The beam of Alya's flashlight sliced through the darkness like a fragile blade, quivering slightly with her unsteady grip. The factory loomed before her, its rusted steel beams and cracked windows forming the silhouette of a sleeping beast.
Her boots echoed against the concrete floor as she stepped inside. The smell of dampness and rust clung to the air, mixed with something faintly metallic—like dried blood. She froze, trying to convince herself it was only the scent of the old pipes.
The silence inside was oppressive. Every step Alya took seemed louder than it should have been, bouncing off the hollow walls. She forced herself to keep walking, her mind whispering a reminder: You're the guard. You protect this place. It's your duty.
But then came the sound.
Tap… tap… tap…
It wasn't her. She stood still, holding her breath, but the tapping continued, like footsteps echoing from somewhere deep inside the factory.
"Hello?" Her voice cracked slightly, carried away by the hollow air. "If someone's there, identify yourself."
No response.
The tapping stopped.
Her radio, clipped to her belt, came alive again with static. Alya's hand trembled as she raised it.
"Unit Seven here," she whispered. "Supervisor Harun, do you copy?"
A pause. Then, faintly—so faintly she thought it was her imagination—came a whisper:
"Run…"
Alya dropped the radio. The sound of plastic cracking against the floor echoed like a gunshot. She clutched her flashlight tighter and scanned the area. Her beam landed on a set of stairs leading to the second floor. The metal railing was bent, twisted like something had gripped it with inhuman strength.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. Against her better judgment, she climbed.
The higher she went, the colder the air grew. Each step groaned under her weight, and she felt eyes on her—eyes that weren't there when she turned.
At the top of the stairs, the corridor stretched long and narrow, doors lining either side like the ribs of a beast. Many were locked, their glass windows shattered, but one stood ajar at the very end. A faint glow leaked from it, flickering like a candle.
Alya approached slowly, her every instinct screaming at her to leave. Yet her feet betrayed her, pulling her closer. She pressed her palm against the door and pushed.
Inside, the room was empty—except for a single chair. On it sat a security cap identical to hers, stained dark with something she didn't want to name. Above the chair, words were scrawled across the wall in something thick and red:
"YOU'RE NEXT."
The flashlight flickered. The glow she had seen was gone. The room fell into absolute darkness.
And behind her, something exhaled.