I've always hated the silence.
It's the only time my mind speaks louder than the world ever could. When the noise of the day finally dies, all that's left is me — and I've never been all that fond of myself.
I haven't slept properly in years. Insomnia. A fitting companion, really. You'd think after all this time, I'd get used to it. That the absence of sleep would become another dull ache, like a scar you forget you even have. But no. It doesn't dull. It sharpens.
There's something about 3AM that turns even the simplest thoughts into labyrinths. I don't think people are meant to sit with themselves for this long. Our brains were designed to be distracted, numbed, entertained. Strip all that away, and you're left staring at the raw machinery — all its broken gears and faulty wiring. I know mine better than most.
I've always had this… theory. That people aren't scared of the dark because of what's in it, but because of what their own mind becomes when the lights go out. The dark doesn't lie. The dark doesn't make excuses for you. It just lets you sit there, naked, with your regrets and your 'what ifs.'
And lately, there's been a hell of a lot of those.
Her face still lingers behind my eyelids, even when they're wide open. That's the real curse. You can't outrun a memory, no matter how fast your body moves or how far you shove it down. I used to think I could. I used to think I was smarter than that. But even intelligence has its limits — and when it comes to the matters of the heart, logic's just an old man trying to hold back a tidal wave.
Funny, isn't it? The smarter you are, the more you suffer. The more you realize the patterns — how people repeat the same mistakes, how trust is nothing but a currency that's always overvalued, how connection is a luxury built on illusion.
And yet… here I am. Still chasing after meaning. Still playing the fool.
My eyes drift toward the fire's last embers, watching them flicker, slow and lazy, like they know the end is coming and they've made peace with it. I wonder if I'll ever learn to do the same.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the silence wins.
I close my eyes — and like clockwork, the dream comes for me.
It's always the same.
A dead world. Silent, gray, stripped of all the noise and life it once held. The streets are cracked, the skies are always bruised purple, and the only thing left breathing is me… and her.
Lilly.
Funny how in the end, it's always her. Not because I want it to be — if anything, I wish the universe would erase her from my head altogether. But there she is. Standing in that endless silence with me. The last two people left in a world that neither of us were ever meant to save.
We don't talk. We don't even look at each other unless it's to trade weapons or patch up wounds. Hate has become so normal between us, it's almost comfortable. Like two ghosts stuck in the same loop, cursing the other for being the only thing left.
And yet, when the creatures come crawling out of the dark, we stand back-to-back, moving in sync like we never missed a beat. Like the world's end forced our hands to remember who we used to be — or at least pretend to.
But that's the part that always gets me.
Because no matter how many times we fight, no matter how many times we bleed, the world stays broken, and we stay stuck. Together. Alone.
I force myself out of the thought, shaking it loose from my skull like water off a soaked coat. I won't let it linger tonight. I can't.
When I finally open my eyes, the fire's almost out, the room cold and quiet, everyone else curled into the kind of sleep I'll probably never know.
I lay back slowly, pulling the blanket over me, letting the dark swallow me whole.
And for once, the dream doesn't follow.
The night stretched on, thick and silent, save for the occasional crackle of dying embers in the fireplace. The air inside the old cabin had gone cold, pressing heavy against the windows like the outside world was trying to creep back in.
Kent finally drifted off, his body still tense even in sleep, the exhaustion dragging him under despite the restless thoughts that had clawed at him for hours.
Across the room, the others lay scattered in uneven positions, all too worn out to care about comfort. Shin rested against the wall, arms crossed, his face unreadable even in unconsciousness. Elie, still pale from the events earlier, lay curled slightly, her sprained ankle propped up the best they could manage. Evelyn had stayed close to her, one hand resting loosely in reach, as if her presence alone could anchor the girl's unsettled mind.
Alix slept near the window, her head leaning back against the frame, the moonlight faintly illuminating the quiet frown etched onto her face.
For a while, there was only the sound of wind brushing against the walls, like the world was holding its breath.
And beneath all that quiet, a question hung in the air between them — one none of them were ready to say out loud:
What happens now?
Morning would come, and with it, more choices they weren't prepared to make. But for now, the world could wait. The cabin, the cold, the uncertainty — it all waited with them.
The hours crawled by, slow and unkind, as the night clung to the cabin like it didn't want to let them go. The fire had long since reduced to glowing embers, leaving the room lit only by the faint, silvery light of the moon seeping in through the cracked, dirt-smudged windows.
The cold settled in heavier, weaving through the broken floorboards and unfinished walls, finding every weakness in the old structure. But none of them moved. The exhaustion had anchored too deep, a weight that pulled their bodies into stillness — though none of their minds were afforded the same mercy.
Shin's posture, even in sleep, was rigid. His back leaned against the wall, head tilted slightly downward, his arms folded over his chest. If it weren't for the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing, anyone would've thought he was wide awake, silently preparing for whatever would come next.
A few feet away, Elie's breathing had softened into the light, uneven rhythm of someone trapped between true sleep and fractured dreams. Her ankle throbbed in dull, rhythmic pulses under the makeshift wrap Evelyn had managed to put together earlier, but her mind wasn't on the pain. Even unconscious, her brows furrowed in the same way they had when Kent had caught her gaze earlier — that same familiar pull of old emotions, the kind that never really leave, no matter how much distance you pretend exists.
Evelyn stirred slightly, half-awake, half-guarding the room in silence. Her fingers twitched now and again, as if reaching for something in her dreams — or perhaps holding onto something she feared would slip away if she let go. Her body had grown tense over the course of the night, even as her breathing stayed slow and careful. Like all of them, her mind wasn't resting; only her body had given up the fight.
Alix shifted once, the moonlight crawling across her face as the clouds outside moved. She let out the faintest sigh, almost too quiet to notice, but it carried the weight of someone who'd seen more in the past 24 hours than most people stomach in years. Her eyes flickered beneath her lids, chasing dreams or memories that her waking self would never speak of.
And Kent — the last to fall asleep — lay motionless now, though his face betrayed the tension lingering behind the surface. Even now, sleep wasn't easy for him. The edges of his thoughts had been worn down to the bone by memories, by the haunting vision that returned to him night after night, the same one that had gripped him before. A future where everything was gone, where only hatred remained.
But here, in this moment, the dream had finally slipped away.
The five of them — bruised, bloodied, and burdened — rested in a fragile peace. Their bodies had stopped, but the truth lingered unspoken in the air:
This wasn't over.
And in the silence of that run-down, half-rotted cabin, the world outside shifted. Somewhere, miles away, a new piece of Dr. Fatal's plan was already sliding into motion.
And all five of them — whether they liked it or not — were already wrapped too deep inside it to turn back.
The sky outside the cabin began to lighten, just barely, as the first hints of dawn pushed against the darkness. That pale gray hour, where the world felt half-asleep and half-waiting for something worse, sat heavy on the air.
Shin's eyes were the first to open, sharp and instinctive, like his body had never truly let itself rest in the first place. His neck ached from the awkward angle against the wall, but he pushed the discomfort aside, scanning the room quietly. Everyone was still there, alive, though the night had done little to heal the bruises or quiet the fear sitting in their bones.
For a moment, he sat there, watching the slow rise and fall of Elie's chest from across the room, the soft sound of her uneven breathing still edged with pain. He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head to clear it, and finally stood, the dull soreness in his side reminding him of the jagged cut that stretched from his cheek to the edge of his jaw. His fingers lightly brushed the dried blood, crusted stiff over the wound.
One by one, the others began to stir. Evelyn's eyes blinked open next, her expression hazy but alert, her body stiff from the night spent half-curled against the floor. Kent's voice, low and dry from sleep, was the first to break the quiet.
"…Morning, huh?" His words hung in the air, more observation than greeting. His own face bore the matching injury, the cut mirrored on the opposite side of his jawline — two halves of a whole mess.
Alix sat up slower, wincing as her muscles protested, her gaze drifting toward Elie still laying nearby. Elie's brows pulled together at the faint shift in voices around her, eyes blinking open — though her mind looked like it hadn't fully returned yet. She winced at the ache in her ankle, her fingers brushing against the wrappings that held it together.
No one said much for a while. There wasn't anything left to say. They had barely survived the last few hours. Every one of them had seen too much.
Shin finally broke the silence, voice rough but steady.
"We need to figure out our next move. Before this place stops being quiet."
Kent nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. If Fatal set that trap… he probably set more."
Evelyn rubbed her eyes, shifting her weight forward to stretch out the stiff, bruised muscles in her shoulders. "I don't think we can afford to split up again," she muttered, her voice lower than usual. "Not after that."
Alix, though quiet, nodded slowly. "Agreed."
Shin moved toward the boarded-up window, peering out through the gap between the planks. The forest stretched out in all directions, endless and cold, but the world beyond didn't offer any comfort. It never did.
"We've got two options," he said flatly. "Either we risk heading back to one of the campuses and warn whoever's left… or we disappear until we understand what Fatal's endgame really is."
Elie finally sat upright, her voice still hoarse but steady enough to speak. "Running won't stop him. We've seen that already."
Kent leaned back against the splintered wood behind him, eyes sharp but distant.
"He knew exactly where we'd be, when we'd be there. Whatever game this is, he's already several moves ahead."
Evelyn's gaze dropped to the ground. "Then we need to catch up."
The five of them sat there in silence for a while longer, each lost in their own calculations, their own doubts, their own bruises. Whatever they'd woken up to, it wasn't peace. It was only the next step.
And deep in the distance, far beyond the trees, somewhere unseen — a mechanical click echoed, like a chess piece sliding into place.
Dr. Fatal wasn't finished.
And neither were they.