Night.
The Military CCTV Room.
Two guards sat in their chairs, watching the monitors.
The screens glowed softly in the dark room.
Nothing moved on the feeds.
Everything was quiet.
The kind of quiet that makes you sleepy.
The kind of quiet that makes you lower your guard.
Then both men heard a sound behind them.
Soft.
Close.
They turned their heads.
Their eyes went wide.
Before they could see what made the noise, their eyes rolled back.
Both slumped forward in their chairs.
Their bodies hit the console with a dull thud.
Unconscious.
Or worse.
On the center screen, a shadowy figure slipped through the outer gate.
The camera feed flickered once — just once — and then the screen went black.
A single word appeared in white letters.
ERROR.
— Morning.
The Research Base.
A military vehicle drove through the gates and came to a stop.
The engine died.
A man stepped out.
Bruce Miller.
His face was calm, but tiredness sat deep in his eyes like a stone at the bottom of a well.
He walked toward the meteoroid impact site.
His steps were slow.
Heavy.
He already knew what he would find.
A scientist approached him.
The man’s hands trembled.
His face was pale.
He looked like he hadn’t slept.
“Sir.
C.D.
is missing,” the scientist said.
Fear leaked into his voice.
Real fear.
The kind that makes your throat tight.
“I know.
That is why I am here,” Bruce replied.
His voice was rough now.
Sharp.
Nothing kind about it.
He didn’t look at the scientist.
A soldier stepped forward.
“Sir, ten minutes of CCTV footage is also missing.” His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed him.
He was scared too.
Bruce walked straight to the CCTV room.
He stood before the dead screens and stared at them.
His reflection stared back.
Tired.
Old.
Haunted.
“How is this possible?” he said.
He was not asking anyone in particular.
.
Another soldier appeared in the doorway.
“Sir.
There is a call for you from the General’s office.” His voice was urgent.
Something bad was coming.
Bruce took the call in a side room.
He pressed the phone to his ear.
His hand was steady.
It always was.
The Head General of the Military spoke.
His voice was cold and direct.
No warmth.
No hesitation.
Just orders.
“Bruce, there are two important jobs for you.” “Orders, sir,” Bruce said.
Flat.
Professional.
“This information cannot leak out.
Not to the media.
Not to civilians.
Call the Monovi police.
Monovi is the closest town to the crash site.
You will also form a separate team to check other nearby towns.
Use local police support where needed.
Remember, Bruce — this is a top-secret investigation.
That C.D.
is far more important than the meteoroid itself.” “Yes, sir,” Bruce said.
His jaw tightened.
“Not even a military truck moves that C.D.
Bruce.
Just find it.
You will go to Monovi personally to lead the search.
You know that town.
You lived there, before you joined the Space Research Organisation.” Bruce’s face flickered.
Sadness moved through his eyes and was gone.
Quick as a blink.
But it was there.
In his mind, a memory rose up.
Unbidden.
Unwelcome.
A young boy running across a field.
Green grass.
Blue sky.
The boy turned and called back over his shoulder.
His voice was bright.
Happy.
Innocent.
“Bruce!
Come here!” Bruce blinked the image away.
His eyes hardened.
“Yes, sir.
I will go there,” he said.
His voice was iron.
— A car raced down the empty road and turned sharply through the gates of Sunshine College of Medical.
It skidded to a rough stop in the parking lot.
The tires left black marks on the concrete.
The door opened and a man stepped out.
Short hair.
Tall body.
Sunglasses over his eyes.
A toothpick between his teeth.
He walked like he owned the world.
He moved through the college building.
His footsteps echoed through the empty hallway.
Confidence.
Unhurried.
A door swung open from the side.
A hand reached out and pulled him inside.
A girl stood there.
Beautiful.
Bold.
Unapologetic.
“How are you?” Lara asked.
Her voice was warm.
Teasing.
Lara.
Twenty years old.
Beautiful and bold.
She loved wearing short clothes and she did not care what anyone thought about it.
She was brave.
She had a kind heart that she never hid.
“I am fine,” Charlie said.
A smirk played on his lips.
“And thirsty.” Charlie.
Also twenty.
Handsome with a strong, athletic body.
He was popular around campus.
But deep down, certain things scared him.
He never named those things.
He just carried them quietly.
Like everyone does.
“For what?” Lara asked.
Her eyes sparkled.
She knew exactly what he meant.
“For you,” Charlie said.
His voice dropped.
Low.
Hungry.
Lara did not wait.
She pulled him close and kissed him.
Hard.
With hunger.
She bit his lower lip.
Her body pressed against his.
The world outside the room disappeared.
Charlie’s hand slid onto her thigh.
Warm.
Electric.
The door swung open.
Hard.
It hit the wall with a bang.
Blinc stood in the doorway.
Behind him were Lomro, Amili, Inose, and Zander.
Lomro’s clothes were stained dark with blood.
His face was pale.
Bruised.
He looked like he had walked through hell and barely made it out.
Charlie yanked back.
His face went from passion to shock in half a second.
His eyes went wide.
His voice lost all its confidence.
“What happened?” he asked.
The words felt stupid even as he said them.
— Last night.
10:00 PM.
Blinc’s House.
Blinc came home from the military base.
The house was silent and empty.
His mother was in London for Christmas.
The rooms felt bigger when he was alone.
Colder.
He took a bath.
The hot water washed the day off his skin.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think.
It didn’t work.
He changed into clean clothes.
His body was tired but his mind wouldn’t stop.
His eyes fell on his jacket, thrown over the back of a chair.
He reached into the pocket.
His fingers closed around something cold.
He pulled out the C.D.
It seemed to pulse in his hand.
Or maybe that was just his heartbeat.
In the living room, he slid the C.D.
into the player.
His hand hesitated for just a moment.
Then he pressed play.
A sound crawled out of the speakers.
A voice.
It was not clear.
The words crackled and broke apart, fighting through layers of static.
Like someone calling from very far away.
Or very deep underground.
Blinc leaned closer.
His heart was beating faster now.
He strained to hear.
“Run!” The word splintered apart and then stitched itself back together.
“Run!
…
then…” Silence.
Then, with sudden clarity that made Blinc’s stomach drop: “Run!” And then, in a voice that was too clear, too close, too knowing: “Listen!
You need to run!
Everyone needs to run, Blinc!” Blinc went cold.
His name.
The voice knew his name.
Ice water flooded his veins.
The voice cracked again and went silent.
Then it came back.
Lower now.
Slower.
More deliberate.
Like something playing with its food.
“Blinc!” A laugh.
Creeping.
Wrong.
Like wet fingers dragging down glass.
Blinc stared at the C.D.
player.
The sound leaking out of it felt alive.
It crawled across his skin like insects.
“BLINC!
YOU STILL CARE ABOUT EVERYONE!” Sweat bloomed cold on his forehead.
His body locked in place.
His muscles wouldn’t obey.
He couldn’t move.
He couldn’t breathe.
“I DON’T THINK THAT YOU’RE A PERSON!” “BECAUSE OF YOUR DAD.” “I KNOW YOU ARE IN PAIN!” “COME HERE!
I WILL SOLVE ALL THE SHIT THINGS YOU DID!” “COME HERE!” Blinc forced his legs to move.
It was like moving through water.
Through concrete.
He lunged at the player and yanked the plug from the wall.
Silence.
He stood there, breathing hard.
Relief flooded through him like a drug.
He walked to the sofa and sat down heavily.
His hands were shaking.
His whole body was shaking.
Then— “Blinc!” He turned his head slowly.
His blood turned to ice.
The player was unplugged.
The screen was dead.
But the voice came from it.
“YOU’RE SCARED OF PEOPLE.” “WHAT PEOPLE SAY ABOUT YOU.” “WHAT PEOPLE SAY ABOUT YOUR MOTHER.” “LET ME KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT.” In Blinc’s mind, a door cracked open.
A door he had kept closed for seven years.
Locked.
Bolted.
Buried.
A man screamed.
A woman begged.
Pleaded to be let go.
A small boy sat under a bed, his back pressed against the wall.
His eyes were wide with terror.
Blood spread slowly across the floor.
Dark.
Wet.
Endless.
“YOU DID THAT.” A heavy laugh.
Wet and deep.
Like something drowning.
“YOU’RE NOT WHAT YOU THINK YOU ARE.” “THAT NIGHT, YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM.
BUT—” Blinc grabbed a vase from the side table and threw it at the C.D.
player.
Glass shattered.
Plastic cracked.
The sound of destruction filled the room.
The voice stopped.
He stood there, chest rising and falling fast.
Sweat dripped from his chin.
Tears burned in his eyes.
He collapsed onto the sofa, closed his eyes, and within a minute, sleep dragged him under.
Merciful.
Temporary.
— Blinc opened his eyes.
He was lying on the floor of the school corridor.
He pushed himself up.
His body ached.
There was no light anywhere.
Only thick darkness pressing against the walls.
Through the windows, a black sky churned with violent flashes of violet lightning.
The thunder made no sound.
A voice echoed from the far end of the corridor.
He could see nothing there.
The words sounded human but the language was strange.
Not any language he knew.
Older.
Darker.
“Who are you?” Blinc shouted.
His voice echoed and died.
No answer came.
The sound stopped.
The silence was worse.
The side wall shifted.
It warped and changed shape, melting into a single door.
Blinc looked to his right.
Words were painted on the door: STORE ROOM.
That was wrong.
The store room was behind the school.
It was a separate building.
There was no store room here in the main hallway.
He knew that.
But the door was there.
Waiting.
The door creaked open by itself.
A gust of cold air rushed through.
It smelled of dust and something dead.
Beyond the door was another place entirely.
Red and orange rock stretched out in every direction.
A dead world.
Blinc stepped through.
He didn’t want to.
But his feet moved anyway.
He stood on a cliff.
The school building sat behind him, impossibly placed on the edge of the rock.
Below and ahead, a rough and barren land stretched far.
Jagged rock formations broke the ground like broken teeth.
A black cloudy sky hung overhead, ripped apart by bursts of violet lightning.
Behind Blinc, something moved on the wall.
A long body pressed flat against the stone.
It was shaped like a lizard.
But wrong.
Too long.
Too thin.
It crept upward.
Growing.
Getting closer.
Its claws made soft scratching sounds on the rock.
Blinc turned slowly.
His heart was a drum in his chest.
The creature leaped.
A blur of darkness and teeth.
He could not see it clearly.
His eyes couldn’t focus.
His mind couldn’t process.
His eyes snapped open.
He was in his house.
Early morning.
Five o’clock.
He lay on the sofa, breathing hard.
Sweat covered his face like a second skin.
He wiped it with his t-shirt and got to his feet.
His legs were unsteady.
He walked into the room.
His eyes fell on the broken vase scattered across the floor.
And there, among the shattered pieces, lay the C.D.
Not a single scratch on it.
Perfect.
Untouched.
Waiting.
His heart sank.
His stomach turned to ice.
He took a hammer from the drawer and swung it down on the C.D.
with all his strength.
The hammer bounced back.
Nothing happened.
Not a mark.
He carried the C.D.
out to the garden.
The morning air was cold.
He fired up the chainsaw.
The engine roared.
He tried to cut it.
The blade sparked.
The chainsaw screamed.
Nothing happened.
The C.D.
sat there.
Perfect.
Untouched.
Smiling at him without a face.
— He called everyone.
He told them to come to his house.
His voice on the phone was strange.
Hollow.
Scared.
They came.
Soon, they were all there.
In his room.
Zander.
Lomro.
Amili.
Inose.
Cult.
They sat in a circle like they used to when they were kids.
But this wasn’t a game.
Blinc told them everything that had happened.
All of it.
Every word.
The voice.
The vision.
The chainsaw.
He held nothing back.
They all stared at him.
Silence filled the room.
Zander clapped slowly.
The sound was hollow.
“Wow!
Man, what a story.
You should definitely try to write a book, bro,” Zander said.
His voice was light.
Too light.
He was scared.
They all were.
“Good idea,” Amili said.
She tried to smile.
It didn’t reach her eyes.
“So?
Who do you actually think believes this shit?” Lomro said.
His arms were crossed.
His voice was hard.
But his eyes were afraid.
“This is amazing,” Cult said.
He was leaning forward.
Fascinated despite everything.
“You believe me?” Blinc asked.
His voice cracked.
Cult shrugged.
“I’m just thinking about how cool it would look in a movie.” Deflection.
Humor.
The armor they all wore.
“Guys!
This is not a story,” Blinc said.
His voice rose.
Desperate.
“Okay.
Let’s play it on the C.D.
player then,” Amili said.
Calm.
Testing.
“No,” Blinc said quickly.
Too quickly.
Fear in his eyes.
“I knew it.
You’re lying,” Lomro said.
But his voice lacked conviction.
Zander looked at Blinc’s face.
He saw sadness there.
And real fear.
The kind of fear that doesn’t lie.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what you all think.
I believe him.
Blinc, don’t worry.
Whatever happens, we will fight it together,” Zander said.
He smiled with full confidence.
But his hands were shaking.
Zander reached over and turned on the C.D.
player.
No sound came out.
“I knew it.
You’ve started drinking,” Cult said.
Trying to laugh.
Trying to break the tension.
“What?” Blinc said, confused.
“No, he hasn’t,” Lomro said.
“He’s started doing drugs,” Lomro added.
Flat.
Deadpan.
“Yes…
wait, what the—” Blinc started.
A sound came from the player.
Words in a strange language.
Like someone chanting a spell.
Ancient.
Wrong.
The air in the room grew heavy.
Cold.
“What language is this?” Inose asked.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“This is not any language that I know,” Amili said.
Her face was pale.
She knew twenty-two languages.
This was not one of them.
“How do you know?” Blinc asked.
“I know twenty-two languages,” Amili said.
Simple.
Terrifying.
“So can you understand Bhojpuri songs?” Zander asked.
Deflection.
Always deflection.
“No,” Amili said.
No smile.
No joke.
From downstairs, footsteps sounded.
Heavy.
Slow.
Someone was coming up the stairs.
The footsteps stopped.
Silence.
The kind of silence that screams.
Then, something moved fast across the ceiling above them.
Scraping.
Scratching.
Wrong.
They crept out of the room slowly.
Their hearts were pounding.
Their hands were shaking.
They looked up.
A giant creature hung from the ceiling.
Nine feet tall.
Thin body.
Long limbs.
Sharp jaw.
Long pointed teeth.
Long pointed fingers.
Fully black eyes — dark as empty sockets.
Patches of hair on parts of its body.
Some of its skin looked burned.
Melted.
Dead.
“Karbu,” Zander whispered.
The word came from somewhere deep inside him.
Somewhere he didn’t know existed.
Cult stared up at it.
His face was white.
His mouth was dry.
“Motherfucker,” Cult said.
The word was barely a breath.
Everyone turned to look at Cult.
Then back at the creature.
Karbu screamed at them.
A terrible, piercing sound that tore through their skulls and buried itself in their bones.
They shouted.
They slammed the door shut.
They pressed their bodies against it.
Their hearts were beating so fast they thought they might die.
On the other side of the door, something was breathing.
To be continued…
— Author’s Note Dear Reader, A note about Zander — he has a crude sense of humor and certain habits that may come across as immature.
This is intentional.
He uses humor and bravado to cover something deeper.
Fear.
Insecurity.
The terror of being seen for who he really is.
You’ll see more of that as we go.
It helps more than you know.