The city never slept, but tonight, it screamed. Anya jolted awake, her heart slamming against her ribcage as guttural, unearthly moans seeped through the paper-thin walls of her cramped apartment. The sound wasn’t human—not even close. It was raw, primal, a noise that clawed at the edges of her sanity. She sat upright in her tangled sheets, her dark hair a wild mess around her face, eyes wide as she strained to listen. Another moan, deeper this time, followed by the sickening crash of shattering glass somewhere too close for comfort.
“What the actual hell?” she muttered to herself, her voice sharp even in a whisper. She wasn’t the type to scare easy—growing up in this gritty urban jungle had carved a steely edge into her—but this? This was different. Her gaze darted to the window, where the city outside flickered like a broken neon sign. Emergency lights slashed through the darkness, painting her walls in strobes of red and blue, while distant screams pierced the night air like knives.
No time to think. No time to process. She threw off the covers, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood as she stumbled toward her dresser. Her hands shook as she yanked open a drawer, grabbing the first things she touched—a cropped black tank top that clung to her curves like a second skin and a pair of tight denim shorts that barely covered her thighs. In her panic, she didn’t even notice the absence of underwear, her mind too consumed by the growing cacophony outside. She shoved her feet into a pair of scuffed combat boots, laces flapping as she half-tied them, when a shadow loomed against her door.
It wasn’t a person. Not anymore. The silhouette was too jagged, too wrong, its limbs bent at unnatural angles as it pressed against the flimsy wood. A low, hungry growl vibrated through the room, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Oh, hell no,” Anya snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “You don’t get to come in here and ruin my night, freakshow.” But bravado or not, she wasn’t stupid. She spun on her heel, grabbing her phone from the nightstand before bolting toward the back window. With a grunt, she shoved the frame open, the rusted hinges screeching in protest. The alley below was a black void, but it was better than whatever was about to break through her door.
She climbed out, her boots scraping against the fire escape as she dropped into the damp, trash-strewn alleyway. The air hit her like a slap, thick with the stench of rotting garbage and something worse—something metallic, like blood. Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as she sprinted down the narrow passage, her boots pounding against the uneven pavement. The city was chaos incarnate. Overturned trash cans rolled like tumbleweeds, their contents spilling across the street, while shadowy figures lurched in the distance, their movements jerky and wrong.
Anya dodged around a corner, her heart hammering as she nearly collided with one of them—a man, or what used to be one. His eyes were vacant, glowing a sickly yellow in the dim streetlight, his mouth twisted into a grotesque snarl. But it wasn’t just hunger in his gaze; there was something else, something darker, more primal. Lust. His claw-like fingers reached for her, grazing the bare skin of her arm as she twisted away, a scream catching in her throat.
“Back off, creep!” she barked, her voice dripping with venom as she stumbled backward. “I’m not on the menu, got it?” Her words were bold, but her body trembled, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she turned and ran, her shorts riding up with every frantic step. She could still feel the ghost of his touch, cold and wrong, on her skin.
She didn’t stop until she reached a dark corner near a shuttered bodega, collapsing against the brick wall as she fought to catch her breath. Her chest heaved, her tank top sticking to her sweat-slicked skin, and it was only then that she glanced down at herself. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut—her outfit, or lack thereof, left little to the imagination. The shorts barely covered her, and the thin fabric of her top did nothing to hide the fact that she’d skipped a bra in her haste. Her cheeks burned, a rare flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck.
“Great,” she muttered, her voice laced with biting sarcasm. “I’m running for my life dressed like I’m auditioning for a damn strip club. Perfect. Just perfect.” She tugged at the hem of her shorts, trying to cover more skin, but it was a lost cause. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “If I survive this, I’m burning these clothes. Swear to God.”
But her moment of self-deprecation was cut short by a low, guttural growl echoing from the shadows down the street. Her head snapped up, her dark eyes narrowing as she scanned the darkness. The growls multiplied, a chorus of hunger closing in from all sides. Her grip tightened on her phone, the cracked screen useless without a signal, and she pressed herself harder against the wall, as if it could swallow her whole.
“Come on, Anya,” she whispered to herself, her voice soft but laced with steel. “You’ve gotten out of worse. You’re not dying in some filthy alley dressed like a discount pin-up girl.” But even as she spoke, the growls grew louder, the shadows shifting as monstrous shapes began to emerge from the haze.
Her heart sank, a cold dread settling in her chest. She tilted her head back, staring up at the sliver of sky visible between the towering buildings, and let out a quiet, desperate plea into the uncaring night. “Someone… anyone… help me. Please.”
But the city didn’t answer. Only the growls did, drawing closer with every passing second.
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