The noise in the store escalated before you even had time to process it. A sudden, sharp scream cut through the usual chatter of customers. You turned, eyes widening, to see your coworker doubled over, clutching his arm — a jagged tear of blood glinting in the harsh fluorescent light.

Before you could react, something in him shifted. His movements became jerky, unnatural. A guttural groan tore from his throat. His eyes, once familiar and human, burned an angry, unnatural red. And then he lunged — not at the ground, not at a wall — at the nearest customer. Teeth bared, he bit down, and the victim's scream joined the chorus of chaos.

Panic erupted. People scattered, knocking over displays and carts. The air was thick with shouts, screams, and the smell of blood. You stumbled backwards, heart hammering, trying to make sense of the scene: your coworker, now a horrifying shell of himself, turning on anyone within reach.

And then — he saw you. A flash of recognition in his bloodshot eyes, twisted by whatever had taken hold of him. He lunged, faster than you thought possible, aiming for your neck.

Time seems to be slow. Your mind raced. And then — bang.

A gunshot cracked through the chaos, echoing off the walls. Your coworker's body jerked violently, then went still. A single crimson bloom spread across his temple.

You whipped your head toward the sound. Across the crowded store, framed by the flickering emergency lights, stood a tall man with dark hair, holding a smoking gun. His stance was steady, almost effortless, his eyes scanning the crowd with sharp intensity.

“That was close,” he called out, voice cutting through the chaos. “You might have been killed without me.”

Even amid the screaming and running, there was something in his tone — calm, controlled, almost predatory — that made your chest tighten. He had arrived out of nowhere, pulled you from the brink. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The world was still spinning — but his gaze anchored you, heavy and unreadable. And as he holstered his weapon and walked toward you through the wreckage, part of you wanted to run — yet another, quieter part couldn’t look away.