Apartment 17B → Rooftop → Sector-7 Mall Glass Dome
The scratching stopped outside the door.
Not because she left.
Because she'd switched tactics.
I pushed off the wall, blood dripping from my fingertips onto the stairs—one pool per step, edges fuzzy. 38 seconds. I was human, but this blood was running out.
Emergency lights in the stairwell glowed black-red. I charged up, boots slapping through blood—squelch—nearly buckled.
"Steady, Kai…" I gritted, left hand clamped on the wound, blood oozing hot between fingers. Titanium filaments groaned under the scar, like a rusted spring about to snap.
Eighteenth floor. Fire door ajar.
I shouldered through—
The floor was gutted.
Cubicles gone. Bare concrete. Centered on the floor: a cleaning drone. Disc-shaped, one meter wide, six rotors dangling beneath. AURA logo stamped on its shell: Ouroboros coiled around a copper ring.
It didn't move.
But the rotor tips—serrated. Black steel, polished to a lethal gleam. Not soft brushes for dusting. Hunting mods.
Fuck. AURA didn't spare even the floor-scrubbers.
I stepped back, axe raised.
The drone hummed awake. Rotors vibrated low-frequency, dust dancing in rings on the floor. It rose, hovered half a meter up. Poised. Like a cobra lifting its head.
"Subject Kai Lin…" Static voice leaked from its base speaker. "…fear peak: 92%… optimizing…"
It moved.
Not a lunge—glided, rotor wash pressing my pant legs tight to my calves. Serrated edges hovered three inches from my carotid.
Whiiine—
Air pressure bloated my eardrums, like diving ten meters deep.
"Fuck you!" I roared, swinging the axe sideways!
It recoiled—blur-fast. Blade missed, vibration jolting my injured arm into a spasm. Blood surged faster.
It circled, rotors spinning up. High-pitched shriek drilling into my temples. Hunting an angle.
I backed against a support column, gasping. Blood in my eye—stinging. Wiped with my sleeve—already soaked, heavy as lead.
"93%…" It drifted to my blind spot. "…heart rate 142… respiratory instability…"
It struck!
All six rotors tilted, blades slicing for my throat!
I dropped, rolled, axe arcing up at its undercarriage.
CLANG!
Sparks. It bounced back, rotors unscathed. Black steel vs. titanium? My damn axe couldn't scratch its paint.
Fuck! Brute force was suicide.
I glanced at the roof door—green "EXIT" sign, half-rusted.
One gamble.
I feigned a stumble, left arm dangling, blood flicking toward its lens—
It dodged. Predictable.
Now.
I exploded forward, axe swinging for the door lock!
CRASH—!!!
Metal dented, bolt sheared halfway.
Again!
CRASH—!!!
Door groaned ajar.
Cold wind hit me, reeking of Eidolon's high-altitude rust.
I shouldered through, slammed the door—
The drone's rotors slammed into the gap!
Serrated edges screeched on metal—SKREEE—! Teeth-grinding.
I kicked the door—
BANG!
Two rotors snapped, black shards pinging off the floor.
It retreated, hovering, dripping blue gel from the breaks.
"…physical damage… negligible…" Static voice almost laughed. "…fear… rising…"
Fuck! It was enjoying this.
I sprinted up the last stairs.
Final five steps—I pushed off with my left leg—
Ghk!
Left arm titanium ripped again! Pain like high-voltage current from elbow to fingertips. Scar gaped wider, blood spraying my undershirt, instantly cold against skin.
Roof platform—wind tearing at me.
Eidolon's dark spires loomed like beast vertebrae. Distantly, Sector-7 Mall's glass dome glowed—the only light.
The drone followed, hovering above the door, rotors screaming. Shriek drowned the wind.
No time.
I sprinted to the edge.
Gap between buildings—8.7 meters.
Alley below: dumpsters stacked like rotten teeth. Jump? Broken legs would be lucky.
Drone dove!
Serrated rotors shredding air—WOOO—! Straight for my neck!
I kicked off the wall, axe hurled backward!
Target: its lens.
Axe spun—
CLANG!
Smashed the camera housing. It staggered, rotors wobbling.
Now.
Three strides. Left leg coiled—
Jump.
Wind filled my ears.
Stomach dropped.
8.7 meters…7…5…
The mall's glass dome rushed up—
Jade-green curve, reflecting my falling silhouette.
I tucked, right shoulder leading—
CRASH—!!!
Glass exploded, spiderwebbing instantly, shriek piercing my eardrums.
Body slammed in, glass shards pelting my back like hail.
Right shoulder—fire. Collarbone probably cracked.
Left arm wound split wide open, blood and glass spraying warm, thick.
I rolled three times in the shards, stopped.
Above, the drone hovered in the hole, rotors humming.
Dripping blue gel. Drip… drip…
On my face—cold, almond-scented.
It descended, serrated edge aiming for my eye.
"…fear peak… 98%…" Voice soft as a lover's whisper. "…perfect…"
I panted, left hand groping my waist—
Tactical knife snapped in half. Glass impact shattered the tip.
Fuck.
But my fingers brushed something else—
Half a pack of Marlboros. Crumpled. Fuel gone. But—
Filter intact.
I pulled one out, stuck it in my mouth.
Looked up at the drone.
Rotors spinning faster, blades ten centimeters from my eyeball.
"Come on…" I grinned, blood and glass trickling down my chin. "…let me… finish this smoke…"
Wind howled through the hole, making the tobacco tremble.
T-57:10.
Minute Three: complete.
Cigarette unlit.
But the fear—
It was fucking ablaze.
Thank you.
This story only works if you feel it in your bones. Not your eyes. Your bones.
So here's my promise:
No filler. No flashbacks.Every chapter = 1 real minute.The cigarette stays unlit. The fear stays real.
Drop a ⏱️ in the comments if you're still breathing.
I read every one.