The first sign wasn't the sound. It was the light.
Neon City had always burned bright, like someone had set the future on fire and forgotten to put it out. The skyline shimmered with colors that didn't exist anywhere else—vibrant violets, haunting teals, reds that pulsed like arteries. Every building flashed, blinked, or shimmered under the constant hum of artificial daylight. It was the city that never turned off.
Allen Harth sat in the third row from the back in his high school physics class, absently sketching the outline of a broken watch on the corner of his notebook. He had a habit of drawing shattered things. He didn't know why. Maybe it was the way time always seemed to move too fast here. Or maybe it was the way everything around him looked perfect but felt ready to fall apart.
"Allen, are you with us?" Mr. Dekker asked from the front, snapping his fingers.
Allen blinked. "Yeah—sorry. Just thinking."
The teacher gave a tired nod and turned back to the equations scrawled across the screen. Outside, the clouds had begun to gather strangely. Thick. Low. Not like rain. Like steam.
Then came the light.
It rose beyond the western towers—a blinding flash that didn't flicker like neon or glow like sunlight. It exploded. A white-hot burst followed by a violent red halo that turned the entire sky the color of fresh blood.
Students screamed. Someone dropped their tablet. Allen stood slowly, breath caught in his throat. Through the window, a distant column of fire rose like a titan from the earth, miles away, but growing.
Then came the sound.
It didn't crash so much as consume—a deep, thunderous roar that vibrated through the bones of the building. The windows didn't shatter. They melted. The walls cracked. Lights burst.
A second later, the shockwave hit.
Desks were lifted. Allen slammed against the floor, gasping as dust and glass rained from the ceiling. He could hear alarms—fire, biohazard, evacuation tones blaring in overlapping chaos.
A girl screamed, "It's a bomb! It's a bomb!"
"No, it's not," Allen muttered, crawling toward the doorway. "It's worse."
Here's the same cliffhanger scene rewritten from your (Allen's) point of view, deepening the emotional intensity and sense of dread. Word count: ~700 words.
Allen's POV
The smoke didn't rise. It slithered—thick and gray, curling through the blown-out windows like it had a mind of its own. Every breath I took felt heavy. Tainted. It burned my lungs and clung to my skin like something alive.
We moved fast, but not fast enough. My sneakers slid over shattered glass and blood-smudged tile. Kayla was ahead, pulling me by the wrist, her hoodie pressed to her mouth. Minh trailed behind us, sketchpad still clutched against his chest like it might shield him from whatever came next.
"We have to get to the gym," Kayla gasped. "It's the only place left with lockdown walls."
I nodded, too winded to speak. The building groaned above us, like it knew it was dying. Like it wanted us to hear it fall apart.
We turned into the stairwell—then Minh froze.
"What's that?" he whispered, eyes wide.
At the bottom of the stairs, something moved.
No. Twitched.
I wanted to believe it was just another student, injured, dazed—but it was wrong. Its joints jerked unnaturally, like it was learning how to walk all over again. Its head turned, too slow. Too deliberate.
And then it saw us.
Its face—half peeled away—revealed flashes of silver. Metal. Tubes. Wires. Like someone had stitched machinery beneath its flesh. Its eyes weren't human anymore. They glowed with something cold and dead.
It opened its mouth, and a voice spilled out. Not its own.
"Neon... burns..."
It charged.
Kayla screamed. Minh panicked and threw his sketchpad, which barely slowed it down.
I didn't think—I *reac
The smoke didn't rise. It slithered—thick and gray, curling through the blown-out windows like it had a mind of its own. Every breath I took felt heavy. Tainted. It burned my lungs and clung to my skin like something alive.
We moved fast, but not fast enough. My sneakers slid over shattered glass and blood-smudged tile. Kayla was ahead, pulling me by the wrist, her hoodie pressed to her mouth. Minh trailed behind us, sketchpad still clutched against his chest like it might shield him from whatever came next.
"We have to get to the gym," Kayla gasped. "It's the only place left with lockdown walls."
I nodded, too winded to speak. The building groaned above us, like it knew it was dying. Like it wanted us to hear it fall apart.
We turned into the stairwell—then Minh froze.
"What's that?" he whispered, eyes wide.
At the bottom of the stairs, something moved.
No. Twitched.
I wanted to believe it was just another student, injured, dazed—but it was wrong. Its joints jerked unnaturally, like it was learning how to walk all over again. Its head turned, too slow. Too deliberate.
And then it saw us.
Its face—half peeled away—revealed flashes of silver. Metal. Tubes. Wires. Like someone had stitched machinery beneath its flesh. Its eyes weren't human anymore. They glowed with something cold and dead.
It opened its mouth, and a voice spilled out. Not its own.
"Neon... burns..."
It charged.
Kayla screamed. Minh panicked and threw his sketchpad, which barely slowed it down.
I didn't think—I reacted. I yanked the fire extinguisher from the wall and slammed it into the thing's shoulder. It staggered back with a sickening crack. Not bone. Metal.
"Run!" I shouted.
We ran.
I didn't look back. I couldn't. Every instinct screamed that if I did, I'd never stop running.
The gym doors loomed ahead. I kicked them open, and we crashed inside. Kayla threw the bar down behind us. It locked with a hollow, echoing click.
We collapsed onto the floor, panting, shaking. My heart thundered like it wanted to shatter my ribs.
Then—footsteps.
Not ours.
I stood first.
At the far end of the gym, someone emerged from the shadows behind the stacked bleachers. A boy. Around my age. Drenched in red light, the glow coming from his backpack—no, something inside it. His eyes shimmered faintly, like they held a reflection of the blast still haunting the sky.
"Who are you?" Kayla asked.
The boy didn't look at her.
He looked at me.
And smiled.
You know the kind of smile that isn't friendly? The kind that knows something you don't? That's what it was.
"You should never have opened the labs," he said. His voice was too calm. "You let it out."
My blood ran cold. "What do you mean let it out? What was that explosion?"
He tilted his head, like it was a question with an obvious answer.
"It wasn't an explosion. It was a birth."
Then came the sound. From outside.
Scraping.
Hundreds of claws dragging along metal. Nails. Tools. Teeth. The gym doors rattled. Bent inward.
Kayla backed up.
Minh grabbed my arm. His fingers were shaking.
I turned back to the boy.
"What's coming?"
He looked at the doors.
Then back at me.
"Not what. Who."
The lights above us flickered.
The bar across the doors creaked.
They began to split open—inch by inch—forced by something stronger than any of us.
And that's when the screaming started.
Not from outside.
From inside.
Inside me.
Like something had been planted there, growing quietly all along.
And now?
Now it was waking up.
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