sweets. In that, fizzy drinks were not a priority. Not when they needed protein, preserved foods, things that would actually keep them alive rather than just comfortable.

  Across the store, he could hear Isabelle working—the rustle of packaging, the soft thump of items being placed in her bag, her breathing steady and calm.

  “Lucas, how’s it going over there?” Isabelle called a moment later.

  Lucas winced. They shouldn’t be shouting like that, not when those creatures were still out there lurking. He had half a mind to shout back and tell her to be quiet, but he’d just be adding more to the issue, not helping at all. And so, his trainers clapping across the store tile, he moved over to Isabelle’s aisle, where he found the girl crouched over, picking up packets of noodles. Those would be good to have, for sure.

  “Could you not shout so loud next time?” Lucas asked.

  Isabelle turned towards him and raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I didn’t notice how loud I was speaking, but how is it going?”

  “So-so,” Lucas said, resting his hand on a shelf. This time, they had come primarily for long-life supplies. His mum’s suggestion of abandoning medicine still played on his mind.

  What was she thinking? Medicine would be one of the most important things going forward, if not the most important. Sure, you couldn’t eat it, but it would definitely go a long way towards helping fight off the diseases and injuries that would no doubt crop up in this ruined world that had no functioning healthcare. Though that was if the system didn’t have something for that as well.

  He thought back to earlier, when he’d merged his word pair, and he’d indeed lost the spike word. Though having created spike control, it had been a step enhancement. He could now have his puppet summon the spike from its body and wield it around itself within a certain range. These words, combined the right way or in the right circumstance, could do anything, almost. And Lucas couldn’t help but wonder if there was a heal word out there, or a recovery. Something that could help with the coming crisis.

  Isabelle groaned, getting to her feet and stretching. The straps of her backpack jingled as she adjusted herself. “I think my bag’s almost full. How about yours?”

  Lucas unslung his own bag, letting it drop to waist level as he rifled through the contents. Noodle packets, some canned goods, and a few protein bars he’d found tucked behind expired stock. He shifted things around, having noticed some of them digging into his back. “Got a little bit more space, I think. Maybe room for—”

  A growl rumbled from outside. Low. Guttural.

  Glass crunched under heavy paws.

  Isabelle’s eyes went wide. They dropped low simultaneously, instinct taking over as they shuffled toward the front of the store in a crouch. Lucas’s heart hammered against his ribs, each beat loud in his ears. At the storefront, Apollo stood rigid, haunches raised, lips peeled back to reveal teeth—but the dog didn’t growl. Aware that drawing attention could be a problem.

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  Through the shattered window, Lucas counted three of them. Flameback wolves, with coats of deep red, manes flickering like they were actually alight with fire. They moved with predatory patience, heads low, tasting the air.

  Isabelle gave him a look—part question, part plea—and he didn’t know how to reply. They couldn’t just run out there. From what Lucas could see, there were three of them, and he wasn’t in his puppet right now.

  A stark sense of vulnerability set in. Lucas shuffled back, suddenly aware of how exposed his bare skin was. Their claws and teeth could punch through his flesh like it wasn’t even there.

  Isabelle looked at him again, her expression asking: What do we do? Without saying a word. He opened his mouth—

  A scream tore through the air.

  They jerked up. Across the street, a man was being pulled from a building by a flameback. His fingernails clawed at the pavement, leaving desperate scratches as one wolf dragged him backwards by his leg. The other three wolves moved over, forming a protective guard around their pack mate as it continued dragging the man away.

  As they crouched low again, it became clear they had to do something. They couldn’t just let the Blightkin take him, especially when Lucas could do something. They couldn’t let what happened to Richard happen again. It was a risk, but they had to take it.

  “We’re going,” Lucas said, turning and muttering the words: “Summon Armament.”

  The air warped a short distance away inside the store, reality bending like heat shimmer. The shelves rattled, products tumbling as wind rushed inward from nowhere, sucking toward a central point. Then—thoom—a capsule touched down softly on the store tile with barely a sound despite its size. Its glass front split open with a hiss, vapour spilling out.

  Lucas scrambled toward it, throwing off his bag. It hit the floor with a dull thud as he climbed inside, his body slamming down into the smooth leather seats. The world went black—

  —and he woke again, consciousness snapping back as he felt himself falling. Metal clanged against tile as he caught himself. He looked down at the hands of sculpted metal and thin, pulsing, blue, vein-like materials running through them. The puppet’s body.

  He circled the capsule in a single fluid motion, the puppet’s enhanced servos responding instantly to his thoughts. His trainers—his real trainers—lay motionless inside the capsule where his actual body slumped unconscious. He caught up to Isabelle and Apollo, who’d already rushed out the store door toward the wolves. Isabelle’s bag lay abandoned at the side of the store entrance, her bow already in hand.

  A breath later, Lucas skidded to a stop, sparks fountaining from his feet across the asphalt as a wolf lunged at him. He sidestepped and muttered: “Spike Control.”

  His voice came out distant. The spike shot out of his puppet’s arm like liquid metal, elongating into a thick needle, then launched toward the wolf he’d just dodged. It punched through the creature’s side with a wet thunk. The wolf yelped, backing up, blood matting its fiery mane.

  An arrow shot over his shoulder—blue and iridescent, sparking at its tip—and slammed into the wounded wolf. It dropped, rolling away.

  Apollo shot past Lucas’s side, its fur bristling, teeth elongating, claws growing even longer and clacking against the ground as it seemed to enter its berserk state. The dog charged toward the third wolf, still protecting the one dragging the man away.

  The second wolf jumped at Lucas from over a car bonnet. He dodged, grabbed it by the neck mid-air, and slammed it into the asphalt. The ground cracked under the impact. His needle circled him in a controlled arc, then drove down—chest, then head. Two quick punctures. The wolf went limp.

  An arrow shot past Lucas’s head. He heard a yelp, looked over to see Apollo being tackled to the ground by the third flameback. They rolled, a tangle of red and brown fur and teeth. The blue arrow Isabelle had just loosed slammed into the wolf’s side. It yelped, and Apollo seized the opening—got his jaws around the wolf’s neck, pulled it down, slammed its head into the road, then ripped its throat out in a spray of arterial blood which covered its face as. The dog leapt up, panting.

  Lucas sent his needle flying at the first wolf he’d injured. It took the needle through the chest and dropped hard.

  Isabelle continued letting arrows fly at the final wolf—the one dragging the man away. Lucas rushed over, the puppet’s legs eating up distance, moving faster than even Apollo could run. He overtook the dog and grabbed onto the man, trying to pull him free from the wolf’s jaws.

  The Blightkin dropped him.

  Apollo leapt toward it, but the wolf was ready. It caught the dog mid-air, twisted, and slammed Apollo into a brick wall. Stone cracked. Flakes rained down as Apollo slumped to the ground, motionless.

  “Apollo!” Lucas screamed. He sent his spike flying toward the wolf. It penetrated its back, burst through its chest, and then shot straight out of its head. The wolf collapsed in a heap.

  Silence fell over the street except for the man’s ragged breathing and Isabelle’s footsteps running toward them.

  Lucas was already moving toward Apollo’s still form, his puppet’s metal feet ringing against the concrete with each desperate step.

  “Are you okay, boy?” Dropping to a knee with a clink on the ground, Lucas’s metal hand combed through the dog’s fur with gentle strokes. Apollo, for his part, enjoyed the care—well, at least he seemed to, lolling out a tongue and licking at an injury on his paw. Lucas reached toward the wound, stopping for a breath before tapping it slightly. The dog didn’t wince, and even though blood matted its fur a little, the wound itself wasn’t bothering it.

  “Thank you for that,” a gruff voice said, pulling Lucas away from Apollo.

  He glanced over his shoulder to find the man they’d just rescued getting to his feet. He rested a gloved hand on weary knees, trousers ripped in places—maybe from the dog bite, maybe not. Lucas couldn’t exactly tell. He had crammed the thick scarf around his neck into a jacket that seemed far too ill-fitting for his size.

  “I would have been toast there if you guys hadn’t come out and saved me. I appreciate it,” he said, letting out a gruff laugh.

  Lucas smiled at the man, his gaze shifting from him to Isabelle, who was now slowly walking over, having seen that Apollo was okay. Her bow dissipated as she scrutinised the man.

  “I’m David, by the way. Pleasure to meet you.” The man raised a hand and scratched at the back of his head, looking around the ruined street, his gaze lingering on the dead flameback wolves for a moment. “Strange things these are.”

  “More than strange.” Lucas got to his feet, stepping over to the flameback and raising a hand over the body. It was strange that the man didn’t even seem to react when being talked to by someone inside a robot. “I trust that you’re okay?” Lucas’s gaze moved to the man’s leg, where the flameback wolf’s teeth had been clamped a minute ago.

  The man followed his eye and raised his foot. The trainers he wore were ancient—canvas worn thin enough in places to show the ghostly outline of toes beneath. Mud had worked itself into every crease, dried and caked in layers that spoke of months, maybe years, of constant use.

  “Yeah, it could have been worse. But look—” He pulled up his trousers to reveal thick, padded socks. “The thing couldn’t get through that,” he chuckled. “And to be honest, I thought it would quite a few times. The pain—the pressure of it—was unreal. I thought the thing was going to break my leg.”

  “Yet you still have it,” Isabelle said, crossing her arms and resting against the side wall of the building the wolf had dragged the man from.

  “What are you doing here, by the way?” Lucas asked.