The journalist Quinn Adler remained inside the safe zone, her mind racing with everything she had uncovered. She had the full picture now. The entire Pink Dust drug trade, from production to distribution, was centered here, within the stronghold of the Little Finger Cartel.
Earlier, when most of the enforcers had left the compound, she took her chance. The previously heavily guarded building now had fewer eyes on it. She slipped inside, careful, silent, documenting everything she saw.
And what she found was shocking.
They were producing Pink Dust inside.
But something was off. This wasn't pure Pink Dust. They were mixing something else into it, a white powder. A substance that existed long before the apocalypse. A known drug, altered to combine with the fragments of the meteor. That was why Pink Dust had such unpredictable effects. That was why it was so addicting.
Quinn clutched the footage tightly, her heart pounding like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest. This was it. This was her moment.
"I did it. I actually got it," she whispered to herself, eyes wide. "No more side segments or weather fill-ins. This is real. This is big."
She knew she'd never outshine Elaine Myre, the polished voice and perfect smile of the meteor disaster, the media's darling. But that didn't matter. Not anymore.
"Let her have the headlines. I'll take the truth."
A major exposé. The cartel. Their operations. The real power behind the drug trade and the lies keeping it alive.
"They're not ready for this. No one is."
She swallowed hard, adrenaline spiking. She had everything she needed. Now she just had to survive long enough to release it.
She was ready to leave.
Then, she heard it.
A deep rumbling, the sound of an engine roaring at full speed from underground.
She turned toward the sealed Metro tunnel entrance, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make sense of the sound. Then she saw it.
Lights. Headlights.
A pickup truck shot out of the tunnel like a beast escaping hell. It slammed onto the pavement, tires screeching as it skidded across the street, smashing through crates and sending enforcers diving for cover. The driver was slumped over the wheel, completely unconscious.
Quinn stood frozen as the back doors burst open and chaos erupted.
"Move. Get him to the Pink Fog. Now!"
A man in the truck bed shouted, his voice sharp with panic, as others rushed to pull the driver out, a massive man, practically dead weight.
Quinn's pulse jumped. She had finished her investigation, but this? This was something else entirely.
Without thinking, she followed.
On the way to the Pink Fog, Bob didn't move. Not a twitch.
They carried him in silence, his massive frame heavy on their shoulders. The wound from the Hollow Requiem wasn't bleeding like a normal cut. It pulsed slow and strange, spreading a dark shimmer beneath his skin. It wasn't healing. It was consuming him.
"He's getting colder," Gabe muttered. "We're losing him."
"We're almost there," Iris said, her voice steady. "The medics need the Fog to activate their Glints. They can't operate without it."
"If Bob transforms once we're inside," Sly added, "his regeneration might hold things together."
"It's all we've got," Iris replied.
The edge of the Pink Fog loomed ahead. None of them hesitated. They stepped in, still carrying Bob.
The moment his body touched the Fog, it responded.
His chest jerked. Muscles tensed. A low sound escaped his throat as his skin began to shift. Veins lit up, glowing faintly. His body expanded, skin turning grey as it thickened and solidified. Within seconds, the Goliath form emerged, fully activated.
He hadn't moved on his own. The Fog had done it for him.
Gabe exhaled. "Still gives me chills how fast it happens."
"He doesn't even need to be awake," Sly said quietly.
Iris knelt beside him, eyes fixed on his chest. His breathing had changed. Slower now. Stronger.
But that was the problem.
Dr. Cal and his medical team were still in human form. They stood just outside the Fog, breathing heavily, waiting. Until their Glints activated, they couldn't touch Bob. Couldn't treat him. Couldn't even try.
Seconds dragged.
Bob's body lay still, even in his Goliath form. The wound continued to pulse, that dark shimmer crawling farther across his chest. It felt like watching time run out.
"We can't go in yet," one of the medics said, voice tight. "We're not ready."
Iris clenched her fists. "How long?"
"Few minutes. Maybe more."
Gabe didn't speak. He just stared at Bob, jaw locked, as if sheer will could hold him together.
Then, a voice broke through the silence.
"What's happening to him?"
They turned.
A woman stood at the edge of the Fog, just outside the reach of the mist. Her eyes were locked on Bob's massive form. She didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
She stepped closer to the edge.
And raised her camera.
Bob remained unconscious, but something was happening. Something no one expected.
The wound that should have been fatal… was healing.
Not instantly. Not cleanly. But slowly, deliberately.
The torn flesh pulsed, resisting at first. The cursed energy left by the Hollow Requiem fought back, a dark shimmer crawling across the skin as if trying to hold on. But Bob's body refused. His regeneration pushed harder, layer by layer, forcing the damage to reverse. The corruption recoiled. The healing continued.
Muscle knit. Skin thickened. The darkness began to fade.
The Traveling Medics stood frozen.
Dr. Cal stepped forward slowly, his eyes wide. "That… that shouldn't be happening."
No one said a word. They just watched, breath held, as the last of the wound sealed itself shut.
Minutes passed before Bob stirred.
He groaned softly, head shifting, eyes fluttering open. The world came back to him in fragments. The lights were too bright. Shapes hovered over him.
Gabe leaned in, relief etched into his face. Sly gave a tired smirk. Iris stood with her arms crossed, watching in silence.
Bob squinted, still dazed. "Am I dead?"
Gabe exhaled. "Unfortunately, no."
Sly snorted. "If you were, I'd be looting your stuff right now."
Bob let out a low groan. "Missed opportunity."
Bob sat calmly on a broken step near the Fog's edge, arms resting on his knees. The wound on his side was gone. No scar. No trace. Just smooth grey skin where the cursed gash had been.
A few steps away, the medics worked on Sly.
He sat on a crate, left sleeve rolled up, arm stretched out as Dr. Cal applied a glowing gel just above his elbow. The scratch pulsed faintly, tainted with lingering curse energy.
Sly winced. "Feels like acid."
"It's part of my Glint," Cal said. "Cecaelia. The gel pulls out foreign energy."
Victor Reiss stood nearby, arms crossed. "Could've used my numbing venom first. Didn't think a scratch would need it."
"Neither did I," Sly muttered.
Lynn Aster scanned Sly's vitals while Avery Salis placed a hand on his shoulder.
"He's holding tension," Avery said. "Body's resisting the treatment."
"Because it hurts," Sly replied flatly.
Harlan Kade stayed close, fingers twitching, ready if things got worse. "Say the word and I cut it out."
"I'm good," Sly said quickly.
The medics glanced toward Bob.
"He healed from that?" Victor said quietly. "That wasn't just regeneration. It pushed the curse out."
Cal shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it."
Gabe folded his arms. "That's Bob."
Bob gave a lazy smile. "Want me to fix yours too?"
Sly scoffed. "Touch me and I'll knock you out again."
Bob laughed. "You say that like you could."
Iris watched silently. Her gaze stayed on Bob, thoughtful and steady.
No one said it out loud, but they all knew.
What happened to Bob wasn't normal.
And it was only getting harder to ignore.
Bob was getting bored as the medics continued patching up Sly. He shifted on the step, looking around until his eyes landed on a figure standing near the edge of the safe zone.
A woman. Watching them closely.
"Who... are you?" he asked, squinting.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "I'm Quinn Adler. Journalist."
Bob blinked, then rubbed the back of his head. "What are you doing here? Wait... where even is here?"
Quinn's expression changed. She looked surprised at first, then serious.
"You don't know?" she said slowly.
She glanced around, her eyes scanning the streets like she had just remembered something important. Her face hardened.
"You need to get out of here. All of you. Now."
Gabe frowned. "What? Why?"
Quinn let out a sharp breath. "This isn't just any safe zone. This place belongs to the Little Finger Cartel."
Everyone froze.
They had just fought those people. Barely escaped.
"The main force left earlier and hasn't returned yet," Quinn continued. "You still have time to get out before they come back. Don't get involved. You don't know how deep this goes."
Bob rubbed his chin, eyes drifting across the ruined buildings and wandering enforcers.
Gabe glanced at him and sighed. "Oh no. He's getting that look again."
Bob smirked. "I'm thinking… maybe we don't leave."
Sly groaned. "Of course you are."
Bob stood, cracking his knuckles. "I think it's time we surprise them instead."
The air was still tense as the crew stepped out of the Pink Fog together, their eyes forward, heading straight into enemy ground.