Several hours had passed since the Horizon Talon had left the ghost fleet behind. The fog that had clung to the coastline all morning had finally broken apart under a shifting southern wind. In its place came the rain, cold and steady, falling in long sheets that blurred the horizon and turned every surface slick.

  The ship’s battered hull pushed through gray water filled with floating wreckage. Driftwood, shattered fiberglass, coils of plastic netting, and a half-submerged rowboat bobbed in the current. It looked like something had chewed its way through the hull. The smell didn’t lift. Salt hung in the air with ash and smoke, mixing into a damp rot that clung to everything and refused to leave.

  Kade stood at the helm rail beside Captain Voss and Lieutenant Lawson. Her uniform was bone-dry. Unlike her companions, not a drop of water clung to the fabric. Water beaded near her boots and ran off in neat rivulets that never touched her skin. Elias noticed. She caught the glance out of the corner of her eye, that sideways flick followed by a slow blink. He didn’t say anything. Just gave her that look people got when they noticed something strange and decided not to ask.

  Her gaze never left the harbor, or what was left of it. If you could still call it a city. Most of Portland looked like it had been shelled from the inside. Concrete high-rises stood like broken teeth along the shore, their facades scorched or ripped clean off. Entire blocks had collapsed into themselves, roofs sheared away, leaving twisted rebar and blackened timber reaching out like the fingers of a drowning man.

  “Well,” she said, voice flat, “nice to see urban renewal’s still a priority.”

  “Place was already falling apart before the cataclysm,” Elias said. “The difference is now it looks honest.”

  Voss gave a small nod but said nothing. He hadn't spoken in ten minutes, just stood there watching the harbor like it might try something.

  “Those stains in the water,” Lawson muttered, squinting at the starboard side, “those natural?”

  Kade followed her gaze. Swirls of slick, iridescent film floated between broken piers, clinging to the hull like algae with a grudge. Some of it pulsed faintly. Slowly.

  “Nothing natural about anything we’ve seen since Boston,” Kade said.

  Boston had been a graveyard. No lights. No signals. No sign of life anywhere in the sprawl. The harbor district was nothing but scorched concrete and collapsed steel, entire buildings reduced to rubble that spilled into the bay. Fires still burned deep in the wreckage, slow and stubborn. The only movement came from the monsters, drifting between broken windows and crawling through flooded streets. No one on the Talon had said a word about going ashore. No one needed to.

  Portland still had some structure. From a distance, it almost looked like a city holding itself together. But the closer they came, the worse it looked. Some buildings stood, others leaned or had collapsed entirely, and there was nothing moving for anything to feel alive. Whatever had happened here hadn’t leveled the place. It had broken it open and left it bleeding.

  Elias didn’t move. “It’s worse here. Was always going to be.”

  “Because of the damage? Trust me, the damage practically leveled Boston," Kade said.

  “No. Because of the people.”

  She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. The Talon drifted past a half-sunken ferry, its upper deck crushed flat beneath a twisted crane arm. A pair of gulls perched on the railing, watching them pass. Silent.

  “You want to tell us what we’re looking at?” Voss asked, finally breaking his silence. It wasn't a demand, but an invitation.

  Elias shifted slightly, finally speaking to the ship, not the ghosts.

  “The harbor boiled like a pot of water left on the stove too long. That’s how it started. Not a wave, not an explosion. Just… boiled. Like something underneath decided it was done waiting.” He pointed toward the marina, now just a tangle of scorched slips and broken hulls. “Monsters came up from the deep. Not just the ocean into the harbor. From below. Tunnels, maybe. Faults. Doesn’t matter. They were fast. Strong. We didn’t have names for half of them. Some kind of fish person.”

  Kade glanced over at him, watching the way his shoulders had stiffened.

  “You were here for it?”

  Elias nodded. “Watched the docks go up in flames. Watched my crew pulled under the wharf. Didn’t see the sun for two days after that.”

  He went quiet. Rain ticked off the wheel housing.

  “Everyone here fought for themselves,” Elias said. “Didn’t matter who got trampled, as long as you made it through. We lost as many people to backstabbing as we did the monsters.”

  That landed like an anchor on the deck. No one spoke for a long moment.

  "If Boston was the oven, this sounds like the damn blender," Lawson said, breaking the silence.

  Kade scratched at the edge of her sleeve, eyes still on the wreckage. Her voice came dry.

  “Guess that explains the welcome mat.”

  The lookout’s shout cut through the morning haze.

  “Flags ahead!”

  Kade stepped closer to the rail with Elias right behind, her coat snapping faintly in the rising wind. Ahead, the mouth of Portland’s harbor yawned wide and gray, framed by jagged ruins and rusting wrecks. But what drew the eye were the banners, two of them, fluttering from opposite ends of the bay.

  The first flag hung from a makeshift pole fashioned from scavenged piping, bound together with rope and lengths of rebar, and anchored in a pile of sandbags and broken concrete. The crimson cloth, faded from sun and salt, carried the mark of an anchor with crossed wrenches. It matched the patch sewn onto Elias’s jacket, the same symbol he had worn since they pulled him off that half-sunk trawler. That was the Tidebound Front’s banner.

  The second flag flew farther inland, barely visible beyond the broken line of what had once been a waterfront boulevard. Kade narrowed her eyes. The world pulled closer, sharpened by the quiet magic behind her eyepatch. The flag snapped into clarity. A blue field held a golden circle with a shield at its center, and beneath it, a stitched banner read RESURGAM.

  “Resurgam?" Kade said.

  “My Latin is rusty, but 'we shall rise again'?” Bishop replied.

  "Not sure how you can see that from here, but yes. It was the official motto of Portland's government before the end of the world." Elias said.

  Between the two strongholds, scattered along the ruins like breadcrumbs, Kade spotted a handful of smaller flags. Red and blue, planted in the rubble where buildings used to stand. Probably territory markers. Maybe lines in the sand no one wanted to cross too openly.

  "I'm seeing quite a few red and blue markers in the ruins, territory markers of some kind?" Kade asked.

  Elias nodded. “More or less. Tidebound Front owns the docks. Restoration Council holds what’s left of downtown.”

  “And both of them aiming their cannons out to sea.” She squinted at the bulking outlines of gun emplacements, half-built towers, and jury-rigged walls made of shipping containers and broken hulls. “How friendly."

  “Those cannons aren’t just for show,” Elias said, his tone casual but tight. “Neither side agrees on much, but they both know what comes out of that bay sometimes. Monsters don’t care whose flag’s flying.”

  Kade followed his gaze past the docks to the second fortification. Where the Tidebound Front had stacked scrap and sealed seams with tar and desperation, the Council’s position rose with sharper lines and deliberate angles. Concrete blocks formed proper firing positions, and the towers looked like they had been anchored with actual planning in mind. The whole layout almost resembled a star fort, with angled walls designed to deflect incoming fire and eliminate blind spots. Whoever had drawn up the plans hadn’t been standing on a rooftop with a beer and a marker like the crew down at the docks probably had.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Captain Voss joined them, arms folded behind his back. “And the third faction?”

  Elias thumbed toward the city’s hazy skyline. “Further inland. You won’t see their compound from here. They’ve got people posted in both camps, though. Trying to broker something that’ll pass for a government. So far, no one’s stabbed each other. Out in the open anyway.”

  “That’s a start,” Kade said.

  They passed a schooner tied to the southernmost dock, smaller than the Talon but well-maintained. Its mast flew the same red anchor-and-wrench banner. Dockworkers moved in an organized fashion unloading crates, checking lines, standing guard with weapons that looked half salvaged, half standard issue. Every one of them glanced toward the Talon.

  One figure stood out on the docks, a signaler in a patched yellow vest, moving a pair of flags with snapping motions. They looked to be acting as harbor control, guiding the Talon alone toward an open slip with the kind of authority that suggested no one argued with their signals.

  Just behind them stood a security detail of a dozen people, arranged in a loose but intentional formation. Their gear was mismatched and worn, a mix of leather, canvas, and salvaged plating. Most carried melee weapons or improvised tools, everything from hatchets to rebar hooks. They weren’t posturing. Just watching.

  “They're guiding us in,” Bishop said. "Helm, follow that signaler into the slip."

  The main deck hatch clanged open, and Lawson emerged from below. He took one look at the number of armed figures waiting for them ashore, then raised his voice without hesitation.

  “Marines to the rails!”

  “Belay that,” Voss called. “Get everyone armed and ready, but keep them out of sight. We’re not here to rattle cages.”

  “Non-threatening posture. Ready to gut anyone who makes a mistake.” Kade added.

  “That’s the one.”

  The Talon cut slowly through the channel, every eye on deck watching the dockworks, the towers, the angles of gun barrels. Ahead, the slip the signaler had chosen was flanked by blast walls made from overturned buses and layered cargo containers. A crew of dockhands waited there, armed but not immediately hostile.

  Kade let her attention drift across the bay for a moment. The far side of the city stretched out in broken silence beyond the disputed harbor, a gutted sprawl of collapsed buildings and waterlogged streets. There were no fortifications. No flags. Just ruin.

  She focused the magic behind her eyepatch to sharpening the distance. Fires still smoldered in the wreckage, sending thin trails of smoke through cracked windows and hollow frames. Near what looked like the remains of an old seafood market, three rodentia prowled through the rubble. They were wiry creatures with greasy fur and rust-colored armor. A block over, six brine stalkers moved between broken columns.

  One didn’t need a tactical readout to understand what was coming as soon as those two groups encountered each other. Those two species didn’t share turf. They didn’t even tolerate the same air without violence.

  Kade’s mouth tightened as the memory surfaced. She’d seen this play out before, back in Newport, when her unit stormed a rodentia stronghold already under siege. Even surrounded and outgunned, the rats hadn’t broken. They fought like cornered beasts, desperate and relentless, right up until the brine stalkers came crashing through their flank. What followed hadn’t been strategy. It had been something deeper, something vicious.

  That wasn’t rivalry. That was hatred etched into whatever passed for their instincts.

  Kade brought her attention back from the far shore as the Talon began its final approach to the dock. The distant ruins and prowling monsters faded into the background, replaced by the creak of the hull and the sound of activity on deck. The ship drifted closer to the dock, its pace slow and deliberate as the tide rocked beneath. Onshore, the signaler raised both flags high in a last command, then dropped them in a sharp, fluid motion. Ropes were thrown from the deck and caught without hesitation by the dock crew below, the entire exchange swift and without conversation. Ropes went taut. The Talon eased into its slip.

  Rain pattered steadily on the deck as Kade followed Voss and Elias down from the helm. A moment later, the gangway swung down into place with a solid thud against the planks, the sound echoing like the close of a chapter none of them had started yet. Below, the dock crew stood ready but held their position, all eyes on the vessel that had just arrived.

  Lawson fell in beside them at the top of the gangplank. He adjusted the strap across his chest, settling the pike pole against his back with the kind of efficiency that didn’t draw attention. Kade didn’t need him to speak. She could read it in the way his eyes moved, tracking the dockside detail, already measuring threat and terrain like he was back in a war game. He didn’t reach for the ka-bar at his hip. He didn’t need to. Diplomacy was the first choice of any situation, but if things turned, she knew Lawson would be prepared to unleash violence if it came to that.

  A figure approached the edge of the dock, broad-shouldered and weathered, with a tool belt that had clearly seen more action than comfort. A faded trucker cap sat low over his brow, its logo long since worn to nothing. Rain slicked his shoulders, but he didn’t flinch from it. A chipped steel pry bar hung from a loop at his side, the kind used to pop cargo hatches or settle disputes that got out of hand. It wasn’t drawn. Just there.

  Captain Voss stepped forward slightly and called down from the top of the gangplank, his voice clear over the rain.

  “Captain Voss of the SMC Horizon Talon, requesting permission to make port.”

  The dockmaster didn’t answer right away. He let the moment stretch just long enough to send a message. This was his dock. Military vessel or not, permission didn’t come automatic. Kade caught the beat for what it was. A quiet reminder of who controlled the shoreline.

  “Permission granted. You’re clear to come ashore.”

  Voss didn’t rise to the pause or acknowledge it in any visible way. He turned without a word and started down the gangplank, Elias falling in beside him. Kade and Lawson followed, boots striking the slick boards in steady rhythm. At the top of the gangway, Bishop stood near the port rail, silent and watchful, eyes fixed on the dock.

  “Lieutenant Bishop, you have the ship,” Voss said.

  “Aye, Captain. I have the ship.” Bishop replied.

  Kade was the first to step off the gangplank and onto the dock. The wood beneath her boot was damp and slick, swollen from the rain, but solid. There was a quiet finality to the contact, like crossing a threshold that couldn’t be undone. Behind her, the Talon shifted slightly in the tide, lines groaning against the moorings. A Simulation notification immediately greeted her upon her boot touching the dock.

  Portland Harbor Safe Zone

  Greetings Players! You have entered the location of a potential Safe Zone. Safe Zones are designated areas where hostile entities will not spawn within the defined boundaries. While these zones offer a significant reduction in random monster activity, they are not immune to threat. Regional or world events may still target them directly. Certain system interfaces, including the Data Forge, are only accessible within properly established and stabilized Safe Zones.

  This Safe Zone status is currently contested. Three claimants are engaged in efforts to secure administrative control. Multiple tasks remain unresolved. Individuals seeking to assist should contact the involved parties directly for assignment details.

  Kade read the notification and let it settle. This was the first safe zone she had seen. Contested or not, the designation mattered. The Simulation had flagged this place as something worth defending. Not just because it was a place that offered a measure of Simulation imposed safety. But because it could be.

  It was not some new system struggling to get on its feet. This was older than any of them understood, and for the first time in a long while, it was running the way it was supposed to. What people used to call normal life, with offices and suburbs and grocery lines, had never been the intended version of the world. That had been the error.

  This was the correction.

  Scattered pockets of civilization, each one clinging to the edge while the rest of the world remained wild and unclaimed. There was risk out there. But there was opportunity too in the form of exploration, adventure, and rewards. For anyone willing to bleed for it, the Simulation did not place limits.

  “What’s your business in Portland?” the dockmaster called out, breaking Kade from her internal thoughts.

  “Looking for repairs,” Voss replied, “and whatever passes for information these days. The world’s gone to hell. We’re trying not to go with it.”

  “That’ll be twenty gold a day to tie up here,” the dockmaster said. “You’ll need to talk to the Harbor Master if you want anyone to lay hands on your hull."

  Voss reached into his coat, withdrew two heavy coins, and dropped them into the dockmaster’s waiting hand.

  “We'll start with two days. Once we talk to the engineers about our repairs, we'll talk about what looks like.”

  The dockmaster gave a quick grunt of acknowledgment as he pocketed the coins and made some notes on the clipboard he was holding, then glanced over Voss’s shoulder at Elias.

  “You alright, Elias?”

  “Ran into some trouble on the last salvage run for the Council. Everyone else is gone. Boat didn’t make it. These folks were kind enough to extract me from the situation before I joined the rest of the team.” Elias said.

  “You’ll need to report that to the Harbor Master.”

  “I will,” Elias said. “Soon as I get clear of the rain.”

  He turned to Voss and offered a firm shake of the hand.

  “Appreciate the rescue, Captain. If it’s alright, I’ll be disembarking here.”

  “You’re welcome,” Voss said. “Stay out of trouble.”

  Elias turned to Kade, lingering for a second longer.

  “If you’re still around later, I’d love to catch up. The Cargo Hold bar is still standing, far as I know. It’s not fancy, but the beer’s wet and the rumors flow faster than the taps.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Kade said, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “But if the rumors involve me buying the first round, forget it.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” He gave a parting mock salute, then headed off down the dock.

  The dockmaster watched him go before turning back to Voss.

  “Harbor Master's office is two blocks north, third building on the left past the smoke stack with green scaffolding. Big steel door. You’ll hear the yelling before you see it. If your crew needs to come ashore, that’s fine, but this isn’t a brawl zone. If anyone starts a fight, we detain the offender, and your docking rights might disappear with them.”

  “Understood,” Voss said. “We’ll keep them tight.”

  “If you’re looking to resupply,” the dockmaster added, “talk to the Tidebound quartermaster. North end of the yard. They’re open to trade if you’ve got something worth offering. Gold works, but barter’s better.”

  Kade took in everything the dock master had told them and then glanced back toward the ship. The Talon loomed behind her, quiet and steady, its lines tight against the dock. The crew would be watching from the rails and the gun decks, waiting for the signal to move or hold. Portland had opened its gates just wide enough to let them in.

  Now came the hard part.

  The safe zone wasn’t secured. The Talon needed repairs. Supplies weren't dangerously low, but it was better to get supplies where they could for those times where there wouldn't be any place available. And somewhere in this half-burned city, someone might know what had become of the SMC.

  Kade squared her shoulders and looked toward the tangle of streets beyond the harbor.

  A feral cat darted across the wet planks, chased by a kid with mismatched boots and a slingshot.

  Time to start asking questions.

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  R.O. Carson