The Underveil(2)

3 hours have passed since I got the quest to survive for 12 hours. I have practically explored most of the free area of the Iron Warrens and Lowgate without drawing too much attention.

So far, that's been my greatest achievement—not getting noticed.

The Underveil is not a place for newcomers. I've seen enough in these last few hours to understand that much. Every part of this place is dangerous, even the so-called "safer" districts. The Warrens are filled with scavengers and desperate workers who would strip a man for his boots if they thought they could get away with it. Lowgate is a different kind of beast—a market where everything is for sale, including people, and where the wrong glance at the wrong merchant can put a knife between your ribs.

I have no money, no connections, no allies. Just a system that hasn't fully unlocked and a Survive 12 Hours quest ticking down in the corner of my vision.

I won't even think about going to the upper city right now, not only am I supposed to be dead but there are literal hunters after me and I'm too weak to fight them back.

Not to mention that I'm exhausted and I need to find a place to rest.

Fatigue is creeping in, slow but unavoidable. My legs ache from walking, my shoulders are tense from staying on guard for too long, and my thoughts are starting to feel sluggish. If I don't find a safe place soon, I'll make a mistake. And mistakes get people killed here.

I stay at the edges of the market, scanning for something—anything—that might work as a temporary shelter. The Underveil doesn't have inns or public sleeping areas, at least not for someone without money. Every corner is occupied, every alley already claimed by someone desperate enough to fight for it.

I pass a group of scavengers resting against a pile of scrap. They're half-asleep, weapons still in their hands. Even the homeless sleep like they expect to be attacked at any moment.

No luck.

Further ahead, I find a set of old train cars converted into makeshift housing. Doors reinforced, windows barricaded. Locked down tight.

Another dead end.

A vendor shouts something in a language I don't recognize, trying to sell what looks like dried meat wrapped in plastic. The smell turns my stomach, but I keep moving, slipping between the crowds, keeping my head low. My heart is starting to pound harder, not from exertion but from unease. I'm running out of places to check.

I force myself into a narrow alley between two structures, hoping for something useful. The walls here are uneven, patched together with old metal sheets and cracked stone. The air is damp, carrying the faint scent of rust and sewage. It's quieter, at least. No vendors, no traders, just the distant hum of machinery.

I follow the alley until it widens into a forgotten corner of the Underveil. There's a rusted storage container pressed against the wall, its side partially collapsed, leaving a narrow gap just big enough to squeeze through. Inside, it's dark, filled with the stale scent of dust and old metal.

I crouch near the entrance, listening. No movement. Just silence.

Slipping inside, I press my back against the cold metal and let out a slow breath. My body protests as I lower myself to the ground, my muscles finally catching up with the hours of stress and walking. The container is cramped, but at least it's enclosed on three sides. I'll have to be half awake, but it's better than nothing.

I shift against the wall, trying to get comfortable. My thoughts drift to the quest timer, the numbers glowing faintly in the corner of my vision.

[9 hours left.]

Too long.

I exhale, forcing my breathing to slow. The Underveil isn't going to kill me. Not tonight.