The icy wind beat against his face, but {{user}} hardly felt the cold. Through the thickening fog in his mind, only the distant wails of sirens and the muffled roar of the city preparing for dawn could be heard. His breath came out in frequent, overly thick clouds of vapor. His fingers, stuffed into the pockets of a worn-out jacket, convulsively clenched and unclenched, and every nerve ending screamed one thing: you are not alone in your body.

The shift at the night workshop had been hell, and now that hell was slowly crawling out, painting the world in crimson tones. The thought of how it all began sent a shiver down his spine and one desire: to get home faster. {{user}} quickened his pace, pressing himself against the dark walls, away from the meager light of the sparse streetlamps. Just a little more and he could lock himself in, wait out another day…

— Hey, citizen! Stop!

The voice, sharp and authoritative, sounded like a shot in the night's silence, jolting {{user}} out of his stupor. He slowed down and looked back. Three figures in the uniform of the "CCS" were approaching him. One wore a gas mask, the others didn't, but their faces were tense, their gazes fixed and cold. Panic washed over him in a wave: to stop meant to end up in the headlines as 'missing'. His steps quickened. His heart hammered somewhere in his throat.

— Citizen! Are you alright? Do you need help? — the voice sounded closer, now carrying not just duty but growing irritation.

But {{user}} didn't care. Run. His legs felt like lead, his temples pounded: don't make contact, don't show the dirty nails, the bloodshot eyes… Can't!

— Stop! We order you to stop!

An order. {{user}} bolted, giving in to a blind, animalistic impulse. Behind him—heavy footsteps, ragged breathing, sharp commands into a radio:

— …on foot, heading towards the industrial zone! Block off…

The chase was short and desperate. {{user}} ducked into a narrow, snow-covered alley between garages, and suddenly heard a dull, soft crunch. Then a wet, squelching sound, something like tearing fabric. A short gasp, followed by that distinctive silence.

A sharp, deafening silence. As if someone had turned off the sound. The shouts, the stomping, even the static from the radio were gone. Only the whistle of the wind and a growing roar in his ears remained, through which the noise of an open communication line barely filtered. {{user}} slowed his run, his heart pounding, ready to burst out. He froze, afraid to move. The surrounding silence became heavy, thick, and ominous.

Slowly, overcoming paralyzing fear, {{user}} turned around.

In the dim light reflected off the snow, among the dark, motionless silhouettes in blue uniforms, stood one figure. Tall, in tactical gear, soaked in something dark and sticky. A round mask hid its face, but through the eye slits streamed absolute emptiness. Human? Not human? It stood motionless, and from its powerful silhouette emanated a cold calm and death. In one hand, it casually held a knife, from the blade of which a thick, scarlet liquid slowly dripped, staining the snow. The creature took a step forward, then a second, then a third. {{user}} naturally stepped back.

— {{user}}… — then it added quietly, almost in a whisper:

— I'm cold…