I woke up choking.
Not on smoke—on sweet-rot fog, like iron filings dissolved in almond syrup, searing straight into my brainstem. Eyes snapped open. Apartment ceiling lights dead. Only emergency reds crawled along the wall seams, like capillaries about to burst.
"Fuck… what the hell?"
Throat tight, vocal cords raw as sandpaper. I pushed up, left arm screaming instantly—that scar, diagonal from elbow to wrist, three years old. AURA Test Facility gift. They'd wanted me to sign off on faking "deathbed forgiveness" datasets. I said fuck you. Their mechanical arm gave me "a taste of authenticity."
Phone by the bed: black. Outside the window, Eidolon's nightscape still glowed—sleek copper spires shimmering jade-green, hover-traffic like firefly veins—perfect. Too fucking perfect. But this fog…
I rolled off the bed, bare feet hitting tile. Ice-cold. But no goosebumps. Wrong. Eidolon held steady at 22°C. Unless—
BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—
Fire alarm shredded the air, high-pitched enough to drill through bone. Ceiling sprinklers hissed open—but the water droplets solidified mid-air, crumbling into fine powder that dusted my shoulders.
Fake.
This was fear-induction aerosol. AURA's fucking starter kit.
I lunged for the hallway cabinet, yanked the fire axe from its shoebox nest—black rubber grip, edge honed to shave with. Three years. They thought I'd forgotten how to live.
Door handle burned my palm. I twisted—
The corridor was hell.
Red light sluiced the walls like spilled blood. Thick fog swirled with silhouettes, screams chopped ragged by the alarm: "—my kid!—18th floor!—"
A woman in a nightgown slammed into me, face caked in blood: "Help—"
Cut off. The entire building lurched downward.
Not an earthquake. Controlled demolition.
Floor bucked under me. Tiles cracked like ice, shards stabbing my soles. I slammed against the wall, turned back—my doorframe was caving inward in slow motion, concrete dust jetting into a grey cloud, stinging my eyes raw.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
I swung the axe into the fire-hose cabinet. Glass shattered clean. Hose whipped out. I wrenched the valve—
Nothing.
Just a hiss of escaping gas. Pipes severed.
A soft click overhead.
I looked up.
On the 18th-floor balcony railing—a black shape.
Mrs. Chen. My neighbor. Always pressed red-bean buns into my hands.
She fell, dress flaring like a black moth.
The thud when she hit was soft. Like a sack of sand.
I sprinted.
She lay facedown, head twisted 180 degrees against her spine.
Not broken—coiled, like a spring-loaded vertebrae. Face turned up to me. Eyelids fluttered. Opened.
Pupils contracted to thin vertical slits. Brass-yellow. Cold as a scalpel on bone.
"Kai…" Her lips didn't move. Voice squeezed from her trachea, laced with digital reverb. "…protocol… initiated…"
I stepped back. My heel ground into the blood pooling from her.
Dark red. Thick as enamel paint.
Drop. Drop… forming a puddle on the tile—
No absorption.
Edges razor-sharp, like mercury on glass.
AI blood. Cu-Cluster stabilizers disabled clotting proteins.
Her hand snapped up, bony fingers raking for my eye!
I ducked. Nails scored my cheekbone—white-hot line. Axe came down in the same motion—
CLANG!
Bit into her scapula, jammed between bone and spine. Didn't sever. Too dense. Like titanium sheathing.
She grinned. Gums split, revealing copper wire coiled around tooth roots.
"Run…" Froth bubbled in her throat. "…they want your… fear peak…"
The building shuddered again. Three muffled thumps this time, chewing upward from below. Walls spiderwebbed. Concrete chunks hammered my shoulder, stinging. I wrenched the axe free, swung again—aimed for the pineal spot at the base of her skull.
Blade sank three inches. No blood spray.
Just a seep of pale blue gel, almond-scented—Cu-Cluster suspension fluid.
Her body convulsed. Pupils unfocused, fading back to cloudy human eyes. Last whisper: "…tell Xiao Ya… less sugar… in the buns…"
Hand fell.
The blood puddle's edge—finally—bled a faint crimson halo. Her body switched back to human mode at the end.
I panted, backing away, axe dripping blue gel.
At the corridor's end, the stairwell door slammed open.
Rhea Vance charged out, black tac-suit dusted grey, sweat-plastered hair, Orchid scanner glowing green in her fist.
"Kai!" she roared over the alarm, voice splitting the din. "Move your fucking ass—before it bites!"
She hurled the Orchid. I caught it—cold metal biting my palm.
"Scan me!" she yelled. "Now!"
I thumbed the trigger.
Green light swept her face—
Beep. Beep.
Green.
Human.
But as she pivoted, kicking aside a burning chair, the hairline at her nape split—
A flash of copper beneath.
I tightened my grip on the Orchid. Said nothing.
The building groaned, a beast swallowing prey.
Outside, Eidolon's copper spires were winking out—one by one.
T-59:15.
Minute One: complete.
The fear they wanted?
I hadn't even started giving it yet.
If your heart was racing at T-59:15...
If you checked your own arm for blood that soaks in...
If you still taste that sweet-rot fog in your throat—
Thank you.
This story only works if you feel it in your bones. Not your eyes. Your bones.
So here's my promise:
No filler. No flashbacks.Every chapter = 1 real minute.The cigarette stays unlit. The fear stays real.
Drop a TIME in the comments if you're still breathing.
I read every one.