The Grey

In an alleyway of a quiet city, two men stood, locked in an argument.

"I told you not to mess with his deals, man."

One of the men wore a dark, rugged beanie. He wore a thick winter coat and heavy pants, his dark work boots grounded firmly beneath him. He gripped a pistol firmly, pointing it at the frightened man slumped against a building.

The beanie-wearing man sighed deeply.

"Now I've been ordered to take you out..."

"You know, since I recommended you, and all."

The alley stretched on, the silence dragging on with it.

"C., don't do this, man."

"Just say I'm dead, I'll move countries. You can trust me."

They stared at each other. The silence was suffocating.

glanced at the ground, then back up at the frightened man. In the distance, the city lights at the end of the alley seemed to flicker and fade, clouded by thick, murky smoke.

Each passing second stretched longer than the last, and the weight of their eye contact grew unbearable.

"I don't have a choice."

"Look, in the buildings around us, there are men sent by Gran Dias to make sure I finish this."

gave a sorrowful look.

"I really wish there was another way. I do."

His composure cracked, his gaze wavering as he struggled to meet the other man's eyes.

The lights at the alley's end were gone now. The exit was a sea of fog. C. cocked his gun and aimed it at the man's forehead.

"Is there anything I should know before I do this?"

A tremor ran through his arm, his face sagging with exhaustion.

The fog crept closer, moving slowly and stealthily, yet it steadily advanced.

"You were always a good friend to me."

The man closed his eyes.

"Do it."

C. paused, not taking in air, but instead inhaling the fog.

Cough. Cough.

"What the fu—cough—ck is this?"

Ack!

C.'s body was engulfed by the fog, and soon he vanished from sight.

The fog that had swallowed C. now stretched over the alley, thick and unyielding. For a long moment, there was nothing—just the muffled silence.

A few miles away, in a city where the lights still flickered sporadically, a woman stepped cautiously into the shadowed entrance of an abandoned mall. The air inside was damp, thick with the scent of mildew and neglect. Her boots echoed on the cracked tile floor as she ventured deeper into the cavernous space, the silence pressing in around her.

The mall had been deserted for years, its shops gutted and forgotten. Graffiti-covered walls and broken glass windows told stories of the past. Inna had heard rumors about the place—whispers of strange sounds in the dead of night, shadows that moved in the corners. But she wasn't scared. She was curious. Her flashlight beam swept across the darkened corridors, settling on a nearby display case, its contents long gone but the dust still heavy. She took a step forward, the faint hum of the city just beyond the mall's crumbling walls.

In the distance, a room caught her eye, its aura thick with an unsettling energy. A red light slithered from the entrance, beckoning her closer. Intrigued yet wary, she moved toward it, each step sending a chill creeping down her spine. As she approached the doorway, her eyes focused on a shadowy shape at the far end of the room—a dark figure, resembling a large, frog-like body beneath a strange sinkhead. The figure was barely distinguishable, its details lost in the darkness, only the vague outline of it visible in the dim light.

She crept closer, her eyes fixed on the dark figure, desperate for a clearer view. Just as she was close enough to make out its shape, it lunged. A high-pitched scream tore from her throat, but it was silenced instantly as something covered her mouth. The creature—its form now clearer—loomed over her, its grotesque features moving closer with every heartbeat. A foul, suffocating mist poured from its sink-like head, choking the air. Her vision blurred, the light around her fading into darkness as the creature's grip tightened. The darkness enveloped her completely, and everything went still. The oppressive fog, the suffocating air—it all vanished in an instant.

When her eyes opened again, the world was different.

C. groaned beside her, his body stiff and unfamiliar. Inna blinked, disoriented, as the light filtered through the cracks in rusted metal walls. They were no longer in the eerie, fog-filled space. Instead, they lay on cold, worn surfaces, surrounded by an overwhelming scent of oil and decay. The room was dim, the walls rough with age, as if the very air carried the weight of countless forgotten years.

The room was filled with people—dozens of figures slumped against the walls, their faces tired and hollow, all staring at a single featureless wall ahead. Their attention seemed to be drawn to something there, something that made the room feel more like a holding pen than a sanctuary.

In the distance, a set of massive, looming doors stood, guarded by faded, black ink lettering across the wall: "The Machine."

The air was thick with a strange, oppressive energy, as if the very walls were waiting for something to happen.

The two of them stood up, glancing around the room before turning to each other.

"Where are we?" Inna asked, her voice tinged with confusion.

C. winced, still aching, his hand gripping his arm.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he replied.

"Let's ask the others. Maybe they know."

Inna nodded, agreeing.

That's when C. truly noticed the woman—her long black hair cascading past her waist, her green eyes shining with a quiet hope. Her pale, smooth skin seemed to glow, and for some reason, her presence beside him brought a sense of unexpected relief.

They made their way toward the people slumped against the walls, their faces hollow with exhaustion. Then, C. noticed a larger man in the corner—roughly 6'2", broad-shouldered and heavyset, carrying a lot of weight in his arms and legs.

This man, unlike the others, had a more alert, lively demeanor. He wore a button-up shirt and cargo pants. When he saw them approaching, his expression shifted to one of concern.

"I figured there'd be someone new," he said, his voice low. "You two don't look like you've been here long."

C. and Inna exchanged pained looks, their fatigue obvious.

C. scratched his chin.

"Where are we?"

The man let out a heavy sigh.

"A question we all have, my friend. We've got no idea."

He glanced at his watch—silver with a blue accent around the face.

"I've been here for three days. I've been keeping track."

His expression faltered as he glanced at the wall with the doors.

"It's starting to bother me—nothing's really happened since I got here."

He paused for a moment, thinking.

"Other than the occasional little robots bringing in trays of food through those doors, there's been nothing else."

He sank into a seated position and looked up at C.

"And it's freezing in here. Couldn't hurt to invest in some kind of AC, right?"

His eyes flicked to C.'s jacket, his lips tightening in a half-smile.

"Guess it doesn't matter much for you, though. You're pretty well equipped."

He shifted his gaze to Inna.

"So, where did you guys come from? How did you even end up here?"

Inna met his gaze.

"Well, I'm from a city called Viscan. As for how I got here... I honestly don't remember. I don't recall much before waking up."

C. spoke up quickly, his eyes on Inna.

"Viscan? That's crazy, that's just next to my city. I'm from Dijo."

He glanced at the man.

"But how I ended up here... I don't know either."

The man's face grew somber.

"Yeah, same here. I just woke up in this place one day, with no idea how I got here."

He shook his head.

"I don't know where we are, but I really don't like it."