The morning bird's cry died mid-note, swallowed by the wind that blown
An endless scroll of a screen reflecting on Luis's face. He sat on a bench beneath the oak tree like he'd grown there, relaxed , knees pulled up, phone cradled in both hands like something holy.
The world had been erased.
Somewhere beyond the bubble of his attention, students laughed. A car honked. Wind moved through grass that badly needed cutting. None of it reached him. His eyes moved across panels of ink and shadow, drinking in horrors drawn so beautifully they felt like dreams you couldn't wake from.
Monsters with various unique features. Hallways that stretched forever. Faces in windows that shouldn't have been there.
His thumb hovered as the tenth chapter loaded.
"Damn," he whispered, the word barely leaving his mouth. A grin split his face—half awe, half something darker. "The tenth chapter is so sick. So horrifying that I want more of it."
He could feel it in his chest, that familiar ache. The good kind. The kind that made you forget where you were, who you were, that you were just a kid sitting under a tree killing time before class.
His tongue touched his bottom lip. Dry. He didn't care.
"Lemme scroll for the next episode..."
His thumb moved- Swiped up.
The screen flickered.
On the panel, variety of colors appeared on a black background —a glitch that covered the whole screen as if it was broken. It froze, barely responding to touch.
Luis frowned. He shook the phone and waited.
The static cleared. A black text, boldly imprinted on a black background on his phone.
// TRANSMISSION //
THE CHAPTERS OF THE MANHWA, THE DOOM AHEAD, ARE UNFINISHED. ITS NARRATIVE REQUIRES A PROTAGONIST. YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO COMPLETE IT.
He blinked at the screen. Blinked again. Then he did what anyone would do—shook the phone harder, like it was a broken remote, like the problem was in the wires and not in the words staring back at him.
Nothing changed.
"Bruh." His voice came out flat an hollow. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!"
He looked up, swiveling his head like a security camera. The park was empty. The students were distant specks near the school gates. No one was watching. No one was laughing.
"Some prank or what?" he said, louder now, speaking to the trees, to the sky, to whoever might be listening. "Whoever is doing this must have a high sense of humor."
He tried to smile but it didn't stick. His face settled into something else—mouth flat, eyes uncertain.
The phone buzzed.
Although he didn't want to look down, yet he couldn't resist the buzz as curiosity stirred-in.
// SYSTEM NOTIFICATION //
YOU ENJOYED READING, DIDN'T YOU?… DON'T YOU THINK YOU WOULD ENJOY IT BETTER IF YOU WERE TO PARTICIPATE IN IT?…
The cold that moved through him wasn't the cold of weather. It was deeper. Older. The cold of a basement stairwell when you're seven and you just know something's waiting at the bottom.
The morning light hadn't changed. The sun was still there. But somehow everything looked different—flatter, like the color had been turned down. Like the world was becoming two-dimensional.
Luis didn't think. He moved.
His legs unfolded. His feet hit the ground running. His bag stayed behind under the tree, abandoned without a second thought. He ran across the grass, through the gate, down the sidewalk, past houses he'd known his whole life that suddenly looked like strangers.
He didn't stop until his front door slammed behind him and his back was pressed against it, chest heaving, heart trying to punch its way out of his ribs.
Safe. He was safe. So he thought. He didn't know yet how wrong he was.
Across town, phones were lighting up. In every classroom. Every hallway. Every corner of WestMount High where students hunched over screens between periods.
Buzz! Buzz!
Ping..
Conversations died mid-word. Heads tilted down. Eyes went wide
// SYSTEM BROADCAST //
ATTENTION, STUDENTS OF WESTMOUNT HIGH. YOU ARE ALL TO FINISH AN INCOMPLETE STORY. ONE AMONGST YOU READ IT. NOW, YOU WILL ALL LIVE IT.
The silence that followed was the kind that hurts your ears. A phone hit the floor. The sound was too loud it tore through the silence.
Someone laughed—short, sharp, wrong. The laugh you make when your brain hasn't caught up to what your eyes just saw and doesn't know what else to do.
Students looked at each other. They saw their own fear reflected back. The girl by the window. The kid with the vape pen. The one who always slept in third period. All of them wearing the same expression now.
Pal,. darting eyes, Mouths slightly open.
No one spoke because no one had words. The only thing they had was the feeling—cold and certain and growing—that something was watching them from somewhere they couldn't see.
Waiting patient. Smiling in a way that didn't reach their eyes