The mobile camera shook. Bad angle, too close. Ahmed's face filled the screen — pale, eyes sunken deep, a cut above his eyebrow crusted dark. Behind him, an abandoned house. Peeling paint. Family photos still hanging crooked on the walls. Windows boarded up, but dawn light leaked through the cracks in thin, dusty lines.
"Day two," he whispered. His voice sounded like gravel. "The infection's spreading faster than anyone thought."
He stopped. Listened. Nothing but his own breathing, too loud in the empty room.
"That's not even the worst part." He swallowed hard. "They're changing. I don't know how, but they are. I've seen three different types already."
He held up three fingers. They shook.
"Type One. The fresh ones. Slow. Stupid. Just hunger, nothing else. If you stay quiet, you can slip past them."
Another glance over his shoulder. Still nothing.
"Type Two showed up fast. Like, hours after the first ones. And I mean fast. Saw one chase down a woman yesterday... moved like an Olympic sprinter. They don't just wander anymore. They hunt. Track you by smell. I watched one follow a blood trail for three blocks. Never gave up."
His hand trembled as he tried to steady the camera
"And then… Type Three."
His tone dropped.
"They're thinking. Learning. Watching. If this keeps up…" He shook his head. "We won't just be running from corpses, we'll be hunted by something new. Something smart."
A sound. Behind him. Close.
Ahmed's whole body went rigid. His eyes widened.
Then he spun around, and the camera went wild — a blur of motion, a flash of grey skin, black veins like cracks in marble, eyes clouded white but still focused, still seeing.
"Shit—!"
His hand slammed down.
The screen went black.
Footsteps. Running. Something crashed. A door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame.
Then nothing.
Just static.
Reyan's eyes flew open.
For a second, he didn't know where he was. The ceiling above him was cracked, water-stained, pieces of plaster missing. The air smelled wrong — dust, old sweat, something sharp and chemical.
His body hurt. Everything hurt.
Then it came back. The office. The screaming. Aditya's face. The blood. Running. That thing grabbing him. Hands pulling him into the storage room.
"Where—" His voice cracked. He coughed, tried again. "Where am I?"
"Welcome back to the land of the living."
Reyan turned his head. Pain shot down his neck.
Two figures sat in the dim light of what looked like a barricaded office. Desk shoved against the door. Filing cabinets stacked like a makeshift wall. A single window, covered with torn curtains.