The morning after Chetan’s first encounter with the mutated dog, Pune no longer looked like the city he had known all his life. From the window of his apartment, the familiar streets appeared strangely abandoned, with vehicles left at awkward angles across roads, shutters pulled down over shops, and occasional figures moving cautiously between buildings. Smoke still rose from somewhere beyond the neighboring apartment blocks, but there were no sirens anymore. That was perhaps the most disturbing part. For the first time since the outbreak began, Chetan realized that he had stopped expecting emergency services to arrive. There was no police response waiting around the corner, no ambulance coming for the injured, and no government organization capable of restoring order within a few hours. Whatever remained of the old system was either overwhelmed or already collapsing.
He spent nearly an hour standing beside the window, studying the streets before deciding that staying inside indefinitely was not an option. His food supplies could last for some time, but water was a different matter. The apartment building still had running water intermittently, yet there was no guarantee the pumps would continue working. Electricity had also become unstable during the previous night, flickering several times before returning. If the power grid failed completely, even the most comfortable apartment would eventually become little more than a sealed box. Chetan had already learned that preparation was more valuable than courage, and he needed more information about what was happening outside.
He packed his backpack carefully, placing two bottles of water, several packets of biscuits, a flashlight, a lighter, basic medicine, a first-aid kit, rope, his phone, and the upgraded crowbar inside. He also carried the knife he had enhanced the previous night. It looked ordinary enough, but after seeing what a single successful enhancement could do, he had no intention of leaving it behind. Before leaving, he checked the door twice and then paused with his hand on the handle. Something about today felt different. Yesterday he had stepped outside because he needed supplies. Today he was going out deliberately to hunt.
The thought sounded ridiculous even inside his own head.
He was not a hunter. He had never owned a gun, had never gone trekking seriously, and had never even been involved in a physical fight beyond the occasional schoolyard incident. Yet the world had changed enough that the word no longer seemed so strange. Animals were mutating. Some humans were developing abilities. Food and medicine were becoming scarce. If the reports were accurate, ordinary people were already dying by the thousands.
Chetan opened the door.
The corridor was silent.
He moved toward the staircase rather than using the elevator. The emergency lights were still working, but he didn't trust them. Halfway down the stairs, he heard something from the floor below.
A faint scraping sound.
Chetan immediately stopped.
He held his breath and listened.
Scrape.
Pause.
Scrape.
Something was moving.
His grip tightened around the crowbar.
The sound came again, followed by a low, almost animal-like growl.
Chetan slowly descended another step and looked over the railing. The corridor below was empty, but one apartment door stood partially open. A dark stain covered part of the floor outside it.
Blood.
He remained still for several seconds.
Then a man stumbled out of the apartment.
Chetan almost swung the crowbar.
The man was alive, but barely. His clothes were torn, and one side of his face was covered with dried blood. He leaned against the wall and looked toward Chetan with exhausted eyes.
"Don't..." he whispered.
Chetan lowered the crowbar slightly.
"What happened?"
The man tried to answer but coughed violently. "My wife... she changed."
Chetan's expression hardened.
"What do you mean changed?"
The man stared at him as though he didn't understand the question.
"She wasn't sick yesterday. This morning she started shaking. Then..." His voice broke. "Her bones changed."
A sudden crash came from inside the apartment.
Both men looked toward the doorway.
The injured man stepped backward.
"Run."
Something slammed against the door.
The wooden frame cracked.
Chetan didn't wait.
He turned and sprinted down the stairs.
A moment later, something burst through the apartment entrance above them. Chetan heard heavy footsteps striking the floor, followed by a scream from the injured man. He reached the ground floor and pushed through the emergency exit into the building's parking area.
The creature followed.
Chetan turned.
For several seconds, his mind struggled to process what he was seeing.
It had once been a woman.
Now it stood nearly two meters tall, with elongated arms and swollen muscles stretching beneath patches of pale skin. Her fingers had become long claws, and her mouth opened wider than a human jaw should have allowed. One eye was still recognizable as human, but the other had turned completely black.
The creature screamed.
Chetan raised the crowbar.
It charged.
He swung.
The crowbar struck its forearm with a heavy crack, but instead of falling back, the creature twisted and slashed at him. Chetan barely moved aside. The claws cut through his shirt and scratched his ribs.
Pain exploded across his side.
He stumbled backward.
The creature attacked again.
This time Chetan didn't try to overpower it. He remembered the dog from yesterday. Strength wasn't enough. He needed positioning.
He stepped backward toward the parked vehicles, waited until the creature committed to its attack, then moved sideways at the last moment.
Its claws struck the metal hood of a car.
Chetan swung the crowbar against the side of its head.
Once.
Twice.
The creature staggered.
He struck again.
The fourth blow finally dropped it.
Chetan stood over the body, breathing heavily.
The silence returned.
His hands were shaking.
He looked down at the blood on his crowbar and realized that this was the first time he had killed something that had once been human.
For several seconds, he couldn't move.
Then the creature twitched.
Chetan's instincts took over.
He struck again.
Only after he was certain it had stopped moving did he step away.
A translucent notification appeared in his vision.
[You have defeated a mutated organism.]
[Minor genetic energy detected.]
[Energy absorption unavailable.]
Chetan frowned.
"Energy absorption?"
No explanation appeared.
He looked at the body.
Whatever the system meant, it seemed his Golden Touch wasn't responsible for this notification. There were clearly things about his ability that he hadn't discovered yet.
A metallic clatter came from somewhere outside.
Chetan immediately moved toward the parking exit.
The city beyond the gate was quiet.
Too quiet.
He stepped onto the street.
His destination was a small grocery store roughly fifteen minutes away, but he had no intention of following the main road. Yesterday's encounter had taught him that visibility was dangerous. He moved through side streets and narrow lanes, staying close to walls and checking every intersection before crossing.
The first few minutes passed without incident.
Then he heard barking.
Chetan froze.
It wasn't the deep growl of the mutated dog from yesterday.
This was ordinary barking.
He looked toward the sound and saw three stray dogs gathered around something lying beside a garbage container. At first he thought it was a dead animal. Then the body moved.
A man.
The dogs immediately turned toward him.
Chetan stepped backward.
One dog barked.
Another began growling.
Then something strange happened.
The largest dog suddenly convulsed.
Its body expanded.
The transformation was much faster than what Chetan had witnessed previously. Muscles swelled beneath its fur, its spine bent, and its jaw stretched outward. The other two dogs scattered, but the transformed animal remained.
Chetan raised his crowbar.
The creature's eyes locked onto him.
"Of course," he muttered.
It charged.
Chetan sidestepped and swung at its neck.
The crowbar connected, but the impact wasn't enough.
The creature spun around almost instantly.
Chetan barely managed to block the next attack.
The force knocked him backward.
He hit a wall.
The dog lunged.
Chetan shoved the crowbar between its jaws.
The animal bit down.
Metal bent.
Chetan stared.
His weapon was being crushed.
He kicked the creature in the chest, but it barely reacted.
For the first time, genuine fear entered his mind.
The dog pulled backward, taking the crowbar with it.
Chetan suddenly noticed something behind the creature.
A stack of construction materials.
Concrete blocks.
He looked at the dog.
Then at the blocks.
An idea formed.
He dropped the crowbar.
The creature lunged again.
Chetan grabbed a concrete block and threw it aside, revealing a narrow space between two piles of material. He squeezed through just as the dog crashed into the opening.
The creature became temporarily trapped.
Chetan grabbed a second block and slammed it against the animal's skull.
Once.
Twice.
The dog thrashed violently.
Chetan grabbed another.
Again.
Eventually the movement slowed.
He stood there, panting.
His hands were covered in blood.
The notification appeared once more.
[You have defeated a mutated organism.]
This time another message followed.
[Mutation energy detected.]
[Adaptation potential insufficient.]
[Potential adaptation: 0.7%]
Chetan stared at the notification.
"Adaptation?"
The words disappeared before he could understand them.
He looked at the dead creature.
Perhaps every mutated organism contained something that could influence living beings. Perhaps the humans awakening abilities weren't simply receiving random powers. Perhaps the mutation itself was changing the rules of biology.
The thought unsettled him.
He retrieved his crowbar and examined the damage. The weapon was badly bent.
His Golden Touch could potentially repair it.
Chetan placed his hand over the metal.
[Quality Enhancement activated.]
A golden glow appeared.
[Target: Damaged Crowbar]
[Current Quality: E]
[Enhancement attempt initiated.]
The glow intensified.
Then disappeared.
[Enhancement successful.]
[Quality increased: E → D]
Chetan's eyes widened.
He slowly lifted the crowbar.
The metal straightened itself.
The dents vanished.
It looked almost new.
He smiled.
"Now we're talking."
For the first time that morning, some confidence returned.
He continued toward the grocery store.
When he finally reached it, the shutters were partially open. Chetan stopped several meters away and observed the entrance.
There were footprints.
Fresh ones.
Someone had been here recently.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
He approached slowly and slipped inside.
The store had already been looted.
Most shelves were empty, but whoever had come before him had apparently been in a hurry. Several boxes remained scattered behind the counter, and Chetan found canned food, packaged rice, biscuits, bottled water, batteries, candles, and cooking oil.
He filled his backpack.
Then he noticed something else.
A group of people was hiding in the storage room.
Chetan heard whispering.
He raised his crowbar.
"Come out."
Silence.
"I know you're there."
A man's voice answered.
"We don't want trouble."
"Neither do I."
After several seconds, three people emerged.
A middle-aged man, a woman perhaps in her thirties, and a teenage boy.
They looked exhausted.
The middle-aged man held a kitchen knife.
"Are you infected?" he asked.
Chetan almost laughed.
"No."
"How do we know?"
"You don't."
The answer surprised them.
Chetan lowered his weapon slightly. "I'm taking some supplies and leaving. I'm not interested in fighting you."
The man studied him.
"You have an ability?"
Chetan's expression remained neutral.
"Why?"
"Everyone is getting them."
Chetan said nothing.
The teenage boy suddenly stepped forward.
"I can make things colder."
The woman immediately grabbed his arm.
"Don't tell strangers that."
Chetan understood their fear.
Abilities were already becoming something people kept secret.
That meant his own ability was far more valuable than he had initially realized.
He nodded toward the supplies.
"Take what you can carry."
The middle-aged man looked surprised.
"You're not going to take everything?"
"I don't need everything."
It wasn't entirely altruistic. Chetan knew that cooperation could become valuable later. But more importantly, he didn't want unnecessary conflict.
The three survivors began gathering supplies.
Before leaving, Chetan glanced toward the teenage boy.
"Don't use your ability unnecessarily."
The boy looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because eventually someone will notice."
Chetan walked away before they could ask more.
Outside, the sun had climbed higher.
The streets were still mostly empty.
But now he noticed movement everywhere.
A man standing on a balcony with flames dancing around his hands.
A woman carrying an enormous metal pipe as though it weighed nothing.
Two teenagers running from something Chetan couldn't see.
A distant explosion.
Then another.
The apocalypse wasn't waiting for him to understand it.
It was evolving every minute.
Chetan returned toward his apartment by a different route. On the way, he found an abandoned motorcycle. The fuel gauge showed nearly half a tank, but the vehicle had been damaged during a collision.
He touched the fuel tank.
Nothing happened.
He touched the engine.
The golden glow appeared.
[Quality Enhancement activated.]
Chetan waited.
[Enhancement failed.]
He tried again.
Nothing.
Again.
[Enhancement successful.]
[Quality increased: D → C]
The motorcycle engine suddenly looked cleaner, and several damaged components seemed to repair themselves.
Chetan stared at it.
Then he smiled.
A thought began forming.
If his ability could enhance tools, weapons, medicine, vehicles, and potentially machinery, then his value in this new world wasn't limited to fighting.
He could build.
He could trade.
He could create.
And if he became careful enough, he could become indispensable.
But first he needed to understand exactly how far Golden Touch could go.
By the time he reached his apartment, the sun was beginning to descend. He locked the door behind him, dropped the backpack on the floor, and sat at the kitchen table.
He looked at his hands.
Yesterday, they had been ordinary.
Today, they might be the most valuable thing he possessed.
Chetan opened his notebook and began writing.
Golden Touch — Known Rules
1. Can enhance physical objects.
2. Enhancement is random.
3. Current ranks: F, E, D, C, B, A, S, SS, SSS, Z.
4. Enhancement can fail.
5. Higher-quality objects may have greater value.
6. Unknown effects on living organisms.
He stopped.
Then added another line.
7. Never reveal the true ability to anyone.
Chetan leaned back.
Outside, somewhere far away, a siren briefly sounded before cutting off.
He looked toward the window.
The city was changing.
Tomorrow, he would need to go farther.
Not simply for food.
Not simply for weapons.
He needed information.
He needed allies.
And most importantly, he needed to discover what his Golden Touch could become before someone else discovered what he possessed.
Because if the world was truly entering an age where strength determined survival, Chetan had no intention of remaining weak.
He placed his hand on the upgraded crowbar.
A faint golden light reflected across his eyes.
"Let's see how far we can go."