Chapter 15 – Bloody Evening (Part 2)
Zane reached the stairwell of the apartment complex, the cold iron rails cool beneath his palm as he ascended toward the top floor. The place was deathly silent—eerily so. Lights glowed behind closed doors, a quiet testimony that others were home. And yet, not a single sound of life stirred from within. No television murmurs, no faint conversations, not even the shuffle of footsteps or the distant clatter of dishes.
His eyes swept over each hallway as he climbed. The walls, washed in faded beige paint, seemed to loom a little closer than usual. He wasn't sure why, but the air felt heavier than it had just that morning.
'Impressive how different this place looks at night,' he thought, his footfall echoing on the concrete stairs. 'Everything is the same… and yet, it isn't.'
It reminded him of the uncanny valley—when something looks human but not quite right, triggering a quiet sense of discomfort. This was like that, only for places instead of people. The building wasn't sinister by design. The odd part was how absolutely still everything had become.
Yet Zane wasn't afraid. Fear was something he had long left behind in his previous life. Darkness and silence meant nothing to him—both had been his closest companions for years. Fear, after all, was a luxury for people who didn't know what death smelled like. For someone like him, who considered death as nothing but a part of his daily life, fear simply meant nothing.
He reached the top floor and turned down the corridor toward his unit. The hallway was just as empty, dimly lit by flickering wall lamps. He pulled the keys from his pocket and began searching for the right one.
Then—
BANG.
A loud, sudden thud slammed into the silence, coming from the door to his immediate right.
Zane instinctively stepped back, muscles tightening beneath his skin. He turned to the door in question. It didn't open, but the echo of that impact lingered like a ripple in a still pond.
'That wasn't just someone dropping something,' he thought, narrowing his eyes. 'That came from inside the room. Someone hit the door from within.'
His gaze flicked to the frame, looking for any names or apartment number that might give him an idea of who lived there. Nothing. No nameplate, no mailbox slot. Just a worn wooden door with an aging brass handle.
Seconds passed. No further noise. He waited, muscles still poised. When the silence persisted, he sighed, chalking it up to an accident. Someone might've tripped and stumbled into the door. Happens. Still, the feeling gnawed at him.
He turned away.
BANG.
The second impact wasn't just loud—it was violent. It reverberated through the wall, and this time, the door itself shuddered under the force.
Zane's head snapped back to the source. His fingers closed into fists, his stance shifting slightly. No more pretense. This wasn't a stumble or accident. Something—or someone—was trying to get out.
BANG.
Again. Harder.
He took a few steps back, putting himself at a safe distance while keeping his eyes on the door. He wasn't about to run, but he wasn't about to stand too close, either.
The rattling continued, the door shaking with every hit, the handle twitching as if being twisted from the other side by frantic hands.
Then, suddenly—
The handle turned. Not slowly or cautiously. It twisted violently, again and again, until the door cracked open just an inch.
Zane tensed. His breath slowed.
A loud crash followed as the door was kicked open fully, slamming into the wall with a metallic clang. A man stumbled out.
He was older, maybe in his sixties, and clearly in distress. He clutched at his throat, wheezing and coughing in ragged bursts as though something were stuck inside. He staggered into the hallway, then collapsed against the railing, his whole body trembling. The coughing intensified, morphing into guttural cries of agony.
Zane didn't move. He only watched, unmoving, sharp eyes narrowing.
The man rolled on the ground, flailing, trying to breathe, spitting out thick strings of saliva that clung to his lips like foam. His mouth opened wide as if trying to scream, but only a raspy croak came out.
Their eyes met.
The old man's pupils were dilated with sheer panic—no, terror. A silent plea hung behind them, shaking and desperate.
"S-Save… me…" he croaked.
Zane still didn't move.
The man crawled toward him, fingers scratching against the floor. He reached out, face twisted in a grotesque mixture of agony and fear.
"Save… me…"
The voice grew less human with each repetition, becoming distorted, raw, inhuman. And that's when Zane saw the change.
Black veins.
They were slithering across the man's neck like ink stains spreading beneath the skin. They pulsed, growing darker and thicker, wrapping around his arms, his face, down his chest. He twitched violently as if something inside him was moving on its own.
The skin on his face began turning a deep reddish hue, then started to bubble—literally bubble—like hot oil boiling beneath flesh.
Zane stepped back as the transformation accelerated. The man's skin began peeling in long, wet strips, sliding down his body like molten wax. A single eye dropped out of its socket, hanging by a thread before falling to the floor.
Muscle and tendon were now fully exposed. Steam rose from his body. And yet, the man—or whatever was inside him—was still alive, twitching, shrieking.
Then… silence.
He lay still. Smoke curled up from the raw, exposed tissue. A nauseating stench of charred flesh filled the hallway. Zane said nothing. He simply watched the entire scene with eerie coldness as if nothing could perturb him. However, in his head, he was far from thoughtless.
'What is happening here? Is he going through some sort of transformation? Could this be...' An idea formed in his head that made him frown. The injuries the man had just suffered were deadly and no person can survive them.
'I mean... His skin melted off, for God's sake.'
But even in death, something wasn't right, and it didn't take long for something new to happen.
The corpse jerked.
At first, it was subtle—a twitch of the fingers. Then a spasm in the legs. And then, the body arched, back contorting as bones cracked with unnatural force.
Zane stood ready.
The thing rose.
Not the man anymore.
Its face—if it could still be called that—was stripped of expression. Melted flesh clung in ragged patches. The black veins pulsed like worms beneath translucent layers of muscle. Its jaw hung open, revealing misshapen teeth and a dark void of a mouth.
Blood mixed with foam dripped from its chin. Its eyes were wide, completely white now, and completely lifeless—except for the hunger burning behind them.
"AGH!!" it roared, in a voice that no longer sounded human.
Then it lunged.
Zane barely had time to shift his footing before the creature closed the distance between them in a blur of motion. It was fast. Incredibly fast—too fast for something that had just been rolling on the floor minutes ago.
Instinct kicked in. Zane's muscles reacted on their own.
He dropped low, narrowly avoiding the creature's outstretched claws as they tore through empty air. His shoulder grazed the wall as he rolled to the side and came up on his feet, turning just in time to see it whirl around for another charge.
'This isn't a human anymore,' he noted. 'Even its speed... It far exceeds what this old man should be capable of.'
This thing didn't move like one. It didn't fight like one. There was something entirely wrong with its body mechanics—jittery, yet unnaturally agile.
Zane took a breath, steadying himself.
This wasn't the kind of opponent he expected to face in this place.
'It seems I found my very first mutant... Lucky me.'