The night air was damp and sharp with gasoline, thick enough to stick to his tongue. Dario shot ahead, paws slapping against the cracked pavement, nose twitching at smells that shouldn't have been there. Lance followed, dragging his jacket around him like armor, forcing a bitter little smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Quick run," he muttered, more to himself than the dog.
The Corolla coughed awake, rattling as if resentful of the favor. The radio spat only static. He shut it off. Static didn't scare him. Things breaking should be broken. Reality breaking—well, that was another conversation.
The streets were mostly empty. Windows dark. Sidewalks vacant. But the silence pressed against him like wet cloth. Stoplights lingered on red a second too long. Shadows stretched too long, and when he glanced at them, they sometimes seemed to twitch, like they were testing his reaction. Every rearview flicker of headlights seemed deliberate, too close, too aware.
A fire hydrant near the corner bled an odd shimmer, reflecting streetlight that shouldn't exist there. Lance blinked. Dario sniffed it once and moved on, unconcerned. He wasn't.
By the time he pulled into the corner bodega, his eyes burned from squinting at every shadow. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed sharply, making his teeth ache. The clerk behind the counter barely glanced up, cap pulled low, earbuds glowing faint blue. The edges of his vision seemed off, like the wall behind him had just a fraction of a pulse. Lance shook his head. No, not yet. Not yet.
Lance grabbed a basket, muttering, "In and out."
The refrigerators hummed. Half-gallon whole, two percent, skim—didn't matter. Just the white stuff.
He reached for the two percent. The jug felt... wrong. He turned it over in his hands. Cold, but not fridge-cold. Too heavy. A faint vibration thrummed beneath his fingertips. Something alive—or pretending to be. He froze, chest tightening.
Behind the counter, the duffle bag shifted slightly, as if breathing. No clerk motioned. No human sound. Just that soft, impossible sway. Lance shook it off, shoved the jug into the basket.
Then the sliding doors slammed open.
A woman stumbled inside—wild-eyed, dress torn at the sleeve, hair tangled as if she'd crawled through thorns. She froze, scanning the aisles. "Where is it?" she hissed. Her gaze landed on Lance.
"You're not Rico."
"...Uh. No?"
A heavy thud shook the floor. The duffle bag tipped, spilling stacks of bundled cash. The bills seemed to float for a heartbeat before settling. Lance blinked. Not... not physics.
"Shit. Grab the keys," she cursed.
Lance clutched the milk jug as if it could shield him. "Look, I just wanted—"
"Now!" Her voice cracked like a whip. "Or we both die."
Headlights swept across the glass like searching blades. Dario growled, ears flat.
She grabbed Lance's wrist, dragging him toward the door. His mind screamed this isn't happening. But his body moved anyway.
They reached the Corolla. She shoved him into the driver's seat, tossed a compact handgun onto the dash, and slammed the door.
"Drive."
The engine groaned to life. Lance's knuckles whitened on the wheel, milk jug pressed cold and alien against his thigh.
"Who are you?" he stammered.
"Dani," she said, not looking at him. "And you've got something they want."
"Pretty sure it's just milk," he said, voice dry, bitter.
"Not that milk." Her eyes flicked to the jug. "That milk. They swapped it while you weren't looking."
"What?"
"Congratulations. You're the target now."
His stomach dropped. Already frayed from too little sleep and too much paranoia, his brain tried to compute milk espionage while headlights surged behind them.
A sleek black SUV appeared in the rearview mirror, shadow given form. Too fast. Too close.
Tires screamed. Gunfire cracked. Dario barked furiously, teeth bared as if sound alone could fight bullets.
"Exit—now!" Dani shouted.
Lance slammed the gas. The Corolla wasn't built for chase scenes, but adrenaline didn't care. The wheel shook like it might tear apart.
From the corner of his eye, the road twisted subtly. Lines that should have been straight flexed slightly, bending around shadows that weren't there before. The asphalt shimmered like water in a heat haze, though the air was cold. Street signs blurred for a moment—letters slipping into nonsensical shapes, then snapping back into place.
The SUV gained ground. A bullet shattered the rear window, glass raining across the back seat.
"What the hell is happening?" he yelled.
"I stole something from them," Dani said calmly. "Something bad. End-of-the-world bad. And they put it in your jug."
Lance stared at the sweating plastic. "You've got to be kidding me."
She met his eyes. Dead serious. "Drive, milkman."
The jug slid against his leg, cold and alien.
All around, subtle anomalies flickered into existence: a streetlight briefly inverted its glow, reflecting the wrong color of sky; a cat froze mid-leap as if suspended by memory; the shadow of a fire hydrant elongated and shrank like it had its own heartbeat.
Now the Corolla itself felt wrong. The dashboard lights warped and stretched like they were breathing. The rearview mirror reflected a lane that didn't exist behind them. The hum of the engine sometimes dropped a fraction too low, replaced by a whisper Lance couldn't locate.
"Great," he muttered. "Car's sentient too. That's... reassuring."
Dani didn't answer. She scanned the mirrors, handgun ready, calm as ice.
The SUV pressed closer. The street's surface rippled beneath them, subtle at first, like a reflection in disturbed water. The yellow lane markings twisted in tiny, impossible loops. Streetlights flickered in sequence that defied logic. Every shadow seemed to pulse independently. Lance felt nausea rising, the world bending just enough to make him question whether the next turn would land them on the same street—or in another dimension entirely.
"All I wanted was milk," he muttered.
Dani didn't answer. She loaded the handgun again.
The SUV's headlights swallowed the mirror.
And Lance drove, into the quiet wrongness of the night, where even asphalt and streetlights could betray him, knowing—deep down—that even the simplest errands could no longer be trusted.
The roar of the engine filled the cramped space as Lance's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. The Corolla shuddered beneath him, every bump on the asphalt pounding like a heartbeat gone haywire.
Behind them, the black SUV gained ground, headlights stabbing through the darkness like hunting eyes. Bullets spat through the night, cracking against the car like angry hailstones.
Dani leaned forward, eyes locked on the rearview mirror. "Hold on tight. They don't want that milk back."
Lance swallowed hard. "Okay, so you say you stole something from a secret government branch that technically doesn't exist. And it's in... this milk."
She nodded sharply. "Engineered. Bioweapon. If it falls into the wrong hands—well, the world doesn't get to keep spinning."
The words settled like a stone in his stomach.
"Why me?" he asked, glancing at the jug wedged between his leg and the console. "Why the hell am I driving it around?"
Dani's gaze flicked to him, almost human beneath her armor of urgency. "They figured you'd be the perfect patsy. You'd never see it coming. Distraction."
"Distracted by what?"
Her eyes darkened. "I shot a guy, remember? He was coming for me. And now... they're coming for you."
The road curved sharply. Lance jerked the wheel. Tires screamed. Dario whimpered softly, pressing against the door.
The SUV swerved close. Another volley of bullets tore through the air. Lance's pulse spiked. "Okay... what—do I just drive until we're not dead? Because right now, I'm really bad at that."
Dani cracked a grim smile. "Yeah. Pretty much."
He glanced at the milk, then back at her. "This is the worst milk run ever."
She laughed, sharp and breathless. "Welcome to the nightmare."
The Corolla rattled under his hands, streetlights streaking into yellow and white lines. The SUV pressed closer, relentless.
Around them, subtle anomalies flickered: a streetlight inverted its glow for a heartbeat; a cat froze mid-leap, suspended by memory; the shadow of a fire hydrant pulsed like a living heartbeat. Lance felt the world bending slightly, as if reality were testing him.
"All I wanted was milk," he muttered.
Dani didn't answer. She loaded the handgun again, calm as ice.
From the back seat, Dario lay sprawled on his bed, twitching his tail occasionally. Lance shot him a glance, bitter smile tugging at his mouth. "You're the calmest damn dog I've ever seen. Thanks for the moral support, buddy."
"How can he be so chill?" Dani asked.
"Because he's a dog," Lance said. "Dogs don't care about government bioweapons at 2 AM. His biggest concern is whether I'll drop his treats."
Another volley of bullets smashed into the rear bumper. Lance flinched but pressed the gas.
"I'm not a cop," he admitted. "I just fix printers and reboot laptops. This? Way out of my lane."
Dani's eyes softened. "You're doing better than most would."
Lance blinked in surprise. "Thanks... I think."
He focused on the road, the echoes of gunfire pounding like a drumline. Fear slithered under his skin, but he shoved it down, wrapped in sarcasm and disbelief. Panic would only hand the world to whatever nightmare they were fleeing.
He glanced at Dani, then at the milk carton. "Alright. Survive this, and I want a full explanation. Starting with how milk turned into a weapon."
She gave a short laugh. "You'll get it. If we live long enough."
Dario yawned lazily. Lance smirked. "Yeah, at least one of us is handling this like a pro."
The black SUV didn't give up, tailing them like a predator that knew its prey was panicking.
Lance gritted his teeth, juggling the wheel, rearview mirror, and the uneven staccato of gunfire. Each bullet pinging off the Corolla was a reminder: this wasn't a game.
"Next exit's coming," Dani said sharply. "Industrial district. Less traffic. More shadows."
"Great," Lance muttered. "Shadows and murderers. Perfect combo."
The exit ramp loomed slick and tight. Tires scraped concrete barriers as he fought for control. The SUV followed every desperate swerve.
They plunged into a maze of warehouses and shipping containers—dark hulks lining cracked asphalt like silent sentinels.
"Stop here," Dani ordered, pointing to a narrow alley barely wider than the Corolla.
Inside, the world paused. Silence replaced chaos, broken only by their ragged breaths—and Dario's steady snore.
Dani's gaze locked on Lance. "We can't keep running. We need to figure out what's in that milk. Fast."
He exhaled shakily. "Alright... tell me everything."
Her eyes softened just a fraction. "First... we wait. They won't give up so easily."
Outside, shadows pooled beneath rusted fire escapes. A distant siren wailed. Inside, Lance finally let his hands drop from the wheel. Adrenaline still pulsed, but his chest rose and fell unevenly.
Dani leaned back, pocketing a crumpled pack of gum. "We're... alive," Lance said, the words fragile.
"Nicest thing anyone's said to me in hours," she replied.
Lance glanced at the milk jug—the innocuous plastic now a tether to something he didn't understand.
"What is actually in there?"
Dani's fingers clenched briefly. "It's hard to explain. It's alive, but not alive. Thinks, but not like a person. Maybe symbiotic. Changes the host in ways no one understands. Scary stuff."
"Bad?"
"Bad enough they'd rather see half the city burn than let it out."
Lance looked at Dario, sleeping peacefully. Contrast struck him hard.
"This isn't just a weapon," he whispered. "It's a nightmare we can't fight."
Dani nodded. "And now...it's inside you."
The weight sank like stone. Not just fear of dying—but the slow unraveling of everything he thought defined him. The IT guy, the background guy, the man who could control his small, safe world...gone.
Could he survive this? Could he face it without breaking? He didn't know.
Part of him wanted to hide, pretend none of this was real. Another part—the part that surprised him—wanted to fight. Not for glory, just to keep Dario safe.
He shook his head. No manual, no precedent. Just two broken people, thrown together by chaos, trying to make sense of a world gone sideways.
And somehow...that had to be enough.