ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ: ἈΠΟΚΆΛΥΨΙΣ

𝟏𝟎

The nightmare felt more like a night terror, an excruciating ordeal that seemed to stretch time and space beyond their limits. The pain in my head was so intense it felt as if my skull might crack open from the pressure. 

Every effort to wake up was futile; I tried to scream for help, but my voice was swallowed by the oppressive silence. My mind raced, desperate for escape, yet no one came to my aid. I was lying on my back, immobilized by a suffocating sense of dread.

A faint, persistent ringing sound cut through the near-absolute quiet of the space. It was almost as if the ringing was echoing from somewhere deep within me, amplifying the agony. I blinked my eyes twice, trying to clear my blurred vision. The room began to come into focus, revealing a disorienting and unsettling scene.

I was lying on the floor, which was covered in a thin layer of water, only a few inches deep. The water was eerily still, not enough to pose a drowning threat, but its presence was unsettling. Strangely, despite the water surrounding me, my clothes and hair remained completely dry, adding to the surreal nature of the scene.

In the middle of the dimly lit room stood a lone chair. Its presence was stark against the otherwise empty space. No one was seated in it, but blood dripped steadily from the chair's seat, forming a macabre pattern as it fell into the water below. 

The once-clear water was rapidly tainted, turning a deep, unsettling red that spread outwards, distorting the reflections and making the scene all the more nightmarish.

The sight of the chair, blood-stained and isolated, and the ominous, quiet drip-drip-drip of blood into the water created a haunting tableau. The room's dim lighting cast long, eerie shadows, making the whole scene feel even more surreal and menacing. I could hardly process what was happening, the overwhelming sense of dread and the echoing pain making it difficult to think clearly. 

The nightmare had become a living, breathing entity of fear and confusion, leaving me trapped in its clutches.

Where am I?

In my panic, I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing as the floor's dampness beneath me became more apparent. It was only then that I noticed the strange sensation of being barefoot, my previously comfortable shoes nowhere to be seen. 

I was now clad in a stark white jumpsuit, the fabric clinging to my skin in an unfamiliar way. The stark contrast of the white against my skin felt jarring, as though I had been thrust into a new, unsettling reality.

As I stood there, my attention was drawn to a peculiar detail on my left leg. A black crow was tattooed onto my skin, its dark form standing out against my pale complexion. The tattoo was intricate and detailed, its sharp lines and shading sharply contrasting with the smoothness of my skin. I had never had a tattoo before, and its sudden appearance was both puzzling and unsettling. 

The crow seemed to watch me with an inscrutable gaze, adding to my growing sense of dread.

My fingers, once warm and vibrant, now appeared pale and ashy. The change in color was stark as if my entire being had been stripped of its familiar warmth and vitality. The ashy tone of my skin gave me an eerie, ghostly appearance, making me feel like an imposter in my own body. The contrast between the pale fingers and the vibrant white jumpsuit was jarring, emphasizing the surreal and disturbing nature of my situation.

"Hello?" I shouted into the oppressive silence, but my voice was swallowed by the emptiness. No response came back, just the haunting echo of my own words.

The faint, insistent ringing began again, growing louder and more piercing. I clutched my head, the pain intensifying as it seemed to reverberate within my skull. Through the agonizing haze, flashes of faces and moments from my past flickered before me—images of those I had lost and loved. My mom, my little brother, and Ms. Oli appeared like ghostly apparitions, their faces etched with sorrow.

"M-mom?" I managed to choke out. The sight that greeted me was horrifying.

My mother stood there, her dress drenched in blood, and a gruesome piece of her scalp hung loosely from her head. Her once-smooth cocoa skin was now charred and burned, resembling toast that had been left too long in the fire. The sight of her was so disturbing that it took all my strength to keep from collapsing.

"Save us. Save us. Save us," she repeated in a monotonous, robotic tone as if her words were part of a pre-recorded message. She moved closer to me, each step causing pieces of her burnt skin to flake off and fall to the floor. 

Overcome with a wave of nausea, I fell to my knees, my body heaving in dry retches. I looked up at her, my heart pounding, only to find her eyes devoid of any emotion—cold, empty voids that seemed to reflect nothing but despair.

"W-what do I—I do?" I choked out, my voice trembling with fear and helplessness. My mother advanced, and the stench of decay became overpowering. I gagged, fighting the urge to vomit as the noxious odor assaulted my senses.

"Kill them all. We want peace. Kill them all," she intoned, her voice unchanging and eerily calm. The words were like a mantra, an unrelenting command that filled the room with a sense of impending doom. The repetition of her chilling directive, coupled with her grotesque appearance, made the entire scene feel like a twisted nightmare from which I couldn't awaken.

"Kill them all. We want peace. Kill them all,"