The rain drummed on the roof of the bus shelter, a dull, monotonous rhythm that only amplified the emptiness in Leo's head. Sitting on the cold metal bench, earbuds hanging limply around his neck, he stared at his soaked shoes. His untied laces dragged through a dirty puddle. He hadn't bothered tying them in weeks. What was the point? Everything he did always seemed to come undone—just like him.
Leo was sixteen, but he felt older. More worn-out. The insults, the laughter, the sideways glances—each had piled onto him like bricks on his back. And today had been worse than usual. After school, they'd waited for him by the lockers. Three of them, like always. Théo, the tall one with the twisted smile, had grabbed his bag and dumped it all over the hallway floor while the others snickered. His notebooks, pens, even the battered little journal he used to scribble in—everything was scattered and stomped on. Someone had filmed it. A girl had shouted, "Do a flip, clown!" and the hallway had erupted in laughter.
He had picked up his things in silence, his throat tight, his cheeks burning. He didn't cry. Not in front of them. But now, sitting alone beneath the empty shelter, the tears came freely, unstoppable. He wiped them away with a sleeve, but it was useless. They kept coming, over and over, like the rain.
He couldn't take it anymore. He saw no way out. In his pocket, his fingers brushed against the small pocketknife he'd taken from the kitchen drawer that morning. Not for self-defense—he didn't have that kind of courage. For something else. For an end. He'd decided on it when he came home, fists clenched, heart racing. Tonight, in his room, when his mother was asleep in front of the TV and silence had taken over the house. It would be quick. No more voices. No more waking up with that knot in his stomach.
Leo raised his head, eyes lost in the night. The streetlights flickered through the raindrops on the shelter's glass. He whispered to himself, barely audible.
"It's going to stop."
And then, everything changed.
A white flash tore across the sky—not lightning, not the kind from a storm. It was blinding, like the entire world had lit up in an instant. Leo blinked, disoriented. The sound of the rain vanished. The bench beneath him disappeared. He fell backward, breath knocked from his lungs, and landed on something dry and hard. Grass? No—dirt. A strange smell filled his nose, a mix of wood and dust.
He opened his eyes.
A clearing stretched around him, ringed by tall, unnaturally straight trees. The sky above was flat and grey—no stars, no clouds, no rain. No sound. Just an oppressive silence, pierced only by muffled cries and whispers. Leo sat up with a jolt, heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't alone.
Dozens of people—maybe a hundred—were scattered throughout the clearing. Some were slowly getting to their feet, dazed. Others were screaming, panicking. A man in gray clothes was stomping and shouting obscenities. A woman in the same gray outfit held herself tightly, eyes wide. A boy younger than Leo sat curled up on the ground, crying quietly. They all wore the same simple gray clothes, like prison uniforms. Leo looked down—so did he. His hoodie, his torn jeans, his earbuds—gone. Replaced by a rough sweater and loose pants.
"What the…" His voice trembled. He took a step back, tripped over a root, and fell again. Panic surged, quick and uncontrollable. Where was he? Was this a dream? A punishment? His hand shot to his pocket by reflex—but the knife was gone. Nothing remained. Just the scratchy gray fabric on his skin.
In the center of the clearing stood a stone altar, plain and unremarkable. Yet to Leo's eyes, it seemed to absorb the light, like a black hole in the middle of the chaos. He stared, unable to look away. Something in him—an instinct he didn't understand—told him that this object knew. That it had answers.
"Hey! Listen to me, please!" A loud voice cut through the panic. A muscular man in his thirties with a shaved head stood near the altar, raising his hands to calm the crowd. "My name's Marc. I don't know what the hell's going on, but we're all in this together. We need to stick together, alright? Does anyone know anything?"
No one responded. The murmurs resumed, more anxious than before. Leo got back to his feet, legs trembling. He didn't want to speak. He didn't want to be noticed. He stayed at the back, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like he always did at school: as an invisible spectator.
But then, two figures emerged from the woods—quiet but purposeful. A man and a woman, dressed in the same gray clothing, though theirs was worn, stained with dirt and dried blood. The man, older with hunched shoulders, carried a hand-carved wooden spear. The woman, slimmer, held a metal knife that faintly glinted. They didn't look lost.
They knew.
"Roy, a new group," the woman murmured, eyes scanning the crowd. "Right on time."
Roy nodded, his face tense. "Thirty days to the second. We've got a few minutes before it starts. We need to move them."
Anne gripped her knife, glancing toward the trees. "We can't leave them here. They'll be slaughtered."
Roy agreed, then stepped toward the center of the clearing, driving his spear into the ground to draw attention. "Listen to me!" he shouted, his raspy voice cutting through the noise. The crowd fell silent, half from curiosity, half from fear. "My name is Roy. This is Anne. We know where you are, and it's not a place you want to stay. In a few minutes, things will come out of those woods. Monsters. If you stay here, you die."
A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd. A man in a suit scoffed. "Monsters? Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of hidden camera show?"
Anne stepped forward, knife pointed at him. "You want to bet your life on that? We've been here for a month. If you want to live—run. Now. Hide in the woods. Find a tree, a bush, anything. Just go!"
Leo, still at the back, watched silently. He didn't know whether to believe them. They seemed serious, but all of this felt unreal. Still, their worn clothes, their weapons, their eyes—they weren't like the others. They had survived something.
A sturdy man in his thirties with a shaved head stepped toward Roy. "I'm Marc. Let's say you're telling the truth. Why should we trust you? And what's that rock?"
Roy didn't answer immediately. He stared Marc in the eyes, face grim.
"That 'rock' is the only thing here that can help you survive," he said finally. "You place your hand on it, and it tells you. Not with words. With numbers. With points. Two stats. Body. Mind."
Anne cut in, urgency in her voice. "But there's no time for a lesson. What you need to know is this world has rules. And the first one is: if you stay here, you die."
Marc folded his arms, skeptical. "And you two? You're not hiding?"
Roy shook his head. "We leave in one minute. But if we don't warn you, none of you will survive."
A woman in the crowd timidly raised her hand. "Are… are there really going to be monsters?"
"In less than three minutes," Anne replied. "They'll come from the woods. They run fast. They kill faster. They don't think. And you're all unarmed."
Roy slammed his spear into the earth. "We can't protect you. We're not Aaron. We're not fast enough, or strong enough. We're not here to save you. We're here to warn you. That's all we can do."
Marc froze for a moment. Then slowly approached the altar. He placed his hand on it. His eyes widened.
"…I see something. Body: zero. Points: one hundred."
"There you go," Roy said. "Use them. You can buy a knife, a rope, a tool, food… But only here. And once you've got it—run. Into the forest. Disappear."
"Disappear? You're saying we should just get more lost?"
"Yes," Anne answered flatly. "It's better than getting butchered here, out in the open."
People began to move. A trembling teenager stepped up to the altar. Then a woman. Then two more. Each placed their hand, read what appeared, hesitated.
From the back, someone shouted, "What do we do after? Where do we go? What is this place?!"
Roy was already retreating toward the trees. "You survive. That's all we can tell you."
Anne added sharply, "This world owes you nothing. But if you're still alive tomorrow—come back here." She paused, her eyes sweeping across the crowd. "We'll do what we can to help then. It'll be safer. But not now."
Silence.
No applause.No thanks.Just lost eyes. Some frightened. Some mocking.
Roy nodded one last time. "Survive the night. That's all we ask."
Then, to Anne, in a low voice: "It's done. Let's go."
They turned without another word, their silhouettes disappearing swiftly into the trees. The crowd stood frozen for a moment, the weight of their warning not yet fully sinking in. Then chaos returned. Some rushed to the altar, hands trembling on the cold stone, while others—disbelieving or paralyzed—stood motionless, staring at the woods.
Leo, still watching from the back, felt his heart pound in his chest. Roy and Anne's words echoed in his mind: If you stay here, you die. He didn't know if he believed them. The clearing, the gray clothes, the altar—it was all too absurd, too far from the bus shelter where he had been crying just minutes ago. And yet, something in their voices, a raw urgency, shook him. They didn't sound like liars. They sounded… tired.
Marc turned toward those gathered at the altar. "Okay, let's say they're right. What now? We buy stuff with these… points?" He punched the stone, frowning as he explored the invisible interface. "Stone knife, 15 points. Wooden spear, 25. What is this madness?"
A woman nodded shakily. "I chose a knife. It… it appeared in my hand." She held up a crude blade, carved from black stone, her fingers clenched around the handle. "But I don't even know how to use it!"
"Then learn fast," muttered a man next to her, already walking toward the trees, a rope slung over his shoulder. "I'm outta here."
Leo felt his legs move almost on their own. Drawn by a strange mix of despair and curiosity, he approached the altar. The others didn't stop him, too busy panicking or choosing their own items. He placed his hand on the stone. It was cold, almost humming, and a wave of numbers surged into his mind:
BODY: 0MIND: 0POINTS: 100Countdown: 29:23:47:12
A countdown. Thirty days, minus a few minutes already passed. A mental search bar appeared. He thought: knife. Stone knife: 15 points. He hesitated—then confirmed. A strange sensation ran through his hand—a sudden weight, a rough texture. He looked down. A stone knife rested in his palm. Primitive, but sharp. He gripped it, trembling fingers adjusting to the feel.
A low rumble echoed from the woods. Quiet, but distinct. The murmurs died instantly. Heads turned. Leo felt his stomach twist. The trees trembled slightly, as if something stirred in the darkness.
"They're coming!" cried a voice—Anne's—already halfway to the trees.
Panic erupted. Those who had listened to Roy and Anne sprinted in all directions, stumbling over roots, vanishing into the foliage. Others, like Marc, still hesitated, fists clenched.
Leo stepped back from the altar, knife in hand. He didn't know where to go, but staying here, exposed, suddenly seemed unbearable. He cast one last look at the clearing—the screams, the running silhouettes, the silent altar like a judging monument—then dove into the woods.
Branches lashed his face as he pushed into the darkness. His lungs burned, legs screamed, but he didn't stop. He ran, driven by a primal fear he had never known. Behind him, the rumbling grew louder, joined by howls. He didn't look back. He didn't want to see.
After what felt like an eternity, he collapsed behind a massive tree, gasping for breath. Silence returned, broken only by his ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart. He clutched the knife, knuckles white. The screams from the clearing had stopped, replaced by sounds he didn't want to identify—cracking, growling, wet, horrible noises.
He shut his eyes, trying to breathe. Survive the night, Roy had said. But how? He had never been a fighter. At school, he kept his head down, took the hits, disappeared. And now, in this world, what was he supposed to do? Fight monsters?
He opened his eyes and stared at the knife. Maybe he could still use it the way he'd planned—not against the creatures, but against himself. A quick end, like at the bus shelter.
But something stopped him. A voice—Anne's—echoed in his mind: If you're still alive tomorrow… come back here.Tomorrow. A next day. He'd never really thought about that before. Every day at school had felt like a repeat of the last, a march toward nothing. But here, tomorrow meant something. Surviving. Seeing Roy and Anne again. Maybe understanding.
A twig snapped nearby. Leo froze, holding his breath. A shadow moved between the trees—tall, misshapen, its head swaying through the dark. It paused, growled, then slowly walked away, claws scraping the dirt.
Leo didn't move for long minutes. Only when silence returned completely did he slump against the trunk, trembling, the knife still gripped tightly. He didn't know how long he'd last, or even if he truly wanted to. But for now—he was alive.
And that was already more than he had hoped for beneath that bus shelter.