New Horizons Corporation had been making waves. They weren't the first company to claim that their chemicals could improve food production or cleanse the world's water. But there was something about them—something that felt different. The promise was so perfect. So easy. For a world that was slowly dying from neglect, New Horizons seemed like a beacon of hope.
People couldn't get enough of the press releases. They announced a new product—a chemical additive for crops that would not only help them grow faster but also increase their nutritional value. Farmers were thrilled. The company received widespread support, not just from agribusiness but from governments who saw a way to reduce famine and bring global stability. It was too good to question.
But then, the first signs began to surface.
Mara Thompson had seen the subtle changes first, the small discrepancies no one else paid attention to. A neighbor's child who'd once been full of energy now looked pale and weak, her skin pulling tight over the bones.
She heard about another family, the Darnells, who suddenly started losing their farm animals. Birds dropped dead mid-flight. And every morning, the same strange sensation would crawl into her lungs, as if the world was coated in something she couldn't see but could feel.
It wasn't just her. It was everyone, it seemed.
Mara worked at a small local lab, assisting with basic diagnostics and safety checks for agricultural chemicals. When the New Horizons products first came in for testing, they looked harmless. But something was wrong.
The tests weren't adding up. The crops it was used on showed a sudden spike in growth, yes—but the soil itself started showing signs of decay, as if the very earth was being consumed from the inside out.
A week later, the reports started to trickle in from all over. More animals died. Insects—bees, especially—began to disappear. Then people.
At first, the deaths were small in number. An elderly woman in the next town over, a few factory workers down in the south, an entire family that seemed to vanish overnight. People thought it was a coincidence. People always thought it was a coincidence until the news hit: "New Horizons Crop Chemical Found To Be Toxic, Linked To Multiple Deaths." The words came too late.
Mara didn't know what made her stay, why she couldn't just leave when the world around her was collapsing. But she couldn't. She was driven, compelled. Maybe it was the feeling of guilt gnawing at her. She'd seen the reports, the autopsies. The chemicals had begun to affect people's lungs, their immune systems.
People coughed blood. Their skin cracked and peeled. Eyes turned a hollow shade of blue, before they died. And worst of all—what made her sickest—there were those who hadn't died. They just... stopped living.
The local lab, once a hub of minor research, became a haven for all the scared scientists and government officials trying to understand the magnitude of what had happened. No one could make sense of it. No one knew how it was spreading, how it was so insidious.
The new product was in everything. It was in the food. It was in the air. It seeped into water systems, untraceable by any existing technology. New Horizons seemed to be ahead of the curve—everywhere you looked, their name was attached to some form of 'improvement.'
But no one had thought to check what the chemical might do to humans in the long run. By the time they realized the problem, it was already too late.
Mara couldn't shake the images of the people who'd been caught in the initial wave of deaths. She couldn't forget the pale eyes, the terrible silence, and how the bodies seemed to stiffen in a strange, unnatural way before they finally fell apart. But worse than the deaths were the ones who... lived.
Mara started having strange symptoms herself. It began with a dry throat. Then the cough. Blood mixed with phlegm. She'd been exposed to the chemicals, of course—everyone at the lab had been. But she kept working.
It was the only thing left to do. There was no one left to ask for help. She worked to try to discover the nature of the chemicals and what they were doing, all while the rest of the world succumbed to the poison.
She never told anyone about her coughing fits or the strange sensations in her joints—sharp, like needles under her skin. She didn't want them to know. They didn't need to.
She worked long hours, pouring over the results of every test, trying to find something—anything—that would make sense of it. But the data was shifting. Nothing added up. She couldn't hold onto any clear answers.
And then, the reports from the survivors started to change. Those who were sick but not dying... they began to talk of seeing things. Things they couldn't describe, things no one should've ever had to describe.
People would wake up screaming, but there was no one there. The air felt heavy, oppressive. Like something was suffocating them, but they couldn't tell what it was. Some of them started disappearing into the woods.
The towns around the lab emptied out. It wasn't like anyone had left. People simply stopped being there. They had their bodies, but their eyes held nothing.
The more Mara worked, the less she felt human. It was like everything around her was... dissolving. There were days when she couldn't remember the sound of her own voice. She looked into mirrors and saw something strange staring back at her—someone who didn't know how long she'd been standing there, someone whose eyes had started to turn blue.
But she had to keep going.
It was during one of the late-night shifts, staring at a screen filled with unreadable data, that it happened. The lights blinked out. The hum of the machines stopped. For a moment, Mara froze, listening to the absolute silence that had replaced the constant noise of the lab.
There were no sounds in the building at all. Not the hum of machines, not the rattle of old pipes, not even the soft sound of breathing.
She grabbed a flashlight and moved out into the hallway, her feet heavy against the floor. She knew something was wrong. The building was empty. No one was there. The workers, the officials—everyone was gone. Mara checked the others rooms. She called out, her voice flat in the thick silence.
No answer.
She turned back down the hall, and that's when she heard it—a soft, almost imperceptible rustling coming from somewhere deep inside the building. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open. But it wasn't a normal door. It was like the building itself was breathing.
Her pulse quickened.
The rustling grew louder, more frantic, as if something—or someone—was moving fast, desperate to escape. She turned to run but then stopped. A figure stood at the far end of the hall, watching her. They didn't move. Their eyes—those hollow, lifeless blue eyes—stared directly at her.
The figure stepped forward.
Mara's heart pounded against her ribs. Her legs were frozen in place, her body unable to move, her mind screaming at her to run. But she couldn't. She couldn't even breathe. And then, the figure raised their hands, their body stiff, and began to scream, a sound so loud it felt like the walls were shaking with it. But there was no air moving, no wind, no cause. Just an endless scream.
The scream of a world already lost.
Mara's last thought was one of complete resignation. She didn't know when it had all started, or when it had stopped. All she knew was that she had been part of it. Part of the poison. Part of the sickness that had devoured everything. She could feel it crawling inside her now. And then—there was nothing.