Thomas slowly came to his senses, his skull ringing with an unbearable, throbbing pain. The world around him was a cacophony of chaos—cries of agony, the distant rumble of collapsing structures, and the unearthly screams of something monstrous. He lay beneath a mound of rubble, pinned by jagged concrete and shattered furniture, his body aching from head to toe. His head throbbed as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and when he gingerly touched his temple, his fingers came away sticky with blood.
He groaned, his voice hoarse and raw. "God... what the hell hit me?" He winced as the words left his mouth, his throat dry and scratchy. "Feels like my skull's about to split open."
Blinking against the blurriness in his vision, he struggled to focus on what little he could see through the dim, flickering light. His surroundings slowly began to take shape: the twisted metal of office desks and filing cabinets, jagged shards of glass scattered like deadly confetti, and the ominous crackle of exposed electrical wires. The air reeked of smoke, dust, and the metallic tang of blood. A cold wind swept through the shattered remains of the building, carrying with it the faint screams of the city below. Slowly, his gaze lifted to the massive hole in the wall where the window had once been. It was as though a bomb had gone off.
Something moved just outside that gaping hole, a shadow too massive to be human. A flicker of memory hit him then—a flash of leathery wings, a deafening screech that rattled the air, and a creature so enormous it barely seemed real.
"A pterodactyl?" he whispered, his voice trembling as he tried to piece together what he'd seen. "No way... no. That's impossible. This... this isn't real. I must've hit my head harder than I thought." He gave himself a sharp pinch on the arm, wincing at the sting. The pain was real. The blood on his hands was real. The chaos around him was all too real.
A distant roar echoed through the night, low and guttural, followed by the sound of something massive crashing through steel and concrete. The building shuddered beneath him, and Thomas froze, his breath hitching. Whatever was out there wasn't finished. The inhuman screeches and growls were getting closer, mingling with human screams that cut off far too suddenly.
"Damn it," he hissed, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. "I need to get out of here."
He began to push and claw at the debris pinning him down, his hands trembling as he worked. Shards of glass bit into his palms, and his muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself to keep going. Every scrape and grunt felt like an endless battle, but after agonizing minutes, he finally freed himself. Pulling himself to his feet, he swayed unsteadily, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him.
"Alright, Thomas," he muttered to himself, his voice shaking but determined. "You're alive. That's step one. Now what? What the hell am I supposed to do?"
He staggered toward the gaping hole in the wall, driven by a mix of morbid curiosity and desperate need for answers. The cold wind slapped his face as he peered out, and the sight that greeted him made his stomach lurch.
The city was unrecognizable. Fires raged across the skyline, thick black smoke billowing into the starless night. Buildings that had once stood tall and proud now crumbled like sandcastles under the relentless assault of massive prehistoric beasts. Pterodactyls soared through the sky, their wings casting enormous shadows over the burning streets. On the ground, hulking lizards the size of buses rampaged through the city, their tails sweeping aside cars and people alike with horrifying ease. The streets were a battlefield of blood and chaos, the screams of the dying drowned out by the guttural roars of the creatures.
Thomas staggered back from the edge, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "No... no, no, no. This can't be happening. This can't be real!" He doubled over, his stomach heaving as he emptied its contents onto the floor. His hands trembled as he wiped his mouth, his mind racing.
"How... how the hell did this happen?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos outside. "Dinosaurs? In the middle of the city? Did someone open a portal? Did the government screw up some experiment? What—"
His thoughts were interrupted by a sound that sent a chill down his spine. A deep, resonating growl echoed through the building, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps. Something was inside. Something big.
Thomas froze, his breath hitching as he strained to listen. The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the crunch of debris underfoot. He backed away from the hole, his eyes darting around for a weapon, anything he could use to defend himself. His gaze landed on a broken chair leg, sharp and splintered at one end. He grabbed it, his hands shaking as he gripped it tightly.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, his voice barely above a breath. "Okay, Thomas. You've seen enough movies to know how this works. Stay quiet. Don't panic. Don't—"
The growl came again, closer this time. A shadow passed across the flickering light, massive and menacing. Thomas held his breath, his heart hammering so loudly he was sure the creature could hear it. He pressed himself against the wall, clutching the chair leg like a lifeline.
The creature moved on, its footsteps fading into the distance. Only then did Thomas dare to exhale, his body sagging with relief. But he knew he couldn't stay here. This building was a death trap.
He glanced back at the hole in the wall and saw a group of people below, huddled together as they ran toward what looked like an underground parking garage. They were shouting to one another, urging each other to move faster. One of them—a woman with a child in her arms—looked up and met his gaze. She waved frantically, mouthing something he couldn't hear over the noise.
"Survivors," he murmured, his voice tinged with hope. "I need to get to them. I can't do this alone."
Steeling himself, Thomas tightened his grip on the makeshift weapon and headed for the stairs. The world was falling apart, and he had no idea what he'd face next. But one thing was certain: he wasn't going down without a fight.
******
Slowly, as if each movement risked summoning unseen horrors, Thomas crept forward through the ruins of the office. The flickering lights created a grotesque theater of shadows, each one elongating and twisting as if alive. His breath came in shallow gasps, the air thick with the choking smell of smoke, blood, and something else—something sickly sweet and metallic that turned his stomach. His hands trembled uncontrollably, his knuckles white as they gripped the metal rod he had scavenged. Every step he took felt like an eternity, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest he feared it would betray him.
"Why..." he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the muffled chaos outside. "Why didn't I just call in sick today? I could've been home, binge-watching some stupid show, safe on my couch. But no… I had to come in." His voice cracked as he forced himself to look away from the mutilated remains of his coworker sprawled across the floor. The body—or what was left of it—was barely recognizable. Strips of flesh hung off exposed bone, and the blood pooling around it was thick and dark, almost black in the dim light. His stomach churned violently, but he swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down.
He tightened his grip on the rod, his sweaty palms making it slick. "Don't look. Don't think. Just keep moving," he whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true. But his legs felt like lead, his knees threatening to buckle with every step. He kept his eyes on the ground, on the scattered papers, broken keyboards, and shards of glass that crunched softly beneath his shoes. Anything but the bodies.
Then he heard it. A sound that froze him mid-step, his blood turning to ice. It was faint at first, almost imperceptible, like wet fabric being dragged across a floor. But then it grew louder—slurping, wet and guttural, accompanied by the occasional crunch of bone.
Thomas felt his breath hitch as his entire body stiffened. His eyes darted to the far end of the corridor, where the sound originated. The shadows there were thicker, shifting unnaturally in the flickering light. His grip on the rod tightened as fear clawed at his throat. "No... no, no, no. Don't tell me the only way out is blocked by one of those things."
He crouched low, moving as silently as he could, his breaths shallow and measured. His shoes slid a little on the dust-coated floor, and he winced, freezing as the faint scuff echoed in the silence. The wet, slurping sound continued unabated, the creatures too engrossed in their meal to notice him. Yet.
As he inched closer, his eyes scanned the rubble for anything useful. That's when he spotted the long metal rod buried beneath some debris. He reached for it cautiously, his fingers trembling as he pried it loose. It was heavier than he expected, the cold metal reassuring in his hands. He gave it a small practice swing, the weight comforting despite his terror.
"Great," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "Now I'm armed. If you can call this armed."
He took a deep, shaky breath and muttered under his breath, "God… if you're listening—and I'm not saying you are, but, you know, just in case—get me out of this, and I swear, I'll… I'll start volunteering. I'll donate to charity. Hell, I'll even go vegan if that's what it takes. Just… just let me live."
The slurping grew louder as he reached the end of the corridor. He pressed his back against the wall, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to steady his breathing. Slowly, painfully slowly, he leaned forward just enough to peek into the open doorway.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
Three creatures were hunched over the mangled body of his colleague, their grotesque forms illuminated by the flickering light. They were unlike anything Thomas had ever seen—twisted amalgamations of bird and reptile, with leathery skin slick with some kind of viscous fluid. Their heads were narrow and angular, ending in sharp, jagged beaks smeared with blood. Patches of greasy feathers clung to their bodies, giving them a sickly, patchwork appearance. They were the size of large dogs, their muscular legs ending in hooked claws that tore into the flesh of their prey with horrifying ease.
Thomas clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. His stomach churned violently, and he had to fight to keep from gagging. One of the creatures let out a low, guttural hiss, its head jerking up briefly as it swallowed a chunk of meat. Its eyes—small, black, and glinting with a malevolent intelligence—darted around the room, scanning for any signs of danger. Thomas pressed himself flat against the wall, holding his breath.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. "They're distracted. Just… just sneak past. Nice and quiet. You can do this."
But as he took a cautious step back, the silence was shattered by a sound that made his heart stop.
Ding.
The elevator chime echoed through the corridor, loud and piercing. Thomas' eyes widened in horror as he turned toward the far end of the hallway.
The creatures froze, their heads snapping toward the sound. One of them let out a sharp, birdlike screech, its beak clicking rapidly as it stepped away from the corpse. The others followed suit, their movements jerky and unnervingly fast. They sniffed the air.
"Shit," Thomas whispered, his voice trembling. He backed away slowly, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped the rod. His eyes darted to the stairwell door just a few feet away. It was his only chance.
******
The elevator came to a grinding, metallic halt, the sound echoing ominously in the silence. The doors shuddered, reluctant to open, before parting with an agonizing slowness, as if unveiling a scene it knew no one wanted to see. Anna stepped forward cautiously, her heart hammering in her chest. The air was thick with dust and tension, and every flicker of the dim, failing lights above made her stomach twist.
Her gaze darted across the corridor, taking in the chaos: overturned desks, papers scattered like forgotten confetti, and wires dangling like the entrails of a gutted animal. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the elevator behind her and the erratic rhythm of her own breathing. But then she saw him.
A man, crouched low, moving carefully toward a door at the far end of the corridor. His movements were deliberate, almost painfully slow, and his face... his face was taut with fear. He gripped some kind of metal rod in his hands, his knuckles white from the force. Anna felt a flicker of relief—another human, alive—but it was quickly drowned out by the tension radiating from him. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Hey!" she started to call, taking an instinctive step forward, her voice trembling but hopeful.
The man whipped his head toward her, his eyes wide with panic. He raised a finger to his lips and shook his head violently, his expression a silent scream: Don't. The look in his eyes made her freeze mid-step. It wasn't just fear—it was terror, raw and unfiltered. He pointed sharply toward a door just a few feet from him, then tilted his head, listening intently. Anna followed his gaze and noticed the half-open doorway. A faint, wet, slurping sound emanated from within, sending a shiver down her spine.
Her lips barely moved as she mouthed, "What's in there?" Her chest tightened as the words formed.
Thomas just shook his head again, his expression desperate. He gestured frantically toward the stairwell door farther down the hall, motioning for her to move. His message was clear: Get out. Now.
Anna's breath hitched as she took a step back, her eyes darting toward the door he had indicated. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs felt like lead. She glanced back at the man, who was now glaring at her, silently urging her forward with a quick jerk of his head.
The slurping stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening, a heavy, suffocating pause that wrapped around them like a noose. Anna's blood turned to ice. Her eyes flicked to the door, and she saw it—movement. A shadow. It was faint, but it was there.
Thomas's heart sank. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath, his grip tightening on the rod. His mind raced. He couldn't let her freeze up now, not when they were so close to the stairwell. He crept forward, his steps as silent as possible, every muscle in his body tense.
"Move!" he whispered harshly, his voice sharp but barely audible. "Now. Slowly. Don't make a sound."
Anna nodded, swallowing hard, and began to inch backward toward the stairwell door. Her hands fumbled behind her, searching for the handle. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Thomas followed her, his eyes flickering between her and the doorway where the creatures lurked. He could hear faint, guttural clicks now, like the sound of claws tapping on tile. They were stirring.
Anna's fingers finally found the handle. She twisted it slowly, wincing at the faint creak it made. She glanced at Thomas, her eyes wide with panic. He nodded sharply, urging her to keep going.
"Come on," he whispered, his voice low and urgent. He reached her just as she pushed the door open enough to slip through. They both stepped inside, but before Thomas could fully close the door, a screech erupted from the room behind them—a piercing, ear-splitting cry that made Anna clap her hands over her ears.
The creatures burst into the corridor.
Thomas slammed the door shut just as the first of the three creatures lunged at it. The impact reverberated through the metal, nearly knocking him off balance. He threw his weight against the door, bracing it with his shoulder. "Hold it!" he shouted, his voice strained.
Anna didn't hesitate. She pressed her back against the door, planting her feet firmly against the floor. Another impact rattled the door, followed by the sound of claws scraping against metal. The creatures screeched and snarled, their guttural cries a horrifying mix of rage and hunger.
"What the hell are those things?!" Anna gasped, her voice trembling as she pushed against the door with all her strength. She could feel the creatures' raw power through the vibrations, each hit threatening to tear the door off its hinges.
Thomas gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his temples as he struggled to hold the door. "I don't know!" he snapped, his voice edged with panic. "I don't know what they are! Some kind of... prehistoric birds, I guess!"
The creatures outside seemed to grow more frenzied, their screeches rising in pitch as they clawed and slammed into the door. The metal groaned under the assault, and Thomas could feel it starting to give. He glanced at Anna, his chest heaving.
"We can't hold this forever," he said, his voice tight.