Eventually, help arrived. Or something like it. We'd deviated from the script just enough to dodge disaster, if only for a moment.
From the shadows of the bunker, Charlie emerged. His body was wreathed in black mist, shadows blooming at his feet like spilled ink. The gas avoided him, curling away. He held out a hand to Issac.
"You don't have to do this alone anymore."
Issac's mind spun, torn between relief and despair. This was the man who'd ended the world, the architect of extinction. And he was offering help.
"Why?" Issac's voice broke. "Why me?"
Charlie's eyes were heavy with regret. "Because someone has to care. Even for you. Especially for you."
Issac's resistance crumbled. He collapsed, strings cut. Charlie knelt, steady and patient.
"Rest. Tomorrow's another day," he murmured. Issac's body slowly unclenched, muscles unwinding as Charlie stroked his head. For now, peace.
We settled into the bunker for the night—a rare, fragile calm.
Edward appeared next, his face a roadmap of old scars. As we moved deeper into the metal corridors, he began filling in the blanks.
Charlie, he explained, was the product of desperate experimentation—part angel, part wound. Edward had watched the process, helpless. The bunker's people were unraveling, civility rotting into violence, hunger, and madness. Cannibalism lurked at the edges.
This wasn't a worst-case scenario. It was the only scenario.
I found my old room, mold blooming on the walls, the bed a skeleton. I sat, lost. What came next? Could I save anyone? Was I strong enough, smart enough, cruel enough?
Or would the world end, and every soul be erased—just another failed draft in someone else's story?
I'd always been reckless, but now I had to be careful. The air stank of blood and despair. I clung to hope—maybe foolishly—because the alternative was giving in.
I refused.
It feels like the lines between gods and survivors have started to blur for us. Seriously, after facing the same crazy situations so many times, even the most delicate person starts picking up on a thing or two. I kept a mental note of all the ways I kicked the bucket: my own death, Isaac's, sometimes Star's, but Phoenix? Never encountered that one. The world kept changing around us, but our little group felt stable as ever.
Star was sitting next to me while I jotted notes in my little notebook, her knees tucked up under her chin. She was staring at the sunrise, which never failed to switch it up just enough each day. Suddenly she broke the silence, asking, "What if we're not really looping?" That made me stop dead in my tracks, a shiver dancing down my spine. "What do you mean?" I asked her. "What if it's just you?" she shot back, and that idea hung there like an unwanted guest. I couldn't shake it off for hours, flipping around in my mind and crashing into all my other worries. Isaac tried to soothe me, but I could hear that tiny crack in his voice that tells you someone's not as tough as they act.
Then Celsius came back from her trip to the edge of the world with some news that put a knot in my stomach. She told us about a crack that was bigger than it had ever been, where the air looked all wonky, and time felt off. "It's getting worse," she said, and this time there was no one to blame—it was just fear bubbling up from her.
In the meantime, I noticed Phoenix and Felix caught up in their chess game on top of a broken old tree. Their laughter was like little birds flitting away quickly. Whenever Phoenix lost, he would flip the board and yell, "Reset!" Felix, though, just picked up the pieces and set them up for another round without a peep.
Riguel was off to the side, his hands shoved deep into his burnt coat pockets. One evening, he turned towards me with a serious look and said, "When the pattern breaks, the world will shut down. Be ready to make a choice." I had no idea what he meant, but it made me think.
Days rolled on and the cracks in our reality felt like they were widening. Some days, I could still remember how warm the sun felt or the scent of fresh rain. Other times, those memories felt like bits of a movie I was watching, snippets of a life where I didn't drown or die, a life where I didn't get close to Isaac or the others. Some days, I'd scribble those memories down in my notebook; others, I'd burn the pages to get rid of the ache.
One night, Felix handed me a cool stone. It had lines on it that made no sense to me. "This might help when you need to make a choice," he said, leaving me scratching my head.
Things started escalating after that. I found myself dying in the crater lake, out in the valley, and even once while in Isaac's arms. Heck, I think I even died in my sleep one time. Each time I woke up, I felt more fragile, like bits of me were disintegrating, and I was slowly slipping away from the whole story.
Finally, we all gathered at the world's edge—six of us, and the ground felt like it was quaking with every breath we took. In the center, that fissure pulsed with light and shadow. Riguel looked at me intensely and said, "It's your turn." I scanned the faces of Isaac, Star, Celsius, Phoenix, and Felix, like pieces on a chessboard, waiting for my move. Holding the stone tight in my hand, I stepped forward, and honestly, it felt like the story itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if I would end it or if I'd try to create something entirely new.
Sleep didn't come easy. It was riddled with nightmares about losing everything. The bunker creaked and groaned in the dark, expanding and contracting like it was alive. I heard Charlie's footsteps echoing down the hall, slow but steady, a rhythm that kept my nightmares at bay. Isaac lay curled up next to the old radiator, his breathing shallow but even. Edward had positioned himself by the door, holding his battered revolver across his knees.
In the early hours, I found myself watching the old broken clock tick toward dawn. Its hands twitched now and then, as if it couldn't figure out the time. I tried to come up with a plan, but I kept drifting back to thoughts of Charlie—her shadowy form, the way the gas recoiled away from her. Was she really on our side, or just biding her time until it was convenient for him to betray us?
At some point, I finally dozed off. When I woke up again, the shadows lessened, and Charlie was nowhere to be seen. All that was left was a dark mark where he had sat. Edward looked up from his spot by the door, his eyes red-rimmed but still sharp as ever.
"Breakfast," he muttered, pointing to a can of beans that was more dent than can now. He had already pried it open with his knife, which had some gunk on it that looked suspiciously like tomato sauce.
Isaac jolted awake when I tossed him a spoon. He looked at the food like it might have teeth and bite him. Can't say I blamed him. Food nowadays was like a roll of the dice—sometimes it filled you up, and sometimes it made you sick. Hunger always won in the end.
Edward chewed on his food, staring ahead. "We need supplies," he remarked. "Guns, medicine, water filters. If we're going to make it, we can't just hide down here forever."
I nodded because I was thinking along the same lines. The bunker felt safe for now, but that safety could trap us in the long run. Going outside was risky, but at least it might give us a shot at something new or a say in our own lives.
Isaac chimed in, his voice shaky, "What about Charlie?" Edward's jaw tightened. "She'll come back. She always does." That felt both reassuring and eerie, like a shadow lurking in the corner.
We spent the morning getting our gear ready. My backpack was a mess of duct tape and old campaign patches—remnants from a time when things meant more than they do now. Edward treated his revolver like it was a prized possession, cleaning it with the care only a guy who knows what it feels like to be unarmed would have. Isaac found an old stash of postcards in one of the abandoned rooms and read them aloud in a soft, shaky voice. Messages from folks we'd lost.
Charlie came back just before noon. She slipped in quietly, that black mist trailing behind him like it was her best friend. He dropped a worn duffel bag at our feet. "Found these on the upper level," she said. "You'll need them."
Inside were water bottles, a few boxes of stale protein bars, and a first aid kit that seemed to still be okay. There was also a map, though its edges were burned and the routes were marked in charcoal.
Edward gave a grunt of approval but kept his hands close to his weapon. Isaac looked away, refusing to meet Charlie's gaze.
Charlie caught my eyes and said, "You're thinking about leaving." It wasn't a question.
"We can't stay down here forever," I replied.
She nodded, saying, "You shouldn't. But remember, you need to go together. The surface isn't what it used to be."
I wanted to ask her what she meant by that. But her eyes held a warning; there were things up there more terrifying than hunger or madness. Yet, hanging out in the bunker felt like slow death, and I'd rather risk moving forward than wait for the walls to close in.
We spent the day preparing. Isaac took inventory of our supplies, his hands trembling but steady. Edward plotted out potential routes, muttering about tunnels that had collapsed and paths that wouldn't work. Charlie sat quietly, watching, her presence both comforting and unnerving.
One evening, I found myself alone with him in the hallway as the lights started to flicker. "Why did you come back?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
He gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You remind me of someone I couldn't save." I paused, waiting for him to say more, but he didn't.
The last night before we ventured out, I struggled to sleep. I roamed the bunker's maze, tracing the scars on the walls, reminders of past violence. The old rec room was a jumble of broken chairs and shattered screens. In a corner, I stumbled upon a half-finished mural—children with bright eyes, holding hands under a sky filled with hope.
I lingered with them, soaking in the peace.
When dawn broke, we gathered at the main hatch. Edward checked his gun, and Isaac held the map tightly like it was a lifeline. Charlie stood slightly apart, his shadows flickering around him.
Edward heaved the hatch open, and stale air rushed in, an unwelcome reminder of what lay outside. The world beyond was dull and broken, the sky looking like rusted metal. The city sprawled in ruins, skyscrapers sagging, streets choked with wild growth.
We stepped out, squinting against the harsh light. The air burned with remnants of poison. Charlie led the way, that mist parting in front of him. Edward took up the rear, standing tall, his eyes sharp and observant.
We navigated through the debris—burnt cars and the skeletal remains of stores. No birds chirped. Occasionally, we heard a noise too big to be human, too quiet to be a machine.
We pressed on.
Isaac stumbled, almost falling into a gap where the sidewalk had crumbled. I grabbed his arm to steady him. "Thanks," he muttered, a blush creeping into his cheeks.
Charlie glanced back, a warning in her eyes. "Stick close together. The city's hungry."
The first signs of life popped up by the river—a cluster of makeshift tents with smoke rising from a barrel fire. Edward signaled for quiet, gesturing us to duck low in the underbrush.
A woman stepped out, looking thin and cautious, her child hung on to her side. She scanned the area before disappearing back into the camp.
Edward whispered, "We could barter. Maybe find out some news."
Charlie shook her head. "Desperate people make desperate choices."
Still, we were in need of water. After some back-and-forth, we edged closer, hands open and empty. The woman eyed us suspiciously as we approached.
I offered a protein bar, hesitant. She took it, casting quick glances between us. "We're hoping for safe passage out of the city," I said.
She barked a laugh, bitter. "That doesn't exist anymore." But then she gave us directions—an old maintenance shaft we could use to bypass most of the gangs. In return, we handed her the bulk of our stale food, watching her retreat to her camp, clutching it like it was gold.
We pushed on, the city closing in around us. Isaac grew quieter, Edward became tenser. Charlie seemed smaller, her shadows huddling closer, as if trying to shield her from the outside world.
By day three, fatigue hit hard. The tunnels were a mess, reeking of rot and past lives gone wrong. We passed doors sealed tight from the inside and heard scratching sounds behind the walls. At one point, something big and pale slipped through the shadows ahead, disappearing before we could figure out what it was.
We didn't chase after it.
At night, we bunkered together, listening to the forlorn howl of the wind through broken grates. Charlie kept watch, her eyes glowing in the dim light.
Edward leaned in and confided in me, his voice low. "She's changing. The more she helps, the less she seems like a person."
I nodded; I'd noticed it too—the softening of his voice, the way his features blurred at the edges in the half-light.
"Do you trust her?" I asked.
Edward's silence said more than words.
Yet here we were, bound to him in this awful mess. In a world as ruined as ours, trust was a rare treasure we all clung to, desperate for a glimmer of hope.
On the seventh day, we finally reached the city's outskirts. The horizon sparkled with possibilities of open land—wild and risky but a chance to escape the ghosts of the past.
We paused, taking in the view; the city lay behind us, the unknown ahead.
Charlie turned to us, clarity shining in her eyes for the first time. "This is where I leave you," he said. "I can't go any further."
Isaac reached for her, but his hand passed through empty space. "Remember," Charlie said, an earnest look on her face. "Someone has to care." Just like that, he was gone, his shadows melting into the breeze.
We stood there in silence, a vast emptiness awaiting us.
Edward straightened his back, while Isaac squeezed my hand tightly.
And then we stepped forward, ready to face whatever came next.
Screaming cut through the silence. My name, raw and urgent. The ceiling cracked, and the world came down. Bones shattered, blood sprayed. Someone screamed, but it wasn't me anymore.
Why? I wondered as the void swallowed me.
Nothing. Then—suddenly—back in my room. Same mold, same fear. But no Issac, no impact, just silence.
I waited. Two hours. Sleep found me.
And then—the dream.
A man with wings at a gate, keys in his hand. He smiled, too perfect. Gone.
Another man, the same gate, but his face was ruined—one eye gone, blood oozing. He turned the keys. The gate opened.
It emerged: a monster in the rough shape of a man, eight feet tall, eyes black and empty. Its mouth was lined with rusted nails, a second mouth stitched into its abdomen. Its "hair" was hardened blood.
It lifted the man, sliced him apart, devoured the remains. I tried to close my eyes, but couldn't.
It looked at me. Wings sprouted, a crown of bone forming. It soared, and I woke, heart racing.
It's coming, I thought.
Blood dripped from my nose. Steps approached. I grabbed my sword, braced myself. The door burst open—Edward. Relief.
"Come on, Theresa, don't want to be late," he said with a grin.
I dressed quickly, not wanting to add to Edward's worries. He followed, calm, eyes crackling with hidden power.
"I can take us anywhere," he said. "But there's nowhere left to run."
We weren't normal. Not after the experiments. We could bend the world, but not escape the loop. Only survive, only guide.
I died again. Crushed by falling ash. The seventh time.
Issac watched, helpless, as Charlie's darkness swallowed his screams. Edward twisted time and space to try to save me, but we always ended up back at the start. Me dying, Issac watching.
The five—Star, Riguel, Celsius, Phoenix, Felix—grew closer, more human, or better at faking it.
Riguel, once unreadable, sat with Issac, voice low. "It wasn't supposed to last this long. But she keeps choosing you."
Star drew symbols in the dust. Felix showed possible timelines. "There's one where she lives. Only one."
"And the rest?"
Silence.
I returned, more faded each time. "They're wearing me down, Issac. But I remember everything now."
The loops changed—evolved. Charlie froze storms, Edward tore open time, the five revealed secrets. A plan began to form.
A real escape.
But from what? Death? Fate? Truth?
We stood at the edge of the waste—Issac, me, Charlie, Edward. The five watched, judges or saints or just survivors.
"This is the last one," I said, a certainty settling in my bones.
"How do you know?"
I looked at the sky—red, sick, beautiful in its own way.
"Because I chose it."
For a heartbeat, the world paused. The wind was metal and glass and poison. Issac pulled my hood tighter as I stumbled through the ashstorm.
"Don't breathe too deep," he warned.
Too late.
Thirteen minutes. That's how long we had. I could feel the countdown in my bones.
The ground was soft—ash, melted asphalt, bone. Trees were petrified, frozen in screams. The anchoring, Felix called it—the world cutting itself down to size.
Phoenix spun a rusted compass on the ridge. "Too late to reroute. Riguel's in place."
Issac's jaw clenched. "He knows what happens if she dies again."
"Riguel's not a person. You can't guilt a machine."
Blood flecked my cough. The end had started.
We ran, up the cliff, toward the lake that reflected a broken sky. Riguel stood, tall and silent, fingers twitching.
"You have to move!" Issac shouted.
Riguel blinked. "My position is the event."
"What event?!"
He reached into his own chest, pulling out a pulsing sun fragment.
I dropped. Edward tore into the scene, grabbing me before the pulse hit. "Go!" he roared.
Charlie's shadows swallowed us—pure absence.
For a moment, we were safe.
Issac saw it all: the crater boiling, me convulsing, Riguel's sun fragment erupting. Then—gone.
He woke in the mud. I was alive. The loop closed.
We spent that round in silence. I watched Issac differently—like I knew a secret he didn't.
"You're changing," I told him. He stared at his hands—fingertips darkening, not dirt, not rot. Shadow.
Charlie's doing? Or was the world claiming him too?
Later that day we met Celsius near the sulfur geysers, the air thick and yellow. She pressed her hand to my chest.
"You've got six loops left," she said. No emotion. Just fact.
And the story, for now, began again.