The presentation had gone well. Better than well.
Mr. Sharma — the client, mid-fifties, expensive watch — had actually smiled. Not the polite kind. The real kind.
"Reyan, this is exactly what we needed," he said, shaking his hand firmly. "The market analysis alone is worth the investment. When can you start implementation?"
"Two weeks," Reyan said. "Maybe sooner if—"
"Two weeks is perfect." Sharma clapped him on the shoulder. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. Glad we went with your firm."
After they left, his boss — Mehta, always looked tired, always wore the same blue tie — walked over with that rare expression that almost looked like pride.
"Good work today, Reyan."
"Thanks."
"No, I mean it. That client's been shopping around for months. You sealed it." Mehta paused. "Listen, I need you to pull together the quarterly expense reports for the Northeast accounts. Spreadsheet format, usual breakdown — travel, client meetings, operational costs. Nothing fancy, just clean numbers."
Reyan nodded. "When do you need it?"
"End of day tomorrow works. No rush."
"I'll have it done tonight."
Mehta raised an eyebrow. "Going home early for once?"
"Planning to."
"Good. Your family will appreciate it." Mehta walked back to his office, then stopped. "Oh, and Reyan? Take Monday off. You've earned it."
Reyan smiled. "Seriously?"
"Don't make me change my mind."
THE COLLAPSE (5:39 P.M.)
Reyan was two hours into the spreadsheet when something felt wrong.
Not a sound exactly — more like the absence of sound. The usual hum of Niraya outside had changed pitch, gone discordant. The metro schedule that ran like clockwork was silent. No temple chanting. No car horns.
Just... nothing.
He saved his work and stood, stretching his back.
The main office was still empty when he stepped out. Samir and Taj hadn't returned yet. Their desks sat abandoned, coffee cups still steaming faintly. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too loud in the silence.
Then his phone buzzed.
Priya:Are you okay? News says there's some kind of attack downtown. Please call me.
Attack?
He blinked, confused — until something moved outside the window.
On the street below, two people were struggling. No — not struggling. One was on top of the other, and the way they moved was wrong. Violent. Animal. The person on the ground was thrashing, screaming, a sound that carried even through the glass.
Reyan stepped closer to the window.
He could see the splash of red on the pavement, spreading like spilled paint.
Then the screaming stopped.
Abruptly.
The person on top stood. Even from this distance, Reyan could see the blood dripping from their mouth, the way they moved — jerky and wrong, like a puppet with tangled strings.
More people appeared. Running. Screaming.
And more of those... things. Chasing them. Catching them. Bringing them down with savage efficiency.
"Oh god," Reyan whispered.
His phone slipped from his hand and clattered on the floor.
"I need to go," he whispered. "I need to get to my family."
He grabbed his phone, tried calling Priya. The line clicked once, twice, then — Network busy. Please try again later.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
His hands were shaking. He shoved the phone in his pocket, grabbed his car keys from the desk, and ran for the door.
The hallway was empty. Lights flickered. Somewhere below, glass shattered.
He was halfway to the stairwell when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Reyan!"
He spun.
Aditya stumbled toward him, one hand pressed against the wall for support. His shirt was torn, blood smeared across his sleeve.
"Aditya?" Reyan's voice cracked. "What happened? Are you—"
"I'm okay. I'm okay." Aditya's breathing was ragged. "We need to get out of here. Now."
Reyan started toward him. "What's going on? The streets are—"
"I know. I saw." Aditya reached out. "Come on, we'll take my car—"
Reyan grabbed his hand to pull him forward.
That's when he saw it.
The bite.
Deep. Ragged. On Aditya's wrist, just above the blood-soaked sleeve. The edges were already darkening, veins spreading black like ink through water.
Reyan's stomach dropped.
"Aditya..."
Aditya looked down. Saw what Reyan saw. His face went pale.
"No. No, it's just a scratch. Someone pushed me, I fell—"
"That's not a scratch."
"Reyan, please—" Aditya's voice broke. His legs buckled. He caught himself against the wall, breathing hard. "I don't... I don't feel—"
His eyes rolled back.
"Aditya!"
Reyan caught him before he hit the ground. Aditya's skin was cold. Clammy. His pulse hammered too fast under Reyan's fingers.
"Stay with me. Just stay with me, okay? I'll get help, I'll—"
Aditya's eyes snapped open.
They weren't his eyes anymore.
Reyan barely had time to react before Aditya lunged.
He shoved him back hard, stumbling away. Aditya hit the wall and snarled — an inhuman sound that shouldn't come from a human throat.
"Aditya, stop! It's me! It's Reyan!"
But Aditya didn't stop. He charged again, fingers clawing, teeth bared.
Reyan's hand closed around something — a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. He yanked it free and swung.
The metal connected with Aditya's head with a sickening crunch.
Aditya staggered. Blood ran down his temple.
He lunged again.
Reyan swung again. Harder this time. Again. And again.
Until Aditya stopped moving.
Reyan stood there, chest heaving, fire extinguisher still gripped in white-knuckled hands. Blood splattered his shirt. His friend — his friend who'd covered for him when he was late, who'd brought biryani to the office every Friday, who had a kid starting school next month — lay crumpled on the floor.
Reyan's hands started shaking. The extinguisher slipped from his grip and hit the ground with a hollow clang.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
A groan echoed from the stairwell.
Then another.
Then more.
Reyan ran.
He didn't know where he was going. Just away. Away from Aditya. Away from the sounds. Away from what he'd just done.
The hallway stretched ahead of him, emergency lights casting everything in red. His footsteps echoed too loud. Behind him, more groans. More shuffling.
He needed to find another way out. The stairwell — there had to be another stairwell at the end of the hall.
He turned the corner— and something grabbed his shoulder. Cold fingers. Iron grip. The smell hit first — rot, metal, and something worse.
Then that sound. Low. Inhuman.
Before he could scream, someone yanked him aside.
"MOVE!"
The creature slammed into the wall. Bone cracked.
"Inside!" someone shouted.
Reyan stumbled into the storage room. The door slammed. THUD. THUD.
They shoved a cabinet against it. The pounding stopped.
Breathless silence.
Reyan looked at the others, "Who—who are you?"
"Quiet," one hissed. "Sound draws them."
He looked down at the knife. It looked stupidly small.
One of them smirked. "Better than a stapler."
"Not the time."
"Just saying."
The tension cracked for half a second. Then outside, the groans grew louder. More bodies joined the assault—THUD-THUD-THUD—the cabinet creaking under the relentless weight. Through the thin walls, Reyan could hear screams from other parts of the building, each one cutting off too abruptly. The wet sounds of feeding. The groans multiplying like a chorus.
The sounds of a world ending.
Reyan pressed his back against the wall and closed his eyes, seeing his daughter's face. Priya's worried expression that morning. The drawings on the fridge.
Before you even miss me, he'd said.
He'd lied.
And now he might never get the chance to make it right.