The taxi cut through the afternoon traffic like the driver had something to prove. Evans sat with one elbow propped on the door, eyes fixed on his phone screen while the other hand hovered, ready to hit redial.
Still no response from Killa.
He'd tried three times now. Her line didn't even ring anymore—just went straight to voicemail.
"Your girl not picking up?" the driver asked, side-eyeing him through the rearview.
Evans didn't look up. "Something like that."
Outside, the city didn't look normal. It wasn't in flames or anything—not yet—but the streets were far too empty in some places and way too crowded in others. He spotted two grocery stores with lines snaking out the doors and a group of teens sprinting across the road, carrying boxes of what looked like canned goods.
A few blocks later, a fight broke out at a petrol station. One guy swung a metal pipe at another, screaming something Evans couldn't hear through the glass.
The driver made a nervous clicking sound with his tongue. "This ain't normal. People acting like it's the end of the world."
Evans gave a dry laugh. "Maybe it is."
He refreshed the news tab.
BREAKING: China Declares State of Emergency
Red Rain in Mumbai? Footage Emerges of Unnatural Weather Patterns
CDC to Address Public—Live in 10 Minutes
He exhaled sharply, scrolling. The videos were getting worse—buildings collapsing, birds flying in frantic circles before crashing mid-air, someone claiming to have seen a person melt on camera.
Melting? Yeah, okay.
"Almost there, boss," the driver said. "You sure your people are in the hotel? Rosebank's been shaky today."
"They don't know I'm coming." At least they didn't till few minutes ago. "It's a surprise."
The driver blinked. "A surprise? Today?"
Evans just paid him, stepped out, and looked up at the hotel-slash-family-home he hadn't seen in months.
The automatic doors slid open, letting Evans step into the cool lobby of the hotel he'd grown up in. Familiar marble floors. Same antique chandelier swaying gently above. But the atmosphere? Totally off.
The front desk clerk glanced up, eyes flickering with recognition—and something else. Fear, maybe.
"Welcome back, Mr. Evans," she said, voice tight. "Your mother said you were on your way."
He gave her a small nod, rolling his suitcase past the few lingering guests who looked more like they were waiting for the world to end than for room service.
The lobby TV was turned to a muted news channel—red banners flashing across the screen in bold letters:
GLOBAL STATE OF EMERGENCY DECLARED
UNCONFIRMED INCIDENTS SPREADING ACROSS CONTINENTS
CDC & WHO TO HOLD JOINT STATEMENT
The camera panned over airports. Hospitals. Cities choked with traffic. Then flicked briefly to a scene in downtown Los Angeles, not far from his old apartment. Smoke. Screaming. Some kind of explosion.
Evans didn't stop walking.
The elevator doors dinged open, and he stepped inside alone. Fifth floor. He could hear his own breathing in the silence.
His phone buzzed—no messages. Still nothing from Killa.
His jaw clenched as the elevator rose.
When the doors opened, the hallway was quiet. Room 503. He didn't bother knocking—just entered the code his dad never bothered changing.
The door clicked open.
Inside was chaos—but the domestic kind. News blaring from the mounted flat screen. His father halfway into a blazer like he was about to head out somewhere. His mother pacing with the house phone cradled between shoulder and ear.
The moment she saw him, she dropped the phone.
"Evans!"
He barely got his arms up before she pulled him into a tight hug.
"You're okay," she murmured. "God, thank God. I thought you were still in LA—I saw the footage and—"
"I'm fine, Ma. I told you—I landed before it got bad," he said, pulling back a little.
His dad stepped in with a nod and a slap on the back. "Damn good timing, son. You sure know how to make an entrance."
Evans gave a short laugh, but his eyes were already drifting to the TV.
Footage now showed aerial views. Crowds running. Strange animal patterns. Something metallic and cracked lying across a freeway like a broken spine. Some people were calling it a hoax. Others weren't even bothering to speculate anymore.
He sat down, dropped his phone on the coffee table. The screen lit up.
No signal. No bars. No service.
Sh*t.
He looked at his mom. "When did the signal drop?"
"Not long ago," she said. "A few minutes maybe. The news hasn't cut out yet, but… the phones are dying."
His dad scoffed, grabbing the remote. "It's the damn internet generation. One earthquake and everyone thinks it's the apocalypse."
Evans didn't say anything.
But he knew better.
This wasn't just an earthquake.
And Killa wasn't answering her phone.
That's what worried him most.
___________
KILLA
It started slow.
A siren in the distance. Then another. Not unusual, not yet—but they kept coming. Spaced out like heartbeat murmurs. No pattern, just persistent.
I muted the TV. Didn't need sound anymore. I could read the panic in the anchors' eyes, in the scrolling red banners, in the way networks started switching between stories without finishing them.
There was too much happening at once. No one knew what to focus on.
Outside my window, the city hadn't quite caught up. Not visibly, anyway. The sun was still out. Shops were still open. People still walking around like they could outpace what was coming. But they were moving quicker. Glancing at their phones more often. Huddling in twos and threes.
Then around late afternoon, the screaming started.
Not from my building, but close enough that I could hear it. Not one voice—many. Short, panicked bursts followed by silence. Like someone opened the door to something they weren't supposed to see and couldn't close it fast enough.
I didn't move. Just watched from behind the curtain. Watched a man sprint barefoot down the road, holding a leash with no dog attached. Watched someone back a car into a pole, jump out, and take off on foot.
I watched people start to lose their minds.
And still, I stayed put.
I couldn't fight against these...things,so the least I could do would be to stay put for now. I would survive on my resources, and if they start to deplete then maybe,just maybe I would leave.
I lay down on the couch as I heard the screams and chaos outside. Weird as it may sound,I let the chaos slowly lure me to sleep.
****
I woke up to silence.
The kind that didn't belong in a city. Not even at midnight. No cars. No bass lines thudding from downstairs. Just… stillness. That kind that wraps around you like a thick, heavy coat you didn't ask for.
My neck hurt from the way I'd crashed on the couch. I rubbed at it absently and glanced at the TV. The screen was frozen mid-frame, glitchy and dim. The signal had finally given up, but the power was still humming.
Small mercies.
I shuffled into the kitchen, barefoot and bleary-eyed. My stomach grumbled—loud enough to make me mutter, "Alright, alright, I get it."
Half a loaf of bread. Some eggs. Cheese. I threw together a makeshift sandwich and popped the kettle on. I wasn't trying to have a gourmet experience, just something to keep me going. Something warm, comforting.
While the kettle hissed, I leaned against the counter, chewing slowly. I kept expecting to hear a siren or a crash or... something. But all I got was a faint breeze rattling the windowpane and that kettle slowly climbing toward a whistle.
Then my phone rang.
I flinched.
Evans.
Finally.
I thumbed the answer button and pressed it to my ear. "It's about damn time—"
"Killa." His voice was low, urgent.
My stomach dropped. That tone?
"I'm okay," he said quickly, like he knew what I was thinking. "I'm safe. I'm at the hotel. But Killa… you were right. Whatever this is. It's not a drill. It's global. I saw the footage—people turning, attacking. They're not normal."
Of course I'm right,when am I ever not.
Silence stretched for a breath.
Then he added, "You still at the apartment?"
"Yeah. Stocked. Doors locked. You?"
"Same.The kitchen seems to be quite stock up,Thank God but then we have customers as well so...soon I'll have to go out and see if I can do something and Killa…" He hesitated. "If the grid goes—power, water, all of it—you need to get out. Don't wait around hoping it'll fix itself."
"I'm not the hopeful type," I said flatly.
"I know." There was a pause, a faint crackle in the line. "I'm coming for you."
I blinked. "What?"
"Sooner or later I think the army would try to reach out to me,when that happens I'll try to reach you first. Meanwhile if anything happens go into my apartment,in my closet you'll see a kind of safe,use the key that I gave you to open it,Am I clear?"
I hummed as I reached out to touch the key buried deep in my pockets.
"And hey",he continued. "No matter what happens just remember this,they aren't human anymore. Do you get what I mean?"
I kept mute as I let his words sink in. Whatever it takes I guess.
"Okay,I understand. Stay safe."
"You too." The call ended. Sooner that I wanted it too.
I stared at the screen, still chewing
Then I coughed.
Just a tickle at first. No big deal. But it didn't stop.
A sharp inhale, and the food caught halfway down. My eyes widened.
The kitchen spun.
I dropped the phone.
My hands clawed at my throat, panic setting in. I stumbled into the sink, tried to drink, tried to breathe, anything. My foot caught the chair leg. I went down hard. Cracked my elbow on the floor tiles.
Still no air.
No one to help.
The kettle shrieked behind me like some cruel alarm I couldn't shut off.
And just before everything started to fade, I saw the city lights outside through the kitchen window—burning bright, like nothing was wrong.
Then nothing.
Just light out.