Surface Trial

CHAPTER 8

Camryn's POV

Two days after Mrs. Harriet marked me, I killed my first anomaly.

It happened in Sector 9, an industrial area that manufactured textiles before the anomaly surge. Now it was just rows of abandoned factories with broken windows and machinery that had rusted into unrecognizable shapes.

Amon took me out alone, said I needed to learn how to handle a hunt without relying on a group. Claire and James were deployed elsewhere. The two of us were walking through fog so thick I could barely see five feet ahead.

"Remember what I taught you," Amon said quietly. "Stay alert. Listen for sounds that don't belong. And when you see it, don't hesitate."

"What if I freeze?"

"Then it has the upper hand to attack you, and you die." He said it simply, like he was telling me about the weather. "But you won't freeze. You survived the church. You know what's at stake."

We had not talked for long when we found the anomaly in one of the factory buildings, near what used to be a loading dock. At first, I thought it was just a pile of old fabric, but then it moved.

The thing unfurled itself slowly, revealing a body made entirely of stitched-together cloth and leather. Its face was a patchwork of different materials… burlap, silk, and denim, all sewn together in a grotesque mockery of human features. When it opened its mouth, I saw needle-sharp teeth made from actual sewing needles.

"Seamstress," Amon whispered. "Class D feeds on anything organic it can catch and incorporates it into its body. See those patches on its chest?"

I looked closer and immediately wished I hadn't. Those weren't just random pieces of fabric. They were skin. Human skin, stitched into the creature's torso like trophies.

"How do I kill it?" My voice was steadier than I felt.

"Fire works best, but we don't have any. So you'll need to destroy the core." He pointed to the creature's chest, where something glowed faintly beneath the layers of stitched material. "That's what keeps it alive. Cut through the material, pierce the core, and it dies."

"You're not going to help?"

"This is your kill, Camryn. You need to do this yourself." He stepped back into the shadows. "I'll only intervene if I need to."

“You can do this,” Amon said with a pat to my back.

The Seamstress noticed me then. Its head swiveled with a sound like tearing fabric, and those button eyes focused on my face. It smiled, and the needles started glinting in the dim light. Then, it took a step forward.

I pulled out the knife Amon had given me. It was a standard hunting blade, but it was very sharp.

The creature lunged.

I dodged left, barely avoiding its hands reaching for me. Up close, I could smell old cloth and mothballs mixed with something rotten underneath. It grabbed for me again, and this time its fingers caught my sleeve.

The fabric of my jacket started to unravel; the threads pulled loose and wove themselves into the creature's arm. It was trying to absorb my clothes. And if it got to my skin...

I slashed at it with the knife, cutting through its wrist. The hand fell away, still clutching my sleeve, and the Seamstress shrieked. The sound was so loud it felt like it tore through my skin. 

It came at me faster now, angry. I backed up, trying to keep distance between us, but my heel caught on something, and I went down hard.

The Seamstress was on me instantly, its weight pressing down, those needle teeth descending toward my throat. I could see my reflection in the button eyes. I looked so terrified because I knew I was about to die.

Not again. I wasn't dying again.

I drove the knife upward, aiming for where Amon had pointed. The blade punched through layers of stitched material, meeting resistance, but I kept pushing. My hand hit something hard beneath the fabric, the core, and I twisted the knife.

The monster convulsed. Its body started to fall apart, its threads started unraveling, and pieces of cloth and leather dropped away like dead leaves; then the glow in its chest sputtered and died.

The Seamstress collapsed into a pile of fabric scraps. I lay there for a moment, breathing hard and staring at the remains. My wrist burned, and then I looked down. The tattoo was glowing brighter than usual.

STAGE: I KILLS: 1/20 CREDITS: 25/1,500

My first kill. Twenty-five credits. One down, nineteen to go.

"Good," Amon said, emerging from the shadows. He offered his hand and pulled me up. "You hesitated at first, but then you acted. That's what counts."

"I thought I was going to die."

"You probably were. That's why you fought harder." He looked at the pile of fabric scraps. "The fear doesn't go away, Camryn. You just have to learn to use it."

***

Over the next three weeks, I learned he was right.

The fear was always there, sitting in my gut every time we deployed to the surface. But I learned to channel it, to let it sharpen my reflexes instead of paralyzing me.

My second kill was a Whisper—an anomaly that mainly existed as sound, trying to lure you into dark spaces where it could solidify and feed on you. I tracked it to an old subway tunnel and drove my knife through the frequency generator it used as a physical anchor.

My third was a Creeper, something that moved through walls and ceilings. Claire helped me with that one, distracting it while I came from behind.

By my tenth kill, I had started to find a rhythm. Deploy at dusk. Hunt through the night. Return before dawn with new kills logged and credits earned. Sleep for a few hours. Train with Amon. Study Lenorian from Camryn's journals. Repeat.

The numbers on my wrist climbed slowly but steadily.

STAGE: I KILLS: 10/20 CREDITS: 250/1,500

It was after my eleventh kill that everything changed.

We were in Sector 4, hunting a Shade that had been spotted in the former residential area. I'd cornered it in what used to be a department store, fought it through aisles of decaying clothes and broken mannequins, and finally brought it down when it tried to slip into a shadow I'd been watching.

The kill was clean; I had started to get a hang of the system's flow.

KILLS: 11/20 CREDITS: 275/1,500

But when I emerged from the building with my team, someone was waiting outside.

She was older, maybe forty, with dark hair streaked with silver and clothes that were far too clean for someone from the camps. Everything about her screamed money and power… from her tailored jacket to the way she stood like she owned the entire sector.

"Camryn Chavez?" she asked.

I tensed. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Helena Rosetti. I represent House Green." She smiled. "Your performance has been noticed. We would like to make you an offer."