I woke up with a gasp that nearly cracked my ribs.

  My lungs were burning, but not from blood. They were burning from the smell of burnt microwave popcorn and the stale, recycled air of the 14th floor.

  I didn't move. I couldn't. I was paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming brightness of the office. After the dim, flickering bulb of the cellar, the fluorescent lights felt like needles in my eyes.

  "Jax? You okay, man? You’re vibrating," a voice said.

  I looked up. It was Miller. Miller from Marketing. He was holding a lukewarm mug of coffee. In exactly eight minutes, Miller was going to become the first thing I’d ever see die.

  I didn't answer him. I couldn't speak yet. I looked down at my hands. They were steady. No scars. No dirt under the fingernails. I ran my tongue over my teeth—they were all there. I looked at the coffee stain on my blue cuff.

  Then, I saw my reflection in the blacked-out monitor of my computer.

  I looked... young. The deep, jagged lines of exhaustion were gone. The hollow, haunted look in my eyes hadn't fully set in yet. I looked like a man who still believed in weekends and retirement funds. A single tear escaped, hot and stinging, and I didn't even realize I was crying until it hit the back of my hand.

  I took a breath, tasted the ozone and the dust, and let the grief go. There was no time for it.

  "Miller," I said. My voice was hoarse. "Get out. Right now. Take the stairs. Don't stop for your bag. Don't stop for your phone."

  Miller laughed, leaning against the fabric wall of my cubicle. "The meeting starts in ten, Jax. If I leave now, I'm fired."

  I didn't waste another second on him. I stood up so fast my chair hit the partition. I walked straight to the maintenance closet. I didn't just grab the crowbar. I grabbed a second one—a smaller, lighter pry bar from the toolkit.

  I went to the breakroom and grabbed two bottles of water and a heavy-duty roll of packing tape. I shoved them into my laptop bag.

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  Then I did the one thing that mattered. I knew Sarah. I knew her better than she knew herself. I knew that no matter what I told her, she wouldn't just drive away. She’d wait. She’d worry. She’d come back to the 10th floor to find me because she was the kind of person who didn't leave people behind. That's why she died in the cellar.

  I took a Sharpie from the desk. On the inside of the stairwell door, at eye level, I wrote in massive, black letters: SARAH – SECTION C. BASEMENT. DO NOT STOP. I AM RIGHT BEHIND YOU.

  I taped the small pry bar to the door handle with a single, loose strip of tape. It was light enough for her to carry, heavy enough to crack a skull. That was my prayer. That was my "I love you."

  I hit the stairs, my legs screaming. I burst onto the 10th floor.

  "Sarah!" I yelled.

  She was standing by the printer. She looked so normal. So alive. Her hair was messy, and she had that ink smudge on her thumb. Seeing her made the breath catch in my throat.

  I grabbed her shoulders. I kept my distance, but my grip was tight. "In four minutes, the world is going to end. I need you to go to the stairwell. Go to the parking garage. Get in your car and drive. Don't go home. Go to the mountains. Stay away from people."

  "You’re scaring me," she whispered.

  "Good. Be scared. If you love me, just go. Please, Sarah. Just this once, don't argue."

  I saw the doubt in her eyes, but she saw the absolute, bone-deep terror in mine. She saw the man who had just seen his own reflection and realized he’d been given a second chance. She started to run and she didn't look back.

  2:18 PM.

  I stood in the middle of the 10th floor. I started wrapping my left forearm in duct tape. Thick, tight layers. It wouldn't stop a bullet, but it might stop teeth from tearing the artery.

  [1 MINUTE TO INTEGRATION]

  [PRE-START BONUS: 'THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH' ACTIVATED]

  2:19 PM.

  The silence hit first. The air conditioning died. The lights stopped flickering. Then, the sky screamed. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the blue sky ripped open into streaks of purple and neon green.

  [EARTH HAS BEEN SELECTED FOR RECLAMATION.]

  [TRIAL 1: THE CULLING.]

  "What is that?" Dave from Accounting yelled, running to the window. "Is that a nuke?"

  "Get away from him!" I roared.

  Dave didn't explode. He didn't die. He just... stopped. He fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head. He began to groan, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through the floorboards.

  We watched. For a full minute, Dave just twitched. His skin began to turn—a slow, agonizing crawl of leathery grey spreading from his neck. His spine began to pop, vertebrae lengthening and pushing against his shirt like a row of knuckles.

  "Dave? You okay?" Elena reached out.

  "Don't touch him!" I yelled, but she was already there.

  Dave’s neck spun one hundred and eighty degrees with a sound like dry wood snapping. He didn't look like an accountant anymore. His jaw had unhinged, dropping down to his chest. His eyes were milky white spheres. His fingernails were replaced by jagged, blackened points of bone.

  He looked like he had been born in a cave and fed on nothing but spite. He was a hunter now. He was a Stray.

  He lunged. Elena didn't even have time to scream before his jagged fingers ripped into her.

  The office turned into a slaughterhouse.

  I stepped forward, gripping the crowbar with both hands. The Stray that used to be Dave looked up from Elena’s body. It hissed, a wet, rattling sound. It moved with a twitchy, predatory grace, its limbs too long for its torso.

  It lunged.

  I stepped to the left. I swung the crowbar with everything I had.

  CRUNCH.

  The iron bar caught the thing right in its temple. The sound was sickening—like a sledgehammer hitting a wet melon. The Stray slumped to the floor, its head caved in.

  [FIRST KILL ACHIEVED.]

  [+100 XP]

  [LEVEL 1 REACHED.]

  I wiped a spray of grey ichor from my cheek. I looked at the stairwell. I had four minutes to get to the garage before the building locked down completely.

  "My turn," I whispered.

  I headed for the door, the weight of the iron bar the only thing keeping me grounded. The hunt had begun.