CHAPTER 3 — RED, BLUE, AND THE SOUND OF YOUR OWN HEARTBEAT
Noctis did not move.
Because when a shadow peels itself off your wall and offers you two pills like it's auditioning for The Matrix: Apocalypse Edition, the correct response is freeze and internally scream.
His lungs refused to cooperate.
His hands trembled so badly the knife almost slipped.
"…Okay," he whispered, voice cracking. "Okay. I'm officially losing my mind. That's fine. That's normal. Trauma does that. Right? Right."
The shadow didn't react.
It just stood there.
Waiting.
The blue pill glowed faintly, cool and soft like moonlight trapped in glass.
The red pill pulsed—subtly, disturbingly—like it was alive.
Words appeared in the air above each palm.
Not floating holograms.
Not system text.
More like… ideas forced directly into his brain.
BLUE PILL
Description:
Stability.
Reduces mental collapse.
Dulls fear, pain, and emotional overload.
You will survive longer.
You will feel less.
RED PILL
Description:
Clarity.
Heightens perception and awareness.
Pain will be sharper.
Fear will be louder.
You will see things you cannot unsee.
Noctis swallowed.
Hard.
"…This is bullshit," he said shakily. "This is stress hallucination bullshit. I didn't even take drugs. I don't even drink."
The shadow tilted its head slightly.
"Choose."
His heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst.
Every survival instinct screamed BLUE.
Be numb.
Be safe.
Don't feel.
But another part of him—smaller, dumber, painfully familiar—whispered something else.
You always pick hard mode.
"…God damn it," he whispered.
His hand shook as it reached out.
He hesitated.
Then—
He grabbed the RED PILL.
The shadow vanished instantly.
No explosion.
No light.
No dramatic music.
Just—
Pain.
His skull felt like it split open.
Sounds sharpened violently.
The hum of electricity in dead wires.
The wind brushing against dried blood outside.
The distant, rhythmic thumping of something large moving blocks away.
He screamed.
Not heroically.
Not cool.
He curled into himself and screamed like a cornered animal.
"…MAKE IT STOP—!"
It didn't.
Slowly—agonizingly—his brain adapted.
The pain dulled into something sharp but manageable.
The world snapped into terrifying clarity.
"…Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck fuck fuck."
He lay there for a long time.
Shaking.
Sweating.
Alive.
When he finally stood, the sun had risen fully.
Light spilled through the blood-smeared windows.
Noctis approached cautiously.
He peeked outside.
The street was chaos frozen mid-scream.
Cars abandoned.
Doors open.
Bodies everywhere.
Some… moved.
He flinched back instinctively.
But something felt off.
The moving ones—burned.
They hissed.
Their skin blistered.
One staggered into direct sunlight and collapsed, smoking faintly.
Noctis stared.
"…No way," he breathed. "No fucking way."
He watched another shambler stumble into shadow—and rise again.
Sunlight.
Weakness.
Temporary.
"…Okay," he whispered. "Okay okay okay."
He grabbed the notebook with shaking hands.
DAY 1 — OBSERVATION (UNCONFIRMED)
– Hostile entities show aversion to direct sunlight
– Skin damage observed
– Effects appear non-lethal, temporary
He paused.
"…Please don't adapt," he muttered.
SOMEWHERE ELSE — MAEL
Mael Stryx was crouched in a gaming café that no longer existed.
Monitors shattered.
Controllers soaked in blood.
Bodies—too many.
"…Bro," he whispered, clutching a metal chair leg like a weapon. "I logged off for five minutes."
Something slammed against the glass storefront.
Mael backed away slowly.
"…Okay," he muttered. "Noctis is gonna lose his shit when he sees this."
His phone buzzed.
One percent battery.
No signal.
"…Of course," he sighed. "Hardcore mode."
Outside, the thing pounding the glass suddenly stopped.
It turned.
And walked into the sunlight.
It screamed.
Mael's eyes widened.
"…Oh," he breathed. "Noted."
BACK TO NOCTIS
By noon, Noctis had moved.
Carefully.
Slowly.
Every step felt wrong.
Every shadow felt alive.
He avoided fights.
Ran when he heard noises.
Once, something charged him—and he bolted so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet.
"NOPE," he yelled. "I AM NOT BUILT FOR THIS."
He ducked into an alley and hid behind dumpsters, gasping.
His hands shook violently.
"…I thought I was ready," he whispered. "I watched documentaries. I played games. I read manuals."
He laughed weakly.
"…Turns out none of that prepares you for the smell."
Later, he saw it.
A man.
Alive.
Bitten.
The wound was fresh.
The man begged.
"Noctis," he said. "Help me."
Noctis froze.
The red pill burned behind his eyes.
He saw it.
The slow spread.
The ticking clock.
"…You've got about twelve hours," Noctis said hoarsely.
The man stared.
"What?"
"…I don't know how I know," Noctis whispered. "But you're not turning yet."
He helped the man bandage the wound.
Left him with food.
Water.
"…If you feel different," Noctis said. "If your thoughts get loud—tie yourself down."
The man nodded, terrified.
Noctis walked away.
Hands shaking.
He opened the notebook.
INFECTION THEORY (EARLY)
– Initial event caused instant zombification
– Post-event bites show delayed transformation (~12 hours)
– Possible immune response window
He closed the notebook.
"…I am not ready for this," he admitted to no one.
As night fell, shadows stretched again.
Noctis sat against a wall, knife in hand.
Waiting.
Terrified.
The shadow returned.
Two pills.
Again.
Red.
Blue.
The descriptions were different this time.
And that scared him more than anything.