Recurring crisis

The atmosphere in Columbia University's classrooms was thick with a sense of listlessness on that September afternoon. Alex sat by the window, his fingers drumming idly on his desk as he obsessively replayed the details of the previous night's clue board in his mind.

Last night, he had rummaged through his toolbox to retrieve a rusty hammer, which he stowed in his backpack, along with a few stones and his folding knife, fully prepared for tonight's perilous venture.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, avoided the idle chatter of his classmates, and headed straight for the alleyway near Broadway—the same alley where he had unwittingly stumbled into that bizarre realm for the first time.

As the sun began its descent, a mist rose from the cracks in the pavement, like countless tiny fingers snaking upward. He took a deep breath, stepping onto the slick cobblestones, murmuring, "Fog, night, alley... All the conditions are met." Tightening his grip on the straps of his backpack, he entered the alley's maw.

Deeper within the alley, the air grew colder, and a low hum reverberated through the silence, like an electric current piercing the stillness. Alex halted, scanning his surroundings. The brick walls contorted into a grayish-white mist, the ground covered in a slick moss, with a pungent, putrid odor wafting through the air.

He held his breath, whispering, "Here we go again." He drew out the hammer, its weighty feel offering a modicum of reassurance. The folding knife was tucked into his waist, stones in his pocket. He knew the rule: No noise, silence was a death sentence.

He crept forward, the dilapidated buildings dimly visible through the fog, their dark, empty windows resembling vacant eye sockets staring at him. He trod carefully, each step as silent as possible. After roughly fifteen minutes, he heard a low gurgling sound in the distance, like a rasping wheeze from deep within a throat. He crouched down, hiding behind a section of collapsed wall, peering out. Three Sound Thieves were scattered across the open space.

They resembled flayed beasts, standing roughly two meters tall, with spindly limbs, hunched backs, and a sickly, reddish-gray skin glistening with a morbid sheen, as though they had been freshly pulled from a pool of blood.

Their heads were bald and eyeless, their mouths split open like torn flower petals, revealing jagged, uneven teeth, viscous saliva dribbling from the corners.

Their claws dragged on the ground, the tips curved like hooks. They stood with a slight hunch, the skin on their backs cracked and oozing a dark-red pus.

Their gait was slow, their bellies slightly distended, as if something were wriggling inside.

The three creatures tilted their heads slightly, as if listening, occasionally emitting a low, guttural growl, the stench of rot carried on the wind.

Alex's mind raced: They were isolated, spaced apart, perhaps he could lure them away one by one. He pulled a stone from his pocket, took aim at a wrecked car in the distance, and tossed it gently.

The stone landed, producing a crisp "thwack," and all three Sound Thieves turned their heads simultaneously. The first one lunged forward, the others following close behind. Alex seized the opportunity to circle around to the other side, squeezing into a ruined building.

The floor inside the building was rotten, the corners piled with rubble, the air thick with a pervasive stench of decay. As Alex prepared to venture deeper inside, he suddenly heard faint footsteps behind him. He spun around, seeing a figure stumbling out of the fog.

It was a young woman, in her early twenties, wearing a gray sweater, her brown hair disheveled, her face etched with terror. She didn't see Alex, tripped, and fell to the ground, letting out a scream: "Ah!"

The sound was faint, but it exploded like thunder. Alex's heart jolted, and he hissed, "Don't make a sound!" But it was too late. In the distance, he heard the roar of the Sound Thieves.

The three creatures quickly reversed their course, their throats emitting a woman's voice: "Help me! Help me!" The voice was piercing and shrill, filled with desperate echoes, as if it had been ripped straight from a throat.

The woman's eyes widened as she saw Alex, her face contorted in panic. "Who are you? What is that?" Alex grabbed her, whispering, "Run! Don't talk!" He raised the hammer, slamming it against the corner of a wall. The bricks shattered, creating a loud noise. The first Sound Thief pounced toward the corner, and he pulled the woman in the opposite direction.

But the other two were already closing in, the second one swiping with its long claws. He shoved the woman away, throwing himself to the ground to dodge, bringing the hammer down uselessly against the ground, only striking sparks.

He scrambled to his feet, swinging the hammer to counterattack, landing a blow squarely on the second creature's chest, but it felt like striking rubber, leaving only a shallow indentation. The monster remained unscathed, opening its mouth to utter Mark's voice: "Lena, where are you?"

Alex gritted his teeth, realizing that a direct assault was futile, and he pulled the woman away, continuing their desperate escape.