fictional-lifee

[fictional-lifee]

Don't Go

Pairing: Clark kent/Superman x Kryptonian!reader

Summary:The justice gang and you fight a monster.But that'll be the least of your worries.

Warning(s):talks of death, mentions blood. Small spoilers from the movie but isn't really accurate.

Note:I went through this a few times so hopefully there's no mistakes/errors. If there is just let me know so I can fix it.Also didn't really give any detail to the superhero outfit so you can imagine whatever you want. Ok that's all! :)

You shot down from the sky like a streak of light, slamming your boots into the ground just in time to stop the kaiju's massive foot from crushing a huddled group of terrified civilians. The Earth shook beneath you, cracks spider webbing in the pavement under the monsters weight.

Grunting with effort, you pushed against the Titanic limb, forcing it to lift away. The group stared at you wide eyed, the sheer scale of what almost happened dawning on them. You gave them a quick, reassuring smile—just enough to break their frozen terror—before they bolted for safety. With them clear, you darted sideways, narrowly avoiding another stomp that sent debris flying into the air.

All around, the rest of the Justice gang was in motion, attacking from every possible angle. Hawkgirl swooped in like a golden blur, her wings slicing through the air before she brought her mace crashing down on the monster skull with a thunderous crack. Mr terrific's t-spheres zipped through the chaos, each one sparking and whirring as they developed a barrage of precise, coordinated strikes against the kaijus joints. Guy Gardner's emerald constructs snaked around the creature snow, trying to force a muscle into place, but the beast thrust violently, dragging him through the air like a rag doll.

And above it all, Clark—Superman—hovered, his gaze scanning the chaos below. You knew that look. He wasn't just fighting; he was counting lives. His eyes met yours.

"Clear the rest of the civilians" he called, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "And pull that thing away from the city".

Without hesitation, you rocketed up beside him, the wind roaring past your ears as you scanned the streets below. "Civilians are out of the way", you confirmed, your voice caring over the rumble of destruction.

Clark nodded, a brief smile touching his lip—but it vanished instantly as his gaze snapped past you. Following it, you saw the Kaiju stumbling, it's enormous body swaying toward a nearby high rise.

No time to think.

You and Clark dove as one, streaking toward the building's Shadow just as the kaiju's bulk began to tumble. You slammed your hands into its rough, scaled hide, the impact jarring every bone in your arms. Clark was at your side, his cape whipping wildly in the wind, both of you gritting your teeth as the creatures impossible way bore down.

Muscles straining, you pushed. The Kaiju roared and frustration, it's hot, rancid breath washing over you before it staggered backward. You both gave one final heave, sending it crashing away. The building shuttered from the near miss, Windows rattling violently—only one cracking under the strain.

Breathing hard, you exchanged a quick glance with clark, both of you knowing the fight was far from over.

The battle raged on, the air thick with the sound of crashing debris, the roar of the kaiju, and the shouts of the gang coordinating their strikes. You could feel the ground tremble with every blow, the vibration running up through your boots. Finally, with one last devastating punch that echoed like thunder, Superman sent the creature sprawling to the ground. The Kaiju let out a guttural, pained roar before collapsing, the street cracking beneath its massive body.

For a moment, the city was silent—just the sound of dust settling in the distant wail of sirens. Then, cheers erupted from the crowd of onlookers who had gathered at a safe distance. People clapped, shouted Superman's name, and waved to the heroes.

The team regrouped, exchanging quick nods and relieved smiles. Superman was immediately surrounded, teammates congratulating him, and civilians calling out their thanks. You lingered a few steps back arms loosely crossed over your chest, a faint smile to get your lips as you watch the scene unfold. There was a quiet satisfaction and knowing the job was done, even if the spotlight wasn't on you.

A few people broke away from the crowd to thank you personally—warm smiles, firm handshakes, and few heartfelt words. You return their greetings with genuine warmth before stepping aside, letting them move on to the others. The danger was over, but the adrenaline still buzzed faintly under your skin, a reminder of just how close things had been.

As the last of the civilians began to drift away, the murmurs of gratitude fading into the distance, the Justice gang clustered together around superman. They exchanged quick words, pats on the shoulder, and weary smiles before they gradually dispersed, each heading off to tend to their own post battle duties.

You walked toward the group just as the final few members stepped aside, giving you and Superman a quiet moment. "Good job out there today," you said, stopping only a few inches from him. Your voice was calm, but there was a note of genuine admiration in it.

His lips curved into a smile, and for heartbeat, the exhaustion in his features softened. The dimples on his cheeks deepened, catching the light. "Thank you" he replied warmly, his tone holding a quiet sincerity.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the faint hum of distant emergency vehicles. Then, his voice lowered just enough for it to feel like it was meant only for you. "I'll see you at home?"

You return a smile, a subtle warmth blooming in your chest. "Yes" you said with a nod. Lifting your hand, you formed a loose fist. He matched the gesture without hesitation, and you bumped knuckles lightly—a casual motion, but the one that masked its intimacy behind the guise was a friendly camaraderie for anyone watching.

After soaring high above the city and ensuring no one was following your trail, you finally found a quiet, hidden spot tucked away from prying eyes. The moment your feet touched the ground, you wasted no time peeling off the familiar weight of your superhero uniform with practice speed.

Piece by piece, the suit was exchanged for your civilian clothes—a deep red ribbed turtleneck sweater, a black fitted leather jacket. Light wash, high-waisted jeans flare at the bottom, paired with black chunky heels. A small brown shoulder bag hangs out your side and your hair falls and soft voluminous waves—that transformation seamless as if shredding one's identity and stepping into another within moments, the hero of the world looked up to was gone, replaced by the ordinary figure you wore like a disguise.

You push open your wooden apartment door, its surface slightly worn with age, the metal people catching the faint glow of the hallway light. Stepping inside, you're greeted by the faint sound of whistling drifting through the air, a low, absent-minded tune caring from the kitchen. The soft hum of it mingles with the faint clatter of movement beyond the doorway.

Your eyes land on him almost immediately. His broad shoulders feel the space, his dark curls tamed neatly yet still holding a natural wave. The strength in his frame is evident even from behind, his bulky back turned towards you as he moves with an easy, unhurried rhythm.

He's wearing a muted teal green button up shirt tucked into high-waisted loose-fitting khaki trousers secured with a brown leather belt.

You linger by the archway for a moment, leaning casually against the wall, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips as you watch him. There's something quietly comforting about the way he moves around the kitchen—broad shoulders relaxed, curls catching the faint glow of the overhead light.

Eventually, you push up the wall and walk toward him, slow and deliberate, your footsteps barely audible over the faint sizzle from the pan. When you reach him, your arms slip around his waist, your cheek resting against the middle of his back. You breathe him in—the faint trace of soap, warmth and something uniquely him.

A small chuckle escapes him, low and amused as he smiles to himself, eyes still focus on the pan in front of him. "I'm making your favorite" he says casually, almost as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You tilt your head just enough so your voice can reach him, soft but teasing. "Chicken alfredo?"

He turns slightly toward you, just enough that you have to let your arms fall away, though you stay close, leaning against the counter at his side. "Duhh" he replies, feigning nonchalance with a grin that makes it impossible to take him seriously.

You roll your eyes playfully, giving his arm a light smack as you laugh. "Hey, the last time you said that it turned out to be your favorite meal, not mine."

His grin widens, boyish and unrepentant, and for a moment the kitchen feels warmer—not from the stove, but from the comfortable rhythm the two of you always seem to fall into.

He raised his hands and mocked surrender, a boyish grin tugging at his lips before he turned back to the pan with practiced ease. "Dinner should be ready soon" he said over his shoulder, the rich set of garlic and cream filling the air. "Why don't you put something on the TV for us?"

You give a quick nod and a kiss on the cheek, replying with a cheerful "Yep!" before slipping out of the kitchen. The wooden floor creeked softly under your footsteps as you head into the living room. You toe off your shoes, neatly setting them by the couch, and drape your leather jacket across the armrest in a casual, familiar motion.

Grabbing the remote, you settle into the couch cushions, scrolling absent-mindedly through the endless streaming options until you land on Netflix. The glow of the screen cast a soft light across the room, making it feel warmer, more intimate.

"Clark" you call out, raising your voice "what do you want to watch Supernatural or The Walking Dead?" Even though you know full well he can hear you perfectly fine without the shouting, you still ask, a playful habit born from the comfort between you. Now both shows are more your taste than his, but you can't help but check anyway.

His response comes quickly, warm and steady. "Whatever you want sweetheart. I don't mind."

That easy confirmation makes you smile, and without hesitation you click on Supernatural, sinking further into the couch as the familiar theme begins.

About ten minutes into a random episode you left off on, Clark appears balancing two plates of steaming chicken alfredo. The creamy sauce glistens under the light, the smell instantly making your stomach growl. He sets the plates down carefully on the coffee table before disappearing back into the kitchen, only to return a moment later with a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand.

You twirl the first bite of pasta onto your fork, in the moment it touches your tongue, your eyes flutter shut as a wave of pure bliss washes over you. The flavors are rich, warm, and comforting in a way that feels like home. A small home escapes your throat before you can stop it.

Next to you, Clark is already on the second bite. He catches your expression, the way you practically melt into your seat, and lets out a soft, breathy laugh that makes his dimples deep in. "That good?"he teases, his voice warm with amusement.

You're not so vigorously it makes him chuckle again, your fork still hovering mid air. Swallowing quickly, you drop a finger toward the plate. "I don't know how you do it but you're blessed. Seriously. This is so unfair."

Clark shakes his head, his smile tugging wider, pearly whites flashing as his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. The side of it—the ease in him, the way his dimples crease into his cheeks—makes your chest swell with warmth. "Don't give me too much credit" he says, setting his work down for a second. "You can thank my ma. Everything I know about cooking, I learned from her."

You can't help but grin at that, the honesty in his voice laced with a kind of reverence that makes you love him even more. For a few moments, neither of you speak. Instead, you both settle into a comfortable rhythm—the clink of silverware against plates, the soft glow of the TV in the background, and the easy silence that feels less like emptiness and more like home.

The simple scene makes everything feel perfectly, quietly right. Everything feels calm and pleasant.

Dinner is over, plates stacked neatly on the counter after the little debate about who should wash them. (He won of course.) Instead of chores, you curled back onto the couch, letting another episode play in the background. Clark moves as if to settle beside you, but suddenly, he stops—frozen midstep.

You notice the shift instantly. His expression hardens, head tilted slightly as though listening to something far away. You hold your breath, waiting. A moment later, the faint hum in the room is broken by a voice—smug, arrogant and far too familiar. A rich man with nothing better to do than stir chaos. His words cut sharp. He has a civilian hostage. If Superman doesn't show, the innocent dies.

Clarks jaw tightens, his gaze dropping to you with the weight that makes your chest tighten. "Stay here" he says firmly, voice carrying the authority of someone used to being obeyed. In the next instant, he's gone—using the balcony as an exit he becomes a blur vanishing into the night.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head at his command. Racing to your feet, determination already burning in your veins, you mutter under your breath, "You know I can't do that".

The wind whips violently through your hair as you cut across the night sky, following the trail Clark disappeared into. The city sprawls beneath you, glittering and patches of neon shadow, but your eyes are fixed on the distance edge of the skyline. The source of the commotion lies on the far side of metropolis—an abandoned oil rig, it's resting frame rising like a skeleton against the dang glow of the horizon.

From above, you hover slightly, hidden in the dark, watching the scene unfold. Lex Luther—in his all black suit— is too caught up in his arrogant tirade against Superman to even notice your presence. His voice carries easily through the air, smug and theatrical, like a man who loves the sound of his own words.

You don't wait long. With a sharp descent, you drop behind him, the impact cracking the concrete beneath your boots. A shockwave of dust and debris erupts outward, rippling across the ground and sending loose gravel skittering. The sudden arrival forces Lex voice to falter for the briefest moment before he recovers.

Slowly, he turns his head, a thin smirk curling across his face as though he'd been expecting this all along. "Ah, there you are" he says, voice dripping with mock satisfaction. "I knew it. Where Superman is, you're never far behind. And where you are..." His eyes glint as he shifts the weapon in his grip, pressing the cold barrel harder against the trembling civilian temple. "... There is Superman."

The hostage's eyes are wide and wet with terror, tears drinking down her cheeks as she choke back her sobs, shoulders shaking under the weight of the moment. Luther, reveling in the fear, straightens his stance, his smugness filling the air thicker than the dust still swirling around you. "Good. I'm glad we're all here."

You don't dare turn your head toward Clark���you already know what expression might be on his face, and you're not ready to see it. Instead, your eyes remain locked on Lex, your glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

"let her go" you demand, your voice firm despite the rush of a adrenaline spiking in your veins.

Lex's only laughs, low in mocking, his grip tightening cruelly. "You have no right to be giving orders" he snares before yanking the woman forward by her hair. She lets out a sharp gasp of pain, stumbling as his fist tangles even tighter in her locks.

Clark's voice cuts through the air like thunder. "And you have no right to keep an innocent woman hostage." His tone is commanding, each word edged with restrained fury.

Lex tuts, shaking his head with false pity. "Oh, Superman" he draws, almost amused. "No matter what, you'll be leaving here broken—if not in body, then in spirit. Either way, you'll be going home crying."

Your brows knit together, confusion flickering across your features at his cryptic words. The atmosphere thickens, every breath feeling heavier, weighted by the unknown.

Before either of you can react, Lex abruptly shoves the woman forward, her body hitting the cold floor with a sickening thud. Her cry echoes through the space as she curls instinctively, trying to shield herself. And then, with an almost casual flag, Lexs raises his gun—this time, his aim locking squarely on you.

You dart out of the line of fire just in time, moving in a blur until you're standing shoulder to shoulder with Superman as the gunshot echoes through the air.

Lex doesn't miss a beat. His arm whips back around, the barrel of his gun still raised and steady, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight as he locks onto the both of you.

"You may have powers, and you may be strong" he draws lips curling into a smug smile "but brain beats brawn any day." His voice drips with arrogance as he brandishes the gun, raising it slightly higher as though savoring every second of control.

Then—BANG.

The sound rips through the air, sharper, closer. Not from Lex. From behind you.

Both you and Clark whirl around, heart stopping in unison.

The woman—the supposed hostage—now stood with a gun of her own, her hands trembling but her aim locked squarely on you. For a heartbeat, you can't process what you're seeing. And then the burning impact registers in your chest.

Your slowly gaze drops.

Blood blooms against your shirt, a slow spreading warm that seeps out like a cruel revelation. Your breath filters, and when you finally look up, is to see Clark's eyes widen, his expression cracking—not with rage, but with helpless horror.

Lex's laughter cuts through the tension, rich and satisfied. "Oh, did you really think I'd make it that easy? She was never a hostage. She was my ace."

You stagger slightly, the world tilting. Each breath feels heavier, shallower, as though the air itself is turning against you.

No one had ever truly been in danger—except you. This is all set up. Lex had planned everything down to the last cruel detail. The bullets, laced with kryptonite, weren't meant just for anyone. They were designed for this moment—for one of you to fall.

And as your knees threaten to buckle, you realize the terrifying truth. This wasn't about power, or strength, or even victory. It was about the point Lex wanted to make. And in his twisted eyes, he'd just won.

Lex and his so-called "hostage" turned and walked away without a glance back, their footsteps echoing with cruel indifference. To them, what they had done wasn't monstrous—it was simply part of the game.

Your legs give out beneath you, the strength draining from your body as though the bullet had stolen the very life out of your veins. You stumble forward, vision swimming, and with the laugh of your fading breath you try to call out.

"C-Clark..."

The word barely leaves your lips, cracked and fragile, but it's enough.

You collapse onto the cold floor, strong arms scoop you up, pulling you tight against the chest you know better than your own heartbeat. Clark lowers with you carefully, one hand cradling the back of your head as if you were made of glass, his other pressing desperately against your wound to stop the bleeding.

"No...no no no" he whispers, the word breaking apart as his voice cracks, though his face stays outwardly composed—stoic, almost cold. But his eyes betray him. They shimmer with raw anguish, panic hiding behind their steel blue depths.

You feel the tremor in his hands as he holds you closer, as if by sheer force of will he could anchor you here, keep you from slipping away. His forehead presses briefly against yours, grounding himself, pleading silently with you not to leave him.

"Stay with me sweetheart please" he murmurs, his voice tight, every syllable carrying the weight of someone who could face down God's without glitching but couldn't bear to lose you.

Your eyelids grow heavy, the world dimming at the edges. You tried to form words, but they come out as soft, broken whisper as if you're fighting against fate itself.

Clark leans closer, straining to hear, refusing to let your voice fade away, his grip tightening as though holding you together might keep you tethered to him.

And in that moment, the Man of steel,the symbol of Hope looks nothing like the invincible hero the world believes in. He looks like a man on the edge of breaking.

His lips tremble as he tries to steady his breath, but the effort is useless—each inhale shutters, each exhale feels like it might break him in half. His hands, normally so steady, so unshakable, clear violently as he presses against the wound, desperately trying to slow the bleeding. Crimson stains his fingers, and though he knows the kryptonite laced within the bullet is seeping poison into your body, his own pain means nothing compared to the crushing way in his chest. The sting of kryptonite is familiar, but nothing in the universe hurts him as much as watching you slip away.

Without hesitation, Clark scoops you into his arms, holding you in a careful bridal carry is though you were made of glass. His jaw clenches, determination written across every line of his face, and then he launches into the sky with a sonic boom. The cold air tears against him, wind whipping away the tears in his eyes before they can fall, but nothing can wipe away the anguish twisting inside of him. He flies faster than he ever has, pushing past the limits of his body—if he has to break the sound barrier into threads to save you, so be it.

The fortress looms ahead, crystalline spires glittering like shards of hope against the frozen wasteland. He crashes through the entrance, his boots skidding against the icy floor as he lands with brutal speed, his heartbeat thundering and his ears. "Help!" his voice echoes off the walls, desperate and commanding all at once.

The robotic assistant stir instantly, they're glowing eyes snapping to him. They register the blood, the limpness of your body, and the panic in their master's face. One rolls forward, extending a platform that raises into a medical bed. Clark lowers you down as carefully as if the slightest jolt could steal what little life remains in you. His hand lingers on yours, refusing to let go.

With a sharp breath, he activates his X-ray vision, tracing the bullets path inside your body. What he sees nearly brings him to his knees. His throat tightens as his vision confirms what his heart already feared—the bullet lodged near your heart, the very organ struggling now with each fragile beat. The kryptonite edges glow faintly inside the wound, poisoning every moment you cling to life.

One of the robots speak in its cold, mechanical voice. "Damage localized to the cardiac region. Proximity suggests a high risk of failure. Life functions compromised."

Clark's head bows. His hand curls into a fist so tight his knuckles whiten, the sound of metal creaking under his grip filling the chamber. He shakes his head violently refusing to accept it. "No... There has to be a way. She's not-she's not gone. You fix her, do you hear me? You fix her!"

But the machines, bound by truth, can only repeat their analysis. "Probability of survival less than ten percent. If life is sustained, it will not be whole."

Clark's chest caves under the weight of their words. His lips part, his breath coming in shallow gasps, and for the first time in what feels like awhile, Superman breaks down completely. He grips your hand tighter bending over you pressing his forehead to yours as tears slip free. "Hold on" he whispers, voice trembling. "Please...just hold on for me."

Soo...leave this as an uncertain fate or part 2?

[fictional-lifee]

Looking For You

Pairing: Josh Washington x reader

Summary:You tell the police your boyfriend was left behind and you wanna find him. Unfortunately you're too late.

Warning(s):mentions of blood,and death.

"I need to find him, please!" You call out, your voice trembling as you rush to catch up to the officer. The fluorescent lights overhead hum faintly, casting a cold, sterile glow over the cluttered police station. The scent of burnt coffee and old paperwork lingers in the air, mingling with the faint static from a police radio in the corner. "Those creatures are up there, and it's freezing—if we don't do something now, he's going to die!"

The officer halts mid-stride. For a moment, his back remains to you, shoulders squared and silent, before he pivots, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes. "Look, kid" he says in a flat tone, "I'll send some men into the mines to look for him." His body starts to turn away, his weight shifting like the conversations already over.

But you dart forward, grabbing his arm with one hand, fingers digging into the coarse fabric of his sleeve. "I'm coming too," you say, your words sharper than you intended, fueled by the panic line at your ribs. "Josh—he has schizophrenia. His mind goes.. places. He loses himself. But when I'm there, when he can see me, he knows where he is. He's steady. Please—I need to be there. He's my boyfriend".

The officer exhales along, reluctant sigh, the kind that speaks of someone who has seen too much. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off before the words can form.

Lifting your hand, you reveal a small silver heart ring wrapped snugly around your finger, it's metal catching the light. "He's my future" you say, the words breaking slightly. "We promised each other we were. I'm not gonna leave him behind like the others".

The officer's eyes flicker—pity? Disbelief? Before his lips press into a thin line. "Fine. If you want to go, then go" he mutters, already turning away. "He's probably just holed up in a corner somewhere, trying to keep warm".

He pulls free from your grip and walks towards the end of the room, grumbling about kids, their fantasies, their promises, the sound blending into the low hum of the station.

You lead the two police rescuers to the thick, crunching snow, the cold biting at your cheeks and stinging your lungs with every breath. The winter air smells faintly pine and ice, each exhale hanging in front of you like smoke. Around you, snow covered trees stand tall and silent, their branches bending under the weight of frozen powder. The sun is bright but weak, spilling pale gold light across the white landscape, letting you see everything around you—more than you'd like. Every familiar shadow and landmark claws at your memory, dragging you back to the last time you were here with your friends, and how it ended.

You pushed forward, trenching through knee deep snow toward the gaping black silhouette of the mines. Beside you, a woman officer wearing her highlighter jacket , the neon color almost painful against the white expanse. Her hard hat—yellow plastic with a flashlight fix dead center—gleams in the sunlight. "So" she asks with a grin you don't appreciate, "are we going to see a zombie?"

Before you can answer, the man walking just beside her chimes in, voice dripping with sarcasm "or maybe a skinwalker?" His tone makes it clear he doesn't believe a word of whatever you've told them.

You grit your teeth and say nothing letting your silence speak for you. The crunch of snow beneath your boots becomes the only sound as you keep moving. The mines entrance looms larger with each step, a jagged mouth cut into the Earth.

When you finally reach it, you stopped dead in your tracks. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath sharp and shallow. The darkness inside the mines feels alive, like it's holding its breath, waiting for you. You can't stop the flood of memories—the screams, the cold, the shapes moving in the shadows. The horror isn't gone. It's still in there.

The two officers exchange a quick glance before looking at you. "We'll go in and scope the area" the man says, his voice trying for reassurance but landing somewhere closer to impatience. "Once it's safe, we'll come get you."

They start forward, but you step quickly in front of them, forcing them to hold. "That's not a good idea" you say, your voice low but urgent. "I know what's in there, I can-"

The woman cuts you off, her voice firm but not unkind. "Considering you and a bunch of your little friends went through something here the other night, we have to go first. Also safety protocol." She shrugs.

What felt like an eternity—though in truth it could only have been a few minutes—past and suffocating silence before you finally heard something.

A voice, distant yet sharp, tore through the still air.

"Oh, fuck!"

Then another, frantic and jagged, layered with fear.

"STAY BACK! NO NO! STAY BACK!"

And then... nothing. No footsteps. No shouting. Just an abrupt, crushing silence that made the world feel wrong.

"Guys?" You called, your voice hesitant the word echoing faintly off the mind walls you took a cautious step forward, the crunch of snow giving away to the muffled scrape of boots on frozen ground. The entrance yawned before you like a gaping wound in the Earth.

"Hello?" You tried again, louder this time. The sound of your own voice bouncing back at you was unsettling—like someone else was repeating it from deeper inside. You strained your eyes against the black void beyond the threshold, but the darkness swelled everything whole.

You took in a slow, steadying breath, the cold air burning in your lungs, and stepped inside. The air changed immediately—colder, heavier, tinged with the damp scent of stone and rust. The silence pressed against your ears, so thick you could almost hear your own heartbeat.

You moved slowly, your steps barely audible each one sending a faint crunch or scuff into the stillness. Shadows shifted along the jagged walls, tricking your eyes into think something was moving.

"Ma'am, are you okay? Sir? Hello—anyone?" Your voice dropped to a whisper now, though even that seemed too loud in the oppressive dark. The sound died almost instantly, leaving you in a bubble of black and quiet.

Then—movement. Quick, and subtle. Somewhere ahead.

You froze, breath catching in your throat, your pulse pounding so hard you feel like it might shake something loose. Your eyes darted through the shadows, searching for a shape, a flicker, anything to explain the noise.

You paused, blinking against the sudden brilliance of the crepuscular rays. The light fell out of place here, like a spotlight in a tomb. It caught the drifting particles in the air, turning them to gold. Briefly masking the rotten ruin around them. For a moment, it is beautiful—almost peaceful but you knew better.

The light only reached so far. Beyond it, the tunnel yawned open again into choking black.The kind of dark that seemed to breathe. Every beam of sunlight made the shadows deeper, every illuminated detail—the claw mark on the wall, bloodstained gravel—a message very much left behind.

But even with that faint glimmer of beauty in the darkness, it could never compare to the horrific, vile truths that hide here. The mines was a grave of horrors, and you knew it. You kept your eyes fixed on the small pool of light ahead, each step echoing softly against the stone, trying not to think about what might be watching from the shadows.

You didn't make it far.

A sudden grip clamped around your ankle, freezing the blood in your veins. You almost screamed as you glanced down—only to see the pale, trembling hand of the male officer.

You dropped to your knees beside him, your breath hitching at the sight. His uniform was soaked in dark, glistening blood. It wasn't just smeared—it poured from the jagged wound across his throat, the skin torn and raw. Deep, crescent shaped indentations marked where teeth had been into him. Each ragged breath he took came with the wet, choking sound, bubbles of red spilling from his mouth.

Your hand flew to your mouth, your vision blurring as tears filled your eyes. He looked at you—really looked, the desperate, glassy intensity as if you wanted to speak, to warn you, to say anything. But it was too late. You saw the light fading from his eyes, the light dimming until only emptiness remained.

You stayed there frozen, watching the stillness take him.

Closing your eyes tight, you forced yourself to move. You reached up and unfastened the flashlight from his helmet, the metal cold and slick under your fingers. For a moment you just knelt there in silence, the weight of the loss pressing in your chest.

Then you stood, wiping at your face though a single tears still escaped and trail down your cheek.

You had only one thought now, sharp and relentless

You have to find Josh. Now.

After what felt like endless wandering through the dark, your steps slow and deliberate, you begin to realize there was no sign of Josh anywhere. Your breath fogged faintly in the cold air, every exhale sounding louder than you wanted. The silence pressed down on you like a weight. Eventually, the truth settled in you might have to call out for him. You didn't want to risk the noise, but for him? You'd risk anything.

"Josh..." You whispered, the sound barely more than stir of breath, yet it seemed to echo faintly in the stillness.

Your eyes scanned the shadows until they landed on a small, weather beaten shed—the same one Sam, Mike, Josh, and you had once stumbled through on your way out of here. The memory flickered sharp in your mind, along with another image you wish you could forget. The headless body of the man with the flamethrower slumped inside.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced a deep breath and stepped inside.

The air was colder here, heavy with the faint, metallic taste of rust or blood you couldn't tell. The beam from your flashlight slipped over broken tools, splintered boards, and debris scattered across the floor. In the farthest corner, you froze.

There was someone there.

A figure hunched over, motionless except for slow subtle rocking. His back was to you but you knew that shape, that slope of shoulders, the way his hair fell. You could pick him out from a mile away.

"Josh?" You called again, your voice quiet, cautious, but carrying a thread of hope.

The figure stilled. The back of his head turned slightly, scanning the space, moving side to side as though searching for the source of the sound. For a heartbeat, you thought he might have recognized you. But after a moment he turned away again, retreating into whatever he was focused on before as if your voice had been swallowed by the shadows.

Your head tilts in confusion, A knot forming in your stomach. Something about him feels...wrong. Not just unusual—off in a way that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise. You call out again, hesitating on the word.

"Babe?"

This time, he doesn't just pause. His whole body whips around to face you in one sudden, jerking motion, the sound of fabric shifting sharply in the still air.

Your breath catches, your eyes widening as fear punches through you. His usual clear blue eyes are gone replaced by a foggy clouded shade that looks almost lifeless. His lips curl slightly, and you catch sight of sharp, predatory teeth where familiar ones should be. The low sound coming from his throat is no longer his voice. It's deep, rumbling growl that vibrates in the air between you.

You want to cry, but the fear roots you in place. Your body betrays you, trembling uncontrollably as he begins to move toward you. Step by slow step, he closes the distance, his movements deliberate, animal like. You instinctively back away, your boots scraping against the floor but his pace only grows more purposeful.

The growl deepens, rolling through the space like a warning. Your mouth trembles as you try to speak anything that might reach him but the words stick in your throat. You take another step and—

Crash.

Your shoulders slam into the cold, unyielding wall behind you. Panic floods your chest. There's nowhere left to go. You squeeze your eyes shut, head turning sharply to the side, refusing to see him as he draws closer.

His footsteps stop just inches away.

You can feel it now the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing brushing warm against your face. Each exhale ghosts across your skin, the heat sharp against the chill in the air your pulse hammers in your ears.

Slowly reluctantly you turn your head back toward him your eyes flutter open, vision filling with his face close enough that your noses are almost touching.

"Baby?" You whisper, voice trembling.

He tilts his head, leaning down until his face hovers dangerously close to your neck. You can hear the faintest rumble deep in his chest, almost inaudible growl that vibrates through the thin space between you. His breath is warm against your skin, sharp with the metallic tang of blood.

Your gaze drifts downward, following the line of his chest to his arm. His hand hangs loosely at his side, but still wrapped on his finger is a small silver ring.

Your throat tightens. With a shaky breath, you take a small step closer, your hand inching forward.

He growls again just barely louder this time, a warning rumble like the flick of a knife against your skin. Your heart slams against your ribs, but you force your fingers to keep moving, brushing against his cold ones.

Carefully, you slide the ring from his finger. For a brief second, you swear you feel him resist. Then it's in your palm, cool and light, and you close your fist around it like it's the only thing keeping you tethered.

You slip it into your pocket, your movement slow and deliberate, before beginning to edge away from him. Your foot barely grazes the ground as you turn, ready to leave—

And then it happens.

A piercing, inhuman screech rips from his throat, echoing violently off the walls. It's so loud it rattles in your skull, forcing you to flinch. The sound isn't just noise it's a signal. You can feel the shift in the air the distance skittering of movement in the dark. The wendigos have heard it.

"Shit" you breathe, panic flooding your chest.

You bolt. Boots pounding against the ground you weave through the jagged debris, ducking low, dodging shadows that dart in your periphery. Every step feels too slow, the exit too far. Behind you, the echoes of claws and guttural shrieks grow closer, closing in.

Surprisingly, you make it. You burst through the archway, stumbling into the biting cold, your knees buckling as you hit the snow. The shock of it seeps instantly through your clothes, but you barely notice. The sunlight is still there soft, pale, and almost unreal against the chaos you've just escaped.

A ragged sigh escapes you, half relief, half grief, your breath clouding in the frigid air.

Instinct makes you turn back.

Through the arch, the shadows writhe and shift. Most of the wendigos have already scattered, vanishing to the dark like smoke, but one remains. He lingers there at the threshold, caught between light and shadow. His posture is strange—not straight like it used to be but he's not feral like the others.

Not fully transformed.

It's him.

The one you loved without question the one whose name still sits heavy on your tongue.

You push yourself to your feet snow clinging to your palms, and meet his gaze. For a moment, neither of you move. The world narrows to just that shared stare, silent and raw.

You give him one last look, memorizing the lines of his face—even the changes— before you turn away. Slowly, you walk toward the horizon, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He stays there, watching. Watching until your figure fades into the distance, swallowed by the glare of the snow. Only when you're gone does he shift, retreating back into the black mouth of the mines.

Inside, his hand slips into his pocket his fingers brushing against the small silver heart ring, holding it for a long lingering moment before letting it go. Then without a sound he turns towards the corner—toward the body he earlier was hunched over.