Date: 11/24/25
Time: 8:43 PM
Winston, Brayden, and Elijah remain rooted in place, silhouetted by the blazing ruins of the museum. Chaos reigns at its front—zombies swarm the goggled fighters, their desperate melee combat barely holding the line. Some defenders fall, their screams drowned out by the snarls of the undead and the roar of the flames.
"I've got to find Joshua!" Winston shouts over the cacophony, his voice hoarse but resolute. "Take this damn fool somewhere safe, then find Nurse Luna!"
Without waiting for a response, Winston lets go of Brayden and readies his rifle. He strides forward into the chaos, each step deliberate. The crack of his rifle echoes as he picks off zombies with precision, steadily advancing into the fray.
Elijah looks down at Brayden, slumped and unresponsive. His face betrays a mix of worry and determination. Quickly scanning the scene, his eyes land on an alleyway with a dumpster, shadowed and relatively clear. Without hesitation, he hoists Brayden and rushes toward it, his breath labored but steady.
Meanwhile, Winston barrels into the melee. A goggled man struggles beneath a snarling zombie, pinned to the ground. Winston fires a shot, splattering the creature's head. The goggled man struggles to rise as another zombie sprints toward Winston.
With a fierce yell, Winston swings the butt of his rifle, smashing the zombie's face and sending it sprawling. He reaches down, grabbing the man by his collar and yanking him to his feet.
"Where the hell is Joshua?!" Winston roars, his face inches from the man's.
The man hesitates, his bloodied face pale with fear. Winston shakes him, yelling again, "Where is he?!"
Finally, the man stammers, "Th-the dinosaur skeleton area… I think."
Winston releases him with a shove and pivots toward the museum, sprinting into the inferno.
In the alleyway, Elijah reaches the dumpster. His movements are swift but gentle as he eases Brayden onto the ground. He carefully pushes him beneath the dumpster, the narrow space offering a semblance of protection.
"I'll be back," Elijah says firmly, as if willing Brayden to hear him. He straightens, glancing back toward the flames, his jaw tightening before he takes off at a run.
Zooming in on Brayden's sweat-slicked face. His eyelids flutter but remain closed. The crackling fire and distant chaos fade into a muffled background, filling with the rhythmic rise and fall of his shallow breaths.
Zooming out from Brayden's shut eyelid, dissolving into a dimly lit apartment room in the past. Brayden is slouched on a worn-out couch, a half-empty bottle on the table beside him. The muffled sound of Gabi's screams filters through the walls, growing louder.
A man approaches Brayden, giving him a sharp shove. "Hey, wake up, retard," the man says gruffly.
Brayden stirs, blinking up at him. "What do you want, Osama?" he mutters groggily, rubbing his face.
Before Osama can reply, another piercing scream rings out, this time unmistakably Gabi's. Brayden sits up straighter, alarm flashing across his face. "Wait—is she—?"
Osama cuts him off with a scoff. "Yeah, genius. That dumb bitch is having the baby."
Brayden shoves Osama aside, stumbling off the couch and rushing into the next room. Inside, chaos reigns. Gabi lies on a mattress on the floor, her face contorted in pain, pants discarded. Diego kneels beside her, holding her hand and murmuring reassurances. Elijah is crouched near her legs, his hands trembling as he tries to guide her.
Elijah looks up, desperation etched on his face. "Is Ryan back with the others yet?" he shouts over the chaos.
Osama, leaning against the doorframe, sneers. "No, you dumb black—"
"Shut the hell up, Osama," Elijah snaps, cutting him off. He turns back to Gabi. "Come on, Gabi, keep pushing! You've got this!"
Gabi lets out a guttural scream, her body trembling with the effort. Elijah leans closer, squinting as his voice pitches higher with urgency. "I see the head! It's coming! Keep going!"
Brayden hesitates in the doorway, frozen. Osama mutters something under his breath and saunters out of the room, unbothered. Brayden's gaze flicks between Gabi's tear-streaked face and Elijah's frantic movements.
"Brayden!" Elijah yells, snapping him out of his stupor. "I need your help here!"
Brayden stammers, taking a step forward. "Do you really need me for this?"
"Yes nigga!" Elijah barks, not taking his eyes off Gabi.
With a deep breath, Brayden kneels beside Elijah. Gabi pushes harder, her screams raw and unrelenting. Finally, the baby slides free, limp and silent.
Elijah's face pales. "Oh, shit. What do we do?!" he exclaims, his voice cracking.
Brayden freezes for a moment, then grabs the baby by the legs, tipping it upside down. He pats its back firmly but carefully, his heart racing.
A moment later, the baby lets out a weak cry, which quickly grows stronger. Brayden exhales in relief, his hands shaking.
"It's a girl." Brayden says.
"Give her to me," Gabi pleads, her voice hoarse but insistent.
Brayden stares at the baby, his initial revulsion melting away as a strange warmth blooms in his chest. He places the wailing infant in Gabi's arms. Gabi cradles the baby close, her sobs of relief mingling with the baby's cries.
For a moment, the sound overwhelms Brayden, burrowing into his mind. His hands twitch at his sides, but he forces himself to stand. He takes a step back, watching Gabi's tender embrace, a flicker of something new crossing his face—a mix of wonder and unease.
Lingering on Brayden, his expression unreadable as the baby cries echo in the dim room.
Flashing back to the present day, the chaos of the burning museum consumes the screen. We'll track Elijah as he sprints inside, weaving through the choking smoke and scattered debris. Cries for help echo from every direction.
Outside, on the crumbling museum steps, a goggled man wrestles with a snarling zombie. He struggles desperately, but the zombie's weight pins him down. The man screams, his voice cracking in terror.
Suddenly, a blade plunges into the back of the zombie's neck. It jerks, shuddering, and then goes limp. The corpse is shoved off the man, tumbling down the stairs. Standing above him is Jay, his disheveled hair matted with sweat and streaked with gore. Blood smears his face and clothes, giving him an almost feral appearance.
"Get up, asshole," Jay growls, yanking the man to his feet.
The man stumbles upright, his eyes widening as he gets a clear look at Jay. His expression twists into one of fear and disbelief.
Jay narrows his eyes. "Why the hell are you looking at me like that dickhead?"
The man stammers, his voice rising with panic. "You're one of them! You're a—a zombie!"
Jay recoils, momentarily stunned. "Are you serious right now? I'm human, you fucking idiot!"
But the man's voice grows louder and shriller, his words tumbling out in a hysterical chant. "You're an evolved zombie! They're evolving! You're proof!"
Jay's patience snaps. His face hardens, and without hesitation, he drives his knife into the man's throat. Blood spills in a thick stream, coating the blade.
The man gurgles, clutching at his neck as Jay yanks the knife free. "Moron," Jay mutters, shoving the dying man backward. The man's body tumbles down the stairs, landing at the feet of a pack of ravenous zombies.
They descend on him without hesitation, ripping and tearing as Jay watches from above. He wipes the blade on his pants.
The museum lobby roared with chaos, flames licking at the walls and ceiling. Smoke curled through the air, thick and choking. Elijah burst into the inferno, his eyes darting around as he took in the destruction. The balcony, once a vantage point of safety and awe, now splintered and groaned above him before crashing down in a fiery heap.
"Luna!" Elijah called out, his voice cutting through the crackling of the flames.
A hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder. He spun around, fists clenched, only to come face-to-face with Luna. Her face was smeared with ash, one cheek raw and blistered from a burn. Her lab coat, once pristine, hung in tatters.
"You've gotta help Brayden!" Elijah pleaded, his voice desperate. "This place—it's over. The people here...they're gone. He's all that matters now. Please, Luna!"
Luna hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. She glanced around at the blazing wreckage, then back at Elijah. "The supplies," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos. "They're still in the doctor's room upstairs. If he's going to make it, we need them."
Elijah's heart sank, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He nodded. "Alright," he said, determination settling into his features. But then he glanced at his empty hands. "I need a weapon."
Luna gestured toward the table where the weapons were once stored, but it was bare. The fires clawed closer, swallowing more of the room. Elijah scanned his surroundings, desperation mounting. His gaze landed on the overturned table, its legs jutting out like broken bones. He rushed to it, flipping it over with a grunt.
There, lying amid the rubble, was the Mjölnir hand hammer. Its metal gleamed faintly in the firelight, soot and ash clinging to its surface. Elijah froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Slowly, he bent down and wrapped his fingers around the hammer's handle. It felt heavier than he expected, solid and powerful in his grip. He straightened, staring at the weapon, its weight familiar yet strange.
The roaring flames around him seemed to fade as his mind pulled him into a memory—another time, another place.
The grove was dappled with sunlight filtering through the canopy above, but the serene beauty was shattered by the chaos unfolding below. Brayden, Elijah, and Osama sprinted through the trees, their breath ragged and their footsteps pounding against the forest floor. Behind them, zombies staggered and lunged, their guttural moans filling the air.
Gabi struggled to keep up, her baby clutched tightly in her arms. Diego ran protectively beside her, glancing over his shoulder at the advancing horde.
A zombie lunged at Brayden from the side, but he instinctively kicked out, tripping the creature. Without breaking stride, he drove his knife into the back of its neck, twisting it free with a grunt. "Diego! Osama!" Brayden yelled over the chaos, his voice tinged with fury. "I told you we should've stayed put, you idiots!"
"We can't wait for Ryan and the others anymore!" Diego shouted back, his voice strained with urgency.
Ahead, Osama and Elijah broke through the edge of the grove, sprinting toward an RV parked in the distance.
Suddenly, a zombie burst out of the trees, slamming into Gabi. She screamed as she fell, the baby slipping from her grasp and landing in a pile of leaves. Time seemed to slow as Brayden turned, his eyes widening in horror.
"Get my fucking baby!" Gabi shrieked, her voice raw with terror.
Brayden didn't hesitate. He pivoted and charged toward the crying infant, scooping the baby into his arms. Behind him, Diego kicked the zombie off Gabi, but more creatures emerged from the shadows, their hungry eyes locking onto the group.
The horde began to divide them. Brayden glanced back, seeing Gabi and Diego retreating in the opposite direction, the undead cutting off their path. "Go!" Brayden shouted, cradling the baby protectively.
The zombies focused on Brayden now, drawn to the noise of the crying child. His legs burned as he sprinted toward the edge of the grove, adrenaline pushing him forward.
Outside the grove, Elijah and Osama had reached the RV. Osama fumbled with the door, his hands trembling. "We have to leave them! If we wait, we're all dead!" he shouted.
Elijah spun, shoving Osama hard against the side of the RV. "Don't you say that again!" he snapped, his voice trembling with rage.
Before Osama could respond, Brayden emerged from the trees, the baby clutched tightly to his chest, his face streaked with sweat and determination.
"Move!" Brayden screamed.
Elijah yanked the RV door open as Brayden reached them. Both men scrambled inside, slamming the door shut behind them just as the first zombies reached the vehicle.
The RV rocked violently as the undead threw themselves against it, their hands slapping and clawing at the windows. Inside, Brayden collapsed onto the floor, clutching the baby as its cries pierced the tense air.
Osama glared at him from the corner, but Elijah ignored the tension, gripping a weapon and staring out at the swarming horde. "We're not done yet," he muttered, his jaw clenched.
The baby's wails filled the cramped space, sharp and piercing. Brayden, struggling to think clearly, placed the baby gently on one of the seats, trying to soothe it. The cries, however, only seemed to grow louder.
"Why the hell did you grab that damn piece of shit?" Osama snapped, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Brayden's gaze snapped to him, cold and dangerous. "Say one more word, Osama," Brayden growled, stepping closer. "Keep it up asshole, and I'll toss you fucking out there to be there."
Osama opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, the RV door rattled violently. Something—or someone—was trying to break in.
"They're coming through!" Elijah shouted, gripping his makeshift shiv. "We can't keep hiding. We've got to take the fight to them!"
The baby's cries only intensified, cutting through the tense air like a serrated knife. Brayden moved to the window, peeking through the curtain. "It's not a horde," he said. "Just a few. We can handle them."
Osama, now kneeling, noticed a hidden handle under one of the seats. He pulled it and revealed the Mjölnir hand hammer, its polished steel head gleaming ominously despite the dim light.
Osama held it up, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I think I just found my new favorite weapon."
Elijah glanced at the hammer, his eyes narrowing. "Nice find," he muttered, his grip tightening on his shiv.
The baby's cries drilled into Osama's ears, louder and more unbearable with each passing second. His smirk faded, replaced by a grimace as he cast a lingering look at the child.
Brayden tried to shut out the noise, focusing on his knife, his knuckles whitening around the handle. Elijah took a deep breath, his voice cutting through the tension. "On my count—five… four… three… two…"
He kicked the RV door open, sending it flying into the nearest zombie, knocking it to the ground. Elijah lunged, grabbing another zombie by the jugular and driving his shiv repeatedly into the back of its neck. Brayden followed close behind, a zombie leaping toward him. He slammed it against the side of the RV and plunged his knife deep into its skull.
Inside the RV, Osama froze at the door. The baby's cries reached a fever pitch, clawing at his nerves. He glanced back at the child, his hand tightening around the Mjölnir. The world outside faded, the sounds of battle muffled as his gaze locked on the squirming infant.
Outside, Elijah and Brayden fought tirelessly, their weapons drenched in gore as the undead fell one by one. The baby's cries came to an abrupt stop, cutting through the air like a sharp intake of breath. Brayden froze momentarily, his blood-soaked face twisting in confusion.
"Elijah…," Brayden said, his voice unsteady.
They turned toward the RV, their eyes narrowing on the closed door. Something was wrong.
Brayden sprinted to the RV and tried the door, only to find it locked. He pounded on it. "Osama! Open the motherfucking door!"
Elijah joined him, kicking furiously at the door, shouting Osama's name. Finally, the door creaked open. Osama stood there, the Mjölnir in hand, a sinister smirk on his face. A few drops of blood speckled his cheek, and he tilted his head, almost smugly.
"Baby's gone," he said casually. "It was just slowing us down."
Brayden and Elijah stared in stunned silence, the words hitting them like a physical blow.
"What did you do?" Elijah whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.
Osama shrugged. "Doing what you all were too scared to do—saving the group."
Brayden shoved past him, rushing into the RV. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the scene: blood streaked the walls and ceiling, dripping onto the floor like a grotesque rainfall. The seat where the baby had been was soaked in red.
He staggered backward, his face ashen and blank. His knife slipped from his grasp as he tumbled out of the RV, falling to his knees.
Elijah turned his eyes on Osama, now seething. Without a word, he lunged, grabbing Osama by the collar and dragging him out of the RV. Osama hit the ground hard, the Mjölnir slipping from his grip.
"So, you're gonna kill me now?" Osama spat, his voice defiant even as Elijah loomed over him. "I fucking fixed the issue!"
Elijah didn't respond. He snatched the Mjölnir from the ground and raised it high.
"You deserve worse," Elijah growled before bringing the hammer down with brutal force.
The first strike landed with a sickening crunch, blood spraying across the pavement. Osama's body seized, his limbs twitching uncontrollably. Elijah didn't stop. He struck again, and again, each blow shattering bone and scattering fragments of skull. Blood splattered Elijah's face, mixing with his sweat, but he didn't care.
Brayden sat nearby, silent and hollow, as the sound of Elijah's furious strikes echoed in the night.
Finally, Elijah stood over what remained of Osama, his chest heaving, the Mjölnir slick with blood. He dropped the hammer, letting it fall to the ground with a dull thud, and turned to Brayden, his expression unreadable.
"Let's go," Elijah said, his voice low and hoarse.
Back in the present, Elijah stood frozen, the weight of the Mjölnir heavy in his hands. The flickering flames around him danced in his wide, unblinking eyes, as though he were transfixed by the weapon's raw power and the memories it held. The fire crackled, consuming more of the museum with each passing second.
"Elijah!" Luna's voice cut through the roar of the flames, sharp and urgent. She grabbed his arm and shook him, snapping him out of his trance. "We don't have time for this!"
Elijah blinked, the haze of his thoughts clearing as the reality of their situation crashed back into him. The fires spread faster, consuming the walls and ceilings. The air grew thick with smoke, stinging their eyes and filling their lungs.
Reluctantly, Elijah tightened his grip on the hammer. He turned to Luna, nodding grimly. Without another word, they both sprinted toward the nearest hallway, the flames licking at their heels.
Behind them, the ceiling groaned under the weight of the inferno, sending fiery debris crashing to the ground. Elijah shielded Luna as they darted through the smoke-filled corridor, coughing but pressing on. The museum groaned again, threatening to collapse entirely.
"This way!" Luna shouted, pointing to a partially blocked doorway ahead.
Elijah nodded, shoving the debris aside to clear their path. Together, they pushed through, their silhouettes swallowed by the encroaching flames as the museum's structure began to give way.
Through the blazing inferno, Winston sprinted down the skeletal dinosaur hall, his voice hoarse from yelling his son's name. "Joshua! Joshua!" The fires surged around him, the heat pressing against his skin as the museum's structure creaked ominously.
Ahead, two figures emerged from the haze—shambling, unsteady. Winston tightened his grip on his rifle as the two zombies turned toward him. Their faces were a grotesque distortion of humanity, goggles still strapped to their decaying heads.
Winston didn't hesitate. He raised the rifle and fired. The first zombie's skull exploded with a sickening crack, its body crumpling to the floor. The second zombie let out a guttural growl and began to sprint toward him.
Click.
Winston's heart sank. Out of ammo. With practiced precision, he tossed the rifle aside and drew his Cowboy Action revolver. The revolver's weight was familiar, grounding. He aimed and squeezed the trigger, the shot echoing through the burning hall. The second zombie staggered and collapsed, its spasms ceasing as its body went limp.
Breathing heavily, Winston's gaze darted ahead—and froze.
There, standing in the flickering light of the fire, was Joshua. His back was to Winston, his shoulders slumped in defeat. At his feet lay a woman's lifeless body—Rebecca. Winston's stomach twisted as he saw the knife embedded in the back of her neck. Rebecca twitched weakly, then fell still.
"Joshua…" Winston whispered, his voice breaking. He stepped closer, the air thick with the acrid stench of smoke and death.
Joshua turned slowly. Winston's breath caught in his throat. A mangled bite mark marred Joshua's cheek, blood oozing down his face. His veins were darkened, spidering like cracks through porcelain skin, and his bloodshot eyes brimmed with tears.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Joshua choked out, his voice trembling.
Winston took a step forward, his hand reaching out. "No… Joshua, no!"
Before Winston could close the distance, Joshua raised a trembling hand. In it, he held a Glock 17. He pressed the barrel against his temple.
"NO!" Winston screamed, his voice raw and desperate.
The shot rang out like a thunderclap. Blood and fragments of bone splattered across the floor as Joshua collapsed. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Winston fell to his knees beside his son's lifeless body. His hands trembled as he cradled Joshua, pulling him close. Tears streamed down his face as sobs wracked his body.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" Winston whispered, rocking Joshua in his arms as the flames roared around him, consuming everything but the unbearable grief that engulfed him.
The flames cast eerie shadows along the hallway as Elijah and Luna sprinted, their hurried footsteps echoing against the charred walls. Luna led the way, her face determined despite the ash smudging her cheeks. Ahead, a lone zombie staggered into view, its guttural growls reverberating down the corridor.
"Stay back," Elijah said, stepping ahead of Luna. His grip tightened around the handle of the Mjölnir as he advanced.
The zombie lurched forward, its decaying arms outstretched. With a powerful swing, Elijah brought the hammer crashing down onto the creature's skull. The impact was brutal, the sound of bone shattering echoing loudly. The zombie collapsed to the ground, its body jerking a few times before finally going still.
Elijah stood over the lifeless corpse, his chest heaving. Blood dripped from the hammer, pooling at his feet. For a moment, he couldn't look away, his mind flashing to darker memories—Osama's maniacal grin, the helpless cries of the baby, and the rage that consumed him in the aftermath. His fingers gripped the Mjölnir tighter.
"Elijah!" Luna's voice jolted him back to the present. She had already reached the doctor's office and was holding the door open.
Snapping out of his daze, Elijah hurried after her. Inside, the room was a chaotic mess. Cabinets hung open, their contents strewn across the floor. Luna moved with purpose, grabbing a worn backpack from a hook on the door and beginning to stuff it with medical supplies.
"Hurry," Elijah muttered, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the flickering hallway.
Luna didn't respond. Her hands worked quickly, snatching up bandages, syringes, and bottles of antiseptic. Meanwhile, Elijah stared down at the Mjölnir, his grip loosening slightly. He couldn't help but think of Osama again—the madness in his eyes, the betrayal, and the violence.
"Elijah," Luna said sharply, pulling him from his thoughts. The backpack now bulged with supplies as she slung it over her shoulder. "Let's go."
He nodded, shaking off the memories. Together, they stepped back into the hallway, the oppressive heat and crackling of flames reminding them of the urgency of their mission.
The skeletal dinosaur hall was a vision of hellfire. Flames licked the massive T-rex skeleton, casting ominous shadows across the room. Smoke filled the air, and the crackle of collapsing wood and metal echoed through the space.
Winston sat slumped against a charred metal pole, his expression vacant, hollow. His son Joshua's lifeless body lay across his lap, blood seeping into Winston's shirt. Rebecca's corpse was crumpled nearby, her zombified face frozen in grotesque agony. The chaos around him blurred into insignificance. All that remained was the weight of his loss.
Through the haze of smoke, Elijah and Luna emerged, their figures flickering in the firelight. Luna spotted Winston first, her voice cutting through the din.
"Winston!" she shouted, her tone urgent, almost desperate.
Winston didn't move. He didn't blink. His hollow gaze remained fixed on Joshua's body, as though even the sound of his name was too far removed to reach him.
Elijah's eyes landed on the devastating scene—Winston with Joshua's limp form cradled in his arms and Rebecca's mangled body beside him. His throat tightened as he whispered, "He's lost everything."
Luna called out again, louder this time, her voice cracking. She stepped forward, but Elijah grabbed her arm.
"Luna," he said, his voice firm yet heavy with grief, "he's not coming. We have to go."
"No!" Luna resisted, her eyes darting back to Winston. "We can't leave him here!"
"He's GONE!" Elijah shouted over the roar of the flames. "If we stay, we'll die too!"
Above them, the roof groaned ominously. A massive beam, ablaze at both ends, snapped free and crashed down between them and Winston, sending a wave of embers into the air. Luna flinched, coughing as she tried to shield her face from the heat.
Elijah tightened his grip on her arm. "We have to go!" he urged, pulling her back. She fought him for a moment, her gaze fixed on Winston's immobile figure, but the building trembled, and she finally relented.
As they retreated, Luna looked back one last time. Winston hadn't moved. He was still seated, his expression a mask of emptiness.
The roof above him gave way with a deafening crack. The flaming T-rex skeleton collapsed in a fiery cascade, surrounding Winston in an explosion of fire and ash. The blast swallowed him, leaving nothing but a wall of flames.
Elijah and Luna stumbled into the open air, coughing and gasping, the inferno roaring behind them. Inside, the hall was now consumed, and all that remained of Winston was a memory.
Elijah and Luna burst out of the flaming museum, gasping for air, their clothes singed and skin dotted with minor burns. The night outside was chaotic, the moans of zombies and the crackle of the inferno filling the air. The undead were preoccupied, feasting on the scattered remains of the museum's defenders or circling the burning building.
Panting, Elijah and Luna sprinted toward the alleyway where they had left Brayden. As they neared, Elijah came to a sudden halt, his breath catching in his throat.
"No… no…" His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with disbelief.
Luna froze beside him, her face pale with horror. Following their gaze, we see what stopped them: a group of zombies hunched over Brayden's lifeless body. His torso was torn open, ribs exposed, and his head was missing—decapitated. The sound of tearing flesh and snapping bones filled the air.
Elijah staggered back, his hands shaking. His knees threatened to give way as the reality of the scene crushed him. "No…" he muttered again, the word breaking apart as his voice cracked.
Luna turned to Elijah, grabbing his arm. "Don't look," she urged, her voice firm despite the tears welling in her eyes. "Turn around, Elijah. Turn around now."
Elijah clenched his fists, forcing himself to avert his gaze. But as he did, a shadow emerged from the alleyway, moving with deliberate steps.
"Jay?" Elijah's voice faltered as the figure came into view.
Jay stepped forward, his clothes tattered, his face smeared with blood, but his eyes burned with determination. Draped over his shoulder was Brayden's unconscious body.
Elijah's relief was immediate, his shoulders sagging as he let out a shaky breath. A single tear slipped down his cheek. "Jay… I thought…" His words trailed off.
Jay cut him off, his tone sharp yet laced with exhaustion. "Yeah, seems like niggas forgot about me. Typical."
Brayden stirred weakly, his eyes half-open as he muttered in a strained voice, "The… the museum… we have to find them… find somewhere safe…" His voice faded as he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Elijah quickly moved to help Jay, easing Brayden's weight between them. He murmured softly to Brayden, "You're going to be fine. Just hang in there, okay?"
Luna, wiping her face with the back of her hand, glanced back at the museum. Flames erupted from the windows, casting a fiery glow across the desolate street. Smoke billowed into the sky, and the sound of the structure groaning under the heat echoed ominously.
Without another word, the four of them—Elijah, Luna, Jay, and the unconscious Brayden—began walking away, their silhouettes framed by the hellish light of the burning museum. As they disappeared into the night, the fire consumed the last remnants of the place they had fought so hard to escape, sealing its fate in the ashes of memory.
The day after Jason disappeared
Fading from black, revealing a close-up of a bed. A hand hangs limply over the edge, its knuckles barely brushing the floor. The sound of soft snores fills the room.
Panning upward, revealing Jason lying in bed. His face is peaceful, with a bandage wrapped snugly around his head, evidence of recent trauma. Suddenly, the faint creak of a door opening breaks the quiet. A hand enters the frame, poking Jason's chest repeatedly. He doesn't stir.
Without warning, a splash of cold water hits Jason square in the face. He bolts upright, sputtering and yelping. His eyes dart around in confusion, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.
"Whoa, hey, kid, calm down!" a voice says. Jason turns to see a man standing nearby, wearing a red flannel shirt and jeans. His face is sharp yet kind, with a mop of luscious brown hair framing his features. "You're safe now. My name's Luke. What's yours?"
Jason's breathing slows, but his confusion doesn't fade. He looks around, taking in the decent-sized room, sparsely furnished but clean. "Where the hell am I?" Jason demands, his voice hoarse but firm.
Luke leans against a pole, crossing his arms. "Statue of Liberty," he replies nonchalantly.
Jason's eyes widen, disbelief etched across his face. Memories of his friends flash through his mind, still somewhere in the city. With a burst of energy, Jason swings his legs off the bed and shoves past Luke. "Move!" he shouts.
Luke doesn't resist, only letting out a resigned sigh as he watches Jason rush out the door. "Shit…" he mutters, following at a casual pace.
Outside, Jason bursts through the statue's exit, squinting as sunlight blinds him momentarily. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he steps forward. As his vision clears, he freezes, awestruck by what he sees.
Around him, lush green crops stretch across the once-barren grounds of Liberty Island. Rows of vegetables and fruit trees sway gently in the breeze. Beyond the water, the city skyline looms in the distance, jagged and broken but still standing.
Jason sprints to the railing, gripping it tightly as his mind races. He spins around when he hears Luke step outside. "How the hell did I get here?" Jason demands, his voice tinged with desperation.
Before Luke can answer, another voice cuts in. "Hey, Luke! That kid giving you trouble already?"
Jason turns to see a burly man standing in the doorway, his posture relaxed but his tone teasing.
Luke rolls his eyes. "No, Barney. He's just… adjusting I guess," Luke replies before calling after him, "Go get D!"
Barney shrugs and disappears back inside, leaving Jason and Luke alone. Luke steps closer, hands in his pockets. "You'll be fine, kid," he says softly.
Jason glares at Luke, skepticism clear in his eyes. Before either can say more, the sound of boots clicking against the floor echoes from inside.
Jason and Luke both turn to see a figure stepping out of the statue. Focusing on the man's boots—black, scuffed, and worn from countless miles. Panning upward, revealing the man's tall frame and finally his face: Dexter.
A jagged scar runs across his face, a brutal reminder of his bar fight with Tim. His lips curl into a smirk as he exhales slowly, the weight of the moment palpable. "Hey, kid," Dexter says, his voice low and gravelly. "How about a thank you?"
Jason's jaw tightens, anger flickering across his face. He doesn't respond, his fists clenching at his sides.
Luke snorts, glancing at Dexter. "Yeah, he's real grateful, Dex. Great work."
Dexter stares, seemingly unfazed by Jason's reaction.
Being pulled back, capturing the group standing in tense silence before tilting upward to the rusty face of the Statue of Liberty. The aged and weathered monument looms over them, a silent witness to their uneasy reunion.
The End
Author: Theater Writers
Date: 10/17/25
Time: 2:00 PM
A wild dog padded silently through the grove, its movements fluid and purposeful. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling its sleek fur with shifting patterns of light and shadow. Nose to the ground, the dog sniffed at the earth, ears twitching with every sound.
The air carried an unfamiliar scent—sharp and acrid. The dog lifted its head, its amber eyes narrowing as it spotted a faint plume of smoke curling into the sky in the distance. Instinctively, it lowered its head and began to run, weaving through the trees with practiced ease.
The source of the smoke lay in a shallow ditch. The dog stopped at the edge, panting softly, its head tilted as it observed the strange sight. In the middle of the ditch was a pulsating, blood-red spore, veined with dark tendrils that seemed to throb in time with some invisible heartbeat. Wisps of smoke rose lazily from the spore, the acrid smell stronger now.
Curiosity outweighed caution. The dog crept closer, sniffing the spore tentatively. It jerked its head back at first but soon leaned in again, its instincts battling the unnatural allure of the strange object. Then, as though compelled by an unseen force, it opened its jaws and bit down.
The reaction was instant. The dog's body convulsed violently, collapsing onto the ground as blood foamed at its mouth. Its limbs thrashed against the dirt, its cries a mix of agony and primal fear. Blood began to seep from its eyes, staining the fur around its sockets.
The snapping sound of bone echoed through the grove, sharp and grotesque. The dog's legs bent at unnatural angles before its body stilled. Then, with a slow, eerie deliberation, it rose to its feet.
Its posture was different now—rigid, almost predatory. The once-alert amber eyes were clouded, replaced by a dark, menacing glaze. Blood dripped from its muzzle as its lips pulled back to reveal teeth sharper than before.
The dog turned its head toward the grove, sniffing the air, its new form trembling with barely restrained aggression. It let out a low, guttural growl, the sound reverberating through the stillness.
No longer a simple creature of the wild, the dog had transformed into something far more dangerous—a hellhound born from the spore's sinister influence.