3 Sanctuary and Sacrifice

Dawn arrived, painting the alien cityscape in hues of bruised orange and sickly yellow. Brad lay sprawled on a rooftop, his muscles screaming in protest at the exertion of the previous night. The encounter with the obsidian creatures had been a harsh reminder of his vulnerability. He needed a proper base of operations, somewhere safe to rest, plan, and hopefully, find a way out of this mess.

The System's initial task echoed in his mind – locate shelter and a water source. He scanned the surrounding buildings, his gaze settling on a solitary structure that seemed less dilapidated than the others. It was a five-story building, its windows boarded shut but its skeletal frame still standing defiantly. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, the throbbing pain in his side a constant companion.

Reaching the building, he found a rusted fire escape clinging precariously to the side. The ascent was slow and agonizing, each step a testament to his battered body. Reaching the top floor, he surveyed the roof. It was relatively flat, offering a panoramic view of the city. But more importantly, there was a metal hatch welded shut in the center. Hope surged through him. Maybe this wasn't just another crumbling building.

With a grunt, he slammed his fist against the hatch. It didn't budge. He rained blows on it, frustration mounting. Just as he was about to give up, the System's voice echoed in his mind.

"Subject: Utilize available resources for leverage."

Brad scanned the rooftop, his eyes landing on a loose metal pipe. He ripped it free, its jagged edge offering a potential weapon. He wedged the pipe under the lip of the hatch and pushed down with all his might. The metal groaned in protest, then finally, with a deafening screech, the hatch popped open.

A wave of stale air rushed out, carrying with it the faint scent of dust and something… metallic? Ignoring the stench, Brad lowered himself through the opening, landing in a dark, cavernous space. He fumbled for his lighter, its faint click a beacon of hope in the darkness. A spark, a flicker, and the room was bathed in a dim yellow glow.

His jaw dropped. The room was a veritable treasure trove. Rows of metal shelves stretched along the walls, stacked with neatly labeled canisters and packages. Dehydrated food rations, protein bars, water purification tablets – it was like a post-apocalyptic supermarket untouched by time.

But that wasn't all. In the center of the room, a large workbench was cluttered with tools and strange, metallic contraptions. Spools of cable snaked across the floor, and half-finished projects lay scattered around. It was clear this room belonged to someone who valued practicality and ingenuity.

Further exploration revealed a small, functional bathroom with a working shower (a luxury he hadn't dared to dream of) and a cramped sleeping area stocked with blankets and surprisingly comfortable cushions. This was a haven, a sanctuary in the heart of this hostile city.

Exhaustion finally caught up to him. He collapsed onto the makeshift bed, the silence broken only by the rasp of his own breathing. The System's words echoed in his mind – "reward for success." Had he completed his first task?

As if on cue, the System's voice resonated within his skull. "Task: Locate shelter and potential water source - Complete. Congratulations, Subject. You have earned your first System Lottery Ticket."

A lottery ticket? The concept was bizarre, but the promise of a reward piqued his interest. "How do I use this ticket?"

"Focus your thoughts on the lottery interface," the System instructed.

Brad closed his eyes, concentrating on the idea of a lottery. A translucent screen materialized in his mind, displaying a swirling vortex of colors. Hesitantly, he willed himself to reach out and touch it.

A blinding flash of light filled his vision, followed by a wave of searing pain that ripped through his entire body. He screamed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. His muscles spasmed, his bones felt like they were being crushed, and his mind reeled from the sheer agony. He collapsed onto the floor, his vision blurring at the edges.

The pain went on for what felt like an eternity. Just as he thought he could take no more, it started to recede, replaced by a dull ache that throbbed in every fiber of his being. He lay there, gasping for breath, sweat soaking his clothes.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, a groan escaping his lips. He felt different. Stronger, more alive. He clenched and unclenched his fists, marveling at the power coursing through his veins. He needed to see the difference.

He stumbled towards the bathroom, his steps lighter than he remembered. He reached the bathroom, the makeshift mirror above the cracked sink catching his reflection. His breath hitched in his throat. Gone were the haggard features and gaunt frame. He was looking at a man at the peak of physical perfection. Broad shoulders, well-defined muscles, and a chiseled jawline stared back at him. The scar from the gunshot wound was gone, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin.

He ran a hand over his face, his fingers brushing against the stubble of a thick beard that had grown in seemingly overnight. He looked older, but in a ruggedly handsome way. It was disconcerting, this new shell his consciousness inhabited. But beneath the surface, he was still Brad Carter, the opportunist, the self-serving playboy.

He stripped off his filthy clothes, examining his body in the dim light. His senses were sharper, the metallic tang of the air more pronounced. A thrill of power ran through him as he clenched his fists again, watching the tendons work beneath his newly-toned skin. This, he realized, was the reward. This was the power of the System.

But the memory of the excruciating pain was a stark reminder of the cost. Was he willing to endure such an ordeal again for another "reward"? The answer, for now, remained a question mark.

With a newfound sense of purpose, he set about exploring his new haven. He rummaged through the tools on the workbench, his fingers brushing against screwdrivers, wrenches, and strange welding devices. He wasn't familiar with all of them, but they hinted at the ingenuity of the shelter's former occupant.

In a corner, his gaze landed on a curious contraption. It resembled an old projector, except it had panels covered in glowing runes and a crystal orb resting on its top. Curiosity piqued, he reached out and pressed a button. The projector whirred to life, bathing the room in a soft blue light.

A holographic image flickered into existence before him, an elderly man with kind eyes and a weary expression. The man spoke in a language Brad didn't understand, but the emotions behind his words resonated clear as day – regret, sadness, a quiet desperation.

The System's voice echoed in his mind, translating the message. "Greetings, future finder. By the time you see this, I will likely be long gone. We were the last survivors of the Xylos Colony, a marvel of technology brought to its knees by our own hubris."

The old man went on to explain how a group of scientists had attempted to enhance human capabilities, leading to the creation of the mutated creatures that now roamed the city. His voice filled with sorrow as he recounted the fall of the colony, their technology failing them in their final hour.

But then, a flicker of hope. He spoke of a hidden escape route, a vessel capable of traversing the void. He detailed its location, hidden beneath the city, and provided instructions for its activation. A final flicker of pride touched his weary visage as he spoke of the vessel's potential to carry a single passenger to safety.

With a click, the hologram flickered and faded, leaving Brad in stunned silence. Escape. That was his ultimate goal. The very reason he was thrust into this bizarre situation. And now, he had a clue, a glimmer of hope.

The System's voice broke the silence. "New Task: Utilize available resources and acquired knowledge to construct a functional escape vessel. Success will grant you access to further rewards."

So, building a spaceship was his next objective. Brad stared at the workbench, the tools gleaming in the dim light. He had no prior experience, but with the System's guidance and the resources at his disposal, maybe, just maybe, he could pull it off. He had a feeling this was just the beginning of a long, arduous journey.

He spent the next few days immersing himself in a crash course on shipbuilding. The old man's holographic instructions provided a rough blueprint, but the specific details were cryptic. He had to translate the runes etched on the tools, decipher the functions of the strange machines, and experiment with the various materials at hand.

He learned to operate the welding machines, carefully joining sheets of metal into crude plates. He discovered a device that recycled waste into usable materials, allowing him to create cables and wiring. The days blurred into weeks as he toiled, frustration giving way to a grudging sense of accomplishment. Slowly, the room began to resemble a makeshift shipyard.

One evening, exhausted but exhilarated, he finally finished the core component – a crude fusion reactor cobbled together from salvaged parts. He connected it to a network of wires and conduits, his hands stained with grease and a strange sense of pride blooming in his chest. Unlike the callouses that would have formed on any ordinary man's hands, Brad's skin, thanks to the Wolverine-esque healing factor, remained smooth and unmarked despite the days of intense physical labor.

He took a step back, surveying his creation. It wasn't a work of art, far from it. The reactor resembled a tangled mess of salvaged parts held together by sheer willpower and duct tape. But a low hum emanated from it, a testament to its functionality. It was a crude heart, ready to power the escape vessel he was determined to build.

The System's voice echoed in his mind, a hint of grudging respect in its tone. "Subject demonstrates resourcefulness and adaptability. Task progress: 20% complete."

Twenty percent. It felt like a drop in the ocean. He had built a reactor, but the vessel itself remained a distant dream. The blueprints detailed various complex components – propulsion systems, life support modules, navigation controls – all requiring a level of knowledge he desperately lacked.

He glanced at the remaining resources – piles of salvaged metal, a dwindling supply of wiring, and a precious few canisters of dehydrated food. A wave of doubt washed over him. Was he even capable of completing this task? Was he just delaying the inevitable, trapped in this alien city with no way out?

He clenched his fists, the memory of the agonizing transformation fueling his resolve. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn't let himself become another forgotten soul in this desolate wasteland.

Taking a deep breath, he sat down at a makeshift workbench, the holographic instructions flickering to life before him. He needed to analyze the blueprints, break down the construction process into smaller, more manageable steps. He needed to learn, to adapt, to push himself further than ever before.

As the days turned into weeks, the room reverberated with the rhythmic clang of metal on metal. The skeleton of the vessel began to take shape, a skeletal frame emerging from the piles of salvaged materials. Sweat dripped from his brow, his muscles ached, but a sense of purpose fueled his actions.

One evening, as he finished welding a particularly tricky joint, his gaze fell on the holographic message from the old man. He hadn't watched it in weeks, consumed by the task at hand. Now, a new emotion stirred within him – empathy. He understood now the old man's despair, his desperate hope for a future beyond this doomed city.

He would not let that hope die.

With renewed determination, Brad pressed on, spurred by the promise of escape and a strange sense of responsibility towards the man who had unknowingly handed him a lifeline. The future remained uncertain, fraught with danger and unknowns. But for the first time since arriving in Xylos, Brad Carter felt a flicker of hope, a spark of determination to carve his own path in this bizarre new reality.