The group trudged through the deserted streets, their boots crunching against the shattered glass and debris. Marcus walked in silence, his axe slung over his shoulder, but the thought gnawed at him. The vent—their supposed escape route—had been blocked earlier. Something about that didn’t sit right with him. Finally, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, he broke the silence. “That vent,” Marcus started, his voice cutting through the eerie stillness. “It was blocked earlier. How?” Clara froze mid-step, her body tensing for a fraction of a second before she quickly resumed walking. Her mind raced. 'He’s suspicious.' Taking a deep breath, she focused her thoughts, reaching out mentally to Erika and Ian. This wasn’t just about silencing doubts—it required precision. Implanting false memories wasn’t her strongest suit, but she had no choice. She concentrated hard, weaving her thoughts into their minds. 'You didn’t block the vent. You never saw it blocked. Everything was norm
The floodlights made it nearly impossible to see beyond their glaring intensity. The command from the loudspeaker boomed once more. “Civilians! Kneel down with your hands on your heads! Do it now!” For a moment, the group stood frozen. Hope flickered briefly in Erika’s wide eyes. “It’s the military,” she whispered, her voice tinged with cautious optimism. “They’re here to help.” Marcus frowned, his grip on his axe loosening slightly. Briggs glanced at him and then at Clara, who looked skeptical but resigned. “Let’s not make this worse,” Briggs muttered. “If it’s the government, we might finally catch a break.” Reluctantly, Marcus lowered his axe, setting it on the ground with a dull thud. He dropped to his knees, raising his hands above his head. The others followed suit, although Clara hesitated for a heartbeat before complying, wincing as her injured shoulder protested. The sound of boots hitting pavement grew louder as soldiers descended from the helicopters on ropes,
After leaving the checkpoint where they had dropped their names and basic personal information, the military personnel directed the group to separate testing stations. Clara glanced around, noticing how the others were being led off in different directions, each to their own station. She was alone now, and that only heightened her nerves. “Step forward,” barked the medic at her station, motioning to the spot in front of him. Clara approached cautiously, keeping her expression calm despite the storm of thoughts racing through her mind. The medic adjusted his glasses and began explaining the procedure. “We’ll start with a temperature scan, followed by a quick blood draw. Standard protocol to check for any abnormalities,” he said, reaching for a handheld scanner. Alarm bells rang in Clara’s mind. 'Hell no.'Forcing a polite smile, she let her compulsion powers surge to life, their subtle influence weaving into the medic’s mind. Her thoughts pressed against his, implanting the sug
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the quarantine zone in eerie shadows illuminated only by the harsh floodlights mounted on military vehicles. The once-distant sounds of chaos—screams, sporadic gunfire, and inhuman growls—was now all over the place.Inside the makeshift base, Clara, Ian, Erika and Briggs remained tense, huddled together near the edge of the cordoned area. The soldiers, now on high alert, barked orders and readied their weapons. Briggs paced, his ears keen on picking up anything that might clue them into the escalating situation. He froze when he heard a nearby soldier’s radio crackle to life. “Level 3 purge order confirmed,” the voice on the other end said coldly. “What’s the timeline?” the soldier asked, his face pale despite his hardened demeanor. “Eighteen hundred hours. No exceptions.” Briggs’s stomach dropped. He clenched his fists and turned back to the group. “They’re planning to kill everyone—infected or not probably.” Ian stared at him
The world ended on a day like any other.Marcus sprinted down the once familiar streets, now in the grip of chaos. Abandoned cars cluttered the road, their horns blaring uselessly into the dusty afternoon air. People ran in all directions, some screaming for help, others attacking each other in frenzied panic. The sky was tinged with an eerie red hue, a reminder of the catastrophe sweeping across the country. Just a few hours ago, everything had been normal. He had been normal.Then the news broke.It started like any other viral headline: "Breaking News! : Unexplained Violent Outbreaks Across the Country."At first, it was just contained random acts of aggression, riots erupting without cause in major cities. Marcus had seen the videos circulating online, each one more horrifying than the last: people attacking others with mindless rage, their eyes glazed over, faces twisted with unnatural hunger. Experts on TV scrambled for explanations ranging from terrorism, a new virus, or even m
Marcus stepped out of the bathroom, steam swirling behind him as he wiped the last droplets of water from his face. The grime and filth that had seeped from his body earlier were now washed away, leaving his skin feeling fresh and clean. The strange, almost euphoric high that had gripped him during the transformation had subsided, but the sense of renewal still lingered. His muscles, sore from the recent battle, now only ached faintly, as if the worst of the strain had been purged along with the dirt. He inhaled deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs more fully than before, as though his body had been reset. The infection that had threatened to overtake him was gone, but the changes it left behind were undeniable. He caught his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink—a face he barely recognized anymore. His skin, once pale and sickly, now had a healthier glow, and his eyes, sharper and more alert, seemed to gleam with an intensity he hadn’t seen before.Then the screen popped
He glanced out through his window and caught sight of several infected roaming the street below. The eerie silence was occasionally broken by distant groans and shuffling feet. Marcus exhaled, grabbed his backpack, and moved toward the door.The hallway outside was eerily quiet. Marcus paused for a moment, listening intently for any movement. Nothing. He started down the stairs, taking care to make as little noise as possible. His thoughts were a jumble—his family, this infection, and whatever strange power had just been bestowed upon him. As he reached the ground floor, Marcus froze. A figure stood near the entrance, hunched over and twitching. His stomach sank as he recognized her—the building’s caretaker. She had always been unpleasant, quick to snap at residents over petty issues. Still, she didn’t deserve this fate.Her skin had taken on a pale, sickly hue, and her eyes, once sharp and judgmental were now clouded and dead. The infected caretaker suddenly let out a low growl, her
Marcus took a deep breath as he stepped outside, the chaos of the city now in full view. Smoke filled the air from burning cars, and the distant screams of panicked civilians echoed through the streets. It was a scene out of a nightmare—total anarchy. People were running, some trying to fight the infected, while others fled in desperation. The infected themselves were relentless, lunging at anyone in sight, their grotesque forms an all too horrifying reminder of what awaited anyone who failed to escape.Marcus’s eyes scanned his surroundings, his mind racing. He needed a plan. His first thought was simple: gather supplies. He couldn’t survive on just the clothes on his back, and the spatial pocket he had was a godsend in this situation. A quick inventory check showed he still had some basic items, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He needed food, water, and most importantly, a weapon, something reliable that didn’t drain his Aether. After his earlier fight, Marcus was acutely aware of his