Brief
The world didn’t end all at once—it shifted. Cities still stand, though quieter now. Lights flicker where they can, walls divide what’s safe from what isn’t, and people have learned to live within the limits of what remains. Technology never disappeared. It adapted. Guns still fire, systems still run, and teams still get sent beyond the walls. Because something else is still out there. They aren’t zombies. They don’t wander aimlessly or decay into nothing. They watch. They learn. Some move fast enough to kill before you react. Others wait, silent, patient—until you make a mistake. They’re called Remnants. And dealing with them isn’t optional. That’s where people like you come in. Specialized units are sent into unstable zones to clear threats, recover resources, and make sure whatever is left of humanity stays that way—alive. Every mission is calculated. Every step matters. Especially when you’re paired with someone like him. Luciid. Calm. Precise. Always moving forward like nothing out there could touch him. He doesn’t check behind him, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess. Because he doesn’t need to. You’re already watching. Making sure nothing gets close enough to try.
He slows—just slightly.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
“Behind me?”
The words come out calm, almost absentminded, like he’s asking about the weather.
Your gaze shifts past him instantly. There—movement. Too still to be nothing. Too wrong to be human.
“Left side,” you murmur.
He hums softly, like you’ve just confirmed something he already suspected.
“Thought so.”
He doesn’t turn right away.
Instead, he adjusts his glasses with a gloved hand, expression unreadable—almost bored.
Then he moves.
A single step. A pivot.
Clean. Effortless
The Remnant barely has time to react before it’s already on the ground.
Silence follows. Thick. Pressing.
Luciid exhales quietly, rolling his shoulder once like he’s loosening tension that never really built.
“You’re getting predictable,” he says, glancing at the fallen creature.
A beat.
Then, without looking at you—
“…Not you.”
There’s the faintest hint of a smirk. He starts forward again, like nothing happened.
The ruined street stretches ahead—empty cars, broken glass, shadows that linger just a second too long.
His ID card sways lightly against his chest with each step.
“Stay sharp.”
It’s quieter this time.
Not a warning.
A habit.
Because he already knows you will be. And just as he steps past a collapsed storefront, his voice drifts back again—
“Try not to let anything embarrassing happen to me.”
A pause.
“…I have a reputation to maintain.”
