Morning light struggled to reach the ground, filtered through dust, broken towers, and creeping vines. Jin adjusted the straps of his mechanical gas mask and stepped carefully into the ruined street. Grass had swallowed most of the road, wrapping around rusted cars like roots reclaiming bones.
"Still standing," he muttered. "That's a start."
He moved toward a collapsed warehouse at the corner of the block. The place had been picked over before, but desperation made people careless. Inside, the air was stale. Sunlight slipped through holes in the roof, illuminating overturned shelves and scattered debris.
Then he saw it—canned food, tucked behind a fallen metal rack.
Jin froze, staring at it like it might vanish.
"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered. He crouched, checking the shadows first. Nothing moved. Slowly, he reached out and picked one up. Still sealed.
A breath escaped him.
"A week," he said quietly. "A whole week."
The relief barely lasted a second.
Something shifted.
A sound—too heavy to be wind, too deliberate to be debris—scraped against the concrete behind him. Jin turned just as a shape lunged from the darkness. Red skin flashed, streaked with white markings. The impact knocked him sideways, his rifle slamming into the ground. The scope shattered on contact.
"Damn it!"
He grabbed the weapon and ran.
The street exploded into motion as the alien gave chase. It moved on four limbs, fast and uneven, blue-and-green blood already dripping from a shallow cut where metal had torn its skin. Jin ducked behind a wrecked car, heart hammering.
The creature didn't slow.
"Of course you wouldn't," Jin hissed.
He sprinted again, boots pounding pavement. The treeline was visible now—far, but close enough to hope. He vaulted over another car and slid beneath it, pressing himself flat against the asphalt.
Please. Just keep going.
The car above him shuddered.
Jin's breath caught as the vehicle lifted, metal groaning under unnatural force. Dust rained down. Panic surged through him.
"No—no—!"
The car crashed down, clipping his shoulder. Pain flared, but adrenaline tore him free. He rolled out and ran again, lungs burning, vision blurring.
He couldn't keep this up.
Jin stopped.
The alien slowed too, looming in front of him. Up close, he saw it clearly—and something was wrong. Its face had no eyes.
Smooth, unbroken skin where they should have been.
Yet it knew exactly where he stood.
"So how are you seeing me?" Jin whispered.
His hands tightened around the rifle. The broken scope caught his eye—cracked glass splitting the alien's face into fractured reflections.
Good enough.
He steadied his breathing. One shot. That's all you get.
The gun roared. The impact staggered the creature, its body jerking before collapsing into the dust-strewn street. Silence rushed in to replace the chaos.
Jin stood there, shaking.
Then he noticed the size of it.
Too small.
His stomach dropped.
"No… no, no."
A low sound rolled through the city—deep, confused, searching.
Jin didn't look back.
He ran.
He ducked behind a collapsed building as something massive moved through the street. The mother emerged, far larger, her markings darker, her presence pressing against the air itself. She stopped where the smaller body lay and released a sound that wasn't rage—but loss.
Jin pressed himself into the wall, barely breathing.
When the sound drifted away, he bolted.
The forest swallowed him whole. Branches tore at his jacket as he disappeared beneath the canopy, uneven ground threatening every step. His lungs burned, but he didn't slow.
If his family was alive, they wouldn't be in the city.
They would be somewhere beyond the trees.