Chapter 10: The Supply Run
Marcus worked with the desperate efficiency of a man who had finally found purpose.
For seven days, Chronos watched through reports sent via comms node and occasional visits to the city. The former warehouse manager had quit his job, emptied his savings, and begun what he called Operation Stockpile.
The list was comprehensive.
Medical first. Marcus used his pharmaceutical contacts to acquire crates of antibiotics, painkillers, surgical supplies. Not through legitimate channels those required prescriptions, paperwork, oversight. Instead, he tapped into the gray market. Expired medications sold to third world countries. Samples diverted from doctors offices. A theft from a medical supply warehouse that would not be discovered until after the Descent.
He stored it all in a rented storage unit near the George Washington Bridge, far from his home, far from Chronos territory. Compartmentalization.
Food came next. Marcus did not buy MREs or survival rations. Too expensive, too noticeable. Instead, he bought bulk. Fifty-pound sacks of rice, beans, flour. Industrial-sized cans of vegetables from restaurant supply stores. Salt, sugar, oil by the gallon.
He hired a truck and driver for the first delivery to the winery.
That was where the problem began.
The driver was a man named Dave, mid-forties, with the tired eyes of someone who had seen too many strange things but needed the paycheck too badly to ask questions. He loaded the truck with medical supplies and the first food shipment.
But when they reached the winery and Dave saw the Living Wall, his expression shifted from tired to alarmed.
What the hell is that? Dave asked, staring at the woven barrier of thorns.
New security system, Marcus said, keeping his voice casual. My client is eccentric. Very private.
Dave did not look convinced. He helped unload, but his eyes kept darting to the wall, to the Guardian Tree with its pulsing veins, to the frost on the wine cellar door in June.
Chronos watched from the manor window. He had known this would happen. In the old timeline, they had solved such problems with violence or bribes. But violence left bodies. Bribes required trust he did not have.
He needed a third option.
From Silas memory: Moth species that produce memory-altering pheromones. The Atlas moth secretes a compound that induces short-term amnesia for specific recent events. Used by some early biokinetics to manage witnesses.
He needed that template.
But first, he had to deal with Dave.
The unloading finished. Marcus paid Dave in cash, a bonus for his discretion.
Dave pocketed the money, but his eyes were still uneasy. He got back in his truck, drove away.
Chronos waited until the truck was out of sight, then turned to Marcus.
He will talk.
Marcus nodded. I know. But he has a family. Three kids. He needs the money. He will probably keep quiet.
Probably is not good enough.
What do you want to do?
Chronos did not answer. Instead, he went to his makeshift lab in the manor basement. He had set up a workspace with microscopes, petri dishes, basic chemistry equipment bought with his remaining funds. He was not a biologist, but his talent gave him instincts.
He focused. Recalled the moth memory. The Atlas moth. Large, beautiful, with wing patterns that resembled maps. Its pheromones were a defense mechanism confused predators forgot what they were chasing.
He could synthesize the compound if he had the template. But he did not have a moth.
He would have to find one.
That evening, he drove to a botanical garden that stayed open late for a moth exhibit. Paid admission. Walked through the butterfly pavilion, now converted for nocturnal insects.
There. In a glass enclosure. Atlas moths, wings spread like stained glass windows.
He waited until the attendant stepped away, then reached into the enclosure. His fingers brushed a moths wing.
Contact.
Template Acquired: Atlas Moth
Traits: Wing structure, pheromone production, camouflage patterns
Biomass Cost: 0.1kg
Compatibility: Human-Insect 45% POOR
Poor compatibility meant he could not transform into a moth. But he could still access the traits.
Back at the winery, he focused. Using Template Analysis, he isolated the pheromone glands. Studied the chemical structure. Simple enough a neurotransmitter analogue that temporarily disrupted memory consolidation.
He grew the glands in his own body. A small, uncomfortable lump formed under his skin on his forearm. He could feel them working, producing the compound.
Now he needed to test it.
He went to the nearest town, a sleepy hamlet ten miles from the winery. Found a bar with a few locals watching baseball. He sat at the end of the counter, ordered a drink he did not touch.
The bartender was a talkative man named Bill. Chronos engaged him in conversation about the weather, the game, local gossip. After ten minutes, he excused himself to use the restroom.
In the hallway, he pressed the gland on his forearm, releasing a small cloud of pheromones. Odorless, colorless.
He returned to the bar. Bill was wiping down the counter.
So as I was saying, Bill continued, the drought is really hurting the farmers...
Chronos interrupted. What were you saying about the drought?
Bill blinked. Huh? Oh, yeah. The drought. Its bad.
You already said that.
Did I? Bill frowned, shook his head. Sorry, long day.
The pheromones worked. Short-term memory disruption.
Now for Dave.
He drove back to the city, parked near Daves home. A modest house in Queens. Lights on inside. Daves truck in the driveway.
Chronos waited until Dave came out to take out the trash. Approached him in the shadows.
Dave jumped. Who are you?
A friend of Marcus. We need to talk about today.
Daves face tightened. I did the job. I got paid. Were square.
You saw things. Things that might make you talk.
I do not know what you are talking about.
The wall. The tree. The frost.
Dave backed up. Look, I do not want trouble. I have kids.
I know. That is why I am here to help you forget.
Chronos released the pheromones. A larger dose this time.
Dave coughed, waved a hand. What is that smell?
Nothing. Just the air. Now listen. You delivered boxes to a winery. Normal boxes. Normal winery. Nothing unusual. You got paid. You went home. End of story.
Daves eyes glazed over. Boxes. Winery. Got paid.
Yes. Nothing else. No wall. No tree. No frost.
No wall. No tree. No frost.
Good. Now go inside. You are tired. You will sleep well.
Dave turned, walked back into his house like a sleepwalker.
Chronos returned to his car. The gland under his skin ached. Using it cost biomass not much, but enough to notice.
Biomass: 214.24 → 213.84kg
A small price.
He drove back to the territory. It was nearly dawn.
Marcus was waiting, sitting on the manor steps.
Did you kill him? Marcus asked via comms node.
No. He will not remember anything unusual.
How?
Biological persuasion.
Marcus nodded, accepting it. He had seen enough now not to question.
The supplies are inside. Medical in the cellar. Food in the barn.
Good.
They spent the morning organizing. Chronos used his territory interface to catalog everything.
Medical Supplies Added: Antibiotics various, painkillers, antiseptics, sutures, surgical tools
Food Supplies Added: Rice 500kg, beans 300kg, flour 200kg, canned goods 150kg
Other: Tools, seeds, fuel, batteries
It was a start. Enough for maybe twenty people for six months if rationed.
But they would need more. Many more.
That afternoon, Chronos worked on biomass conversion efficiency. He had been wasting too much energy converting food to usable biomass. He needed a better method.
He experimented with the rat-adapted template. Specifically, the mana-adaptive metabolism trait. If he could modify his own digestion to extract more energy, or better yet, directly convert organic matter without the intermediate step of eating...
He grew a new organ. A secondary stomach, lined with specialized enzymes and mana-reactive tissue. He fed it a pound of raw meat.
The organ processed it in minutes, converting it to clean biomass with 68% efficiency. Twice as good as before.
New Organ Created: Bio-Converter
Efficiency: 68%
Capacity: 5kg per hour
Upkeep: 0.1kg biomass/day
He would need to feed it regularly, but it was a massive improvement.
While he worked, Marcus was on his laptop, designing the territory layout. He sent the plans via comms node.
Northeast quadrant: Agriculture. Soil tests show high mana concentration, good for enhanced crops.
South slope: Housing tiers. Terraced design for defense, natural drainage.
Central area: Command and crafting. Protected by Guardian Tree field.
Western forest: Training grounds and perimeter defense.
It was competent. Military-inspired but practical.
Approved, Chronos sent back. Begin implementation after the Descent. For now, focus on acquiring more supplies. Especially building materials. Lumber, nails, roofing.
Marcus acknowledged.
That evening, Chronos checked the First Light network. Activity was increasing.
Sparky reported entire city blocks losing power. Not outages the electricity just stopped flowing, as if it forgot how.
StoneSense felt a new ley line forming under Los Angeles. Unstable. Vibrating.
RiverOfStars sent a private message: My wife is showing signs. Her skin glows near water. What do I do?
Chronos replied: Protect her. Keep her calm. The awakening can be traumatic if resisted. Let it happen naturally.
He posted another update to the main forum:
The timeline is accelerating. Symptoms are appearing earlier than in my projections. If you have not begun preparations, start now. Do not wait.
Then he prepared for his next recruitment.
Kael.
From Silas memory: Kael Jenkins. Ex-army, dishonorable discharge after an incident in Afghanistan he would not discuss. Worked as a bouncer at a club called The Veil. In the original timeline, he awakened the talent Combat Flow A-Rank. Became a warlord, then a hero, then died holding a bridge against a Vorax swarm.
Chronos needed that combat expertise. But Kael was not a man who followed easily. He respected strength, competence, purpose.
He would need to demonstrate all three.
He drove to the city one last time. The Veil was a basement club in the Meatpacking District, throbbing with music that felt like a primitive heartbeat.
Chronos paid the cover, descended into darkness. Strobe lights. Sweat and perfume. Bodies moving without thought.
He found Kael at the back near the VIP section. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a soldiers posture even in a black t-shirt. His eyes scanned the crowd constantly, assessing threats.
Chronos approached. Kael Jenkins?
Who wants to know?
Someone who knows you are wasting your time here.
Kaels expression did not change. Everyone wastes time eventually. You buying a drink or leaving?
I am offering you a war.
That got his attention. Kaels eyes sharpened. What war?
The only one that matters. The one for survival. In twenty days, this city becomes a battlefield. The enemy is not human. The rules are not the ones you know.
Kael studied him. You are either high, crazy, or both.
Chronos showed him his hand. The same demonstration he gave Marcus gorilla skin, crocodile scales, rat claws.
Kaels hand twitched toward where a weapon would be if he were armed. What the hell?
The future. My talent. You will have one too. Combat Flow. It lets you move faster, hit harder, see openings others miss. You were born for it. But if you stay here, you will die in the rubble. Or worse, become one of the monsters.
Kaels jaw tightened. How do you know about Afghanistan?
I know many things. I know you were discharged because you followed an order that was later deemed immoral. I know you still have nightmares about the children in that village. I know you took this job because the noise drowns out the memories.
Kaels composure cracked. Just a little. Who sent you?
No one. I am building something. A fortress. A community. I need someone who can train fighters. Who understands real combat. Not this... He gestured at the dancing crowd. This pretending.
Why me?
Because you are one of the few who might actually survive what is coming. And because I think you want to matter again. To protect people instead of just bouncing drunks.
Kael was silent for a long moment. The music pulsed around them. Then: Where is this fortress?
Upstate. I will show you tomorrow. But know this if you join, there is no going back. The old world ends in twenty days. You either commit fully or you die with it.
Kael looked around the club, at the people lost in temporary escape. His expression was one of profound disgust.
What time tomorrow?
Chronos gave him the coordinates. Noon. Come alone.
He left Kael standing there, already making calculations.
One more recruit. Then the inner circle would be complete.
He drove back to the territory as the sun rose. The Living Wall parted for him. The Guardian Tree welcomed him home.
He checked his status.
Days until Descent: 20
Biomass: 213.84kg
Templates: 8
Talent Progress: 13%
Credits: 160
Followers: 2 confirmed, 3 pending
He was building momentum.
But as he lay down to rest, the Watchers warning echoed in his mind.
You might attract attention sooner than you think.
He looked at the sealed dungeon door. Had claiming it marked him?
Only time would tell.
For now, he slept.
Tomorrow, he would secure his third pillar.
Then the real work would begin.