INT. MUNICIPAL SEWER – NIGHT
The stench was unbearable—wet rot, sulfur, something deeper. The kind of foulness that crawled down your throat and stayed in your bones.
Jason led the way with a dim flashlight. Behind him, Lena pushed Patient Zero’s mobile cryo-pod, its wheels squeaking with every bump. Dr. Rho kept his eyes on a handheld monitor displaying biometric readings that pulsed erratically.
JASON (muttering):
“Something’s off. Water’s moving, but there’s no current.”
DR. RHO (glancing around):
“Air pressure’s changed. Like something’s displacing it.”
LENA:
“We’re being hunted.”
A rumble echoed through the tunnels. Not machinery. Not water. Breathing—long, wet breaths—like lungs that had forgotten how to be human.
They turned down a narrower passage, the walls tightening like a throat. The sewer map Dr. Rho carried suggested a lift access point ahead, a way back to surface-level safe zones. But then they saw it—
A wall of bones.