FanStory.com - Curiosityby Rinshikai

"Look out!" my brother yells, throwing me to the ground as a car rushes past us. It takes the railing out, plummeting to the street below with an unholy crash. Getting to my feet, I run to the edge of the bridge, peering into the darkness. But I can't see or hear anything.

"Hey, you two, what are you doing out this late?" A pair of city watchmen march toward us. He points to the main street, "Get moving." The man growls as he and his partner walk away.

Walking over to my brother, I help him to his feet. This whole situation makes my skin crawl. "Any idea where that car came from?" I look around, trying to put the pieces together.

"I have no idea." My brother rubs his arm, trying to figure out where the car originated. "We should go; I don't want to get yelled at again."

The sun dances along the roofs. If we don't get home now, we won't hear the end from the old man. But my curiosity gets the better of me. A car doesn't just come out of nowhere. I creep toward the street, but my brother stops me.

"What are you doing?"

"Come on, aren't you a little curious?"

My brother lets me go, heading towards home, "No. I don't want to wander the streets at night only to get mugged. Let's go!" He gestures towards home, his eyes warning me not to chase this mystery. "Well?"

I look at the bridge edge, then back to my brother, "I'll catch up." I walk towards the street where the car flew out. "I'm just going to see if someone is hurt." All I get is a disappointed look as my brother walks away.

Ignoring him, I walk further down the street, the flickering streetlamps my only light. A cold spell rushes through the air, and the city swallows the sun's embrace. Only my footsteps echo in my ears, making me rethink my actions. A fog fills the area, hiding the city in a grey haze that disorients me. Great, I spot the streetlights and start to backtrack. There's no point in getting lost.

Where the hell did this fog come from? I fumble my way back, "Are you kidding me?" I trip, hitting the ground hard. Reaching for my chest, I cough, trying to get whatever flew down my throat out. I spit whatever comes up. Standing, I come face to face with a brick wall with a rickety old ladder. At the top, I can see a broken wall; it looks like something has smashed through it. Maybe I've found where that car came from?

Curiosity outweighing caution, I ascend the ladder. Each creak sends my heart racing; it's terrifying, but it's such a rush. I reach the top, pulling myself onto an old cobblestone road. If the car came from here, it could explain a few things. I take a few steps down the road, but a familiar voice calls out to me.

"Bro? Are you up there? Wait up!"

Laughing to myself, I knew my brother couldn't resist. "Yeah! Just climb the ladder!" I turn to meet my brother, only to find the fog getting thicker by the second. "Just be careful, it's not very…" I hit a stone wall. For god sake, this fog is so aggravating. I hug the wall, looking for the gap, but can't find it. "Dammit! Brother! Marco!" I yell, only getting silence in return. I cross the street, finding an identical wall, the gap nowhere to be seen.

Panic sets in, and I look around the area, trapped between stone walls and torches. My coat offers little protection as an icy wind blows. I hold my hands out to the torches, thankful for the heat. What the hell's going on? Where am I?

With that way closed, the only way is forward. I get my bearings, but everything looks the same, "Hello? Brother? Can you call you hear me?" I shout, but no one answers. Leaning on the wall, I slide to the ground. What have I gotten myself into? I have two options open to me, each identical to the other. Standing, I contemplate my options. If I get lost, I need to be able to know where I've been. Looking back at my stone jailer, I came face to face with a significant mark left by my body, tracing the outline with my finger; the faint smell of ash hit me.

While it's not ideal, it makes tracing my steps easier. Drawing an arrow with my finger, I walk to the west—the cool air of the night dancing through the center of the street. Preferring to stay warm, I hug the wall, thankful for the torches. Something doesn't feel right about this fog.

I try to scale the walls, but they are too high. If I can get a running start, I could make it. Walking backward to the adjacent wall, I ready myself for a sprint. Foot firmly planted, I rush forward for dear life. I get three steps on the wall, grabbing the edge. Pulling myself up, I take a moment, but it's short-lived as the icy winds force me back to my stone prison. Freezing, I huddle under the nearest torch, desperate to stop the needles running along my skin.

The faint sound of laughter drags me from my woes. I struggle to find the source through the thickening mist creeping along the cobblestone. A tiny silhouette walks towards me, its laugh like that of a child.

"Who's there?" I say, only for it to dash away. "Wait!" I push myself to my feet, running after them. "Come back!" I try to catch them, but they're always out of reach, stopping only to giggle and run away like we're playing a game of tag. I run my hand along the wall, leaving a smear to make my way back.

Whatever I was following is gone. Two paths lay before me; I can double back, hoping to find my way home or follow what I've been chasing. Pulling a torch from the wall, I stare into the mist, looking for any signs. On the ground, footprints cover the cobblestones. Kneeling, I see that most of them follow what looks like the main street. However, the ones that stand out are the little sets of bare feet. They must belong to that kid.

They veer off from the herd, leading me to a room with no other way out. Yet, no footprints show someone leaving. I illuminate every corner of the room, finding an old Beetle rusted to scrap. A lamppost twisted into a pretzel has smashed through its top. What the hell could have done this? Opening the hood, I find the engine has been totaled; only the block remains. I walk around the vehicle, popping the trunk, and like the front, I see nothing of value, just an old tire that is well past its use. Slamming the trunk shut, I decide to continue my search for the kid. As I'm about to leave, a deep, snarling noise creeps outside the room. I stop in my tracks, my torch falling from my hand—the wood echoing as it hits the ground.

The world goes deathly silent, and I hear the creature's nails running along the cobblestones. A shadow slowly comes into view from my only means of escape. Panic running down my spine, I throw the trunk open, fearing what ungodly creature could have made that noise. Tucked away, I leave a crack only wide enough to see. In the confined space, I feel like I'm being crushed and unable to breathe, but whatever is out there is worse. Through panicked breath, my heart thumps like a jackhammer echoing in my ears. Through the little crack, I make out a god knows what as it sniffs my now extinguished torch.

At first, I thought it was a dog, maybe some kind of black wolf. But those eye sockets glow a green mist where their eyes should be. It sniffs the air until it faces the trunk, a frothy drool dripping from its gaping maw as it slowly approaches me. Crawling on top of the car, it traps me in a metal coffin, scratching the surface like nails across a chalkboard. It knows I'm here.

Dear god, how did it come to this? The creature leans on the car, causing it to shake back and forth. I want to throw up but fight the urge as the beast continues to toy with me. Should I just get it over with, hoping that it will give me a quick death?

It stopped, its claws pierce through the trunk top, the metal screeching in pain as the beast slams the car against the wall. The wind is ripped from my lungs, and I fight to breathe. Slivers of pale blue light shine through the wounds, bringing the cold air with them.

For a while, I wait; the beast seems to have left. Mustering what little courage I have, I open the lid. The fog dances around the car, limiting my sight, crawling on my hands and knees, I look for the only warmth in this place. When my fingers find the splintery rod, I grip it tightly. However, the flame has gone out, leaving only a club.

Looking back into the car, I reach into the glove compartment, hoping for a lighter or some matches. But all I can find is a wallet. Rummaging through it, I see a faded license with a renewal date in the 1980s. The picture is faded beyond recognition.

How in the world could a car get here? And more importantly, where is the driver? I flip through the folds, finding a folded piece of paper and the answers to my prayers in an old matchbook. Opening my prize, I see only two matches remaining. I have to do this perfectly, or I'm screwed.

Torch between my legs, and I light a match. I slowly lower it, but it dies as quickly as it ignites. "Fuck!" I yell, covering my mouth, hoping the creature doesn't hear me. Looking back to the exit, I exhale in relief when nothing comes.

With only one match left, I weigh my options. Do I try to light the torch? Or do I save it? I rub my chest, the cold seeping into my skin. I need to get warm, but if I go out there, the creature could attack from anywhere, and I wouldn't see it coming.

Seeing the wounds the beast's claws made on the trunk, I get an idea. Using one of the holes, the torch slides straight like an arrow. I hold the matchbook as close as possible to the torch's top. Match in hand, I hold my breath for fear of losing my last hope for heat. Striking the match, an ember of hope spikes into life but quickly starts to fade. With bated breath, I kiss the spark to the torch, and like the sun on the horizon, I'm bathed in the warm embrace.

Unfolding the paper, a picture drawn in crayon covers the entire page. A crudely drawn character with the word me written above it. Next to that is a big black smudge with the name Sadie. It must be a dog. On the other side of the page is what looks like a woman in a grey suit with Mommy written above it.

On the other side is a hastily written note. "'Honey, if you find the car, and I'm not there, wait for me.'" In the bottom right corner, bold letters envelop the page, spelling out the phrase, I'm so sorry.

I fold the paper and put it in my pocket. It's sad. Whoever the owners were, I don't think they got out. That thing probably got them.

I warm myself, carefully sliding the torch out and firmly holding it. I stare towards the way I came, praying that nothing is there. With my courage hanging by a thread, I make my way out of the room. Peering from the entrance, I find myself alone.

Like a bandit from those old cop shows, I enter the endless hallways, doing my best not to make a sound. That childish laughter rings in my ears, and I turn to find the silhouette standing in the distance as if it wants me to follow it again. "Nice try," I yell. I'm not falling for that again." I walk in the opposite direction, trying to backtrack, but it won't stop laughing.

I find the smear I had left earlier, giving me a rough idea of where I am. Turning a corner, the child stood in my way, still laughing. "What do you want from me?" I yell, closing the distance between us. Kneeling, "Listen, kid," I reach for its shoulder, but my hand goes right through. "What the hell!" I stumbled back, terrified of what had just happened. Is it a ghost or something else? Am I going crazy? I look up at the child's eyes, admitting a green mist like the creature that trapped me in the trunk.

Every muscle in my body tells me to run. I have to get away, or I'm dead. But my legs won't move. The kid walks towards me like an animal, ready to pounce. I hold my torch out in front of me, and it stops. It seems hesitant to get any closer, so I stand, my eyes fixed on whatever this thing is. Like a nightmare made flesh, it contorts, the wet crunch of bone echoing in my ear, and the human shape becomes more monstrous. Wolf-like claws sprout from the black mass, digging into the cobblestones. While a pair of green misty eyes open as a toothy grin erupts from its frothing maw.

I brandish my torch, slowly backing up, only for the snarling beast to match my steps. "Get back!" I swing my torch back and forth, creating a burning wall in front of me.

It leaps back, avoiding the flames, growling, and snapping at me whenever an opening appears. But I refuse to give it an inch. The light of my torch dims with each swing. I hold it steady, fighting to keep the flame alive, but the beast lunges at me, pinning me to the ground.

With both hands on the torch, I struggle to free myself. It's jaw clenching into the wooden shaft like a chew toy. The mist from its eyes rises above us like smoke. Its claws dig into my shoulder like razors. As I fight to loosen its grip, it bites into my forearm. I cry in agony, feeling a bone ready to snap. With my good hand, I thrust the torch into its face. It wails in pain as its black fur peels from its body.

As it frantically tries to put the flames out, I flee. Running through the labyrinth, I stumble upon some stairs. I can't spot anything through the darkness, but it has to be better than what's chasing me. With careful steps, I make my way into the darkness.

It’s a fight just to breathe. My arm burns as blood pours from my wound. I have to stop the bleeding, but I can't see anything. Besides the flickering of my torch, the only light comes from the way I came. Peering into the darkness, all I see are stone floors with a canal carved about six feet across. A steady flow of water rushes past me. Kneeling, I light the ground, finding the glint of train tracks. They're old and worn, but they're there.

I submerged my arm, savoring the cool sensation of the water, which eases the pain from my wound. Ripping my shirt sleeve, I tie it around my wound. It should hold for now, but I have to find something better. I slog further into the tunnel, not wanting to wait for that thing to find me. If there are tracks, then there must be a train.

The further I enter the tunnels, the more a rancid smell fills my lungs. I fight the urge to vomit, but it's just too much. Falling to my knees, everything I had eaten coats the cobblestones. I stand, wiping my mouth with my bandaged arm, spotting something metallic in the distance. Eager, I run forward to see what I found, nearly losing my footing on a loose stone. When my prize comes into view, I'm cautiously optimistic.

The train is in shambles as if it has hit the end of the line at full speed. The caboose is primarily intact, except for a few shattered windows and rust rails. The rest resembles a coiled snake. If there are medical supplies, they're likely in there somewhere.

I crawl onto the back deck to get a better view. Peering inside, I see a desk and a chair, ready to crumble at the slightest touch, next to a cupboard with its door resting on the ground. An old range stands proudly near the front, with a bed that looks like it hasn't been used in a long time. I grab the door handle, sliding it open, only for it to jam. I try to force it open, but it won't go any further. With no other options, I sidestep my way in. Once inside, I rummage through every compartment, but there's nothing I can use for first aid.

Opening the range, it has wood inside. Throwing my torch in, I'm rewarded by the warm embrace of the fire. Now, with both hands free, I sit on the bed. The sheet is dusty but still usable. Working through the pain, I make a new bandage for my forearm. Moving my arm around, I don't feel the wound open. However, as I sit here, another thought crosses my mind. I've been here for hours, so why am I not tired? I should be exhausted, thirsty, and hungry by now. But I'm not, and I know I'm alive because if I wasn't, how could I be bleeding?

Since I got here, nothing has been right, and I'm starting to think I'm going insane. I slap myself, but I'm still here, wherever here is. Standing, I look out the cabooses back window expecting to see that thing, but it's just darkness out there, with the gentle sound of water running under the train. Walking to the door connecting to the next car, I find a shelf carved into the wall. Nuzzled inside is a small wooden box. I tip the lid open, where a tune plays on a metal cylinder.

It's catchy, reminding me of something my grandma would have had. I don't know the tone, but something is in the background. It's faint, but I swear I can hear a woman's voice. I kneel, trying to understand what's being said. The words repeat, getting faster and clearer. As the last few notes play the words are clear as day.

"I'm here."

I look into the polished metal on the box's lid, and what I see makes my blood run cold. Standing behind me is a woman in a raggedy Victorian dress with a large hat that obscures her face. Her makeup is running down her sickly features, with her blackened lips dyed with blood pouring from her nose. She holds a parasol torn to ribbons, ready to fall apart.

Turning around, I find that I'm alone. Slowly, I look back to the box. The woman is still there, reaching for me with an inhuman smile. I slam the lid, stumbling back. I hit the wall, sliding to the ground, hyperventilating into my knees. It wasn't real. It can't be real; I'm just stressed and scared. My heart is ready to burst, but I muster my courage and look around the room. I don't see the woman, only the flicker of the fire crackling in the range.

I peer at the box, terrified to open it. There has to be a way out of here. But I can't go unprotected. Standing, I look around the room for anything I can use as a weapon. Next to the range is a fire poker. I pick it up. It's heavy, cast iron. It will be hard to swing, but it will hurt whatever it hits.

Now that I'm armed, I look deeper into the train. Past the broken window lays a passenger car, hugging the ceiling at an odd angle. But something's not right. Lanterns adorn the walls, flickering in the darkness. This train looks like it has been here for nearly a century. Did someone light them recently?

"Hello?" I call out, but I don't get an answer. "Brother? Are you here?" I try to open the door, but it's stuck. Taking my fire poker, I smash the window, clearing any glass from cutting me. Reaching through, I unlock the door. Entering, the smell of moldy cloth hits me. It is a horrible, sour stench. The culprit is water from a steady drip above, soaking the carpet that squishes under my feet, waterlogging my shoes.

I slowly move through the cart, the floor creaking under my slushy steps. I marvel at the once-beautiful cabin. Lavish furniture now lies in ruin, the floor littered with everything from books to clothes. Whoever owned this thing must have been loaded. But why keep the lanterns lit? From the corner of my eye, a wisp of movement draws my attention. A figure dances just out of view in the glass of the windows. I ready my fire poker, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Each breath I take is laboring. Where is she? I look around in panic, desperate to find whatever is hunting me.

My heart is thumping. I slowly make my way forward. A small mirror decorates the wall. I look at my reflection, barely recognizing myself under the grime. That woman is behind me, that inhuman smile still on her face. Turning to defend myself, but again, I’m met with nothing. Clenching the poker, I look back to the mirror. The woman is still in the reflection, her hand touching the mirror like a window. To my horror, her hand comes out of it, reaching for me. Panicking, I hit the mirror, shattering her window, her hand fading away in a puff of black smoke.

The echoing scream fills my head as I step away from broken shards that decorate the floor. What the fuck is going on? Am I in hell? My vision is blurry, and I can't focus on anything. Every sound becomes little more than whispers in the back of my mind. I can't stand up. I need to sit down. Leaning on the wall for support, I try to open the door leading forward, but I fall through the wall, landing in a small hidden room.

Through the dust cloud, metallic objects glint in the pale light, threatening to blind me. I force myself to stand, finding myself in some kind of laboratory. It's little more than a large closet, only able to hold a single person among the clutter.

A long piece of wood lodged in the wall acts like a makeshift desk, with a broken barstool as the only seat. A gramophone sits ready in the corner, its cylinder tempting me to play it. I reach for it, stopping when the memories of that woman hit me. Turning away, I'm drawn to a horrific sight.

The walls are coated with hastily written words; for every sentence, there's another below it, written backward like a reflection. Though I can make out the name Marian, time has washed it away. A book grabs my attention; skimming through the pages, it looks like a journal.

"'Aug 12, 1905.

Marian and I had another fight. I know how important this trip was to her, but you can't say no when the Crown asks for your aid.

People have gone missing in the heart of our nation with no evidence of what transpired. They have asked me to investigate. I'm an archeologist who studies the occult. What could they possibly want my skills for?"'

I turn to the next page.

"'Aug 20, 1905.

The Crown is sending us to meet with a construction crew that stumbled upon something unique as they looked for their missing workers. They likely stumbled onto some ancient Roman structure from the tracings they provided. But I find it strange that there's something else I can't decipher. There are stories of the Ninth Legion of Rome disappearing. Maybe I'll get to solve that mystery.

"'Sept 10, 1905.

Our train was passing through a tunnel when a calamity hit us. I awoke to find myself alone, the train in shambles, from a direct collision with something. When I looked out, all I could see was a passage leading outside. If Marian is alive, I'm sure she would have headed that way."'

I flit through the moldy tome, finding unreadable text page after page. Only a few pages near that back have survived.

"'Sept or Oct?

How long have I been here? Hours? Days? Weeks? My sense of time has not been the same since I arrived. I haven't had any need to sleep, nor have I needed food or water. At first, I thought we both died, and this was our hell. But if that were the case, I shouldn't feel pain, should I?

There's been no sign of the workers, but I swear I've seen Marian. She's just out of sight, in every mirror and window. It's like she's looking for me as I look for her. However, each time I see her, it's as if she has grown older. I have to hurry.

Date unknown

To whomever is reading these pages. If you stumbled into this God-forsaken place. I ask that you take this cylinder with you. It is all we have left. If you somehow escape, bringing it out of this place will finally free us. Know this. Two enter, two must go.'"

I close the book, putting it back on the table. What the fuck is going on here? I look at the cylinder on the gramophone. Every fiber of my body tells me not to play it, but I have to know why he wants me to take it.

With a trembling hand, I put the needle onto the cylinder, and a man's voice starts to play. "Marian, can you hear me? If you can speak, please say something, anything." A muffled voice starts to play. I can't hear the words, and even if the voice is human, could it be this Marian woman? Could it be that woman in the mirror?

I stop the cylinder, pocketing it. I don't have a reason to care, but this place pulls at the heartstrings. I think back to when I got here; the thought of my brother getting trapped here weighs on me. But if that beast is still out there, the only way out is forward. Picking up the fire poker, I enter the locomotive's cabin. Turning back, "Please be ok, bro." I harden my resolve, closing the door, only for the ground to shake under my feet.

The front of the train lunges forward, throwing me over the railing. By the grace of god, my fingers grip the cowcatcher, saving me from the abyss. The fire poker slips through my grasp, allowing me to use both hands to try and pull myself to safety. However, another tremor rings through the tunnel, causing the train to cry in pain as it falls apart. Bolts burst, planting themselves into the stone like bullets.

With a metallic scream, the cowcatcher turns into a broken jaw, dangling from the face of the locomotive. My fingers tremble, fighting to save me, but the strain is too much. I let go, falling deeper into this hell. I close my eyes, praying that it's quick. A warmth engulfs me as the stench of garbage clogs my nose. I land with a thud, a pile of trash bags acting as my savor.

"What?" I look around, blinded by the humming of neon lights. Holding back a cautious laugh, I take the situation in. Am I really back? The stench of dive bar trash is now heavenly to my nose. Standing, I look around, unfamiliar with signs. With my head still throbbing from the fall, I walk carefully past the dumpsters and outer stairwells, hugging the worn brick walls.

However, no matter how far I walk, it doesn't change; it's just the same thing repeatedly. Falling to my knees, the hope of getting out turns to despair. A hand crushes my heart, zapping my will to go on. My head gets heavy, and I just want to die; falling onto my back, I look up to the sky, hope replaced with despair.

A chill dances along the ground, jabbing me like needles. In my misery, that damn fog crawls across the god-forsaken place, eating everything around me. I sit up, pulling my knees to my chin. The pit of my stomach is now a knot. This place is wrong, but here it feels worse. My toes hit something solid. Crawling on my hands and knees, the sight of a body makes my blood run cold.

I stand, the fog receding into the darkness, leaving bodies beyond counting in its wake. Fighting to breathe, I scour the area. Among the dead are Romans, Regulars from the revolutionary days, and workers from the Industrial Revolution. The scene is horrifying, yet there's a pattern. Most appear to have died crawling for something in the distance, many clutching simple ideas, like a cloth or piece of jewelry. Hastily walking through the street of corpses, fear pulls at my resolve. Will I end up like them, clawing for something that isn't there?

A rustling of trash pulls me from my thoughts; hidden among the trash, I find a shivering figure sitting in the garbage, his face hidden by his knees. He's old, with thinning hair on the verge of being bald and a skeletal frame barely able to hold his clothes up. As I approach, he curls himself tightly, his raggedy clothing familiar. Once I'm close enough, I kneel. "Brother?"

The old man looks up with familiar eyes. "No…nononono!" he grips his head, rolling on the ground like a child. "Why does the place torture me?" he yells. "Teasing me with a key!" he reels in pain, kicking anything near him. "He's not here, he's not here, he’s never here," my brother whimpers.

Unable to take it anymore, I force a hug. "I'm here, brother." rubbing his back, hoping to stop the tremors. He stops shaking, but his breathing is still rapid. "Brother, listen to me. We have to get out of here." I pick him up, horrified at how light he is. "We have the key. We can go home." The passages of the book flood back to me. "Two enter, two leave." Those words calm my brother; he touches my face, a broken smile escaping his lips.

"Brother, you are here." He laughs and cries in disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm here. Now, how do we…" Something grabs my leg. I pull it loose nearly dropping my brother. "What was that?" I lift my leg, a severed arm dangling from it. Kicking frantically to get it off, its owner crawling toward us, reaching with its stump. I step back, fear running through my body.

A few of them stand, their decaying features landing on us, not waiting for them to strike. I run like a madman, desperate to escape. "Brother, where is the way out?" I yell, avoiding another group of them that is trying to grab us.

He laughs, his mind shattered, "Down the street and to the right, up the stairs, turn left, not right. Blinding light in a gate, going alone, will seal your fate." He points to one of the zombies, shambling towards us. Following his instructions, I run down the road, take a right, climb some stairs, and then go left.

The neon light humbling deafens me as the moans of the dead. A Roman archway glows with a calming blue light, beckoning all towards it. The only way forward is a narrow stone bridge, barely able to allow one person to walk in a straight line. In the pools below, hordes of dead groan and cry, reaching for the bridge.

I look at my brother. He's getting worse. I have to get him out of here, but I'm terrified of falling. A rotting hand claws at the corner behind me, bringing a horde of flesh and bone. Swallowing my fear, I take my first step, focusing only on the arch ahead. "Don't look down, don't look down," I mutter, praying we are not being followed. The thud of the undead falling into the pit rings in my ears, but I can't look back. I have to get to that arch no matter the cost.

Bonely hands claw at my feet, trying to pull us into the abyss. But I soldier on, pushing through the horrors. The moans roar like waves on the ocean, threatening to engulf us in a sea of despair. Making it to the other side, a hand grabs my ankle, pulling me to the edge. I toss my brother so I don't land on him. As I'm pulled to the edge, I dig my fingers into the ground, desperate to free myself. Getting flipped over the sight looks like a last-stand scene from a Zombie movie.

I look at my jailer, finding what was once a woman in a grey suit. Her jaw is half hanging from her face, hidden among the few patches of hair still clinging to her hand. No matter how hard I try, she won't let go. Despite everything, there's a tinge of pity in my heart. She looks like the woman in the drawing.

My brother crawls to my aid, trying to rip the hand from my leg. Turning to me, his eyes full of tears, he mouths the words save yourself. The zombie goes for him, ready to drag him down with her, but I won't allow it. Kicking her head, she plummets below, joining the sea of flash. Picking my brother up, we hobble to the gate.

"Idiot," I look at him. He's getting worse by the second. "We entered this place together and have to leave together." Climbing the stairs, the warmth of the gate light feels like the sun's rays. "Nearly there, just hold on a little longer." I quicken my steps, the feeling of fatigue hitting me. Each step becomes a chore. But I can't stop, not when we're so close.

"Brother, we should've just gone home." He says, putting his bony hand on my cheek.

"I know." I keep walking, my strength fading with each step. "But I'm going to make this right." I try to reassure him, not knowing how this will play out. Just as I reach the gate, I look back one final time. The scene feels different, less like hell and more like purgatory. The dead are no longer demons but tortured souls looking for release. There's nothing I can do for them, so with one final step we enter the gate.

Direction, sensation, I can't tell which way is up or down. It's like being in the funnel of a twister. All you can do is hold on and pray. Closing my eyes, I think back to how this all started. If I'd just let things be, we wouldn't be here, and my brother wouldn't be this old man. Guilt is flooding my mind, but I promise I'll protect him. Even if he stays like this, I watch over him.

We're thrown to the ground, rolling in an alley, the stench of wings and stale beer hitting my nose, the sun's light breaking the skyline. I sit up, looking around. I'm parched and starving. I laugh to myself. We're home, looking down at my brother. His eyes are closed, with a smile, but he isn't moving. "Brother?" I shack him, but he doesn't move. My heart sinks like a stone. "No, no, no, no." This can't be happening. Picking him up, I run to the end of the alley, stopping at several armored men pointing their guns at us.

This city isn't our home. Towers bigger than anything I had ever seen scratch across the horizon, with vehicles flying through the air. Lights forming three-dimensional images dance to techno tunes I had never heard before. All hidden in a thick layer of smog.

Laser sights blind me, and I'm pelted by something that makes me sleepy. Falling to the ground, a man wearing an overcoat kneels beside me. "Well, well. It looks like we found another wayward." He turns to armored men. "Have them brought in. I want to question him about what they saw in there."

As the darkness takes me, I reach for my brother. But the darkness swallows me.