Chương 6: [Blackout]

They left the pub with the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the street. The UI was gone from view, tucked away the moment their focus shifted, slipping from sight like a tab minimized in the back of their minds. Never gone, just waiting to be opened again. The Civic Centre square had changed again. There were fewer aimless faces now. More movement. Some had pushed tables together to form makeshift stations.

One table had a hand-painted cardboard sign that read "Sleep Space Sign-up", another said "Skills & Trades" where people had scrawled what they could offer, electrician, first aid, carpentry. A third table had a rough map of Monkhaven spread out, areas marked in marker as "Checked," "Partially Checked," or "Unknown", the crossed-off sections growing slowly as scouts reported back. People were adapting.

Mike Ellis stood near the steps of the Civic, sleeves rolled up, speaking with a woman from the salon and the lad who ran the local repair shop. He looked tired but focused. A man who'd found something to do and stuck to it. Phil raised a hand as they approached.

"Mike." He looked up and smiled faintly.

"Afternoon, gents. You alright?"

"We found something," Leo said.

"A new screen. In the UI, I guess." Mike blinked.

"Another message?"

"Not this time," Sam said.

"An inventory screen. Like actual storage. Digital. Spatial. Magical? Something." Mike raised an eyebrow.

"You say 'inventory', it opens up this new grid," Parmo explained.

"One of the boxes already has a starter item in it, no idea what it does, but it's there."

"We haven't tested it much," Leo added, "but if it works the way we think it does, people won't need to carry everything around by hand anymore. Could make moving stuff easier. Gathering, too." Mike whistled low.

"Well, bloody hell." He looked around at the scattered piles of supplies, stacks of water bottles, blankets, donated nappies, tins of food in carrier bags. People were still dragging things from one end of the Civic Centre to the other.

"Right," he said.

"You've just saved us half a dozen trips up the bloody stairs." There was a pause, not uncomfortable. Just a moment for the weight of that to settle. Then Mike rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.

"Look, there's a flat above the old physio clinic. Used to be a rental property, five rooms, been sitting empty for a bit. It's yours if you want it." The lads glanced at each other.

"You lot have been pulling your weight," Mike continued.

"More than that, actually. You're figuring things out, sharing what you learn. I'd rather have you lot somewhere I can find you easily, means if something kicks off or we need information fast, I know where to go." He gestured vaguely toward the streets.

"Most folk are still trying to get back to their own houses or find family. That flat's empty, and you five seem to work well together. Makes sense to give it to a group rather than split it between strangers who don't know each other." Luka nodded slowly.

"That actually makes sense."

"Course it does," Mike said.

"I'm not running a charity. I'm trying to keep things organized. You want it or not?" Phil stepped forward.

"Yeah. Appreciate it, Mike. Cheers."

"Good. Keys are with Martin, locksmith from the high street. He's been going round helping folk get into empty places, making spares where he can. I'll let him know you're headed that way. He'll sort you out." Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Mike gave a small nod.

"Cheers for that. Not everyone's been as forthcoming with what they've learned. You lot keep sharing like this, it'll make things easier for everyone." He glanced back toward the square, then to the lads.

"Go on then. Get yourselves settled. I'll send word if we need you." The flat was a five-minute walk, tucked down a narrow side street they'd passed a hundred times without noticing. The building itself was old brick, two storeys, with a faded sign for the physio clinic still bolted to the wall by the ground-floor entrance. The paint on the doorframe was peeling in long strips, and the small patch of grass out back had gone wild, tall enough to hide a football.

Martin the locksmith had met them outside, picked the lock in under a minute with practiced ease, probably his twentieth that day, then cut them each a key from a blank he'd pulled from his kit.

"All yours now, lads. Lock up when you're done," he'd said, already heading off to his next job. The door to the upstairs flat stuck slightly when Phil shouldered it open. Inside, the air was stale and thick with dust. Afternoon light slanted through grimy windows, catching motes drifting in the stillness. The main room was long and narrow, bare floorboards scarred with old furniture marks, walls a washed-out cream that might've been white once. A faded couch sat against one wall, cushions flattened and sunken.

In the corner, someone had left a plug-in radiator leaning at an angle like it had given up. Down a short hallway, five doors stood half-open, small rooms, probably old treatment spaces. Each one empty. Each one waiting.

"Needs some work," Luka said, peering into one of the back rooms.

"But it's got walls and a roof. That's more than some folk have right now." Parmo nodded.

"Could be worse. Least it's ours." Sam moved past them, checking the other rooms one by one, each as bare as the last. Phil tested the radiator plug, frowning when nothing happened.

"Power's out here too. Solar must not reach this building."

"We'll sort it," Leo said, more to himself than anyone else. Parmo collapsed onto the sofa with a satisfied groan, dust puffing up around him.

"Right then. Reckon we can call this a base of operations? No, wait. This is Helm's Deep!" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Why not Minas Tirith?"

"Because Helm's Deep is way cooler," Phil shot back.

"Minas Tirith's too middle-class. This place screams Helm's Deep."

"I vote we name it the Shire," exclaimed Luka.

"You would, you fucking hobbit," mocked Parmo. Their bickering faded gently into the background as Leo moved toward the window, gazing out over the street. The UI hovered just behind his eyes, patient and silent. The stat screen was still there. The percentage bar had ticked higher. 13%. One Week Later The flat was quiet, save for the faint clinking of mugs and the occasional scrape of a chair.

A week had passed since they'd moved in, since the pub, since the new inventory screen, since they found themselves separated from almost everyone they knew. Physically, they felt better, but not different. Better sleep. Easier breaths. Muscles a little less stiff. But the magic the UI promised? The optimizations? None had kicked in yet. The improvements they felt were probably just from getting out more, fresh air instead of sitting in front of screens or stuck in dusty offices.

The glowing tab hovered faintly in their vision, each bar creeping slowly upwards. Now, all sat at 99. 7%. Phil stared at his UI, his fingers twitching.

"Still not there." Parmo, eyes fixed, muttered, "Come on, come on." Leo shifted in his seat.

"Feels like it's taking forever." Luka tried to lighten the mood.

"Maybe we all just explode when it hits 100. Instant fireworks."

"If you're going to explode, do it in that direction," joked Sam.

"Man, fuck that, I don't want Luka exploding all over me. If you're going to do it, at least aim at Phil. I heard he's into that sort of thing," laughed Leo. Everyone chuckled, but under it was an unspoken tension.

"What if it hurts?" Parmo asked suddenly, voice low. Sam frowned at his screen.

"I mean, this is basically full-body reconstruction. There's no way to know if the transition's seamless or if there's a shock to the system." No one had answers. No guide. No countdown. Just that endless blinking bar. The UI pulsed faintly, distant and inscrutable, watching, waiting. Then the number flickered. 99. 75%. 99. 82%. 99. 91%. 99. 97%. The air thickened. Then, a soft ping, like a notification in a game. The bar hit 100%. And everything dropped. Their bodies slackened gently. No flashes. No alarms.

Just silence. Outside, Monkhaven went dark. Not just the flat. Not just the street. Everyone in town had collapsed where they stood, in beds, on sofas, mid-conversation in the square. Some in the middle of the road. Wherever they'd been when the bar hit 100%, that's where they dropped. Back in the flat, the five of them lay slumped in their chairs. Breathing. Steady. Unconscious but not harmed. The silence was absolute, no voices from the street, no distant movement, nothing.

The kind of quiet that only comes when everything stops at once. Above them, their UIs pulsed faintly in the empty air. Then a message appeared, soft, unseen: Adaptation complete. Body fully optimized. Magic seed reawakened.