Coolos3

Trapped in a locked concrete room with no memory, Lukas awakens to a chilling note: “You have 24 hours to confess.” A raspy voice from a rusted speaker delivers cryptic clues every hour, each one unraveling a dark past he can’t fully grasp—blood-stained hands, a river’s edge, and the faint echo of a scream. Amid the chaos of his fractured mind, one name shines through the fog: Raisa, a woman tied to him by love, betrayal, or something far worse. As glimpses of her warmth clash with visions of violence, Lukas struggles to piece together the truth. Is he a victim, a killer, or a pawn in a game he doesn’t understand? With time slipping away, the line between guilt and innocence blurs, and the final confession may leave more questions than answers—about Raisa, about himself, and about the door that waits beyond the 24th hour.

Echoes of 24 Hours

The shed groaned, its walls buckling as the blood-tide surged, not water but a dark, rust-stained flood crashing through the roof—or the sky—its roar a scream of 13 years unleashed. I clutched the necklace, its heart pendant biting my palm, a lifeline as the carvings—Don't forget me—bled red, their glow swallowed by the rising tide. Raisa's form flickered before me, her green-hazel eyes glinting, her scar sharp against her wavering flesh—or shadow—her voice piercing the chaos, "You're losing me, Lukas—drowning me!"

"No!" I roared, my voice a blade against the flood, lunging forward—or sinking—my boots slipping on the slick floor, the tide clawing my knees, then thighs. Her laughter broke, jagged and wild, echoing through the shed—or my skull—"Drowning? You brought this—you locked me here!" My chest heaved, the 13 searing—13 years, 13 screams, 13 failures—and I shouted, "I'll pull you out—I'll fight it—hold on!"

The flood surged, a wave crashing—or coiling—its surface rippling with faces, not just hers—Mara's glare, Toren's growl, Lira's tears—swirling, clawing, pulling me down. I thrashed, my hands grasping air—or her—her touch warm, then cold, then slipping as the tide rose, swallowing my waist, its weight a tide of guilt I couldn't shed. "Raisa!" I yelled, my voice cracking, the necklace swinging as I shoved forward, the walls trembling—or closing—the shed shrinking—or stretching—into a cage of warped wood and blood.

Her form steadied—or shattered—her eyes wide, alive—or empty—her hand breaking the tide, gripping mine—or fading. "Fight it?" she hissed, her tone fierce, desperate, "You made it—the key, the gate, the flood—it's you!" The water climbed, cold and thick, lapping my chest, its rust staining my skin—or soul—and I choked, "Me? I'll end it—I'll save you—us—"

The roof split—or vanished—a torrent pouring in, not rain, but a howl of voices—Mara's "You promised," Toren's "You broke us," Lira's "You left"—crashing over me, the tide surging to my neck. I kicked, my legs tangling—or sinking—the necklace slipping, its chain catching my wrist as I reached for her—or the dark—her voice echoing, "Save us? You're sinking, Lukas—sinking with us!"

The shed shuddered, a crack splitting the floor—or the world—water erupting from below, a geyser of blood and rust, hurling me up—or down—my hands clawing the tide, her form flickering above—or beneath—her scar glinting, her scream merging with the flood's roar. "I won't sink!" I bellowed, my voice raw, breaking, shoving against the current—or fate—the necklace glowing—or drowning—as the shed collapsed, the tide swallowed the light, leaving me thrashing, her whisper fading, "With us?" in a flood I couldn't outrun.

The Flood That Swallows Light