The humidity wraps around me like a deadly embrace, suffocating.
Every drop of sweat slides down my skin, cold as a ghostly breath.
The air is thick, sticky, almost viscous.
It clings to my lungs, drowns me, hollows me out, tears me apart.
Every inhale burn, scraping my throat raw; every exhale leaves behind an unbearable emptiness, as if the air itself is trying to consume me.
The world around me vibrates in slow, agonizing tension.
The sounds of the jungle—muffled—hum in the background like stifled whispers, stretched-out threats, ready to explode at any moment.
Everything is frozen, suspended in this dreadful anticipation, this crushing oppression.
The Anomaly Hunters are near.
No sound.
Just a pressure in the air, a presence that makes the space itself tremble.
They are here.
Unseen, but I feel them.
I know they are here, lurking in the shadows, their presence weight like ice against my skin.
The air is saturated with a metallic taste. Iron.
Every breath I take pushes me deeper into this scent of blood, steel, predator.
It's everywhere, soaking into my skin, my mouth, my mind.
Sweat clings to me, mixing with the mud creeping over my boots—a second skin of filth and dampness, suffocating.
I crouch in the shadows, invisible… a prey waiting to be devoured.
— I was supposed to show this world who I am…
My heart slams against my ribs, a war drum pounding through my bones.
Too fast.
Too loud.
It's a death knell, a promise of an imminent end, of suffering yet to come.
Each beat screams at me to run.
But my legs are frozen.
The ground beneath me trembles, a deep, resonant vibration… but it's not the earth that terrifies me.
It's the silence. The void that fills my lungs, my mind, my chest.
Before me, shadows glide—slithering between the trees.
The Anomaly Hunters.
Their movements are fluid, hypnotic, quieter than the night, colder than winter's breath.
They are specters, machines, entities without life, without soul.
They are here to track, to capture, to regulate—mercilessly.
A cold shiver slashes down my spine.
My instincts scream at me to run.
But I'm trapped.
The ground beneath me betrays me.
I can't even breathe.
A heartbeat.
Then silence.
A heavy silence. Crushing.
It's not just an absence of sound.
It's a silence that strangles, that grips your throat, that freezes your soul.
An invisible prison closing in.
Even the leaves, the jungle sounds, everything is frozen.
Everything is holding its breath.
Even the air itself seems to pause.
The end is near. I can feel it.
It's here.
All round me.
A scent of iron.
Of blood.
Of predator.
It clings to my skin.
Suffocating.
Oppressive.
A scan glides over the grass, just millimeters from my leg.
My muscles are coiled, ready to snap—
But I don't move.
Not a sound.
Just the air, turning colder.
Heavier.
Denser.
I am a corpse suspended in an invisible snare.
The ground beneath me grows slick and muddy.
I feel the dampness seep into my pores.
One moment. Then.
A crack.
A sharp noise. Sudden.
It rips through the silence like thunder in the night.
My blood freezes.
My body locks up.
It's too late.
I heard them.
I feel them now.
Too close.
They're here, all around me.
I can sense their red pulses in the air—like a collective heartbeat, a predator lurking in the dark.
They are here.
Too close.
Then… silence.
Again.
A glacial, crushing silence.
Like a hand tightening around my throat.
I hold my breath.
Paralyzed.
And this silence… it's not just emptiness.
No.
It's the kind that twists your insides, that turns your blood to ice.
Everything around me is waiting.
Suspended.
Every leaf, every blade of grass.
They know what's coming.
And then, I feel it.
A breath.
Not mine.
It's there, behind me.
Heavy. Hot. Filthy.
It brushes against my neck, seeping into my skin, choking me slowly.
I don't dare move.
Don't even breathe.
Every nerve in my body is taut, locked in silent agony.
A scan hovers near my leg, the air whispering against my skin.
The ground beneath me grows even filthier, slicker.
A freezing vibration crawls up my spine—a jolt of pure terror.
Nothing.
I don't move.
Not a twitch.
Not a sound.
And.
BOOM.
A figure bursts from the shadows, materializing from the void like a ghost.
Roch.
He's here.
He strides in. Calm, relaxed, like the whole world is some kind of joke.
Like the threat around me is nothing more than an inconvenience in an action movie.
He's composed.
Almost amused.
A smirk playing on his lips.
Not a shiver.
Not a care.
As if the apocalypse unfolding around us is just another ordinary day.