Lucian woke stiff and sore, his body a patchwork of aches from the sprint, the crash, and the weight of adrenaline that had carried him through the night. He sat hunched on the couch, chewing on the inside of his cheek while the morning light bled weakly through the blinds. His stomach gnawed at itself. He hadn't eaten since… yesterday morning? The memory blurred. His fridge held scraps, barely enough to keep him upright.
Running out into the city again, empty-handed and starving, would be suicide. If there was food to be had, it made more sense to start closer.
Lucian hefted the broken pipe he'd scavenged, testing its weight in his hand. It felt strange to think of it as his only weapon, but right now it was the only thing between him and whatever prowled the streets outside.
He stepped into the hallway. It was silent, save for the faint creak of the floor beneath his boots. The air smelled faintly of mildew and dust, but not rot — not yet. He stood before the first door, heart hammering as he twisted the knob.
It gave easily.
The apartment inside was dim, blinds drawn, the air stale. No bodies. Relief trickled through him as he moved quietly from room to room. The kitchen yielded treasures: a half-full box of cereal, bottled water, and a dented can of soup. On the counter, a family photo lay face-down, the glass cracked. He didn't flip it over.
He packed the food into a torn grocery bag and moved on.
The second apartment's door was locked. Lucian braced the pipe against the frame and pried until the wood splintered, forcing it open with a grunt. This place smelled faintly sour, food beginning to spoil. The fridge buzzed when he pulled it open — a half-eaten rotisserie chicken sat inside, its skin starting to glisten in the wrong way. Edible, for now. He wrapped it in foil. A stale loaf of bread sat on the counter beside a half-empty jar of peanut butter. He added both to his bag.
The cupboards were stripped bare. Whoever lived here had taken what they could.
By the time he reached the third apartment, unease had settled in. This one had been ransacked, drawers overturned, clothes scattered. Someone had fled in a hurry. In the kitchen, he found a single granola bar shoved into the corner of a drawer. He pocketed it, eyes darting to the living room where a cracked phone lay abandoned on the floor.
Silence pressed in. For a moment, Lucian swore he heard breathing — shallow, steady — coming from the back bedroom. He tightened his grip on the pipe, creeping forward, each step deliberate. The door creaked as he pushed it open.
Empty.
The bed was stripped bare. Dust motes floated in the air.
He swallowed hard and backed out.
By the time he returned to the hall, his nerves were frayed. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and moved toward the stairwell. That was when he froze.
Through a cracked window at the far end of the corridor, something caught his eye. Across the street, past the skeletal frames of parked cars and shattered glass, a shape stood. Humanoid. Gray, featureless, its edges blurry in the rising light, as if it hadn't fully settled into reality.
It was facing him.
Lucian's pulse spiked. He blinked — and the figure was gone.
He lingered only a second longer before forcing himself down the stairs.
The streets outside were quiet, unnervingly so. Smoke still curled from distant fires, but the screams and chaos of last night had dulled to silence, leaving only the occasional far-off roar. Cars were crumpled together in heaps, glass glittering on the pavement. Lucian stuck to the side streets, pipe in hand, bag clutched tight.
Lucian walked quickly, weaving between abandoned cars. He scanned constantly—windows, rooftops, every shadow that stretched too far. The chaos of last night had faded into something worse: an eerie, watchful silence broken only by the occasional distant groan of bending metal or the faint crackle of fire.
The first corner store he checked had been looted, shelves stripped bare. Blood streaked the checkout counter, a trail leading into the back. He didn't follow.
He grabbed what little remained: a dented can of beans, an unopened packet of jerky that had fallen behind a shelf, and a handful of energy bars crushed under debris. Pathetic, but food. He shoved them into his jacket, scanning the shadows of the aisles. For a second, he swore he saw movement at the far end—something hunched and jerking just out of view—but when he froze and listened, nothing followed.
"Too jumpy," he muttered, but his grip on the broken metal pipe he'd taken for a weapon only tightened.
The pharmacy was worse. Nearly everything had been taken, drawers pulled out and medicine scattered. After ten tense minutes, he salvaged gauze, painkillers, and a box of multivitamins. Not much, but something.
As he stuffed the supplies into his bag, a faint tapping reached his ears. He froze. Turned. At the front window, the glass rattled softly, wires and loose signage scraping against it in the wind. He exhaled and forced himself to leave.
He had been making his way home when he saw it.
The jungle.
It rose out of the middle of the city like a wound in reality — colossal trees where there should have been office buildings, vines strangling streetlamps, roots bursting through pavement. The air near it grew damp, humid, heavy with the scent of wet soil and something faintly metallic.
Where the familiar stretch of asphalt should have been was a wall of green — impossibly tall trees bursting from cracked pavement, their roots splitting through the concrete like knives. Vines draped from streetlights. Moss smothered cars. The sharp scent of wet earth and sap replaced the smoke in his nose.
It wasn't gradual. It wasn't overgrown ruin. It was as though someone had cut a square of jungle from another world and pasted it into the city. One building stood sliced in half, its exposed rooms dangling over an abyss of foliage.
Lucian stopped at the edge of the tree line, staring.
It hadn't been there before. He knew it hadn't.
He tested the air at the jungle's edge. Hot. Wet. He reached forward with his pipe and nudged one of the vines. It twitched, recoiling ever so slightly like a disturbed snake. Lucian pulled back quickly, heart hammering.
He picked up an empty water bottle from the street and tossed it into the undergrowth. For a moment, silence. Then a rustle, deep within, something large shifting in the brush.
He backed away, throat dry. He wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
Back at the apartment, he barricaded himself in. He dragged furniture against the door, shoved a dresser against the window frame, hammered loose boards in place with the end of his pipe. It wouldn't stop something determined, but it might buy him time.
He ate in silence: peanut butter spread on stale bread, soup cold from the can, washed down with bottled water. It was enough to dull the hunger, at least for tonight.
When he set the empty can aside, he sat in the dark living room and stared at the laptop on the table. He didn't open it. Not yet.
Outside, the city groaned and shifted. Somewhere far off, a faint roar echoed.
And for just a moment, as his eyes flicked to the window, he thought he saw the silhouette again. Standing far down the street this time, gray and still. Watching.
When he blinked, it was gone.
Lucian exhaled, his breath trembling.
He needed to get some rest.