pressure underwater. Fluorescents buzzed dimly overhead, some still flickering despite the hour. Natural light filtered in through narrow windows along the corridor, casting long, uneven shadows on the tiled floor. Their footsteps were cautious whispers against the ground.
Eli led, baton in hand. He scanned each doorway and corner with sharp, deliberate eyes, tension visible in every line of his posture. Paulo followed behind him, limping with effort, one hand pressed lightly to the wall for support.
They were nearing the final stretch now. The corridor that led to the lower-level parking lot loomed just ahead, a green EXIT sign humming faintly above the double doors. Sunlight bled faintly through a frosted panel set in the doors, softening the sterile light.
Eli's focus tightened, breath slowing into a rhythm, every sense alert.
Then—a sound.
Wet. Tearing.
He stopped.
Paulo almost bumped into him. "What is it—?"
Then came the scream.
Sharp, high-pitched, guttural. And then it stopped, choked off mid-breath.
Eli moved before he even thought. He broke into a jog, ignoring the way his side pulled, and rounded the corner. Paulo staggered after him, the splint on his leg clicking with every limping step.
What they saw stopped them both in their tracks.
A man lay sprawled in the middle of the hallway, his limbs twisted unnaturally. His chest had been torn open, ribs cracked wide. Exposing the still-steaming mess of what had once been inside him. His intestines were coiled across the floor like a painter's brushstroke in deep crimson.
Paulo gagged behind him. Hard.
He clutched his stomach and turned away, wheezing, bent over at the waist like he might vomit. "God. Oh god. I can't—"
Eli didn't speak.
Standing over the corpse was a deformed creature.
Taller than the last one he'd seen. Its skin shimmered with something wet and iridescent, slick with black rain residue or blood—maybe both. Parts of it were stretched too long: its arms, its fingers, its neck. It hunched like it had once been human and simply forgot how to be.
It didn't eat. Not exactly.
But it was fascinated by what spilled out of people.
The creature twitched once, then froze. Slowly, its head turned toward them. It sniffed the air, jerking in small movements like a predator picking up fresh scent.
Eli raised his baton.
The thing's mouth opened with a low, clicking sound, thick strands of saliva or ichor drooling from between yellowed teeth.
Paulo staggered back again. "Eli—oh fuck, Eli—"
"Stay behind me," Eli said, voice low and firm. "Don't run unless I tell you to."
The creature tilted its head—
—and lunged.
Eli met it mid-charge, bracing his stance and swinging the baton with everything he had. It cracked against the creature's shoulder with a sickening crunch, but the thing barely staggered. A second later it was on him, claws flashing.
Eli ducked the first swipe, but the second tore across his ribs. The sharp pain was electric, blinding. He gasped, stumbling sideways, his coat soaking through with fresh blood. The wound wasn't deep—but it landed squarely on bruises that were already swelling from earlier.
The creature lunged again, and Eli gritted his teeth, raised the baton and shoved it under the creature's jaw, forcing its head back. They struggled against each other, locked in a brutal contest of strength. Eli could feel the slick, sticky texture of its skin, the cold press of claw-tips grazing his arm.
He yelled and slammed the creature against the wall.
"RUN!" Eli yelled.
But Paulo stood frozen in the corridor, paralyzed by the sight of spilled organs and the sound of violence.
"What—?"
"GO! Hide!"
Paulo hesitated a beat longer, then limped fast down the opposite hall, clutching his arm, breath ragged with fear.
It snarled and twisted out of his grip and slammed its elbow into his sternum.
Eli gasped, letting go of the creature.
The creature screeched and lunged for Eli again.
Eli swung low this time, catching its leg. Bone snapped. It shrieked, falling to one knee—but even that didn't stop it.
The creature just snarled and tackled him again.
He hit the tile hard, disoriented, blinking up at the ceiling lights that flickered like a strobe. The baton skidded just out of reach. Eli elbowed it, punched it, grabbed a handful of its matted, blood-slick hair and yanked back—but it only hissed louder, claws digging into his sides.
The creature loomed over him, hunched and panting. It raised one clawed hand.
And paused.
Eli blinked.
He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Could feel the cold of the tile under him. Could taste blood in his mouth. His body screamed to move, to do something—but his arms wouldn't obey.
He stared up at the thing above him. Its eyes were black and bottomless. Its mouth quivered with anticipation.
This was it.
So, this is how it ends.
Torn apart on the floor like that man.
The thought slid into his mind, oddly calm. Not in an ambulance, not in a hospital bed. Not even with a goodbye.
Just pain.Blood.Silence.
He thought of Paulo.
Limping, terrified, alone. The kid still half in shock from everything they'd seen. The memory of his voice echoed somewhere in Eli's skull—panicked, cracking, pleading.
If he died here—
Paulo would be next.
He's going to find your body. Or worse… it's going to find him.
He clenched his teeth.
No.
He forced his hand to twitch, to move—anything.
But the creature saw it too and screeched.
It raised its claw—
Then—