The underground subway smelled of damp concrete, rusted rails, and old blood. The air was thick and unbreathable, as if grief itself had taken residence below ground.
Lena gripped the iron pipe tighter, her hands shaking. The echoes of groans reverberated through the tunnels, growing louder with each step her group took. George scanned the corridor with a flashlight, Nancy kept close to Tommy, and Messy barely held her panic behind determined eyes.
Suddenly, everything fell silent.
A tall figure emerged from the shadows—staggering, slow, yet terrifyingly focused.
His skin was pale and grey, veins blackened beneath it. Dried blood clung to his torn lab coat, the name tag Dr. Ethan Graye still attached.
Lena's heart stopped.
Her knees almost gave in.
"E-Ethan…" she whispered.
He raised his head at the sound of her voice. His eyes—clouded, hollow—locked onto her. For a moment, time froze.
Then he roared.
Not at her, but at the others.
In an instant, chaos broke out. Ethan lunged toward George, smashing him against the tunnel wall. Nancy screamed, shielding Tommy. Messy tried to stab Ethan with a metal rod, but he flung her aside effortlessly.
Lena ran forward. "Stop! Stop, please!"
She stepped in front of him, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with a strange mix of fear and hope.
And Ethan… stopped.
He trembled. His breath rasped heavily.
His hands, soaked in blood, twitched like they wanted to hold something.
His rotting lips parted as though trying to speak.
A tear slipped from his dead eyes.
"Ethan?" she asked again, softer this time.
Her voice shook, not from fear now, but from something deeper. "Do you… remember me?"
He didn't speak. But he didn't attack her.
His snarls died in his throat, and instead, he stared at her with a tortured soul—one caught between what he was and who he used to be.
The others were stunned. George had a cut on his arm, Messy limped, Nancy held Tommy tight.
"Go," Lena said without looking at them. "Get out. Find the army camp."
"No," George snapped. "We don't leave you here!"
"You have to."
Her voice was iron. Her eyes didn't move from Ethan.
"I can't risk him hurting any of you again. Please… let me do this."
They hesitated, then slowly, one by one, backed away, disappearing into the shadows of the subway.
Now, only Lena and Ethan remained.
The flickering overhead lights bathed them in alternating light and darkness.
He knelt down, as though exhausted.
Lena moved closer, tears streaming silently down her face. She knelt too, inches from the monster who was once the man she loved.
"You didn't forget me… did you?" she whispered.
He stared at her—silent, but not empty.
And though he didn't answer, his hand twitched toward her, not with violence—but longing.
Lena placed her hand near his, not touching, but close enough to feel the chill of his skin.
"I'll find a way," she said. "I'll fix this… even if you're gone, your heart isn't."
And somewhere deep in his decayed chest, something responded. Something mourned. Something loved.
The darkness didn't feel so empty anymore.