The old woman's body began to convulse and wet cracking resounded as her bones were being broken and reassembled.
Her skin rippled, dark purple veins bulging beneath the surface like thick cords of rope. Her mouth stretched too wide as her teeth grew into sharp and jagged blades, black fluid dripping from them. The edges of her form seemed to fragment, almost like she was melting into something else.
Rhys froze. His blood ran cold, his entire body locking up in horror. The woman was changing — mutating into a nightmare right before his eyes.
***
Darkness clung to the edges of Rhys Maya's vision as he stirred awake. A dull, throbbing pain pounded against his skull, like a hammer striking steel. His limbs felt leaden, his body drenched in exhaustion so deep it clung to his bones. The air around him was thick with the stale scent of sweat, alcohol, and something faintly acrid, like scorched ash.
'Where the hell am I?'
Rhys exhaled sharply, his breath shallow. Forcing his eyes open, he was met with the sickly yellow glow of flickering motel light. Shadows stretched across the peeling walls, the air heavy with the lingering stench of old cigarettes, cheap detergent, and dampness. Above him, a ceiling fan churned with a slow, uneven creak — the only sound in the suffocating silence.
The world around him was hazy, the edges blurred like a half-remembered dream. He pushed himself upright, only to have a sharp, splitting pain lance through his skull. His stomach churned, the room tilting as if trying to drag him back under.
He scanned the room, not recognizing where he was or how he got there.
On the battered wooden table beside him, a half-empty bottle of whiskey lay discarded next to a smartphone. His gaze lingered on the phone, its dark screen offering no answers, only the promise of time lost. He reached for it.
Thud!
Rhys barely had time to register the fall before he found himself on the grimy floor. His palms pressed against the cold, cracked concrete, the bitter taste of regret thick on his tongue.
Rhys winced and let out a slow, shaky exhale.
'Fuck me. Did I drink myself into oblivion again?'
It wouldn't be the first time for Rhys Maya. After all, who would want to witness the end of the world sober?
Snatching his phone from the table, he collapsed back onto the bed and switched on the screen.
7:44am
He shut the screen off and draped an arm over his face, trying to gather pieces of his mind.
'How did I even get here? Last thing I remember...'
The transport station back in Lorina. One of the larger Independent Towns on the Central Continent, but still just a speck compared to where he'd arrived. He remembered clutching the phone with an anonymous message that had appeared three days ago:
[54 REDWOOD HEIGHTS, DISTRICT 9, HALOWAY]
Below it, just two words:
"Find me."
'That's right. I was searching for someone.'
Rhys squinted at his phone again, scrolling back to that message. No sender information, untraceable.
Just like the Benefactor; a man who'd appeared in Rhys' life six years ago when he was nothing but a street kid with quick fingers who'd made the mistake of targeting the wrong mark.
Instead of having Rhys arrested — or worse — the Benefactor had taken him in. Given him a home, an education. And then, two years ago, vanished without explanation or trace.
Until now. Maybe.
Rhys dragged himself to the grimy window and pushed aside the thin curtain. Through the smudged glass, the impossible vastness of Haloway sprawled before him — a titan of glass and steel stretching farther than his eyes could see. Massive skyscrapers pierced the post-dawn sky, their surfaces alive with scrolling advertisements and news updates. Even at this hour, aerial transports moved between buildings like luminous insects, following invisible highways.
Nothing like Lorina, with its aggressive population control and strict curfews. Back home, buildings couldn't exceed five stories — kept deliberately small to avoid attracting Marauders. Here in Haloway, they seemed to challenge the sky itself. That was the bargain everyone understood: the safety of the Independent Towns, with their strict immigration policies and limited resources, or the opportunities and dangers of the Tri-Continental megatropolises.
The three massive power blocs — Western, Central, and Eastern Continents — had each consolidated their surviving urban centres into these behemoths after the first Marauder outbreaks decades ago.
Just then, as he was taking in the view, Rhys Maya was assaulted by a cacophony of invasive voices, whispering in an ancient, long forgotten tongue. The lamenting voices grew louder with each second, worsening Rhys' already terrible headache.
A sharp chill coiled around his spine, his breath coming in sporadic and heavy gasps. Rhys clutched his head and stumbled, feeling as if he was inches away from complete madness. Then, as quickly as they appeared, the voices began to wither away, slowly returning Rhys his sanity.
"This madness keeps getting worse."
***
Marauder Syndrome.
About three decades ago, an inexplicable madness began sweeping through the world's largest cities. Ordinary people — random, unassuming citizens — started hearing strange whispers, murmurs that promised something in an indecipherable language. At first, the authorities dismissed it as nothing more than a viral hoax — some elaborate prank spreading on the internet, stoked by bored teens.
But all that changed when a popular televangelist — one of the first to speak of the whispers as the 'Word of God' — was caught live on air, delivering a sermon when he suddenly transformed into a grotesque, eight-foot monster. It tore through the crowd, slaughtering his disciples before the military finally intervened. Barely.
That was the first recorded Marauder.
Soon after, the madness spread. More and more people began to change, their bodies mutated into monstrosities, their minds consumed by the Whispers. Major cities fell into chaos as military forces struggled to control the outbreak and nations all over the world abolished the concept of borders and united as one against a common threat.
This fast-tracked technological and military advancements at an astonishing rate, pushing the world into a new age. But it still wasn't enough.
Around the same time, spatial-temporal anomalies known as Abyssal Zones would spontaneously appear and disappear, taking whatever and whoever was unlucky enough to be in its path.
All who were swallowed were believed to be dead, their souls lost to the endless, dark unknown. Then, a small percentage of the victims began to return, each blessed with supernatural abilities. They were presumed dead and thus given the somber name...
Revenants.
Some said they were born to fight back, others claimed they were the chosen ones, destined to bring balance. Either way, the Revenants became the world's last defence against the Marauders.
But for Rhys Maya, it all felt like something from a fantasy novel. That is, until he started hearing the Whispers himself.
Rhys let the curtain fall. Whatever happened to the Benefactor, if it was even him that sent the message, Rhys needed to find out quickly. Staying too long in a megatropolis was playing with fire — especially for someone like him, who'd been hearing the Whispers for weeks now. The voices hadn't been loud enough to make him completely lose his sanity yet, but they were getting stronger every day. And everyone knew what the Whispers meant.
Either he'd find the Benefactor, or he'd end up as something else entirely.
***
Rhys grabbed his coat, the cold fabric a reminder that time was slipping away. He couldn't afford to waste another moment. The Benefactor had been missing for two years, but now, Rhys felt a pull in his gut; something was different.
He shoved the door open and stepped out into the chilled morning air. After checking out, he pulled up the map on his phone again, making his way to the address. The only way to get there from where he currently was, was to take the subway.
'I hope it's not some kind of scam. Even if it is, the only things of value I have are...my organs.'
Rhys shuddered at his own thoughts.
As he approached the subway station, an odd excitement fluttered in his chest. He'd never ridden the subway before. This was a new experience, a strange little adventure in the midst of his crumbling world.
He stepped up to the ticket booth, glancing at the machine in front of him.
"Hey," he said, turning to the man behind the counter. "How do I pay for this?"
The attendant, a man in his mid-thirties with a bored expression, looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"You've never ridden the subway?" he asked, voice thick with disbelief.
Rhys rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I'm an Indie… you know how it is. So, what do I do?"
The attendant sighed, gesturing toward the machine.
"You either use the machine or swipe a card. It's the same as anywhere else."
Rhys blinked, confusion still clouding his thoughts. "Swipe a card? Like a credit card?"
"No, man. A metro card. You gotta load it up first."
"Oh… right," Rhys muttered, realizing how out of his element he was. "And how much is it?"
"Four bucks for a single ride," the attendant said, barely hiding his amusement.
Rhys hesitated, then fumbled for a crumpled bill in his pocket. He inserted it into the machine and waited, but it immediately spat it back out. He stared at it, dumbfounded.
The attendant raised an eyebrow.
"Really? You've never even used cash before?"
Rhys let out a nervous laugh. "No, I've used cash. Just… not for this."
A soft chuckle escaped the attendant as he swiped his own card through the machine.
"Here. Just get one of these cards next time. Makes it easier."
Rhys nodded sheepishly and shuffled past, feeling like an idiot.
The subway car was nearly empty, save for a few homeless people sleeping on the seats. Rhys felt uneasy sitting next to them, so he stayed on his feet, clutching the metal pole.
Sat in front of him to his right, an elderly woman smiled warmly at him, prompting Rhys to bow slightly. He briefly noticed faint blackish lines crawling up her neckline, but he chose to ignore it. Who knows what condition ailed the elderly lady?
His eyes scanned the rest of the train. There were a couple of people here and there, but nothing remarkable.
At least, until a girl caught his attention.
She was standing by the door; her coloured braids falling over her dark eyes. The girl was carrying a rather large backpack, like she was preparing for the military or something. She looked young — maybe sixteen — but there was something else about her.
'Nope. Can't be caught staring at a minor on the subway.'
Rhys tried focusing elsewhere when his thoughts were interrupted by a strange buzz in his ear. It was the Whispers. This time, they were soft, but remained indecipherable. He winced, trying to shake it off, but the sound wouldn't go away. It was as if something was inside his head.
As Rhys was twisting his neck around, his gaze flicked to the girl. She was staring at him now, her expression unreadable.
'Shit.'
Rhys cleared his throat, trying to break the tension.
"Cold morning," he started awkwardly, glancing over at the girl.
"You headed out this early, too?"
She didn't answer at first. Then, after a beat, she nodded.
"I'm usually never up this early, but today is special, I guess."
He chuckled awkwardly, his fingers twitching. "You sure are punctual for a teenager."
An awkward smile tugged at her lips. Her eyes looked like they were asking, "Are we really doing this?"
But to Rhys's surprise, she continued:
"What about you? Where are you headed so early?"
Rhys hesitated. What was he supposed to say? That he was in a race against time to find a missing relative before mutating into a monster? Trying to sound as casual as possible, he said:
"Outta town, it might turn out to be a special day for me as well."
Her eyes flickered with interest, but she gave nothing away.
"Good for you, I guess," she said, her tone flat.
Rhys was about to respond when a loud clattering sound filled the subway car.
The elderly woman's purse hit the floor, the clatter of its contents scattering across the train. Papers, coins, and a small lipstick bottle rolled away in different directions. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably.
The girl was the first to move, darting forward to help. Rhys hesitated, standing frozen for a moment before he followed her with his eyes.
"Thank you, my child," the old woman said, her voice faint and shaky.
The girl nodded, her expression flat, her gaze darting over the woman, flicking away quickly as if something was off.
"No problem," she muttered.
Rhys was still taking in the scene in front of him. And then, the smell.
It came in suddenly, a faint, acrid scent—like something burning just out of reach. Rhys' stomach tightened, and his nose twitched. He couldn't place it. A metallic tang. A touch of smoke. But it was there, unmistakable. It lingered in the air like a bad omen.
His breath caught in his throat, and the train car seemed to grow heavier, the air denser. He looked around, searching for the source. A few others were shifting uncomfortably in their seats, but no one said anything.
"Such a refined young woman," the old woman muttered again, her voice cracking, before trailing off.
The old woman slowly bent down, still mumbling softly, as she retrieved the last of her belongings. Rhys couldn't help but notice how her fingers trembled slightly as she fumbled with the purse. Veins began bulging and shifting under her skin like live worms.
"Such... a...ref... wom—"
Her voice distorted. The words slipped, warping into something unnatural — nightmarish.
The old woman's body began to convulse and wet cracking resounded as her bones were being broken and reassembled.
Her skin rippled, dark purple veins bulging beneath the surface like thick cords of rope. Her mouth stretched too wide as her teeth grew; sharp and jagged, black fluid dripping from them. The edges of her form seemed to fragment, almost like she was melting into something else.
Rhys froze. His blood ran cold, his entire body locking up in horror. The woman was changing — mutating — right before his eyes.
The girl beside him flinched back, her eyes wide, her mouth parting as if to scream, but no sound came. She staggered, looking at the woman in confusion, fear creeping over her face.
The air in the train car seemed to thicken, heavy with the stench of burnt flesh. The woman's hands trembled as they reached for the girl, but the fingers — no longer just fingers — were now claws, jagged and dark, like the twisted branches of some old tree.
The girl took a step back, her eyes flashing with confusion—or was it fear? Rhys couldn't tell. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the woman, whose body was now shuddering, breaking, transforming into something monstrous, something not of this world.
She lunged.
A sharp, desperate gasp escaped the girl's lips as the monstrous woman's claws swiped toward her. Time seemed to slow, stretching out like an eternity. Rhys was frozen, his legs useless, his mind screaming at him to move. But he couldn't.
The girl — she was going to die.