The fire was a pathetic thing, fed by the splinters of a crate that had once held pneuma-cells. It gave off more acrid smoke than heat. Leo sat with his back against the stump of a fallen pylon, his eyes fixed on the grey horizon. The "Zero Protocol" had left the world so quiet that Leo could hear the rhythmic click-hiss of his own lungs—a sound he was still getting used to.

  ?Mai sat across from him. She was wrapping her feet in strips of oil-cloth, her movements slow and deliberate. Her skin, once the blue-silver of a masterpiece, was now sallow and smeared with the black ash of the Crater.

  ?"We can't stay here, Leo," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "The ash is getting deeper. Soon, we won't be able to find enough wood to burn. We'll just... freeze into the mud."

  ?From the swirling grey fog, a figure appeared. It wasn't a monster, but it was barely a man. He was hunched, dragging one foot, his skin hanging off his frame like wet parchment. He stopped ten feet from their fire, sniffing the air with a frantic, twitching nose.

  ?"The Iron Gull..." the man wheezed, clutching a piece of rusted metal to his chest like a holy relic. "She’s calling. Can’t you hear the whistle? It’s deep in the salt-flats. The last one."

  ?Leo stood up, his hand resting on the hilt of his broken blade. "There are no more ships. The world is refined. There’s nowhere left for a ship to go."

  ?The man let out a wet, jagged laugh. "Refined for the King, maybe. But the world is big, Knight. Across the Black Sea, there’s a place where the Suture never took. A place where things grow... and they don't stop growing."

  ?He stepped closer, the firelight catching the milky film over his eyes. "They call it the Gristle-Coast. It’s raw. It’s red. But it’s warm. The sailors are taking any meat that can still stand. They need hands to work the soil. They need bodies to fill the space."

  ?The man vanished back into the fog as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving behind only the smell of salt and rot.

  ?Mai looked at Leo, her hands stilled on the oil-cloth. "He said it’s warm, Leo. He said the Suture never reached it."

  ?Leo looked at his own hands. They were scarred, the knuckles cracked from the cold. The White Spark in his chest gave a low, dull throb—a warning vibration that felt like a toothache.

  ?"Warmth doesn't mean safety," Leo said. "The Suture was a cage, but it kept the beasts at bay. If there's a place where things 'don't stop growing,' it means the hunger never stops either."

  ?"I don't care," Mai snapped, her eyes suddenly bright with a desperate, feverish light. "I want to be hungry for food, not for air! I want to feel the sun, even if it’s a red one. If we stay here, we're just ghosts waiting for the wind to blow us away."

  ?She stood up and walked to him, placing her hands on his armored chest. "I love you, Leo. And because I love you, I won't let us die in this grey tomb. We go to the ship. We find this new world."

  ?Leo looked into her eyes. He saw the reflection of the dying fire and the shadow of the man she used to be. He knew, deep down, that the "Hard Story" never rewarded hope. But he also knew he couldn't deny her the right to try and live.

  ?"Pack what’s left," Leo said, his voice heavy with a grim finality. "We walk toward the salt-flats at dawn. But Mai... if we get there and the ship looks like a cage... we turn back."

  ?"It won't be a cage," she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. "It’s a door."

  The trek to the salt-flats was a descent into the lowest common denominator of human existence. In the Spires, Julian had "refined" the world into a cold, mechanical order. Now, in the aftermath of the Zero Protocol, the world was reverting to a state of primal, starving chaos.

  ?The "road" was nothing more than a winding path through the skeletal remains of a collapsed industrial district. The yellow fog hung low, clinging to the black mud like a shroud.

  ?On the third day of their walk, Leo and Mai rounded the base of a rusted cooling tower. The silence was broken by a sound that was becoming far too common: the wet, frantic slapping of hands in mud and the high-pitched snarls of humans who had forgotten how to speak.

  ?A group of seven survivors was huddled in a tight circle around a puddle of oily water and a single, overturned supply crate that had fallen from a Spire-drone months ago.

  ?"It's mine! I saw the glint first!" a woman shrieked. Her hair was gone, replaced by a scalp covered in grey sores. She was clawing at the eyes of a man twice her size.

  ?The man didn't pull away. He bit down on her forearm, his teeth sinking into the sallow flesh until a spray of thin, dark blood hit the mud. He wasn't fighting for gold or pneuma. He was fighting for a dented tin of "Grade-D" protein mash—a substance that looked like grey clay and smelled of ammonia.

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  ?Leo stopped, his hand tightening on the hilt of his broken blade. Mai huddled behind him, her eyes wide as she watched the woman get slammed into the muck.

  ?"Keep walking, Leo," Mai whispered, her voice trembling. "We can't... we don't have enough for them."

  ?One of the scavengers, a man whose ribs looked like they were trying to burst through his translucent skin, looked up and saw Leo’s armor—the charcoal-smeared plates that still hinted at a Knight’s strength.

  ?"Look at the Iron-Man," the scavenger wheezed, spit trailing from his chin. "He’s got meat on his bones. He’s been eating... hasn't he? He’s been hoarding the Spark-light."

  ?The circle broke. The fight over the tin was forgotten as seven pairs of hollow, predatory eyes fixed on Leo and Mai.

  ?"We have nothing," Leo said, his voice a low, warning growl. "We’re walking to the ship, just like you."

  ?"The ship?" the woman laughed, wiping blood from her mouth with a blackened hand. "The ship only takes the strong! The sailors... they watch the trail. They want to see who survives the walk. They want the ones who know how to take what they need."

  ?She pointed a jagged fingernail at Mai. "Give us her cloak. And the glass she’s hiding. Maybe we let you pass. Maybe we don't eat your fingers for breakfast."

  ?Leo felt the White Spark in his chest flare. It was a hot, sick sensation. Part of him wanted to draw his blade and end their misery—to provide a "Mercy Suture" to these broken things. But the "Hard Story" had taught him that every drop of energy spent was a second taken from Mai’s life.

  ?"No," Leo said.

  ?The man with the bitten arm lunged. He didn't have a sword; he had a piece of sharpened rebar. He swung with the desperate, clumsy strength of the dying.

  ?Leo didn't use his blade. He stepped inside the man's reach and delivered a brutal, armored kick to the man’s knee. The sound of shattering bone was loud in the still air. The man collapsed into the mud, howling.

  ?"Leo, let's go!" Mai pulled at his arm.

  ?As they hurried past the group, the other scavengers didn't chase them. Instead, they swarmed over their fallen comrade—the man with the broken knee. They weren't checking his pulse. They were checking his pockets, and one of them was already eyeing the soft meat of his throat.

  ?They walked in silence for another mile before Mai spoke.

  ?"They were going to kill him," she said, her voice flat. "The man you tripped. His own people... they're going to eat him, aren't they?"

  ?Leo didn't look back. He could feel the weight of the Spark, a burden that felt heavier with every atrocity he witnessed.

  ?"In this world, Mai, there are no 'people' anymore," Leo said. "There is only the Hunter and the Meat. That ship... if it’s real... it’s not taking survivors. It’s taking the winners of a slaughter."

  ?He looked at her, his expression grim. "Rin loved me because I was a protector. But on this road... I don't know if a protector can survive. I might have to become what they are just to get you to that shore."

  The white salt-flats stretched out like a sea of crushed bone, reflecting the jaundiced light of the sky. The hum of the engine was louder now—a deep, rhythmic throb that felt like the heartbeat of a dying god.

  ?But as Leo and Mai moved across the blinding expanse, the fog didn't just thin; it parted to reveal a line of black figures silhouetted against the white.

  ?They weren't survivors. They were the Press-Gang of the Iron Gull. There were five of them, dressed in heavy, grease-slicked leathers and wearing masks made of stitched-together hide and brass filters. They carried "Compliance Hooks"—long poles tipped with jagged, curved steel—and heavy, pneuma-driven harpoon guns.

  ?"Look at this," the lead sailor rasped, his voice distorted by the brass filter. He was a mountain of a man, his arms covered in tattoos of weeping eyes. "A Knight in the salt. Still wearing the tin suit."

  ?The sailors fanned out, circling Leo and Mai with a practiced, predatory grace. They didn't look hungry like the scavengers; they looked well-fed, which in this world was its own kind of horror.

  ?Leo shifted his stance, his boots crunching on the salt. He kept Mai behind his left shoulder, his hand hovering over the hilt of his broken obsidian blade.

  ?"We’re here for the ship," Leo said, his voice grating like stone on stone. "We heard there was a passage."

  ?The lead sailor laughed, a wet, metallic sound. "Passage? You think this is a ferry, Iron-Man? The Iron Gull is a harvester. We don't take 'passengers.' We take Inventory."

  ?He pointed his hook at Mai. "She looks intact. No rot. No missing limbs. The Master likes the clean ones for the 'Long-Haul.' And you..." He looked at Leo's charcoal-smeared armor. "You've got a frame. You’ll last a month in the Engine-Guts before the heat melts your lungs."

  ?"We aren't your slaves," Mai spat, her hand gripping the glass shard in her belt.

  ?"Slaves?" the sailor mused, tilting his masked head. "No. Slaves have a choice to survive. You’re just Fuel. The New Continent is a hungry mouth, little bird. It needs meat to build the docks. It needs blood to grease the gears."

  ?One of the sailors, a shorter man with a limp, stepped forward and leveled a harpoon gun at Leo’s chest. The canister on the side of the weapon hissed with pressurized violet gas—leftover pneuma from the Sinks.

  ?"Drop the blade, Knight," the leader commanded. "If you fight, we hook your hamstrings and drag you to the hold. If you walk, you get a ration of 'Silt-Wine' and a spot near the vents. Choose the easy way."

  ?Leo looked at the harpoon, then at the four other hooks closing in. He felt the White Spark throb in his chest—Rin’s memory of his love for her flickered in his mind, a reminder of the protector he used to be. If he fought here, they might kill Mai just to spite him. If he surrendered, they were both entering a cage.

  ?"Leo..." Mai whispered, her breath hot against his neck. "The harpoon... it’s pointed at your heart."

  ?"I see it," Leo muttered.

  ?The lead sailor stepped closer, the smell of burnt oil and old sweat wafting from his leathers. He reached out with a gloved hand to grab Mai’s chin. "Let's see the teeth. The Man-Beasts across the water pay extra for a girl who can still scream."

  ?Leo’s obsidian blade cleared the scabbard by an inch. The sound of the metal sliding against the sheath was like a snarl.

  ?"Touch her," Leo hissed, his eyes glowing with a faint, dangerous violet light, "and I will show you exactly how much 'Fuel' is left in this armor."

  ?The sailor paused, his hand hovering mid-air. He looked at the blade, then at the raw power radiating from Leo’s chest. A tense, suffocating silence fell over the salt-flats. The engine hum of the Iron Gull seemed to vibrate in their very bones.

  ?"You’ve got spirit," the sailor whispered, pulling his hand back slowly. "Good. Spirit makes the meat last longer. But remember, Iron-Man... once you’re in the belly of the Gull, there are no Knights. There is only the Master, and the hunger of the Red Shore."