"What the fuck... happened?"
Every step felt like a million tons dragging behind him.
His legs—trembling.
His chest—tight.
His breath—shallow, almost nonexistent.
He couldn't run anymore.
His vision flickered like a broken screen.
His thoughts spiraled, tangled between fear and confusion.
Exhausted.
Sore.
Hallucinating.
Completely shattered.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
His heart hammered so violently against his ribs, it felt like it was trying to break out of his chest. His knees buckled—and suddenly, he collapsed.
Face-first into the cold, hard ground.
A sharp pain stabbed his ribs. Dirt filled his mouth. His fingers clawed at nothing.
He couldn't open his eyes anymore. But he could hear.
Footsteps.
Getting closer. Slow. Methodical.
Could it be... another monster?
He lay there, defenseless.
A laugh broke out from his throat. Hysterical. Desperate. It didn't even sound like him anymore.
Was this it?
After everything... was this how he would die?
"I give up," he muttered with a broken grin.
He closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.
A sliver of light.
A flicker in the void.
Loid's eyes fluttered open.
His vision was hazy. His body felt numb.
"Where... am I?" he whispered hoarsely. "Didn't I die?"
The questions stabbed his skull. Nothing made sense.
Voices echoed around him.
"HE'S AWAKE!"
The sudden sound jolted his heart. He winced, trying to sit up, but every muscle screamed in agony.
Shapes blurred in front of his eyes—shadows moving, colors blending.
And then... he saw her.
A beautiful girl stood before him, her eyes wide in surprise, lips parted as if caught between a breath and a prayer. She looked radiant—her dark, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders, and a flicker of light dancing in her gaze.
Loid blinked.
Was he hallucinating again?
"Someone... saved me?" he murmured, almost disbelieving.
His voice was dry. Cracked. He sounded like a ghost of himself.
The girl nodded slowly, and a soft, relieved smile formed on her lips.
"You're lucky," she said gently. "Another few seconds and you would've been torn apart."
Loid stared at the ceiling. His body refused to move.
Everything hurt.
"Where am I? Who… who are you?" Loid muttered, his voice hoarse like sand scraping metal.
A figure stepped into view. A tall man, broad-shouldered, his arms scarred like a roadmap of war. His piercing eyes scanned Loid like a soldier evaluating the aftermath of a battlefield. He looked like he belonged in a warzone more than anywhere else.
"Hey, young fellow… are you okay?" the man asked, his deep voice rough but strangely calm.
Loid sat up slowly, pain shooting up his spine. He could barely make out their surroundings. The walls were chipped. The air was thick with the smell of oil and burnt rubber. An old vending machine buzzed in the corner. A broken-down sign outside the glass door read "Helix Oil Station."
That's when he saw her.
The girl from before. The one who shouted that he was awake. She stepped forward, her long black hair tied into a messy ponytail, face smudged with dirt, but her eyes—a piercing silver—were strangely comforting.
"I'm Noah," she said, kneeling beside him. "You were about to be ripped apart. I… I saved you."
Her voice shook slightly at the memory.
"You… you pulled me out?" Loid whispered.
"I didn't do it alone," she said, glancing back at the others.
John—the man with the military look—nodded. "That monster had its jaws this close to your neck," he said, holding his fingers barely an inch apart. "You owe her your life, kid."
Behind him stood two more figures: one with glasses, sharp-eyed and quiet, the other with a beanie covering half his face, fiddling with a pocket knife.
"I'm Han," said the one with glasses. "This is Marc," he added, nodding toward the beanie guy, who gave a half-hearted wave without looking up.
"We were lucky Noah spotted you from the roof," Han added.
Noah folded her arms. "You were out cold, bleeding and gasping. If we were even ten seconds late... you wouldn't be here."
Loid slowly stood up, wobbling. "Thank you... all of you." He looked around. "Where… is this place?"
"It's an old fuel station," John said. "One of those rest stops no one bothers with anymore. We reinforced it. For now, it's safe."
Loid scanned the walls. Makeshift barricades. Tools turned into weapons. Cans of food. Someone even stacked old tires to block one side of the entrance.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"2 days" Marc finally spoke, eyes still on the knife. "You were babbling in your sleep. Kept saying 'I'm not dead… why am I not dead?' Kinda freaky."
Loid's heart skipped. He clenched his jaw. *I can't tell them. Not yet.*
John crouched in front of him. "Look, I've seen trauma before. I served six years in the military, seen friends fall, monsters of war—both literal and human. So I'll ask you once: What happened to you, really?"
Loid paused. He looked at all of them. Their faces were tired. Covered in sweat, dirt, and fear. But they were still fighting.
He took a deep breath. "I was in a supermarket… with a group. One of them turned into a monster. We fought. Barely survived. Then something… attacked again. We escaped."
He skipped the part about Micheal. About being left behind.
About the hallucinations. The trembling in his hands. The whispers he still thought he heard.
John narrowed his eyes. "And then what?"
"I ran," Loid lied. "Ran until I couldn't anymore."
John looked like he didn't buy it completely, but he didn't press. "Alright. That's good enough. You're lucky to be alive."
"You need rest," Noah said gently, standing. "And food. We found some cans. Not much, but you'll need the energy."
Loid nodded and leaned back against the wall. His eyes flickered across the group.
John, the leader type. Disciplined, sharp.
Noah, observant and brave—maybe even reckless.
Han, analytical. Cold, but calculating.
Marc… hard to read. But dangerous.
Loid knew one thing: this wasn't a random group. They survived for a reason.
And now, he had to do the same.
But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling—something in him was changing.
Something… unnatural.
Absolutely! Here's the continuation with Loid asking John how he ended up there and how he met the others. I've added emotion, subtle tension, and character depth while building their backstory naturally:
Loid leaned forward, rubbing his arms. His voice was quieter this time, but firm.
"How did you end up here, John?" he asked. "And how did you even meet those teenagers?"
John exhaled sharply, then stood up and paced a little, hands resting on his waist. His boots echoed against the concrete floor of the station.
"That's a long story," he said, glancing at Noah, Han, and Marc.
Noah shrugged. "Might as well tell him. He's one of us now."
John sighed again, then walked over to an old crate and sat down. "I was stationed north of here, out in what used to be a pretty calm zone. Nothing too heavy. Just patrolling an old base the government left behind after the riots started. Thought the world was already falling apart before all this…"
He shook his head, staring at the floor. "Then they showed up. The monsters. Fast, violent, like nothing we'd ever trained for. They tore through my squad in less than two hours. We didn't even have time to bury the dead."
A heavy silence fell in the room. Even Marc stopped fiddling with his knife.
"I ran," John admitted. "I was a coward that night. I drove an armored jeep as far as the fuel could take me. Ended up crashing just two miles from here. That's when I saw them."
He gestured toward the teens.
"Noah, Han, Marc… they were already holed up in a small diner. I thought they were dead for sure. But when I saw Noah stab a monster in the face with a kitchen knife while dragging Han to safety, I figured—these kids might just outlive the rest of us."
Loid's eyes shifted to Noah. She didn't flinch. She just stared ahead, her fingers brushing a healing scratch on her cheek.
"We've been moving together since then," John continued. "Looking for safe zones, checking for broadcasts… anything. Found this station two days ago. Barricaded it. It's not much, but it's the only roof over our heads."
Loid remained quiet for a moment. His mind was still spinning from everything. But he finally nodded.
"You weren't a coward," he said. "You survived. That's what matters now."
John looked at him for a second, and then gave a faint smile. "Thanks, kid. But don't put me on a pedestal. I'm no hero. I just learned that living another day… sometimes that's the only war worth fighting."
Just then, Noah stepped in. "We're planning to move out again soon. This station won't hold forever. The food's running low, and we need better shelter. You good to walk in a day or two?"
Loid stood up slowly. His legs still ached, but he met her eyes.
"I'll be ready."
Noah studied him carefully, as if trying to read something deeper in his soul.
"I hope so," she said, turning away.
Because something told her… Loid was no ordinary survivor.
Loid asked again, his piercing eyes locking onto John's with a sharpness that made even the ex-soldier pause.
"Did the government take any precautions?" His voice was lower now, firmer. "Anything… like shelters? Or did they find out the symptoms of this virus? A weakness maybe too?"
John didn't answer right away. He rubbed his jaw, then stood, slowly walking to the edge of the room where a half-shattered window let in the fading afternoon light.
"I wish I could say yes," John muttered. "But the truth is uglier than that."
Loid's fists clenched by his sides.
John turned to face them all. "Before my unit was wiped… we received a single encrypted transmission. Only once. It came from high command, but it was fragmented—like whoever sent it didn't have much time. They said the virus wasn't natural. That it wasn't something we could cure, or contain."
Noah's eyes narrowed. "Then what was it?"
John looked at her, then to Loid. "They called it 'a rejection of the soul.'"
Han let out a dry laugh, trying to shake the tension. "Sounds like a bad video game plot."
But Loid didn't laugh. Something about those words struck him deep in the gut.
"A rejection of the soul…" he whispered.
John continued, voice low. "They said it didn't spread by bites or air. That it wasn't something you catch… it's something you earn. People didn't transform because they were infected. They transformed because they broke. Something inside them shattered beyond repair—and whatever was watching, whatever was out there... it took over."
The group fell into heavy silence.
"They said the symptoms varied. Sometimes it's hallucinations. Sometimes fatigue. Sometimes it's like the soul itself… gives up. That's when the body twists. Changes. Mutates into what it always feared… or what it always was."
Loid's lips parted, the weight of John's words digging under his skin.
Noah folded her arms tightly. "So that's why some people changed even when they weren't attacked. Why the monster we saw turned while no one touched him…"
John nodded. "Exactly. And as for shelters?" His jaw tightened. "If the government built any, they sure as hell didn't send us the coordinates. For all I know, we're on our own."
Loid looked down, the image of Ziad, of the monster in the supermarket, of Micheal's betrayal flashing in his mind.
Something didn't sit right. Rejection of the soul. Hallucinations. Fatigue. Was he on that path?
No. He wouldn't let himself fall.
Not yet.
-
Fin