I could still hear the annoying sound of the gate closing behind us, cutting through the cold air of the tunnel and leaving only the mechanical noise of the machines and the murmur of voices coming from all sides.
The underground city, the so-called Final Line, stretched beneath our feet like a living maze.
Pale lights illuminated the narrow streets.
On one side, people arguing; on the other, tired laughter; hurried footsteps, metal creaking, someone cursing in the distance. All of it was an absurd contrast to the rotten silence and chaos outside those doors.
If I ignored the ceiling and the walls that looked like part of a gigantic organism, I could almost pretend this was… civilization.
A place far from colossal creatures, stairways covered in bodies, and the refugees at the station.
Almost.
For a while, no one said anything. It was like everyone was leaving the weight of the outside world… outside.
But it didn't last.
Mei walked ahead, face closed off, iron bar strapped to her back. Right behind her came the thin old man, the mocking guy, and the strong woman.
I was the stranger in the middle, the extra weight and walking problem.
"So…"
The voice of the man holding my arm broke the silence.
"What's your name again, outsider?"
I swallowed hard; I could hear the mockery in his tone.
"I… I already told you, I don't remember."
They laughed. The man who'd spoken spat on the floor.
"Of course you don't remember… no one remembers after a bath of faith."
The thin old man looked at him and rolled his eyes.
"Enough, Raul," he grumbled, then turned to me with a half-smile. "Don't mind him. Down here, laughing is the only thing that still makes us feel like we're alive."
Mei spoke without looking back:
"He'll remember… the Counselor always finds a way."
That made me more nervous than relieved.
Counselor? Like an executioner? Are they going to torture me?
Raul laughed again, obvious malice in his voice.
"Yeah… the old man has his methods. And trust me… you will remember everything. Whether you want to or not."
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Shit, I am going to be tortured.
If I could, I would've already bolted.
The thin old man walking at my side seemed to notice my legs shaking and tried to ease the tension. He looked less paranoid in here. Maybe the fleshy ceiling and the noise of this place were the closest thing to safety he had.
"I'm Josh," he said, holding out his hand. "Or whatever's left of him."
I hesitated, but shook his hand in silence.
Should I just make up a name?
His hand was rough and bony. It felt like I was holding bone and nothing else.
"You really don't remember anything?"
"Nothing… just what I saw out there and told you."
Josh nodded slowly, and I couldn't tell if he believed me.
"Then maybe that's for the best," he muttered, scratching his gray goatee, thoughtful. "Maybe you can start over here… at least try. Out there it's just misery and rotten flesh. Here… at least we have a roof."
I glanced up.
The pulsing ceiling, with its veins and muscle, looked like it was staring back.
"This place… is it safe?"
Josh gave a low chuckle.
"Safe? No one is safe anywhere. But… this is the closest we've gotten since the end. And that…"
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling.
"That hasn't hurt us… at least not in the last thirty-nine years since they built this shelter."
It did seem true.
People passed by us without much worry: some wrapped in cloth, others with prosthetics that creaked like old bones, but none of them looked panicked.
Unlike the refugees on the platform, no one here seemed afraid of living inside a place made of flesh.
Raul overheard, snorted, and complained:
"This 'end of the world' talk is church nonsense. The world ended when they started preaching that flesh was sacred."
"Not everyone in the church believed that," Josh replied quietly. "But I agree on one thing: 'humanity' doesn't mean anything to them anymore."
I looked at him, confused.
"What do you mean?"
Josh stared at me with those hollow, tired eyes.
"Surviving, kid… that's it. That's the most you can do. And that's already enough to call it a miracle."
He scratched his chin again and went on:
"Since you don't remember anything, let me give you the basics… This place is one of the Order's cities. The Order of the Three Fears was born when the world still made… some kind of sense."
He frowned, stuck in some memory.
"Or at least when it wasn't as broken as it is now. When everything collapsed, scientists, doctors, soldiers, and whoever was left got together to try to control the chaos. They tried to make sure at least a piece of humanity survived."
"And did they?"
He laughed, humorless.
"Depends on what you call success."
He made a broad gesture, indicating the crowded street full of metal and flesh.
"This here is one of the results."
I couldn't help thinking about the refugees outside.
"At least… they look like they're surviving better."
Raul sliced through my sentence with venom in his voice:
"Believers, all of you…"
He spat again before continuing:
"Damn fools who only comfort and never do a thing."
The strong woman shot him a look that could kill, but stayed silent. Mei didn't react either; it was like she existed on a different axis, focused only on moving forward.
Josh sighed before continuing, murmuring, exhausted:
"'Surviving in…' That's exactly what the Order is now. After the great purge, the survivors learned to fear three things above all else: faith, reason, and sound."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what I said…" he replied. "Living in fear of those things. The people down here don't believe in explanations anymore. They don't want to understand. They just… they just want to be alive tomorrow. Our group is simple: we only want to survive. We don't ask for more than that."
He looked even more drained after saying it.
The others went quiet. No one disagreed.
We turned a corner.
That's when I saw a different kind of building: a huge, metallic hangar, unlike anything around it.
No patchwork, no improvised look. Smooth lines and white lights. It looked… modern. Almost too clean for this world.
Josh leaned closer and whispered:
"That's one of the Order's cores in the city. Where the Counselor lives. The Master of the Third Fear…"
He gave me a serious look before continuing:
"He's the one who decides who lives… and who gets sacrificed for the greater good."
My executioner lives pretty well…
As we got closer, I saw someone standing at the entrance.
An old man, almost fragile.
His back was a little hunched, his face covered in deep wrinkles, and his eyes… his eyes looked straight through skin, bone, and soul.
He didn't wait for us to reach him.
He walked toward us with firm steps and stopped less than a hand's width in front of me. He scanned me from head to toe faster than someone that old should be able to.
What is this guy, a hundred years old?
If it weren't for his heavy breathing, I'd swear he wasn't human, just a fossil.
He didn't greet anyone.
After a few seconds of silence, he simply nodded, as if he'd confirmed something only he understood, and said:
"Follow me."
Everyone stepped forward, but the old man raised a hand and added, emotionless:
"No. Just him."
Mei immediately stepped ahead.
"That's not a good idea."
"I didn't ask for your opinion, Captain," the old man replied dryly, and the others hesitated.
Mei clenched her fists, swallowing whatever she wanted to say. She threw me a short, almost murderous look.
What did I do?
Before I could react, I felt another shove between my shoulder blades.
I sighed, defeated, and followed the old man.
The inside of the hangar was… another world.
I expected machines, tubes, cold lights, some kind of bizarre lab — but I was completely wrong.
What I found was wood.
The floor was clean wood. The walls were covered with framed maps, paintings, and old photographs. The air smelled like freshly brewed tea.
In one corner sat a dusty piano; in another, a bookshelf filled with books burnt around the edges.
There was even a fake window painted with a green field under a blue sky. It looked like someone had drawn a memory of home from imagination.
Why… does this feel so familiar?
A dry cough pulled me out of it.
The old man was now seated behind a dark wooden desk and, in front of him, a single black notebook with purplish edges.
"Sit."
He pointed at the chair.
The chair was cushioned… uncomfortably comfortable, the kind that makes you remember how long you've spent sitting on hard floors.
He stared at me with those deep, dark eyes.
The silence that followed made me more nervous than when I'd arrived there; I could hear my own heartbeat.
I opened my mouth to speak… but nothing came out.
The old man smiled, calm.
"I know… you're not from here."
His low voice was gentle.
He opened the notebook, flipped through a few pages… but didn't write anything. He just kept talking:
"And you don't remember your name either, do you?"
I nodded.
Is this old man psychic or what?
"I don't remember… I swear I don't."
"The ones outside probably didn't believe you," he said with a soft laugh, leaning back in his chair. "But I do."
He watched me in silence for a few moments, like he was trying to assemble broken memories inside his own head.
Then he rested his hands on the notebook and smiled.
"It's not good to walk around without a name. That draws attention," he commented casually, as if talking about the weather. "How about… Noah?"
The word hit something inside my mind.
Noah…
It felt… right.
Familiar.
I went quiet, feeling the name reverberate inside me.
He waited a moment and, since I didn't protest, concluded, satisfied:
"Then it's settled. You'll be Noah."
He sighed, his gaze drifting to the fake window. For a moment, he looked like he truly wished he were there.
"You must have a lot of questions…"
He paused, then added: "I'll make an exception and answer a few."
I have dozens.
Where did I come from? Do you know me?
What is this world?
Why… why do I feel like I fit into this madness?
But nothing came out.
"You must be confused…" he added, reading my silence. "Everyone is. It's normal."
His voice was calm, but each word carried years of weight.
"Memory is a luxury few still have… sometimes it protects… sometimes it condemns."
That didn't sound like it was meant only for me.
I couldn't help glancing around again.
The room was so… peaceful it bordered on cruel. A bad joke planted in the middle of hell.
"You… knew I was coming?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He laughed softly, the sound scratching his dry throat.
"I didn't know… but I felt it."
His thin fingers drummed lightly on the notebook.
"People like you leave marks… traces that neither time nor flesh can erase."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
"But before anything else, I need to understand one thing… When you saw the Risonte… what else did you see?"
The creature's name made my stomach drop.
I remembered the distorted sound and that smell of old blood.
"A shadow…"
I answered, practically whispering. "Several, actually… they looked like… people."
The old man didn't react right away. He ran his finger slowly over the notebook cover, as if tracing something invisible.
"So we're already at that point…" he murmured, tired.
I swallowed hard before asking:
"What is that thing?… They called it Risonte."
"A scar on the world," he answered at once. "Risonte to the Order… Sinalor to the Anatomists… Mother-Pulse to the cult… Many names, and everyone thinks they understand it, but the truth is they just want their delusions to rank higher than the others."
He smiled without humor.
"In the end, it's just a reminder. A reminder that humanity is condemned."
His words were ominous.
"The Order… what do you really do here?"
He turned his full gaze back on me.
"The Order…" He let out a short, mocking laugh. "We're what's left of the part of humanity that refused to go insane… or at least pretended not to."
He adjusted himself in the chair.
"We divided fear like bread… The First Fear was meant to lead the combat units. Specialist in evasion tactics against the Flesh."
He grimaced, as if recalling something unpleasant.
"Now he's probably drunk in some brothel in the city."
The contempt was so clear you could almost touch it.
"The Second Fear…" His voice shifted — for a moment, the energy drained out of him. "She was the commander of the scouts and silencers. The best of us… but she's not here anymore."
"And finally, me…"
The active old man turned into someone far too tired to keep up the posture.
"The Third Fear. The Counselor."
He said his own title like it was a joke.
"Unlike the Church of Flesh and the Anatomists, most of us were civilians… common people. We didn't agree with the madness of the church — or the insane ideas of those scientists."
I frowned.
He noticed and chuckled.
"I keep forgetting you don't have your memories… The church, or rather, the Cult of Flesh, believes humanity is a fragmentation mistake. That every human being is an isolated piece of the original entity… the Origin…"
He tilted his head slightly and kept going:
"That thing you saw out there, the Risonte? To them, it's a Herald… the announcement of their god."
He stood up, took the notebook with him, walked over to a sideboard, and poured tea into two cups. The smell was light, almost too normal for such a tense conversation.
Coming back to the table, he set a cup in front of me before sitting again.
"In short… they're a plague."
"As for the Anatomists… you don't need to know about them yet."
He looked at the fake window again, with a strange, heavy kind of sorrow.
"What kind of twisted world is this…" I muttered more to myself than to him.
The old man looked back at me.
"You'll understand soon enough, Noah… very soon."
He took a sip of tea and drew a long breath.
"The world died when everyone stopped fearing… and we… we're what's left of fear."
For a moment, he seemed smaller. More worn down and even frailer.
And that's when I had an uncomfortable certainty:
If even fear was exhausted… then the thing out there had to be much worse than I imagined.