Jonas never thought the subway could feel alive. But here, in the abandoned arteries beneath District Nine, every echo had a pulse. The air throbbed faintly, as if the walls themselves were breathing. Marla was ahead of him, her flashlight's beam slicing through the dark like a scalpel. The rusted tracks stretched into blackness, glistening in places where water pooled — or was it water?
"Keep up," she hissed, her voice carrying a strange urgency, as though she were afraid of being overheard by something that wasn't human.
Jonas swallowed. His throat was dry despite the damp air. "You sure it's down here?"
Marla didn't turn. "You feel it too, don't you?"
He did. Something pressed against the edges of his mind, like fingers tapping just beyond a locked door. Every step they took made it stronger, more insistent. He couldn't tell if it was calling to him or warning him.
The tunnels twisted, leading them past graffiti-smeared walls where words warped into shapes when he blinked. LEAVE became FEED. A painted face seemed to smile wider as he passed, eyes following. Jonas shook his head, but the image lingered in his mind's eye, as if burned there.
After ten minutes of walking, they reached a section where the ceiling had partially collapsed. Metal ribs of the old infrastructure jutted out like exposed bones. Beneath them, a hole gaped in the ground, a jagged mouth that breathed cold air up at them. The smell was metallic, mixed with something sweet and rotting.
"This is it," Marla whispered, crouching at the edge. Her light shone down into the dark throat of the earth, and for a second Jonas thought he saw something shift far below — a ripple, as if the darkness itself had muscles.
The pressure in his skull increased. Something inside him stirred, not his thoughts but deeper — an animal sense, the kind that told prey to run. But layered over it was something else, a pull, a whisper in a voice he almost recognized.
Jonas.
He froze.
Marla noticed. "You heard it, didn't you?"
Before he could answer, she swung herself down into the hole. Jonas cursed under his breath and followed, the jagged edge scraping his coat. The descent was slow, his boots finding rusted ladder rungs embedded in the stone. Each step down felt like he was climbing into a stomach, the air heavier, thicker, tasting faintly of copper.
They reached the bottom and landed in an open chamber. It was massive — a cavern that seemed carved not by machines but by something with intent. The walls were smooth in places, ridged in others, glistening with moisture.
And in the center, half-buried in the stone, was the Sleeper.
At first Jonas thought it was a statue — a colossal, humanoid shape, its skin a pale grey-green, covered in cracks like old marble. But then he saw its chest rise. Just a fraction. A breath. The sound was a low rumble, deeper than thunder, vibrating through his bones.
The head was tilted back, the face obscured by shadows. The arms were crossed over its chest, and from its ribs sprouted black tendrils, rooting into the walls like veins.
Jonas felt a tremor in his legs. He wanted to look away, but the Sleeper's presence filled the air like gravity. His gaze was pulled upward — toward its face — and that's when it moved.
Not the whole face. Just the mouth.
Its lips parted slightly, and from the darkness inside came a voice. It wasn't sound. It was inside his head, silk over steel.
You came back.
Jonas staggered back a step. "Back? I've never—"
Oh, you have. In dreams. In blood.
Images slammed into him — flashes of places he didn't know but felt familiar: an alley lit by red lanterns; a woman's face dissolving into black ash; his own hands, younger, holding a knife dripping with something too dark for blood.
He gasped, and in the corner of his vision, Marla was on her knees, head bowed. Her lips moved soundlessly.
"Marla!" He grabbed her arm, but her skin was ice-cold. Her eyes opened, and they were all black.
"Don't fight it," she whispered. "It remembers you."
Jonas felt something slide into his mind, a presence curling like smoke around his thoughts. It wasn't violent at first — it was gentle, almost caressing, showing him visions that made his pulse race: a city burning under a violet sky; streets running with silver rivers; himself standing atop a spire, crowned in shadow.
Then the tone shifted. The visions twisted — his body breaking apart into moths, his skin crawling with tiny black-eyed worms. The tenderness became hunger.
Marla screamed. Jonas snapped back, realizing the Sleeper's tendrils were moving, stretching toward them. One brushed his boot, and his mind lit up with pain and ecstasy in the same breath. It was as if every nerve in his body had been tuned to the same frequency.
He grabbed Marla and ran.
The chamber shuddered. The Sleeper's mouth opened wider, and the air vibrated with a sound that was more felt than heard. Rocks fell, water sprayed from cracks in the walls. The ladder they'd used to climb down was gone — replaced by a wall of living stone that pulsed like a heartbeat.
They ran into a side tunnel, their lights swinging wildly. Shadows moved with them — no, ahead of them — guiding, or herding. Jonas couldn't tell. Every now and then he caught glimpses of things in the dark: faces pressed into the walls, eyes opening where there shouldn't be any.
The tunnel led upward in a steep incline, slick underfoot. Behind them, the roar of the Sleeper grew fainter, replaced by something worse — silence. The kind of silence that meant it was listening.
They emerged into an abandoned service station, the air cold and still. Jonas slammed the rusted door shut and leaned against it, chest heaving. Marla collapsed beside him, clutching her head.
"Did we… did we get away?" Jonas asked.
Marla looked at him, eyes still black around the edges. "No," she said flatly. "It's in us now."
Jonas wanted to argue, but when he closed his eyes, he felt it — a slow, steady heartbeat that wasn't his, pulsing inside his skull.
And somewhere deep below, the Sleeper smiled.