Static buzzed through Jessie's skull.
It seeped into his dream, crackling like an old, damaged film reel. Black-and-white flickers danced across his vision. Towering trees surrounded him, their canopies strangling the sky, blotting out the sun with thick, tangled branches. Shadows stretched long and sharp as if the world itself was shattered into jagged pieces.
Jessie moved forward, rifle clutched tight to his chest. Each breath was shallow, controlled, calculated. His boots pressed into the damp earth, soft crunches muffled by the weight of the fog. He darted from one tree to the next, hand flashing a silent signal. Advance. Keep moving. Stay quiet.
His team followed. Their faces...
Or lack of faces.
Their heads were twisted masses of flesh, as if clay had been molded by shaking hands. No eyes. No mouths. No noses. Just hollow, fleshy masks gazing at him as they moved in sync. Their weapons were raised, but none of them ever fired.
Their voices echoed in garbled static, distant yet constant. Sweat beaded down Jessie's temple, soaking into the collar of his fatigues. The air was thick, wet, and heavy, pressing down like a sodden blanket.
Something's wrong.
The team reached a clearing. Jessie's boots skidded to a stop, his gaze locked on the open space ahead. This isn't right. The team didn't stop. They floated forward in slow, surreal movements, gliding across the ground as if weightless. Their twisted faces never turned, never acknowledged him.
"Hey—wait!" Jessie reached out to grab one of them, but his hand passed right through their arm.
His breath caught. They didn't even notice.
They faded.
One by one, their figures dissolved into the foggy green shadows of the forest.
Gone.
Jessie spun in place, chest tight with unease. The trees loomed taller than before, their branches curling inward like jagged claws. His fingers curled tighter around the rifle. Where did they go? Where—
The world shifted red. Slowly. Like blood soaking into fabric.
The green leaves dulled to brown. The sky darkened, clouds gathering like a bruise across the heavens. Cold droplets tapped his face. He blinked, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. The liquid smeared.
His heart stopped.
It wasn't water.
Thick, warm, and sticky, it pooled in his palm. Jessie's breathing hitched as the coppery stench hit him, sharp and familiar. Blood.
His fingers twitched. He shook it off with a sharp flick, panic flaring in his chest. The droplets didn't stop. The red rain fell harder, soaking his skin, drenching him to the bone. Blood poured down his arms in rivers, coiling around his fingers like living snakes.
Graves burst from the ground like jagged teeth, circling him in an ever-tightening ring. Stone markers, each one cracked and nameless. No words. No identity. Just judgment.
The blood swirled around his ankles. Then his waist. Then his chest. Jessie thrashed, gasping for air.
"No—NO!"
He craned his neck back, gulping one last breath before the blood surged over his face, filling his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Darkness swallowed him.
GASP!
Jessie shot upright, chest heaving like he'd just breached the surface of a frozen lake. Air flooded his lungs. His heart thudded so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest. His hands clawed at the ground, fingers digging into cold metal. Not water. Not blood. Metal.
Where am I?
His eyes darted around. The small room was dim, lit by a single, flickering overhead light. Cold steel walls pressed in on all sides. Rusted shelves lined with cans and jars sat crooked, some toppled onto the floor.
His breath came out in short, sharp bursts, fogging the air in front of him. Sweat trickled down his face, cold as icewater. He glanced down at his chest, eyes wide with confusion. Slowly, he lifted his shirt.
The bruises—those horrible black-and-purple stains—were nearly gone. Faint, yellowish marks remained, like old bruises halfway through the healing process. He pressed a finger against his ribs. No sharp pain. Just a dull ache.
"What… what the hell?" he muttered, hands trembling as he traced the faint bruises. They should be worse. They should be worse.
Panic crawled up his throat. His breathing sped up. Chest rising. Falling. Faster. Harder.
"WHAT DID THEY DO TO ME?!" Jessie's voice cracked like a whip, his rage bouncing off the steel walls. His fists slammed into the metal shelves, rattling the cans until they clattered to the floor. His breaths came in furious gasps. His heart wouldn't stop racing. His mind wouldn't stop racing.
He glanced down at his hands, fingers twitching with frantic energy. They feel too strong. Too fast. His gaze lingered on his fingertips. Too sharp. Too steady.
Am I like them now?
The thought crashed into him like a hammer to the ribs. He felt it settle in his chest, cold and unbearable. If I'm turning... If I'm becoming one of them…
His gaze darted to the gun on his hip.
Fingers moved on their own. Unclipping the holster. Pulling it free. The cold steel felt heavier than it had before. He stared at it for a long moment, his reflection distorted in the polished barrel.
"Just one pull."
His lips parted. His breath hit the barrel. Cold steel met his teeth.
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing. No bullets.
The gun fell from his hands, hitting the ground with a hollow clatter. Jessie's shoulders shook as he let out a sharp, choked laugh.
"I... I almost..." His chest hitched, and suddenly he was laughing harder. Harder than he should. It sounded wrong. It echoed wrong. Each breath hitched between laughs. "I can't even die right…"
His back hit the wall, head tilted back, eyes locked on the flickering light overhead. His breath fogged the air. His body slid down until he was sitting on the cold floor, knees bent, arms limp at his sides. "Pathetic."
BOOOOOMMM!!!
The wall behind him exploded.
The shockwave threw him forward, chest slamming into the floor. A sharp pain shot through his ribs as he coughed, tasting blood.
What—?!
Thick smoke filled the air. Dust choked his lungs. His ears rang. He pushed himself up, chest still pressed to the floor. Through the swirling haze, he saw them.
Two red lights.
Not lights. Eyes.
A pair of hands, twisted and bloody, punched through the broken wall and yanked him out. The cold air hit him like a slap.
Jessie coughed, his eyes stinging, but there was no time to react. His eyes darted up.
Mr. Muscles.
That grin. That crooked, ugly grin. Yellow teeth framed by cracked, dry lips. Maggots squirmed between his gums, wriggling like they didn't belong there.
He squeezed.
"AAAHH!" Jessie screamed as Mr. Muscles' hands crushed his ribs. Bones groaned under the pressure, creaking like old wood about to snap. Pain surged through him, sharp and raw, filling every nerve with searing agony.
His heart. His heart was pounding too fast. Ba-BUM. Ba-BUM. Ba-BUM. Faster. Louder. His fingers twitched. His vision blurred red. His muscles burned. HOT. SO HOT.
Heat swelled in his chest. It surged through his arms. His legs. Every part of him.
NO.
A roar ripped from his throat as his muscles surged. His arms flexed, his hands pressed against Mr. Muscles' wrists. Push. PUSH. His ribs screamed in protest, but he didn't care. His vision narrowed. He locked eyes with Mr. Muscles.
"Get OFF ME!"
He shoved.
CRACK!
The grip broke. Jessie gasped, air filling his lungs like fire. His feet hit the ground, knees bending. He crouched low.
The opening.
Take it.
His weight shifted. His right arm pulled back, fist tight.
One shot. Make it count.
He surged forward, knuckles leading the charge.
THOOM!
The impact was sharp, raw, and absolute. Mr. Muscles staggered back, eyes wide with shock.
Jessie's bloodied knuckles trembled. His eyes locked on the crumpled form of Mr. Muscles.
His glare softened. Shock. Awe. Disbelief.
"I did that."
The battle was over.