Mom never talked about the compound just called it "the bad place." Said we got out when I was a baby. Said I should be grateful.

I wasn’t.

After her funeral, I found letters in a rusted lockbox: sermons, manifestos, diagrams. The cult called themselves The Offering. Their belief? That death was the purest form of mercy. A sacrifice. One life taken to preserve ten.

I read everything. Couldn't stop. Their math was terrifyingly clean. Cold... but clean.

As the world choked on its own weight overpopulation, war, poisoned skies I started to see it. The Offering wasn’t chaos. It was balance.

I’ve been tracking the old members. Most went underground. A few just disappeared. But I know where the next one is.

I’m not going to punish him.

I’m going to revive him.

Because The Offering wasn’t just a cult.

It was a solution.

And I was born to finish what they started.