Days bled into each other like ink in water, time losing all meaning in the underground shelter.
Nick sat on the concrete floor, slumped with his head against the cool wall, sighing for the thousandth time that day. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered ever so slightly, creating a low hum that grated at his ears. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against his thigh, bored to the edge of madness.
Across from him, Nika sat like a statue—perfect posture, eyes distant, fingers steepled beneath her chin. Her silver hair shimmered dully under the pale lighting. Despite her outward calm, her thoughts raced like wildfire.
"Food is temporary. Water—needs rain. Electricity? Dependent on the grid. The grid is failing," she muttered under her breath. "We're living on a timer. A quiet, ticking death."
Her thoughts shattered when a burst of static ripped through the silence. A sudden stuttering voice erupted from the corner radio—no one had touched it in days.
Bzzzz…kkkrrrrt...
"D_nger...sta_ in_ooors...crea__res have been sp_tted ar__nd the city...They've killed—already—kill again…"
The message fell apart into pure static. And then—nothing. Just a piercing, high-pitched whine that clung to their ears like the aftermath of a gunshot. Tinnitus and tension filled the air.
Nick's brows furrowed. He turned to Nika for interpretation, guidance—anything—but she didn't look contemplative. She looked...annoyed. Her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed with something sharper than curiosity.
Without a word, she stood and walked into the shadows of the back room. Nick heard her rummaging through shelves and crates, but didn't call out. He wasn't in the mood to be snapped at again.
He slouched lower until something caught his eye. Movement. Small. Too small.
Ants.
A line of them—dozens—marching in a single black procession across the floor, heading to the far corner of the bunker. But there was something off about them. Their blackness wasn't natural. It shimmered like oil, dripping with shadows. A faint mist—no, smoke—leaked from their tiny bodies, curling in unnatural spirals.
Nick narrowed his eyes and crouched low. The ants disappeared into the shadows of the far wall, and for a moment, he could swear he saw a void—an absence where something should be.
Then a whisper. Soft, like the wind sliding across glass.
It wasn't in the bunker.
It was inside his head.
"Nick…"
His breath caught. He dared not move.
A hand landed gently on his head, and he jerked violently, stumbling backward.
"Why are you hiding in a corner?" Nika asked, her voice soft, almost sweet.
Nick blinked. "I—thought I heard—"
She silenced him with a finger against his lips, her cold eyes unreadable.
"I'll explain later. Take this."
She handed him a loaded backpack and his scissors—carefully cleaned and sharpened. Then she turned and headed for the bunker's ladder, her movements brisk and eerily calm. Nick hesitated only for a second before casting one last glance toward the shadowy corner. The ants were gone.
Above ground, the air was heavy. Still. The remnants of civilization surrounded them like an abandoned museum exhibit. Cars, rusted and scorched, littered the road. Streetlights flickered uselessly. The overcast sky churned, suffocating the city under a blanket of gray.
But there was something else.
Up in the trees lining the perimeter—high in the skeletal branches of a dead oak—perched a figure.
Pitch-black.
Tall. Unmoving.
It resembled a humanoid owl, long-limbed, its winglike arms draped like a funeral shroud. White, glowing eyes cut through the gloom. It made no sound. It simply...watched.
Nick stopped dead. "Uh… Nika—?"
"I see it," she muttered. She didn't stop. Didn't flinch. She walked past the thing as if it didn't exist.
"Let's go."
Nick trailed behind, but couldn't resist looking back. The owl-thing hadn't moved—but it wasn't alone anymore. More eyes glimmered in the trees.
Nick's stomach groaned with the same pitiful energy as the low wind crawling through the forest. The trees, skeletal and leafless, creaked in protest to the shifting air. He pressed a hand against his gut. "We need food," he muttered, his voice flat from days of hunger. The only reply was the rustle of fabric as Nika adjusted the straps of her backpack, her face unreadable.
They had been traveling for hours—miles of dirt path and broken concrete separating the forest-buried bunker from the city's edge. It wasn't even a city anymore. Just cracked roads, bent stop signs, and the remains of buildings like rotted teeth jutting from the earth.
Nick adjusted the scissors slung through a loop on his backpack. He didn't complain. He never did. The hunger bit him like a thousand ants, but it was the silence from Nika that he respected. She was calculating everything—rainfall patterns, city blackout times, the way power grids buzzed just before death.
They had been searching the southwestern edge of the city. An industrial stretch, where the suburbs used to blend into warehouses and lonely parking lots. It was safer to stay on the fringes. No need to walk into whatever owned the city center now.
Nick stopped at a graffiti-covered vending machine, its glass shattered. "Think anything's left?" he asked, kneeling to pry open the casing.
"Too obvious. Someone already hit it," Nika answered, without looking back. She was staring at a gas station across the lot, its neon sign flickering blue and purple like veins under bruised skin.
She stepped carefully, her boots crunching over broken glass and scorched leaves. Inside, the store looked picked clean. Shelves overturned, bottles smashed. But in the back—past the ruined fridges and cracked ceiling—she paused.
A mirror.
At first, it was just her reflection—silver hair braided behind her neck, eyes sharp and cold. Then the image... shifted.
The reflection smirked.
But it wasn't Nika. The figure in the mirror had silver hair, yes, but it was messy, tangled with soot. A gas mask obscured most of her face, but the rest of her outfit—only a black bra and a pair of dirt-smeared cargo pants—spoke of madness. Blood flecked her arms. A chainsaw hung in her hand.
The girl in the mirror tilted her head, then raised a finger to her lips.
Nika's breath caught, but she didn't flinch. Just stared. Cold, calculating. Then she turned, walked back to Nick, and slapped a half-filled backpack into his chest.
"Time to go," she said, flatly.
"Where?" he asked, raising a brow.
"Anywhere that's not here."
The twins made their way through the streets until the concrete softened beneath their boots, giving way to cracked soil and patches of moss. The forest curved around the back of the city, where trees grew with unnatural angles and fog slithered along the roots like spilled milk.
Nick looked up through the branches. It was back.
That thing.
A tall, pitch-black humanoid figure perched on a limb far above. A grotesque mixture of owl and man. Wing-like arms hung limp in front of its emaciated body. Its head slowly tilted sideways—unnaturally far—until those two glowing white eyes locked on him.
Nika saw it too. She didn't speak. She just broke eye contact and walked into the deeper woods.
Nick followed without a word, checking behind him once more. But the thing hadn't moved.
---
The air was heavier now. Thicker. As if every breath had to be pulled through a layer of velvet. They stepped over brambles and fallen trunks, until finally, deep in the woods on the city's edge, they saw it.
An old, military-style RV parked beneath a canopy of trees. It was fortified—metal plating bolted over windows, barbed wire tied along the roof's perimeter. Smoke puffed from a pipe at the top.
Five people stood near the RV, all in varying states of exhaustion and tension. Two girls and three boys.
One of the boys, sitting on the roof with a scoped rifle, was a young boy. No more than 14 years old.
He blinked twice when he saw them—his gaze specifically locking on Nick. A cold sweat slid down his neck.
The last time he'd seen Nick, it hadn't been close. Just a glimpse, through the shattered window of a building Ethan was hiding in. He'd seen Nick slice a woman's jugular with the scissors, then smile. That smile had haunted him since.
Ethan stepped down. His eyes wandered toward Nika now—first time he'd ever seen her. He froze.
She was... striking.
Ethereal, almost. Silver hair, icey-blue eyes. She walked like she owned the forest. Every movement controlled, distant, purposeful. And something in him—a naïve, desperate part—felt pulled toward her like gravity.
He swallowed his words before they came out stupid.
The leader of the group, a boy with dark skin and a thick brown jacket patched with logos—finally spoke. "You two from the city?"
Nika stared at him. "What's left of it."
"And you are?"
"No one you need to remember," Nick muttered, stepping forward.
The group tensed.
One of the girls—short, pink hoodie, and a cast on her arm—leaned into the taller boy next to her. "Hey, hey, these are the ones you told us about?" she whispered, eyeing Ethan.
"I didn't say I knew them," Ethan replied quickly, eyes still on Nick. "Just… seen."
The other girl, tall with a mop of green-dyed hair, offered a small wave. "Name's Jo. That's Aiden," she pointed to the boy in the jacket. "Maya's the quiet one," she gestured to the pink hoodie. "And that guy with the crooked nose? Miles."
"I don't care," Nika said flatly. "We need supplies. Water. Food."
Jo blinked, slightly thrown off. "We don't really do handouts."
"You don't need to," Nick said, smiling too easily. "We'll ride along. Be quiet. Unless you make it loud."
Aiden glanced at Ethan, who gave the faintest nod. "Fine. You ride. But any bullshit, and you're out."
---
Later that Night
The RV creaked as it drove down a long-abandoned road winding through the outskirts. Night had settled, with the trees casting long shadows across the road like black ink strokes.
Nick sat on the roof, arms crossed, scissors resting beside him. His eyes scanned the trees.
Jo climbed up behind him, holding two mugs of something hot and poorly made. "You look like the quiet broody type. That, or the secret psycho type."
Nick snorted softly. "The second option."
She smiled, handing him the cup. "I don't even know your name."
"You don't need it."
"But I want it."
"…Nick."
"Nice to meet you, Nick. I'm Jo."
They sat in silence for a while, the night wind wrapping around them like a slow lullaby. Jo looked up at the stars—barely visible.
"Feels fake, doesn't it?" she said.
Nick looked at her. For a moment, he considered it. Killing her. Right here. A flick of the wrist.
But he didn't.
Because something else caught his attention.
They weren't alone anymore.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of those pitch-black figures were now perched in the trees. Watching. Not moving. Just… there.
His face didn't change. He stood up calmly. "We need to get inside. Now."
Jo blinked. "What?"
"Now."
They climbed down. Nick opened the door and stared at Nika. She was already standing.
"Drive."
The RV's engine groaned to life, the wheels crunching leaves as Aiden floored it. Behind them, the forest exploded into motion.
The owl-things leapt from trees, silent and fast, flapping jagged wings that never quite made noise. They followed. Endless.
Miles screamed. "WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE?!"
No one answered.
The RV passed through a narrow path, trees clawing at its sides. Then—
Light.
Warm, gentle light. Like a sunrise painted by a child. The road straightened. Picket fences. Flower beds. A mailbox.
Birds chirped.
The group blinked. It was daytime. The world was soft. Dreamlike.
Nick stared at the glowing blue sky, cloudless and perfect. The owl-creatures were gone.
"Are we… alive?" Maya whispered.
Nika didn't answer. She was staring at her reflection in the RV window.
Her eyes were dark.