The silence didn't last.
Not after the whisper. Not after the thing on the ceiling said, "He gave me skin."
Rami froze.
His fingers trembled against the trigger. The communicator in his hand sparked once more, then died completely. No signal. No HQ. No help.
Then…
CLANK.
The sound echoed.
Then another.
CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.
It came from every corner of the facility. The same sound. Repeating like it had a purpose.
Cell doors.
Opening.
Not one.
Not two.
All.
In every hallway, on every block, every containment unit. The heavy steel doors—called Lockseals by the guards—meant to withstand bomb-level force, suddenly gave way. The locks clicked. Metal hissed. The gears disengaged.
And the prisoners stepped out.
Not walked. Not marched.
They ran.
Like something had been chewing on their minds and finally let go.
Some screamed. Others laughed. Some slammed their heads into the wall for no reason. A few fell to their knees and started crawling, whispering nonsense prayers.
Room 470 was no exception.
The prisoners in the unit all jerked back from their cell doors when they clicked open. They looked at each other. And then like a broken hive, they charged out, smashing into walls, guards, and each other.
Except for two who did nothing.
289, still unconscious.
290, still in chains.
290 backed outside in the corner of the cell, breath uneven, heart pounding like it wanted to rip out of his chest.
This was bad.
This was beyond bad.
He had no clue what was going on—but every instinct told him to run.
He yanked at his chains, trying to pull free, eyes darting across the chaos. The hallway outside was madness. Prisoners flooding through. Guards shouting. Weapons drawn. Screams. Blood.
And then…
"Looks like I was wrong."
The voice was calm.
Too calm.
Almost bored.
290 turned.
She stood by the now-open Lockseal of her cell, arms folded, one foot resting against the wall like she'd been waiting for this moment since forever.
Scarlet.
Prisoner 260.
The only woman locked in Blood Cage. The one no one messed with—not even the guards. There were rumors she'd once ripped out a man's eye with her teeth. Nobody knew what was true. But one thing was clear: She didn't fear anything.
And now she was out.
Finally.
"Thought I'd never get the fuck outta this dump," she muttered, cracking her neck. "Guess today's a good day after all."
290 stared at her, frozen. He didn't even realize he had taken a step back. His legs were trembling.
Scarlet turned to him. Her eyes were sharp, wild, but oddly… amused.
"Hey, pretty boy," she smirked. "You might wanna get those chains off. Shit's about to get spicy."
290 opened his mouth but no words came. Just air. And panic.
That was when the thing moved.
The creature crawling upside down on the ceiling had begun descending. Limbs bent the wrong way. Fingers like razors. Its eyes were empty sockets, skin loose and stitched like it had been sewn from different corpses.
Rami, the lead guard, was still aiming his rifle.
"Don't come closer!" he shouted.
But the creature didn't listen.
And Scarlet wasn't even looking at him.
Her focus was dead center on the ceiling freak.
"Disgusting," she muttered. "Looks like a crow and a junkyard had a baby."
One of the other guards whispered, "What the hell is that thing?"
Scarlet didn't blink. "Something that needs to be put down. Move if you're soft."
Then she charged.
Fast.
Faster than anyone expected.
She ran straight at the wall, leaped, kicked off it with her heel, and flew up with a sharp, dirty blade she must've hidden somewhere. The creature hissed and tried to crawl backward, but she grabbed its leg, yanked it down hard, and slammed it to the floor.
The sound of bones breaking echoed.
The creature shrieked—a shriek that didn't sound human or animal. Like glass being crushed in slow motion.
It swung at her. She ducked. Kicked it in the jaw. The guards flinched.
Scarlet flipped the blade and drove it into the creature's neck.
Green blood splashed out.
Everyone froze.
290's eyes widened.
Green?
The creature twisted, grabbed at her arm. She twisted right back and ripped her blade sideways, severing the head halfway. It dropped to the ground with a wet thud.
She stepped back, panting slightly.
The guards were still pointing their guns—at her now.
"Don't shoot," Rami said quickly. "Just… wait."
The green blood sizzled on the ground like acid, burning through the floor slowly. The body twitched one last time. And then lay still.
The silence was thick.
Scarlet spat to the side.
"Looked like a goddamn evolved vulture. You know the ones that skip leg day."
No one laughed.
She looked around.
"Y'all got no sense of humor?"
Still no answer.
290 finally spoke, voice low. "What the fuck is going on?"
Scarlet looked at him, grinned.
"Oh honey, we're just getting started."
Then they all heard it.
A sound like a hundred wings flapping at once.
Coming from above.
The ceiling shook.
More footsteps.
More claws.
And then—
Dozens of red dots lit up on the biometric monitor in the command room.
Incoming.
Not human.
Not alone.
Rami's fingers were still shaking, but his rifle was steady now. Somehow, after watching Scarlet kill that thing with the ease of slicing bread, it felt like pointing a gun at her was a suggestion, not a threat. She didn't even flinch.
The creature lay there, twitching. Green blood slowly burning into the floor like acid. The guards didn't move, except for one of them who muttered something under his breath. Over and over.
"Don't come over… don't come over… don't come over…"
Scarlet raised an eyebrow at him. "What's he on about?"
Rami looked at the man. "He's been like that since we saw the first body with no skin."
Scarlet frowned. "Wait, no skin?"
"Yeah," Rami said. "Like someone peeled him off, top to bottom. Clean."
Scarlet muttered, "So he wasn't lying…"
290, still chained in the corner, felt his heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape. He didn't understand half of what was going on. All he knew was—cell doors had opened, prisoners had snapped, a creature with no eyes and green blood dropped from the ceiling, and now this crazy woman was talking like she'd seen this before.
Scarlet walked toward him.
Not rushed. Not aggressive.
Just calm. Too calm.
"You want out of those chains or nah?"
He nodded slowly.
She didn't ask again.
In one motion, she bent, took a discarded keycard from a dead guard's belt, scanned the cuffs, and they clicked open. 290 stumbled forward, holding onto the wall for balance.
"You're lucky," she said. "They wanted to move you today."
He nodded again, still quiet.
"Name?"
"Two-ninety."
Scarlet rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know your number, I'm not blind. I asked your name."
"...I don't remember," he said. "Been here too long."
Scarlet tilted her head. "Hmm. That's boring. Alright, then. I'll call you Quiet Boy."
Before he could protest, the sound returned. This time louder. Above them.
Wings. Many of them. Flapping hard. Claws dragging across steel vents. The ceiling trembled. Dust and old flakes of blood fell down like pepper flakes.
Rami muttered, "They're coming."
Scarlet looked up. "They?"
He nodded. "The monitors lit up. They're not alone."
Scarlet didn't look scared. She looked almost interested.
"I thought they were just stories," she said.
Rami frowned. "What stories?"
"The ones about the rain not just being blood," she replied. "They said it carried spores. Insects. Eggs. Something that eats the mind if it doesn't kill the body."
290 finally found his voice again. "Then why are the prisoners not dead? They're not in the rain."
"They're screaming like demons," one of the other guards said. "Possessed."
"They're not possessed," Scarlet muttered. "They're syncing."
"Syncing with what?" 290 asked, stepping away from the melted green puddle.
Scarlet cracked her knuckles and shrugged. "Something that wants us all quiet."
Another loud bang from above. A part of the vent caved in, and a rotten chunk of meat slapped onto the floor. It was… a bird?
No. It looked like a bird. But not really.
It had feathers, but they were wet, matted, and pulsating. The eyes weren't eyes at all. Just black holes. Its beak was fused with teeth. A dead one. Just fell from the vent.
Then came another. Alive this time.
It launched itself down and latched onto one of the guards' faces. Screaming. Blood. Claws digging. Rami fired. Twice. The bird dropped dead. But so did the guard.
Then came more.
Ten. Fifteen. Maybe more. From the ceiling. From the walls. Crawling like roaches. Flapping like sick bats. They looked like vultures, but the size of toddlers, wings sharp like blades. And they weren't flying for escape. They were aiming for heads.
Panic.
One of the guards was dragged up into the vents screaming.
Scarlet grabbed 290 by the collar. "Stay down."
She pulled him under one of the steel tables.
Rami fired until his rifle clicked empty. Another guard switched to a stun baton. Too slow. Too soft. A bird-creature bit into his neck. He went down gargling blood.
Scarlet pulled out a second blade. Short, rusted, but fast. She didn't wait for them to come. She ran at them.
Slashed one midair.
Kicked another into the wall. Smashed its skull with a boot.
290 peeked out from under the table, jaw hanging. She was laughing.
Laughing.
A bird-creature grabbed her shoulder. She twisted, grabbed its wing, and ripped it off. The thing squealed. She stabbed it through the head with a piece of a broken table leg.
Rami was down to his last clip.
290 crawled out from under the table just as Scarlet decapitated another one.
Their blood was all green.
It hissed on contact with metal, burned holes into the floor.
Scarlet finally paused to breathe, chest rising and falling. She looked at the mess. Looked at the dead. Looked at Rami.
"Still no sense of humor?" she asked, grinning.
Rami stared. "What the hell are you?"
Scarlet wiped some green blood from her cheek.
"Just a girl," she said. "Who's been stuck in this shithole for too long."
Then she turned around and kicked open the double doors at the end of the hallway.
Behind them, more screams.
More prisoners.
And a faint rumble in the distance.
Something was waking up.
Scarlet didn't hesitate.
She turned her head slightly. "You coming, Quiet Boy?"
290 stepped over the acid-burned bodies.
He didn't answer.
But he followed her.
Behind them, the last of the bird-things twitched.
One of them, half-alive, opened a third eye on its chest.
It blinked.
Suddenly, a voice echoed inside its rotting mind. Cold. Calm. Watching.
"There you are."