The wind carried a thin whisper across the riverbank, brushing gently against the boy's cheeks. Winter afternoons in the year 2098 often looked peaceful—almost deceptively so. The world had changed far beyond what old history books could describe. Yet, here he sat, a lone figure at the edge of the river, his feet dipped slightly in the freezing water, staring at the dark silhouettes of mountains in the distance.
The boy, Tor Cherof, exhaled slowly. A faint mist drifted from his breath, dissolving into the approaching dusk.
"This world is very unique… isn't it?" he murmured to himself, knees drawn close. His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, yet there was an undertone of unease. "Though for me… it's kinda scary."
His gaze lowered to the reflection trembling on the river's surface. The mountains rose like titans—jagged, ancient, and veiled with creeping shadows. The trees lining the opposite bank swayed stiffly in the cold breeze, their branches cracking like old bones. It was 4 p.m. in mid-winter, but the darkness had already begun to seep in, swallowing the light as though the day itself was frightened to linger.
"If I had to choose a time period to live in…" Tor continued softly, "I would've preferred Gen Z. That era felt lighter. Simpler. But in reality…"
He clenched a small pebble in his hand and tossed it across the water.
"…it's 2098."
The ripples spread wide, distorting the world in front of him.
A voice suddenly broke the silence.
"Tor… Tor!"
Tor turned. Behind him stood a man in his forties—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in worn leather hunting clothes still dusted with dirt and frost. His black hair had streaks of early gray, and his dark eyes held a stern intensity shaped by years of survival. The resemblance between them was unmistakable. Tor was practically a smaller mirror of him.
"Father," Tor said quietly.
Aron Cherof walked forward with firm, irritated steps. "Tor, I've told you not to wander around this area alone." His voice wasn't loud, but its weight carried enough authority to make even seasoned hunters straighten up. "This region is dangerous. Even with that danger-scanner watch on your wrist, you shouldn't take chances."
Tor lowered his eyes. "I wasn't going far."
"That is not the point," Aron replied sharply. "This world doesn't allow mistakes. Not anymore."
Before Tor could answer, a sound sliced through the cold air.
Szz…
Both of them turned toward the cluster of trees behind them.
Leaves trembled. Something moved between the trunks—fast, low, and crawling through the shadows.
Then they saw it.
Two red eyes gleamed first, followed by the shape of a creature stepping cautiously into view. Its body resembled a monkey's—long arms, flexible paws, and a restless tail twitching like a whip. But its back was armored with plates that looked like the shell of a beetle, glossy and dark. A pair of thin, transparent wings vibrated faintly, catching the last fragments of sunlight.
Its face tilted sideways, blinking with unnatural awareness.
A creature of the Druta Forest.
Tor watched it with a neutral expression. "These ones are mostly harmless," he said calmly.
Aron didn't take his eyes off the creature. "No argument, Tor," he said curtly. "Harmless or not, we don't take risks."
The creature let out a soft clicking sound, then vanished back into the shadows as quickly as it appeared.
Aron placed a firm hand on Tor's shoulder. "Come. We're going back. Nightfall is no time to be out here."
They began to walk, their footsteps quiet on the frost-covered ground. The forest behind them grew darker with each passing minute. The faint glow of the scanner watch around Tor's wrist pulsed blue, signaling nearby movement—but nothing hostile.
After several minutes of walking through the narrowing trail, they reached a hidden path carved between boulders. A cold draft swept through the crevice as they stepped inside.
Beyond it lay their refuge.
A towering iron wall, rusted yet formidable, rose like a fortress out of the wilderness. The entrance gate—massive metal slabs reinforced with old military technology—began to open with a grinding groan as the sensors recognized Aron.
Their shadows stretched long across the ground as the heavy gates slid apart, revealing the settlement within.
Hundreds of people moved through the wide interior space—merchants, hunters, scouts, families, engineers repairing old machinery salvaged from forgotten years. Fires burned inside furnaces, metal clanged, children ran along the walkways, and the hum of generators vibrated through the ground. This iron-fortress settlement was their haven, their shield against the monstrous world outside.
As they stepped through, a sudden slap landed on Aron's upper back.
He stiffened, then exhaled in relief when he saw the man who delivered it.
"Aron!" the man grinned. "You're finally back."
"Jude," Aron replied, turning to face him. "You nearly startled me."
Jude was a rugged man in his late thirties, with short brown hair, sharp eyes, and the energy of someone who constantly found trouble—and somehow survived it. His clothes were patched from countless wilderness runs, and a cluster of tools hung from his belt.
Tor gave a polite nod. Jude was one of his father's closest friends, though chaos tended to follow him everywhere he went.
Jude crossed his arms proudly. "Guess what? I set a new record out there." His chest puffed up with exaggerated pride. "Got myself lost in the Druta Forest for ten whole days… and still made it back alive."
Aron raised an eyebrow. "Lost again?"
"Survived again," Jude corrected with a grin.
Aron smirked. "With your luck, I'm surprised the forest hasn't claimed you yet."
"What can I say?" Jude shrugged. "The world is strange… but I'm stranger."
Tor watched their exchange silently. Despite the serious atmosphere of the settlement, there were always these small flickers of camaraderie—tiny moments that reminded him humans could still laugh, even in a world that demanded caution every second.
The three continued walking through the settlement's bustling center. Metal walkways connected tall, bunker-like buildings. The sound of welding sparks echoed from a workshop nearby. Elderly residents sat around heat pillars, hands stretched toward the artificial warmth. Soldiers patrolled the perimeter, rifles slung across their shoulders.
Life here was rough, but it was life.
"Tor," Jude said, glancing down at him. "Heard you were out by the river again."
Tor didn't respond immediately. "I just needed fresh air."
"The world outside the walls isn't fresh air," Jude said lightly. "It's more like… supervised danger with a side of unpredictable death."
Aron shot Jude a look. "Don't dramatize it in front of him."
Jude raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. But he should know the reality."
Tor listened quietly. He knew the rules. He knew the world. But something inside him always felt pulled toward the unknown, as if the world outside the walls whispered to him differently than it did to others.
They continued onward, weaving past groups of residents and workers. As they approached the far edge of the settlement—the area closest to the massive wall—the crowd thinned. The noise grew softer. Houses here were spaced farther apart, smaller, built from reinforced scrap and steel.
Their destination stood at the very end.
A modest home built into the base of the wall, dim lanterns glowing faintly from its windows. Smoke drifted from its chimney, carried away by the cold winter wind.
Aron exhaled in relief. "Finally home."
Tor nodded quietly.
As they reached the door, the sounds of the settlement—talking, clanking, machinery—began to feel distant, like echoes fading into the night. Tor paused and looked up at the looming iron wall above their house. It stretched endlessly in both directions, a giant barrier between them and the world beyond.
A world filled with strange creatures. Strange landscapes. Strange rules.
A world that could kill anyone who made even a single mistake.
Yet…
Tor felt something else whenever he looked past that wall.
A pull.
A quiet voice inside him whispering that he did not belong within safety forever.
Aron unlocked the door, glancing back at his son. "Tor. Inside."
Tor inhaled deeply, tore his gaze away from the wall, and stepped forward.
The door closed behind them with a heavy click.
And the darkness outside grew thicker, swallowing the last traces of light as the night of 2098 fully took hold.
---
The door shut behind them with a hollow thud, sealing the cold and the night outside. The warm lamplight inside the house washed over the wooden floor and the metal-reinforced walls, softening the harshness of their isolated life, even if only a little. Aron hung his hunting coat near the door while Tor quietly removed his boots, setting them neatly beside the old heater.
Their home was small but sturdy—one of the earliest structures built when the settlement was first established. It wasn't luxurious, but every corner of it echoed with the struggles and memories of survival. The scent of iron, smoke, and simple food lingering in the air had become a part of Tor's everyday life.
Aron stretched his back with a tired sigh. "Go to your room and wash up, Tor. Dinner will be ready soon."
Tor nodded without speaking and ascended the narrow staircase to the second floor.
His room was at the very end of the hallway—a compact space with a metal bed, a cabinet, a desk stacked with old notebooks, and a single small window facing the street. Tor pushed the window open, letting in the crisp night breeze. The cold air pricked his skin, sharp and refreshing.
The settlement was gradually falling into silence. Lamps lit the pathways with a soft orange glow. Workers were returning home, hunters were reporting back, and the guard towers were adjusting their searchlights as night patrols prepared for their shifts.
Tor rested his elbows on the windowsill, gazing outside.
That was when he saw them.
A family walking slowly down the street—two adults and a girl about his age. The mother carried a basket of supplies; the father held a lantern to light their path. The girl walked between them, holding both their hands. She wore a thick winter coat and a scarf wrapped warmly around her neck. Her hair, pulled back neatly, swayed gently as she walked.
Tor watched her quietly.
She seemed… peaceful.
She was smiling faintly at something her father said. Her laughter, though distant and muffled by the glass, felt strangely warm. For a moment, Tor found himself staring—not out of interest, but out of unfamiliarity.
A complete family.
Together.
Safe.
Within the walls, but not alone.
He blinked once, then closed the window slowly as night fully overtook the sky outside.
A heavy silence settled in his room.
Minutes later, Aron's voice echoed up the staircase.
"Tor! Dinner's ready!"
Tor walked downstairs. The two sat at the small dining table made of reclaimed metal and wood. Aron had prepared a simple meal—vegetable stew, bread, and dried meat. Steam rose from the bowls, warming the dimly lit kitchen.
Tor took his seat. His expression remained neutral as always, but his eyes softened slightly at the warmth of the meal. They began to eat in silence.
After a minute, Tor spoke.
"Dad… when can we leave here?"
Aron paused mid-bite, his spoon stopping just above the bowl.
Tor continued, his voice steady but faintly hollow. "When can we go to the mainland? To the Gurgentina region… the country where you were born. Where Mother is living." He looked down at his food. "I'm tired of being trapped inside these walls."
Aron slowly set his spoon down.
His expression tightened—not in anger, but in something heavier. "Tor," he said quietly, "we've talked about this."
"But you didn't answer," Tor murmured.
Aron leaned back, exhaling deeply. His tone shifted into a serious, almost somber weight. "Son… we are here because of my research. You know that."
Tor kept his eyes on his bowl, waiting.
Aron continued, "We're studying the mountains, the parasites, the spread patterns… all of it. For the sake of humanity. For humanity's survival. That is why we're here."
Tor's hands curled slightly into fists. "But what about Mother? What about me?"
Aron hesitated.
"You're safe here," he said eventually. "We're doing good here. You're surrounded by people. There are children your age to play with, friends you can make. At your age, I was already enjoying life—just like any boy going through puberty should." He attempted a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But you… you act like a complete loner."
Tor lifted his gaze, his expression unchanged yet quietly wounded.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "I haven't even met my mother once."
Aron stiffened slightly.
"Not once," Tor repeated. "I don't even know if she's dead or alive."
Aron inhaled sharply, placing both elbows on the table as if the weight of the world pressed on his shoulders. "Tor… try to understand." His tone softened, but sorrow filled every word. "We are doing this for humanity. To save the world from the parasitic invasion. These mountains are one of the few places where we can gather data safely."
Tor stared at him silently.
Aron continued, voice low. "Only South and North America remain partially safe. Barely half of them are free from parasitic control. Every other continent… every land… has been taken." His eyes grew distant, filled with memories Tor had never seen. "We're fighting for the last hope this world has."
Tor swallowed, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "If it's so dangerous…" His voice started trembling. "Then why did you bring me here?"
Aron blinked.
"Why didn't you leave me with Mother?" Tor demanded, his voice rising. "Or with my grandparents? Why bring me to a place where even you say death is everywhere?"
"Tor—"
"Why!?" Tor's voice cracked for the first time. "Why did you drag me into this life!? Into this cage!?"
The room fell silent.
Aron's lips parted, but no words came. His expression was conflicted—pain, guilt, duty, and exhaustion blending together in a way Tor had never seen before.
Tor pushed back his chair abruptly. The metal legs screeched harshly against the floor.
Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and turned away from the table.
"Tor!" Aron called out, alarmed.
But the boy didn't stop.
He walked straight toward the staircase, his steps heavy and unsteady. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoed through the small house like the fading beats of a troubled heart.
He didn't look back.
He didn't speak again.
Aron remained frozen at the dinner table, the untouched stew cooling before him. A deep sigh escaped his chest, filled with a sorrow he could not voice.
The house felt too quiet now.
Too empty.
As Tor disappeared behind his bedroom door upstairs, the winter wind outside pressed against the iron walls, whispering through the cracks like a reminder of the world waiting just beyond—dangerous, vast, and full of unanswered questions.
And inside the house, a father and son sat separated by silence, by secrets, and by a world that had forced them into a life neither had truly chosen.
---
Tor shut the door behind him with more force than he intended. The sound echoed through his small room, then faded into the cold silence that wrapped the house each winter night.
He stood there for a moment, his breath uneven. His heart hadn't calmed since the argument downstairs. Eventually, his legs moved on their own, carrying him toward the bed. He dropped onto the mattress, face buried in the rough fabric of his pillow.
For a long while, he didn't move.
Frustration throbbed in his chest—frustration, confusion, and a strange guilt he couldn't name. But after minutes of silence, he rolled onto his back and stared at the metal ceiling.
Sleep refused to come.
With a tired sigh, he reached to the small wooden desk beside his bed and picked up one of his old books. The spine was worn, the pages yellowed—he had read this one many times. Yet tonight, he opened it again, searching for distraction.
The first page held words he had memorized long ago:
"In the year 2049, a meteor impact destroyed India and China.
What followed was the parasite event."
Tor's eyes skimmed the text.
The meteor hadn't only shattered nations—it had carried something inside. A microscopic invader. A foreign organism. What the world later called parasites.
Some evolved into peaceful symbiotic forms, attaching to wildlife without harming them.
Others hunted.
And a few… evolved beyond anything humanity could understand.
Those were the ones that brought the world to its knees.
Tor turned the page slowly, the paper whispering under his fingers.
By 2055, the population had collapsed. Entire continents fell under parasitic control. By 2062, Asia, Africa, and Europe were effectively lost. Only North and South America managed to hold their ground, forming the last bastions of human life.
The book described the creation of megacities, massive fortified structures surrounded by layered defenses.
But not everyone could live in megacities.
Researchers, scientists, and military strategists had established separated districts—research camps—in the mountains and forests, far from urban zones, to study parasite behavior. These camps had walls, facilities, and constant surveillance. Over decades, they grew. People began settling permanently. Schools were built, hospitals established, families raised.
By 2070, the system was formalized.
Dozens of scattered, heavily guarded districts called Cracik Units—each housing about 3,000 people.
Tor lived in Cracik Unit 14.
He exhaled slowly.
So this is the world I was born into… not a world of freedom, but cages inside cages.
The lamp beside him dimmed slightly as the power grid shifted into night mode. Tor's eyes grew heavy without him noticing.
Before he realized it, the book slipped from his fingers and rested open on his chest.
And he drifted into sleep.
---
Midnight
A faint sound stirred him.
A soft crackle.
Then a strange smell—faint at first, then growing stronger, sharper.
Tor's eyes blinked open.
Smoke.
He sat up abruptly, coughing as the burning scent filled his nose. He looked around. A thin grey haze floated near the ceiling, illuminated faintly by the orange glow leaking through the edges of his door.
Confusion turned to alarm.
He jumped off the bed, grabbed the door handle, and yanked it open.
A blast of heat washed over him.
Flames spread across the living room downstairs, dancing violently, consuming furniture and crawling up the walls. Sparks snapped through the air like angry insects.
Tor's heartbeat pounded painfully in his ears.
Dad…
He didn't think.
He ran.
Down the stairs, barefoot, the metal steps burning hot against his feet. The roar of fire grew louder, swallowing every other sound—until a cry pierced through it.
"Ahh…!"
A voice. Weak, trembling, agonized.
Tor's blood turned cold.
He turned toward the sound—and froze.
The sight before him would scar him for life.
Aron lay on the floor beside the kitchen table—his body burned, skin charred in places, his clothes torn and smoking. One of his eyes was gone. His left leg… half eaten. Blood pooled around him, steaming in the heat of the fire.
He reached a trembling hand toward Tor.
"Tor… ru—"
But he couldn't finish.
Because beside him… crouched over Aron's body like a starving animal… was Jude.
Or what used to be Jude.
His body was twisted, skin pale and pulsing with green veins. Two insect-like wings jutted from his back, twitching. Thick green saliva dripped from his mouth, mixing with the blood on the floor. His jaw had stretched unnaturally wide, lined with needle-sharp teeth. And from his ears, thick plugs of wax-like material oozed downward.
Tor couldn't breathe.
He couldn't scream.
He couldn't move.
Jude's head turned slowly—unnaturally slowly—toward him. The creature's red eyes gleamed in the firelight, empty of any trace of humanity.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Jude's lips peeled back into a grotesque smile.
A sound escaped him—a gurgling, wet rasp.
Tor's legs trembled violently. His hands shook. His vision blurred at the edges. A cold wave of pure terror surged through him, deeper than anything he had ever felt.
He tried to speak, but no sound came out.
Only a silent, shattered breath.
His father's fingers twitched one last time, reaching for him… then slowly fell to the floor.
Tor stood there, rooted in place, the fire crackling around him, the world collapsing in a single horrifying moment.
And all he could do was stare—
At the nightmare wearing Jude's face.