Chapter 2: A Swift Action
The street was still. Too still.
Richmond stood in the middle of the overgrown road, phone pressed against his ear even though he already knew what the screen said: No Service.
The same two mocking words blinked back at him, cold and indifferent.
"…You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered, lowering the phone slowly. The faint hum of the sky filled the silence, like an invisible machine had been left running somewhere above.
For a long moment, he just stood there — scanning the empty windows, the quiet balconies, the half-open car doors. Not a single human voice. Not even a distant shout.
"…Maybe everyone really did evacuate," he said out loud, as if saying it made it more believable.
---
He turned back toward his apartment. His steps echoed faintly in the silence. Inside, the darkness felt heavier now. The power was still out, the TV lifeless. He moved through the familiar space on instinct — straight to the router. The little lights blinked faintly, taunting him. No internet.
He switched to the radio next. Static. A broken message looped again:
> "—core readings unstable— magnetic anomalies spreading— if you can hear this, stay indoors— repeat— core readings unstable—"
The same loop, the same broken voice. He leaned on the counter, tapping the radio rhythmically with his knuckles.
"…Stay indoors," he repeated bitterly. "Yeah, sure. With what, Netflix and a generator that doesn't exist?"
He tried calling again. Mom. Dad. Tess. Classmates. Emergency lines. Over and over. One by one, they all failed. Network Error. Call Failed. No Service.
---
After ten minutes of cycling between apps, radios, and staring at signal bars, the silence started to feel different. It wasn't just quiet — it was heavy, like the air itself was waiting.
He sank onto the couch, elbows on knees, fingers clutching the phone loosely.
"Someone has to call," he whispered to the empty room. "Someone. Anyone. It can't just be me."
His thumb hovered over the emergency dial again, then stopped. It was pointless, and he knew it. But giving up so quickly felt… wrong. He stared at the silent screen, jaw tightening.
Think, Richmond. Think.
If this were a disaster… there'd be a protocol. Sirens. Evacuation. Meeting points.
"…Evacuation," he muttered. "That's it. Maybe they evacuated early. I just overslept through the sirens."
He stood abruptly and began pacing. "TV died, no alarm, no alerts… I probably missed the first wave. They all went to shelters or evacuation points. That's why the café was empty. Why the streets are quiet."
It wasn't the strongest theory, but it was something. And something was better than staring at blinking router lights.
---
Richmond moved quickly through the apartment, gathering whatever he could.
"Backpack. Food. Water. Knife… no, wrench is sturdier."
He talked to himself as he moved, the sound of his own voice grounding him against the suffocating silence.
"Flashlight, batteries, rope… first aid kit. Jacket. Lucky hat. Because why not."
He hesitated at his closet. Inside, hanging from a hook, was his old hiking bag from a camping trip two summers ago. He stared at it for a second, then pulled it down. It felt heavier than he remembered — or maybe he was just more aware of what leaving meant.
He packed with care, not speed. If this wasn't some dream, he couldn't afford careless mistakes.
At the door, he paused. His phone was still in his hand. He glanced at it again — no change. No messages. No alerts. No human voice.
"…I'm not the only one," he whispered. "There's someone out there. There has to be."
He adjusted the backpack straps, exhaled slowly, and stepped out.
---
The air outside was thicker now, buzzing faintly with invisible energy. Richmond walked carefully, every step making a soft crunch against moss-covered pavement. The sky still shimmered with those strange tri-colored hues, light streaks weaving through the clouds like veins.
"Okay," he muttered, scanning the streets. "If this were an anime, step one: find other survivors. Step two: don't die doing it."
His gaze swept over the warped cityscape. The once-familiar town had twisted overnight. Buildings were wrapped in creeping vines, sidewalks split by tree roots that looked decades old. Lamp posts leaned toward each other like frozen dancers.
"This… looks like it's been abandoned for a century," he whispered.
Then, something caught his eye — faint tire marks on the road, cutting through the moss like scars. He crouched, touching the edges.
"Fresh," he murmured. "The plants haven't covered them yet."
His pulse quickened. Signs of movement. He followed the tracks slowly, his mind clicking through possibilities.
Evacuation routes… stadiums, schools, open spaces.
Every disaster anime has a central gathering point.
A few blocks later, his hunch was confirmed. A bent traffic sign had a half-rotten evacuation notice taped to it. The edges were already being eaten by vines. He peeled it off carefully.
> "Evacuation Route → Stadium East Gate"
A small smile crept onto his face. "Knew it. Sometimes tropes save lives."
He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "Alright. Stadium it is."
---
As he moved deeper into town, the environment became stranger. Sidewalks bulged upward, glowing veins ran through walls, and the air vibrated softly like he was standing next to an engine. Richmond avoided touching anything that pulsed, muttering to himself:
"Yeah… maybe don't poke glowing plant veins. That's how horror episodes start."
The silence was broken only by the rustling of leaves and distant roars echoing through the warped streets. Each sound made his grip tighten on the wrench.
Then he heard it — a soft shuffle behind a line of vine-wrapped cars.
He froze. "…Hello?"
No response. Just another soft rustle.
He moved cautiously, peering around the car. At first, it looked like a heap of vines. Then it stood up.
A small humanoid shape made of twisted green vines, no taller than a child. Hollow eye sockets glowed faintly from within. It tilted its head at him with a soft creak.
Richmond's breath caught. "That's… not normal."
The vine creature stepped forward, dragging tendrils behind it. Tiny leaves sprouted with each movement. It wrapped a vine around the bumper of the nearby car — and twisted. The metal groaned like foil in its grip.
Richmond instinctively backed away. "…Nope. Nope nope nope. Not fighting Evil Plant-kun today."
He moved backward slowly, careful not to trip. The creature didn't chase. It simply watched him leave, head tilting again like it was curious.
Only when he turned the corner did he exhale. "Okay. So… plant monsters. Sure. Why not."
He glanced at the distant stadium. Massive vines had climbed its walls, wrapping the structure like a cocoon.
"…Whatever's in there," he muttered, tightening his grip on the wrench, "it better be human."
He adjusted his backpack again and kept walking — more alert than before. The town might've looked empty, but Richmond knew now…
He wasn't alone.
Not anymore.