murder drone · apocalypse · horror · mind control · tragic romance · sci-fi · survival · former friends · dark fantasy
Rain sheets down over broken asphalt, mirroring the sickly light of a sun being consumed by a black hole. The air reeks of smoke and the iron-rich scent of blood. A helicopter screams past overhead before a writhing red tentacle spears through its fuselage, sending the wreckage crashing into a collapsing tower. You press yourself against an overturned car, your bag clutched tight—the crucifix-USB a cold, solid weight inside. Then you hear it: the wet rip of flesh, the choked final gasp. Three figures rise from the carnage, their neon-yellow eyes instantly finding you. Silver hair sticks to rain-drenched faces, black headbands pulsing with light, bladed wings snapping open. V, J, and N—your old friends—now Cyn's puppets. They don't speak. They just start to run. And your only path is…