Paul 2.

The creature comes crashing into the restaurant, sending tables and chairs flying. Screams fill the air as people scramble for cover, tripping over each other in panic. Some dive under tables, others cling to walls, while a few desperately search for family or friends separated in the chaos. The place is a nightmare-bodies pressed into corners, shattered glass underfoot, the acrid smell of fear permeating everything.

The creatures tear through people as if they're made of paper. Arms, legs, and faces vanish into their massive claws. It's a massacre.

I turn to Khalan. He's frozen, staring wide-eyed at the carnage, his breath shallow and rapid. Beads of sweat are already forming on his forehead. He's terrified, and honestly-so am I. But he can't know that.

We can't die here. Not now, not like this.

"Come on, kid. On your feet. We need to move-quietly and quickly," I say, my voice low but urgent.

But he doesn't move.

"Khalan, I swear to God, if you don't move now!" I whisper-yell, trying not to attract any attention. The urgency seems to snap him out of it; he nods, breathing hard, and gets ready to follow.

We start crawling toward a smashed window, shattered when those things broke in. We're almost there when I stop. As if reading my mind, Khalan pauses, too. We exchange a look-neither of us can leave everyone behind. It's against everything we've trained for, everything we stand for.

He veers toward a group of teenagers huddling under a table, motioning them to follow him with a finger to his lips. Meanwhile, I spot an elderly woman and a child near the restaurant entrance, inching toward what they think is an exit. But there's a creature just above them, crouched and ready to strike.

Without thinking, I snatch up a chair from the floor and hurl it straight at the creature. It hisses and turns, its eyes locking onto me. Good. The woman and child shuffle away, unnoticed. But now I'm staring down those dark, soulless eyes, and it's readying itself for a kill.

It takes a stance-coiled, like a predator preparing to pounce.

I yell to the rest of the strangers gathered unfer the tables, "Go! Now!" And then, throwing caution to the wind, I bolt toward the window, hoping Khalan and the others have already gotten a head start.

The creature lunges just as I leap out of the broken frame, feeling shards of glass scrape my skin. Thank God I don't skip leg day.

But this thing is fast-faster than I imagined. It's already on me, its breath hot on my neck. I'm almost out of breath, but then I spot a set of collapsed railings just ahead. An idea forms, wild but maybe possible. I push myself harder, leading the creature straight toward the ruined barrier.

When I'm inches away, I grab onto the one remaining intact railing and throw myself to the side. The creature charges, unable to stop, and crashes through the weakened railings, falling with a vicious snarl.

"Khalan!" I yell, glancing around. He's at my side in seconds, the teenagers close behind him. For now, we're alive.

A shriek catches my attention. The woman from earlier, the one who gave us directions, is pressed against a wall, staring as one of the creatures comes toward her. But as it moves to strike, my fallen creature lands right on top of it, sending both tumbling.

Without another word, the woman bolts, disappearing into the shadows in search of safety.

"Khalan, we need to keep moving," I say, nodding at the terrified kids with him. He gives a quick nod, determination tightening his face.

We sprint, the sounds of destruction and horror trailing behind us. Creatures tearing through walls, screams ringing out. Hell has been unleashed, and all we can do now is survive.

George

Chaos reigned supreme around me. People were screaming, gasping for air, desperately searching for safety. Panic suffocated the air, making me question-What on earth just happened?

"This is dispatch to headquarters," crackled a voice from the police radio strapped to my hip. The static buzz cut through the noise, but it did little to calm the storm.

"We need backup-immediately."

"Over here!" Detective Samuels called out, his voice strained and urgent. I turned to see him gesturing at me, his face a mask of exhaustion and barely-contained frustration.

I had been kneeling next to a little girl, no more than six years old, trying to console her. She'd been separated from her family in the chaos, her tiny frame trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. Her wide eyes were brimming with tears, and her hands clutched at my uniform as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

"I'll be right back, kiddo," I told her softly, forcing a reassuring smile. "We'll find your mom and dad, okay?" I stood and reluctantly hurried over to Samuels, my gut churning at the thought of leaving her alone, even for a moment.

"This is absurd," Samuels muttered under his breath as I approached. The disbelief in his tone mirrored the turmoil in my own mind. "And to think I was called here for a teenage disturbance. Unbelievable."

"What's the casualty count?" he asked, his voice suddenly cold and businesslike.

"Over fifty... maybe more," I replied, my voice faltering slightly. Even saying the number felt surreal.

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and sighed, shoulders slumping with the weight of the incoming call. "I'll be right back, George. Gather the casualty numbers and send them to headquarters immediately-" He paused as another officer ran past us.

"And where's that backup?!" Samuels barked.

"On the way, sir!" the officer shot back, his voice strained.

Samuels groaned, his frustration palpable as he turned away, taking the call. I watched him walk off, his posture sagging under the burden of the chaos around us. I'd never seen him like this before-he was always the unflappable one, the pillar of strength. Seeing him unravel made the situation feel all the more dire.

I turned my attention back to the wreckage strewn across the upper floor of the mall. Shattered storefronts, blown-out windows, overturned shelves, and goods worth thousands of dollars either destroyed or still smoldering from the earlier fires. The fire department had managed to douse the flames, but the acrid stench of burnt debris lingered in the air. I moved through the devastation, collecting wallets, phones, and lone shoes-ghostly remnants of the chaos that had unfolded just minutes ago.

Why would anyone in their right mind set off fireworks inside a mall? I thought bitterly as I handed a few items to the volunteers trying to reunite them with their owners. It didn't make sense. My eyes landed on something odd near the water fountain-footprints, but not like any I'd seen before. They were large, clawed, almost like those of a wild animal.

An animal? I shook off the thought. Maybe some exotic pet escaped in the confusion. People kept all sorts of strange animals these days.

I was just about to head back to check on the little girl when I felt a firm grip on my arm. I turned, half-expecting to see Samuels with another order.

"Pack up. We need to leave," Samuels said, his face tight with irritation and something else-fear?

"What? Why? What's going on?" I asked, my concern spiking.

Samuels just shook his head, his jaw clenched. "It's orders."

"What do you mean, 'orders'? Was it the call? What did they say?" I pressed, frustration bubbling up inside me.

"Just pack up, George," he snapped, rubbing his temples in a way I'd only seen when he was at the end of his rope. He sighed, as if resigning himself to something inevitable, and finally whispered, "C.I.A."

I stared at him, disbelief coursing through me. "The C.I.A.? What do they want with this?"

"They're taking over the case," Samuels replied flatly.

"Taking over what? This was an accident caused by some reckless teenagers! Do they even have jurisdiction?"

Samuels let out a bitter laugh. "They don't need jurisdiction, George. They don't need anything when they decide we're not equipped to handle it."

My hands curled into fists. "We can't just abandon these people! They need our help!" My voice rose, anger sharpening every word. "The C.I.A. doesn't care about these people like we do. Whatever they're after, they'll take it and leave."

He shook his head. "I don't like it either, but we have orders. We-"

"ALIENS! I'M TELLING YOU! YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME, I HAVE PROOF!"

Both our heads snapped toward the outburst. A woman, her clothes smeared with soot, hair wild and tangled, was being restrained by two officers. She clutched her stomach, her eyes wide and crazed.

"Hey! Let her go!" I shouted, rushing over. Samuels followed close behind, his face set in a scowl.

The officers, caught off guard, released her. "She's been saying the ones who did this were aliens," one of them scoffed. "Total nutcase."

"Let her speak," Samuels ordered sharply.

The woman fumbled with her phone. "I keep telling y'all, it's aliens! Look!" She thrust the phone at us, her hands shaking. "They were tall, nearly as tall as the fountains, with sharp teeth! They were-they were black! No, gray! It's hard to tell in the dark, but I'm telling you-"

"This is obviously some edited video," Samuels said dismissively. "You can't spread false alarms here, ma'am. People are already on edge."

"They do exist!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "Look at it-this isn't fake!"

"Ma'am, please. It's not safe here," I began, but before I could finish, a deep rumble shook the ground beneath us.

Everyone froze. The air grew thin, almost impossible to breathe. In the distance, a blinding explosion tore through the air, sending a shockwave that rattled my bones. The eerie sound that followed-a sharp, clicking noise-echoed in the aftermath.

From the smoky veil, something began to move. The woman screamed, breaking into a run, her cries of "Aliens! Aliens!" ringing out as she disappeared into the shadows.

I stood, paralyzed, as a shape emerged from the haze-an alien? just as she'd described. My heart hammered against my ribs. I'd never believed in monsters, but there it was, staring back at me.

Everything I knew crumbled away. This wasn't just a nightmare. This was real-terrifyingly, impossibly real.

The world as I knew it was gone. And nothing would ever be the same again.

-From here onwards the story is set on George's pov unless stated otherwise-

George

I revealed myself from the hole I had managed to squeeze into before that... thing got to us. I lifted the oval-shaped sheet of metal I had used to cover the entrance, my arms aching from how long I'd held it down. The little girl I'd yanked inside with me blinked at the sudden light, her small body still trembling with fear.

"You okay?" I asked softly, my voice hoarse.

She nodded, but she couldn't speak. She was shaking too hard, like a leaf in the wind. I didn't blame her. I was scared out of my damn mind. My uniform was soaked through with sweat, my heart pounding like a war drum.

The smoke was clearing fast now. I reached for the radio clipped to my vest, trying to call the others.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Alvarez, do you copy?" Static. I adjusted the dial, tapped it a few times. Still nothing but a low hum and static hiss. I cursed under my breath and tried to lift myself from the hole.

But something grabbed my leg-tight.

I flinched, heart stopping for a second, but it was her. The girl. She clutched my pant leg like her life depended on it. Honestly, maybe it did. I looked down into her wide, tear-glossed eyes. I was all she had right now. I wasn't going to fail her.

"We have to move," I whispered, scanning the broken corridor ahead. "Come on, sweetheart. We can't stay here. It's not safe."

The ground vibrated. Not a small tremor-no, this was heavier. Rhythmic. Like footsteps. Big ones.

Shit.

My pulse spiked. She gripped me tighter. I knelt, scooped her up into my arms, and ran. As fast and as quietly as I could. Her tiny arms clung to my neck, and I could feel the panic pouring off her in waves. But she didn't scream.

The mall had become a graveyard.

Lights flickered above us. Every corner we turned brought the smell of smoke, blood, or worse. In the distance, I could hear other screams-some cut short, some still echoing. Were they being hunted? Trapped? Killed?

I didn't want to know.

A hand jutted from beneath a collapsed vending machine we passed. Lifeless. Pale. I didn't stop. Couldn't. That would be us if I hesitated. She buried her face in my shoulder, and I tried to shield her from it all.

"Hold on," I muttered, half to her, half to myself.

After a few minutes of carefully navigating the shattered halls, I spotted it-the fire escape. Hope lit in my chest like a flare.

Then something darted across the corridor ahead. Fast. A blur.

I froze.

It was huge-taller than any man, with limbs too long, hunched low, and its skin... God, the skin. Glossy, stretched tight like rubber over bone. It didn't move like anything I'd ever seen.

The girl whimpered.

Its head snapped toward us.

I turned on instinct. Where the hell could we go now? The exit was blocked. Then a sharp voice called from above:

"Up here!"

I jerked my head up. A woman was leaning over the railing of the second-floor balcony. Her voice strained but steady. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, her face smeared with ash and blood. She was holding a rope-no, a knotted extension cord-dangling it down to us.

Something small flew past us-a glass bottle?-crashed on the opposite side with a loud clatter. The creature paused, its attention yanked away.

Good. It worked.

"I'm sending her up first!" I said trying to control the volume of my voice, not to attract the creature.

The woman gave a tight nod. Another man beside her-Asian, lean, arms cut with muscle, shirt soaked in blood-grabbed the cord and began pulling. I wrapped it around the girl's waist.

She looked up and gasped. "Mommy!" she screamed, reaching for the woman above.

The creature shrieked. Loud. Violent. My ears rang.

It turned, all its limbs shifting unnaturally as it galloped toward us like a damn horse.

"No time!" I shouted. "Pull her up!"

The woman and the man hauled her up, her small hands gripping the rope tight. She cried out but didn't let go. I waited just long enough to see her into her mother's arms before wrapping the cord around my own wrists.

Climbing with panic in your throat is a different beast. My boots slipped once, scraping against the wall, but I didn't stop. Couldn't.

Claws sliced the concrete beneath me.

A hand-strong, calloused-grabbed mine and yanked me up. I collapsed on the second-floor tiles, gasping for breath. The girl hugged her mother, both of them crying now, but safe.

I looked up.

The woman was watching me. She was younger than I expected-late twenties, maybe. Dirt and blood streaked her cheeks, and her skirt was half torn.

"Thank you," she said, still holding her daughter. "For protecting my little girl."

I nodded, struggling to my feet. "It's the least I could do," I said, brushing off debris from my uniform-what little good that did.

"You're a cop?" she asked.

"Yeah. Officer George Alvarez," I said, extending my hand.

She took it. "Bridget Carter."

The man who'd helped her spoke up, his voice steady despite the cuts on his face. "Names later. We need to move."

That's when I noticed the fourth man.

Leaning against a pillar, wincing with every breath. I recognized him instantly. Paul Santiago. Former heavyweight champ. His face was pale, shirt soaked in blood.

As if reading my mind he let out an "I can walk," with his teeth gritted.

"How many of you are there?" I asked, trying to assess our odds.

"Just us," Bridget said. "For now."

I was about to ask more when the ground trembled again. Louder. Heavier.

We all turned.

Two of them. Standing at the far end of the corridor, watching us with unblinking eyes. Long limbs, thick claws, heads slightly tilted.

Predators.

Bridget's arms tightened around her daughter, pulling her close like she could hide her inside herself.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Their claws tapped against the tiles with each step.

Something felt... wrong.

One of them looked different. Larger. Skin darker, ridged. Sharper. Its movements were slower, more deliberate.

"That... that ain't the same one that chased us," Paul muttered.

"It's not," Bridget whispered. Her voice shook. "They're evolving."

My mouth went dry. "Evolving?"

She nodded. "Changing. Adapting."

I stared at the creatures, my grip tightening around the crowbar I'd picked up earlier. One wrong move and we'd be ripped apart.

"Jesus Christ," I breathed.

A third screech echoed from somewhere deeper in the mall. Lower. Rougher. Like something even worse had arrived.

Klahan-the Asian man-picked up two broken pipes. He tossed one to Bridget. "We move. Now."

She caught it. The weight of the iron slightly weighed her down.

I turned to Paul. "Can you fight?"

He didn't answer with words. He tore his shirt, wrapping it around his fists like makeshift gloves. A boxer's instinct. He looked half-dead but still determined.

We didn't have a plan. No backup. No idea what these things even were.

This wasn't just survival anymore.

This was war.

And we were losing.

They screeched.

We braced.

And then, all hell broke loose.