"*****"
A voice echoes.
A language not meant for mortals. It sounds familiar, yet uncertain. My eyes widen. My rigid body loosens. Fingertips glide across the ground. Instinct takes over—I twist abruptly, raising my forearms before my face like a boxer. They run. The giant and his followers, the ones who wished to see me suffer, flee.
My breath releases every worry, every pain, every fear. I rub my eyes—harder than usual, just to be sure. Yet when I lower my hands, they are even farther away. Their black, spire-like limbs pulse like my own heartbeat. And within merely twenty deep breaths, they are nothing but faint silhouettes on the horizon.
At first, I stare in silence. My shoulders sag, my hair falls before my eyes. Then, the corners of my mouth rise—higher and higher until my teeth show. My trembling hands run through my disheveled blond hair, still shaking from the rush of adrenaline. My breath, once ragged like a whistling kettle, twists into something else. A laugh. A hysterical, unbidden laughter that spills from my throat.
"In an apocalypse?" I say, my voice carrying the last remnants of a chuckle. "So, there is a way to survive after all."
My brows knit into a serious expression. My left-hand curls into a fist—my right hand tries, but stops midway. A sharp pain shoots through my forearm, and I click my tongue in frustration. I curse under my breath but shake the pain away as I slowly rise to my feet.
Since the very first breath I took after escaping death, I have been scanning my surroundings. And to my fortune, no colorful beings have appeared—only the dozen who followed that mysterious voice. Wiping the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve, I lift my gaze to the sky.
Pinkish-violet, like a withering rose.
My lips part slightly as my eyes drift farther, locking onto something even more bizarre. My breath hitches for a fraction of a second before continuing its rhythm. The sky is fractured. A pristine blue peeks through the cracks in the dying rose-colored expanse. A sun—radiating not golden light, but an ethereal blue.
I stare in awe as birds glide across its glow, shattering the light with their wings. But as quickly as I am distracted, I regain focus and push forward.
…
I gasp for air. My head pounds. Unrelenting, I run. Sweat drips from my forehead, burning my eyes. Then, finally—I see it. My apartment. A standard student complex. A long row of balconies stretching across the second floor. The sight of it sends a jolt through my chest, and I force myself up the stairs, my legs screaming in protest.
With shaking hands, I reach beneath the doormat, feeling for the key. My heart hammers at the thought—what if it had been stolen? I had planned to leave everything behind, to abandon my life completely. But as my fingers close around cold metal, relief floods my chest.
A clatter, like chains rattling.
Click.
The door swings open, and I rush inside. My Colt M1911. My eyes dart around frantically—from the wooden coat rack to the porcelain plates, to the drawer beneath my desk.
The blue light catches on its surface, reflecting in the polished, obsidian-black metal.
Eight rounds.
A lopsided grin tugs at my lips as I hold the pistol, its barrel angled toward the ground. With a flick of my thumb, I disengage the safety, pressing the lever down on the left side. I tilt it slightly, examining it, before securing it once more. My eyes flicker upward, my head following a moment later.
If these things are like zombies from the movies…
My gaze sweeps across the room before landing on something else—a baseball bat. I grip it, letting its weight settle in my hand.
…then I shouldn't be too loud.
Securing the Colt in the holster strapped to my worn brown belt, I rest the bat casually over my shoulder. I pause, thoughts racing as I consider my next move.
Then, a sharp hissing noise.
My breath catches. My head jerks to the right.
The television.
Flickering, its screen invaded by streaks of chaotic color. Slowly, the distortions form hazy, unrecognizable silhouettes. Voices crackle through the static—one high-pitched and grating, the other calmer but laced with panic.
"MONSTERS—SUPERIOR BEINGS WITH BLOOD OF A DIFFERENT COLOR!"
The shrill voice screams. A gaunt old man appears on the screen, an aluminum cap perched atop his wrinkled head.
"THE GOVERNMENT LIED TO US! TOLD US THERE WAS NOTHING BEYOND THE ICE! LIED! DECEIVED US!" He throws up his skeletal hands, clutching his face. Thin, white strands of hair dangle from his gleaming scalp.
"THE WORLD IS BIGGER THAN WE THOUGHT! SPACE ISN'T REAL! THE MOON LANDING WAS A FARCE! WE ARE NOTHING MORE THAN ENTERTAINMENT FOR BEINGS WHO SEE MORTAL LIFE AS NOTHING BUT A FLEETING AMUSEMENT!"
Beside him, another man—middle-aged, with thick brown hair and weary eyes rimmed with dark circles—speaks.
"THIS WORLD IS MERELY A CONTINENT IN A FAR GREATER RE––"
My eyes widen.
I blink.
Less than a heartbeat. Not even half a breath.
And yet, in that instant, I see them—split in two.
The plastic-covered room, shredded. A hole in the wall, large enough to swallow a car.
Entrails spill to the floor, thick and wine-red. The color drains from their fading brown eyes.
Behind them—
A faceless creature.
No eyes, no teeth, no nose. Just a mouth—a gaping void stretched into a cruel grin.
Draped in a black suit, soaked in red. Its long, spindly fingers drip with blue and yellow viscera.
It stares at me.
Through the television.
Watching.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, it lifts a handful of intestines to its mouth—and eats. Like slurping noodles, it devours them, its horrific grin widening.
The screen cuts to static.
A deep unease coils in my gut.
My knees weaken. My grip on the baseball bat loosens.
I lower my head, running a trembling hand over my brow. My forehead creases.
"This can't be real…" I murmur, but even as the words leave my lips, my body moves.
My left hand grips the doorknob. It trembles, but I squeeze tighter.