Nick retraced his steps down the same cracked road he had taken into the city. It was familiar. A lifeline. If things went south, he’d know how to get out.

  He tried not to think too hard about what “out” even meant.

  As he walked, his thoughts drifted home—his parents, his sister. He could almost hear them. His mother’s laughter in the kitchen, the muffled sound of his father watching late-night TV, his sister humming as she sketched in her room. The memories were so clear they felt like a cruel joke.

  He swallowed hard. He couldn't afford to let his mind wander. Not here.

  Not when something was watching him.

  He felt it. That prickling weight on his skin, the awareness of unseen eyes locked onto him from the jungle.

  The undergrowth shifted.

  Nick froze, breath shallow.

  Thin, wiry tendrils stretched from the foliage, reaching toward him like fingers testing the air. For a moment, they hovered, uncertain.

  Then, just as suddenly, they withdrew.

  His lungs deflated in relief.

  Good. Whatever they were, they didn’t see him as a threat. He needed to keep it that way.

  ---

  After walking for what felt like hours, fatigue seeped into his bones. His legs ached, each step growing heavier. He found a small clearing and sank down onto a patch of dirt, pulling out his meager meal—a tin of mushroom soup.

  It was barely warm, but he sipped it anyway, letting the earthy taste coat his tongue.

  It was quiet. Too quiet.

  His gut clenched.

  The hairs on his arms rose.

  Something was moving.

  A rustle. A shift.

  Nick straightened, gripping his spear.

  The sound followed him.

  At first, hesitant, like something unsure of its target. But the moment he slowed—it grew bolder.

  His heart thumped against his ribs.

  "I'm being hunted."

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  His mind raced. Run? Hide? Fight?

  No. Not yet. He needed to know what he was dealing with.

  So, he kept walking.

  ---

  The realization hit him like ice.

  This wasn’t Earth.

  He had tried to tell himself it was—a hidden part of the world, some isolated jungle untouched by time.

  But he wasn’t stupid.

  That box. The one that had appeared in his apartment—the one that had vanished the second he touched it—it had done something.

  It had taken him.

  And it had given him nothing in return.

  No instructions. No warnings. No way back.

  "This isn’t a one-way trip," he muttered under his breath. "It can't be."

  He needed to believe that.

  Because so far, he had seen no people. No signs of civilization.

  Only strange creatures, twisted landscapes, and the unrelenting, merciless rhythm of survival.

  Had this world been lived in once?

  There were signs. Ruins. A past.

  But something had happened here. Something big.

  Either they left… or they didn’t get the chance to.

  Either way, this place wasn’t meant for him.

  And it wasn’t going to let him stay.

  ---

  Two hours later, he reached the place where he had first woken up.

  His eyes swept over the dirt, desperate for any sign.

  Nothing.

  Not a footprint. Not a shift in the earth. It was as if he had never been here at all.

  His stomach twisted.

  "I came here in a damn birthday suit."

  Whatever had transported him, it had erased its own tracks.

  He exhaled sharply, shaking off the frustration.

  No time for self-pity.

  Stick to the road. Keep moving.

  ---

  Then, finally—something new.

  A vehicle.

  Massive. Rusted. At least twice the size of an Earth truck.

  Nick slowed, eyes narrowing at the damage.

  An explosion had ripped through it. The metal was blackened, warped. But that wasn’t the worst part.

  Skeletons.

  Scattered around the wreckage.

  Hundreds of them.

  His breath caught.

  Humanoid.

  Once, this truck had carried people. And something had ensured they never reached their destination.

  His fists clenched.

  "What the hell happened here?"

  ---

  He forced himself forward, eyes scanning for supplies.

  Then—movement.

  Fast. Too fast.

  Blurs darted through the wreckage, too quick to track.

  Nick’s instincts screamed—RUN.

  But before he could react, fire ripped through his left leg.

  A deep, clean cut.

  He staggered back.

  Blood seeped into his boot.

  His brain caught up a second later.

  "Shit."

  Sweat slicked his palms.

  This was bad.

  ---

  Nick’s breath came fast and shallow.

  The things—whatever they were—were already gone.

  But if they had wanted him dead… they could have finished him.

  They hadn’t.

  They were testing him.

  A warning.

  He pressed a shaking hand to his leg.

  The wound wasn’t fatal. But it would be, if he didn’t act fast.

  Gritting his teeth, he ripped a strip of cloth from his boiled rations and tied it tight around his calf. His vision blurred with pain, but he forced himself to stand.

  "If they come back, I'm done."

  ---

  He took a step back from the truck and picked up a stone.

  Hurling it at the wreckage, he waited.

  Silence.

  His pulse pounded.

  Nothing moved.

  Exhaling sharply, he edged closer.

  Most of the truck’s contents were destroyed. What wasn’t was too heavy to move.

  Then—something.

  Tucked beneath twisted metal.

  A knife.

  Untouched by rust, as if time had forgotten it.

  Nick pried it free.

  The blade wasn’t particularly sharp, but it was sturdy. It had survived.

  And now, so would he.

  Tying it to his wooden spear, he let out a dry laugh.

  "At least now I can poke the air with confidence."

  The humor was thin, but he clung to it.

  Because right now, this spear—this flimsy thing—

  Was the only thing keeping him from feeling utterly helpless.

  ---

  He limped forward, every step a fresh stab of pain.

  The jungle grew darker.

  The rustling thickened.

  Now, twigs snapped.

  Now, something hissed.

  Nick’s fingers tightened around his spear.

  He wasn’t just walking alone anymore.

  He was being followed.

  REQUEST

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