All Chapters of Dead Weight: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Marcus notices on the third day.Maya can't say how she knows. Knowing things without a trail is supposed to be her unsettling advantage, and she is not prepared for Marcus Webb to start competing in the category. He doesn't look at Eli differently. He doesn't look at her differently. He just stops looking away at the moments that would mean something, and turns the not-looking into a sentence.At breakfast, Eli slides her the repair ledger before she asks. Marcus clocks it and says nothing, and the nothing has elbows.She finds him by the south line, walking tomorrow's run with Miles. The route goes east through the industrial district, then hooks north to the medical warehouse Jin has been quietly desperate to reach since he learned Denise rations antibiotics like relics. Miles leaves the second she arrives. Miles can smell a complicated conversation and refuses to be collateral.Marcus stays at the map board, arms folded, expression neutral enough to b

By now, Maya has learned that government secrets have a smell.Dust. Plastic. Old toner. Filing cabinets that have survived regime change, budget cuts, and at least one administrator who thought “urgent” meant using red font.The apocalypse has improved very few things, but it has done wonders for access.Before, a room like this would have needed badges, clearance, maybe a retinal scanner with the personality of a nightclub bouncer.Now the door is hanging open.Progress.Maya stands in the records room beneath Building C and lets her flashlight move slowly across the damage. Most of the files are gone. Burned, shredded, scattered. Enough paper remains to prove someone once believed atrocities were more manageable if printed in triplicate.LUS pings softly in her head.Archival material detected.“No,” Maya says.Clarification required.“No hopeful tone. Last

Marcus does not dodge the word.“I was peripheral.”“Define peripheral.”“Logistics. I moved crates. People. Fuel. Signed manifests. I wasn’t science. I wasn’t on the oversight committee. I didn’t sit in the rooms where they decided what the world could survive.”“But you were in the chain.”“Yes.”No hesitation. That does more damage than an excuse would have.Maya watches him step past every available defense. I didn’t know. They lied. I was following orders. All the little doors a person opens when truth arrives with a knife.He leaves them closed.“There was a refrigerated unit,” he says. “I signed for it twice. I told myself it was vaccine.”“It wasn’t.”“No.”The word drops cleanly.“I found out what DECAY was the same week everyone else did,&rdq

Maya gives LUS the silent treatment for a day and a half.This is harder than it sounds, because the thing she is freezing out lives in her skull and has read access to her pulse. You cannot slam a door on a tenant who is also the walls.Still, she manages.She runs the base. She checks patrols. She send people out to hunt for supplies. She reviews the south gate repair schedule. LUS offers the morning threat assessment. Maya says nothing. LUS flags a weak point in the east fence. Maya fixes the fence and refuses, on principle, to say thank you.Petty? Yes.Effective? Emotionally, also yes.LUS is uncharacteristically patient about this. Somehow that is worse.By the second night, Maya is alone in operations with the door shut, the folder locked in the drawer, and forty-eight hours of withheld fury sitting behind her ribs like an unpaid contractor.She finishes the patrol rota. Sharpens her pencil. Straightens the map.T

Maya has watched these people for two months.Apparently, watching and seeing are different departments, and one of them has been taking an extended lunch break.Nothing about Marcus’s group has changed since the folder. They drill in the yard the same way. They eat in the same loose clusters. They take the same patrols, run the same routes, trade the same dry comments over weapons checks and coffee that has legally stopped being coffee.The data is identical.The labels are new.That is the part that itches. Once a thing has the correct heading, the whole spreadsheet reorganizes itself, and then you are standing there at nine in the morning realizing you have been sharing a base with a biologically engineered pack and calling it good unit discipline.Wonderful. Very professional.No notes.So she does what she does. She gets a coffee, finds a wall with clean sightlines, and runs an observation pass like a woman who absol