{TIME: 4:57 A.M.}
For a moment, time held its breath.
The man's head—half-hanging, half-resting on his shoulder like a grotesque apology—twitched once before sliding off completely. The sound it made wasn't loud, but it echoed in my mind like a scream trapped in a jar.
None of us moved. Not the nurse. Not the soldier.
And then—
"Clear!" the soldier barked, spinning the blade once before sheathing it back into his thigh holster. His voice was all ice now. The softness was gone.
He looked at us—me, Aaron, Zayn, and a trembling Insha—and didn't blink.
"Quarantine. Now."
We followed.
Not because we wanted to.
But because the air had changed. It wasn't just tension anymore. It was fear... and compliance. Like the moment you realize you're not the main character—you're just lucky to be in the scene.
{TIME: 5:01 A.M.}
The hallway to the quarantine wing felt like walking down the throat of a giant beast. White lights above. Silver metal walls. Bulletproof glass on either side showing empty corridors, smeared with past panic. It was so clean it felt unnatural.
They led us through a series of decontamination gates—UV scanners, mist showers, even a robotic arm that brushed over our sleeves like it was checking for contraband.
"Is this really necessary?" Aaron muttered.
The soldier ahead didn't turn. "You want to be sure you're not going to eat someone in your sleep? Then yes."
We fell silent again.
Zayn walked slower than usual. His bandage was soaked through now. But he didn't complain. None of us did. We knew better.
Finally, they opened a thick metal door with a screech. It led into what looked like a high-end waiting room—if that room had panic buttons, cameras in every corner, and bloodstains poorly scrubbed from the floor tiles.
There were six bunks. A sink. Two chairs. One security camera with a red blinking light that never blinked off.
"This is it," said a medic who had appeared behind us. "You'll stay here for monitoring. Six hours. If you're clean—you move to the survivor zone. If not…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
{TIME: 5:07 A.M.}
Insha sat on one of the bunks, knees pulled to her chest. Aaron paced the length of the room like a caged dog. Zayn lay back on the bottom bunk and stared at the ceiling, wincing every now and then when his back touched the mattress.
I just stood there.
Thinking about the guy whose neck had been sliced like a fruit. The way no one asked questions. The way his fingers twitched at the end—like he was still deciding whether to turn… or trying to stop it.
"What if he wasn't turning yet?" I whispered.
Zayn looked at me. "What do you mean?"
"The guy Insha saw. He didn't growl. Didn't attack. He just stood there and collapsed."
Aaron stopped pacing. "You think they killed him too early?"
"I think they don't care," I said flatly. "One twitch, one bite mark, one scream—and you're out."
Insha finally spoke. Her voice was a whisper.
"He touched me."
We turned toward her.
She looked terrified.
"When I fell. He… he reached out. I think he brushed my hand. Just a second. But what if—"
Aaron crouched beside her. "Then we'll wait. Six hours. If you're fine, you're fine. That's what they said, right?"
"Yeah," she said. "But what if they lie?"
Zayn winced, his voice low. "Then we don't sleep."
{TIME: 5:18 A.M.}
The lights dimmed. Not fully dark, just… less sterile. Like they were trying to simulate "night" in this metal coffin. A speaker clicked on.
"Observation Cycle One complete. Pulse Normal. Temps Stable."
A robotic voice. No emotion.
We all shared a glance. So they were watching every stat.
Aaron sighed and finally slumped into a chair. "How the hell did we end up in a zombie world run by robots and soldiers?"
I sat down beside him. "Plot twist."
Zayn coughed. "At least there's a sink. That's better than the last four places we hid."
Insha got up slowly and splashed cold water on her face.
Her reflection looked like someone else. Older. Paler. Broken in a way that sleep wouldn't fix.
"You okay?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
But I knew she wasn't.
{TIME: 5:29 A.M.}
We sat mostly in silence.
Occasionally a voice came over the speaker again.
"Cycle Two: All stable."
But that didn't help the paranoia building inside the room. Especially not with the fluorescent light that kept flickering over Zayn's bed like a dying firefly.
Aaron mumbled something about cameras and mind control.
I couldn't blame him.
Insha sat against the far wall, arms wrapped around her legs, watching the glass window. Like she was expecting something.
Suddenly she stood.
Fast.
Too fast.
She took a sharp breath and grabbed my arm.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Whispers."
Zayn sat up. "Insha—there's no one else here."
"No. I swear I heard… whispering. Behind the walls."
We froze.
I pressed my ear to the metal panel behind us.
Silence.
But it wasn't empty.
There was a hum. Like electricity. Faint. Buzzing. Rhythmic. And maybe—maybe—something softer beneath it. Not words. Just murmurs.
Aaron backed up. "I don't like this."
"Maybe it's just wires," Zayn offered.
"Or a dying demon rat," I added dryly.
Insha didn't laugh.
She looked… gone.
Like a part of her brain had wandered somewhere else.
{TIME: 5:36 A.M.}
Insha had stopped blinking.
We circled around her. Trying not to say what we were all thinking.
Zayn checked her pulse.
"Still normal," he whispered.
"But she's not," Aaron replied.
I took her hand. Cold. Not freezing. But not warm either.
"Insha," I whispered. "Hey. It's me."
She blinked. Once. Twice. Her pupils dilated.
And then she screamed.
Short. Sharp. Guttural.
Her hand shot up and gripped my arm hard enough to bruise.
"She's turning!" Aaron yelled.
"No!" I shouted. "She's not! She's scared!"
But the red light above the camera blinked three times in a row.
And we all knew—
They were watching.
And someone out there had just pressed a button.