"Breathe."
A voice murmured into my ear—distant, distorted, like it was dragging itself through water. My mind latched to the word, but the meaning slipped right through my fingers.
Breathe.
Was I holding my breath?
Was I waiting for something?
Five full seconds passed before I remembered where I was. Another three before I realized the voice wasn't in my head.
It was coming from my phone.
I reached blindly through the darkness, fingers skimming the sheets, knocking over empty cans before brushing against the cold glass screen.
My earbuds were still in, the ASMR audio playing on loop. Soft whispers. Gentle static. The patter of simulated rain.
The glow stabbed through my half-shut eyes—7:46 AM.
My room was a wreck, clothes littered the floor—some kicked off in passing, others stacked in neat piles from when I'd promised myself I'd put them away. Stray papers and empty snack wrappers sprawled around the trash can, creeping toward my desk like they were trying to take over the place. A few loose tissues peeked out from under my bed. I couldn't remember if they were from a cold or... just there.
7:50 AM.
My alarm buzzed.
I stared at it for a while, with a deep, unshakable hatred.
I'm going to be late.
I swiped the alarm off and immediately opened my feed. My thumb moved on autopilot, scrolling past memes and rants, barely processing anything.
The world still sucked—war, global warming, viruses.
I tossed my phone onto the bed.
No new messages.
Same as yesterday. Same as the day before.
I dragged myself to the edge of the bed, hunched over, pressing my palms into my eyes until I saw colors. My body felt heavy, like it hadn't caught up with the fact that I was awake.
My hoodie was crumpled on the floor. I reached for it, hesitated, then gave it a quick sniff. Good enough.
I pulled it over my head, ignoring the stiffness of fabric that had gone too long without a wash.
A pair of grey sweatpants hung over my chair, the same ones I'd worn a couple of days ago—probably. Time blurred together lately. A dull haze of lectures I barely attended, meals I barely ate, sleep that never came when I needed it.
Not like it mattered.
Nothing really does.
I grabbed a can of air freshener from my desk, gave myself a quick spray, and stepped out.
The air shifted the moment I walked into the hallway. The beige walls were scuffed, streaked with stains that never fully came off. Strips of torn tape clung to the surface, the only remnants of old posters ripped down.
It always looked the same—not quite filthy, but never clean.
My dorm was at the very end of the hall. Farthest from the elevator, the common area, and anyone who might want to make small talk.
Technically, I had a roommate. Technically.
But I'd spent the past six months alone. His name barely came to mind. Rugby team. Always traveling for matches. Always with his girlfriend when he wasn't. If he even still lived here, I wouldn't know.
"Breathe."
A voice murmured in my ear. My mind clung to the word, but the meaning slipped through my fingers.
Breathe..
Had I been holding my breath?
Was I waiting for something?
Five seconds passed before I remembered where I was. Another three before I realized the voice wasn't in my head.
It was coming from my phone.
I reached blindly through the darkness, fingers skimming sheets, knocking over empty cans before brushing against the cold glass screen. My earbuds were still in, the ASMR audio playing on loop. Soft whispers. Gentle static. The patter of simulated rain.
The glow of the display burned through my half-shut eyes. 7:46 AM.
My room was a wreck. Clothes sprawled across the floor—some kicked off in passing, others stacked in neat piles from when I told myself I'd put them away.
Stray papers and snack wrappers ringed around the trash can, a few loose tissues peeked out from under my bed. I couldn't remember if they were from a cold or... just there.
7:50 AM.
My alarm buzzed.
I swiped the alarm off and immediately opened my feed. My thumb moved on autopilot, scrolling past memes and rants, barely processing anything.
The world still sucked—war, global warming, viruses.
I tossed my phone onto the bed.
No new messages.
Same as yesterday. Same as the day before.
I dragged myself to the edge of the bed, pressing my palms into my eyes until I saw colors. My body felt heavy—like it hadn't caught up with the fact that I was awake.
I dragged myself to the edge of the bed, hunched over, pressing my palms into my eyes until I saw colors. My body felt heavy, like it hadn't caught up with the fact that I was awake.
My hoodie was crumpled on the floor. I reached for it, hesitated, then gave it a quick sniff. Good enough.
I pulled it over my head, ignoring the stiffness of fabric that had gone too long without a wash.
A pair of grey sweatpants hung over my chair, the same ones I'd worn a couple of days ago—probably.
Time has blurred together lately. A dull haze of lectures I barely attended, meals I barely ate, sleep that never came when I needed it.
Not like it mattered.
Nothing really did.
I grabbed a can of air freshener from my desk, gave myself a quick spray, and stepped out.
The hallway air was stale. The beige walls, scuffed with stains that never fully came off. Strips of torn tape clung to the surface, the last remnants of ripped down posters.
This area always looked the same to me, not quite filthy, but never clean.
My dorm sat at the very end of the hall. Farthest from the elevator, the common area, and anyone who might want to make small talk.
Technically, I had a roommate. Technically.
I'd spent the past six months alone. His name barely came to mind anymore. All I really knew about him was that he played rugby. Always traveling for matches or with his girlfriend when he wasn't. If he still even went to school here, I wouldn't know.
The bathroom door let out a slow groan as I pushed it open.
The mirrors were streaked with water stains and dried toothpaste. Along the far wall, every stall was shut—except for one. Its door hung slightly open, just enough to reveal a cracked toilet seat, barely holding together with duct tape.
I shuffled to the sink, pulled out my toothbrush, and started brushing. My body went through the motions, even if my mind wasn't present.
Foam gathered at the edges of my mouth. I spat into the sink, watching the white froth spiral down the drain.
When I looked up, my reflection stared back, like it didn't belong to me.
Black, messy hair, sticking out at odd angles. Dark-rimmed, sunken eyes. Pale skin.
My cheekbones looked sharper than I remembered, like I'd been carved down to the bone.
God. I look like sh—
The bathroom door swung open, and two voices echoed off the tiled walls, sharp and lively.
"I'm telling you, I saw them! I swear on my life!"
A second voice cut in, cool and unbothered. "That wouldn't make sense. How many did you say there were?"
I kept my eyes on my reflection, listening.
"I don't know. A couple hundred? Maybe a thousand."
A pause.
"A thousand!?" The second voice cracked into a laugh. "Yeah, okay."
"I swear! They're only a couple blocks from campus. I'll show you after class."
I had no idea what they were talking about, and frankly, I didn't care.
I lowered my gaze, rinsed my hands, then pushed open the bathroom door and stepped out.
Three flights of stairs down to the lobby. The stairwell reeked of dust and old concrete, as always.
The dorm lobby was a quiet place. A few students lingered near the vending machines, their faces dimly lit by phone screens as they waited for watered-down coffee.
Worn-out couches sagged from years of overuse. Near the entrance, a bulletin board held half-torn flyers, job postings, and tutoring offers no one would take.
People always said college would be the best years of my life.
That I'd make lifelong friends.
Find myself.
What a joke.
I pushed open the doors, stepping outside. The campus stretched before me, wide stone walkways cutting through perfectly trimmed lawns, the grass so even it almost looked fake.
The science building stood straight ahead, smaller than the glass-and-steel lecture halls around it. Decades of rain had dulled its stone exterior, turning once-white walls into a permanent shade of gray.
Inside, the classroom was small—just a few rows of desks, a whiteboard up front, and a professor who rarely looked up. The kind of place where you could disappear without a trace.
I slid into my usual seat near the back, rested my head against my arm.
Blinked.
And the hour was gone.
When I looked up again, students were already packing up, walking toward the door.
My next class was in the connected building, seventh floor. I stepped into the elevator, watching the doors slide shut.
I shifted on my feet, rubbing my thumb against my palm. The floor vibrated beneath me, just slightly offbeat.
The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors opened with a soft chime.
A bridge stretched ahead, concrete underfoot, glass half-walls lining the sides. Suspended seven stories high, it connected the two tallest buildings on campus, offering a breathtaking view.
I walked to the center and stopped.
Rested my hands on the cold metal bar and looked down.
Students filled the walkways, their laughter and conversation blending with the rustle of leaves. Sunlight caught the library's glass windows, scattering sharp reflections across the courtyard.
For a second, I imagined it.
The weightlessness.
The air rushing past.
The silence before—
"Do it."
The thought came before I even realized.
It didn't sound like me.
It didn't sound like anyone.
My hands curled against the railing. The wind shifted, whistling through the gaps in the glass panels.
I took a slow breath.
Closed my eyes.
Then—
A sound.
Low. Mechanical. A guttural hum that vibrated in my bones.
Not from below.
From beyond.
My eyes snapped open.
Past the trees lining the main street, a convoy of military vehicles rumbled through.
Armored trucks. Jeeps. The kind you only saw in disaster movies or history documentaries. At least a dozen, maybe more.
Students slowed to a stop, turning to watch. Conversations stalled. A few pulled out their phones. No one spoke, but the shift was there, a silent unease settling over the plaza.
I exhaled, pushed off the railing, and started walking to class.
The lecture hall was already half full. Rows of seats and tables sloped downward toward the professor's podium. A projector hummed softly, casting a mess of words and phrases I wouldn't bother reading.
I slid into my usual seat by the back corner window, letting my bag drop onto the desk with a dull thud.
The professor started speaking, his voice blending into the low drone of the room—pens scratching, pages turning, the occasional cough.
I adjusted in my seat quietly, pulling out my phone.
A quick scroll through my feed. The usual garbage. Memes. News. Clickbait headlines.
"Professor?"
A student near the front raised their hand, barely lifting it. "Uh, how many questions do you think will be on the midterm?"
Without missing a beat, the professor replied jokingly, "Not sure, maybe a thousand."
Too many students laughed a little too hard, like they were trying to prove they still had a sense of humor left.
But for some reason, those words echoed in my head.
"Maybe a thousand…"
My thumb paused mid-scroll, and I glanced toward the window.
I narrowed my eyes, peering past the streetlights to catch sight of the convoy.
Nothing.
I grabbed my phone, opened the camera, and zoomed in past the swaying branches, focusing on the road beyond.
Still nothing.
No trucks. No jeeps. No convoy at all.
But something else caught my eye.
Even through the pixelated zoom, I could see that something was off.
I adjusted the focus.
Near the campus garden, a familiar figure stood locked in a tense exchange with a man in a wrinkled business suit.
After a while, I finally recognized him. The groundskeeper.. I'd seen him before, mostly in passing. He was built like a wrestler, broad-shouldered and thick-armed, his navy uniform stretched across his frame.
Behind him, two students hovered with uncertainty. Volunteers, most likely, their matching green vests marked them as part of the gardening program. They shifted from foot to foot, their eyes darting between the argument and each other, uncertain whether to intervene or step away.
The businessman, though, stood eerily calm.
Something was off.
Even from the seventh floor, I could sense it.
His posture was wrong. His head tilted slightly too far forward, like his spine wasn't holding him up properly. His suit looked expensive but filthy, and stained dark around the collar. His mouth opened and closed silently, lips moving in strange, erratic patterns, forming words that didn't seem to fit his expression.
The groundskeeper stepped closed before giving the man a shove. His large hands pressed the businessman's chest, nudging him back. Not aggressive, just impatient.
The businessman froze.
And then—
He jerked.
Not like a man.
Like a puppet, strings yanked by an unseen hand.
His body lunged forward, clawing at the groundskeeper's jacket, twisting into the fabric with unnatural strength.
The groundskeeper stumbled, barely reacting before his arm bent backward at the elbow with a sharp, unnatural snap.
A scream ripped through the air—raw, piercing, almost inhuman. It seemed to hum against the windowpane, chilling my skin.
The businessman lurched forward, teeth sinking deep into the exposed flesh of the groundskeeper's forearm.
Blood erupted in a spray, painting the grass and pavement.
Behind them, the two students staggered back. One dropped to the ground, legs giving out beneath them.
I'm going to be sick.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Was anyone else seeing this?!
I bolted upright.
"Did anyone else see that?!"
Heads turned. Blank stares. Confused faces.
The professor frowned. "If you have something to share—"
"Outside! Look outside!" My own voice sounded foreign.
I whipped back to the window.
The businessman was gone.
And the groundskeeper—
He was standing.
He shouldn't have been standing.
His head hung at an unnatural angle, body trembling, fingers twitching like a marionette with tangled strings.
"Young man," the professor's voice came again, "sit down."
No one else saw it.
My chest tightened.
The room was closing in.
My breath came in short, ragged bursts, like my lungs had forgotten how to work.
Is this for real?
Am I losing it?
I tried to ground myself, but the floor felt unsteady beneath me.
The murmurs in the room turned muffled.
Static filled my ears.
I had to leave.
Shoving my things into my bag, I stood up. The professor said something, but I didn't hear it. I didn't care.
I pushed past the rows of desks, ignoring the eyes on me, and stepped into the hallway.
The door slammed behind me.
I exhaled, pressing my back against the wall.
I need to think.
I need to breathe.
But before I could, I heard footsteps.
Someone else had left the classroom.
Steady footsteps echoed through the hall.
Slow at first.
Then quicker.
Closing the distance between us.
I didn't turn around.
My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palm.
The steps were too close now.
My body tensed. A creeping warmth clung to my thighs, seeping through the fabric.
I had to do something—to face whatever was behind me before it was right on top of me.
I whirled around.
A startled yelp.
A girl stumbled back, hit the floor hard, her bag spilling open beside her.
I froze, adrenaline still firing, my body still stuck in fight-or-flight.
She groaned, rubbing her elbow, then looked up at me.
A short bob of brown hair framed her face. She wore a hoodie layered over a uniform shirt—standard campus wear.
She looked vaguely familiar.
"Jeez," she muttered, wincing. "Do you always turn around like that?"
I opened my mouth, ready to snap, but she held up a hand.
"Relax. I'm not following you or anything." She dusted off her hoodie. "I sit two seats down from you. I'm Hana."
I said nothing.
She raised an eyebrow. "Not a talker?"
I glanced down the hall "What the hell do you want?"
She hesitated, then reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
"Saw glimpses of whatever freaked you out just now."
She tilted her screen toward me, showing a paused video. A shaky recording of the outside—through my phone camera.
Hana smirked. "Who the hell records the outside in the middle of a midterm lecture?"
The breath I hadn't realized I was holding finally slipped from my chest.
I wasn't crazy.
For a moment, the world felt solid again. The weight in my stomach eased. My hands steadied. Someone else had seen it. I wasn't alone in this. Maybe—just maybe—things could still make sense.
Until the first scream tore through the air.
Then another.
And another.
Different voices. Different directions.
Coming from everywhere.
A sharp crack rang out from the courtyard, followed by the screech of metal crashing against pavement.
I didn't stop to think. My body moved before my mind did, bolting down the hall.
Behind me, Hana swore under her breath before breaking into a sprint.
My feet pounded against the tile as I shoved past dazed students—idiots who hadn't decided whether to be afraid yet.
We reached the door in seconds.
I grabbed the handle—
But something yanked me back.
My hoodie, twisted tight in her fist.
"Wait!" Her voice cracked like a whip. "Do you even know what's out there?"
I didn't turn. I couldn't.
"Do you have a plan?" she demanded. "What are we going to do?"
Her fingers tightened. "Hey—look at me!"
She grabbed my shoulder and turned me around, like she needed to see something.
Her eyes dropped, just for a second.
Froze.
Then they locked onto mine again—but different now.
Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came.
She took a step back.
"…What are you going to do?"
I saw the exact moment she realized.
The moment she saw me for what I really was.
Without another word, I pushed open the door.
The sound of distant sirens rushed in to meet us.
"Wait—" Hana called after me. "At least tell me your name."
I turned my head slightly, just enough for her to hear as I spoke.
"Judas."