Migration Through the Gray Fog: At the End of the Sequence Lies the Uncanny

Gray mist, like congealed filthy blood, seeped into every inch of the rusted city's flesh.

Lin Chen leaned against half of a broken reinforced-concrete wall. The metallic tang of blood rose in his throat, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. A faint breath of rot slipped between his fingers. It wasn't his. It belonged to this city. Three days ago, the final “safe zone” alarm tore through the night sky, and the once-prosperous city of Shenhai became a forbidden zone. The “things” lurking in the shadows of office towers and deep in the sewers had finally stopped hiding their existence.

He looked down at his palm. A faint bloodstain was slowly healing, a minor effect of the Sequence 7: Scavenger potion he'd injected. He'd scavenged the potion from a cold corpse, its face still twisted in the attempt to swallow a second dose. Sequence potions weren't gifts. They were stakes in a gamble with death. Every advancement came with the risk of losing control, and the price of failure was becoming one of those “things.”