Behind the Glass

My eyes fly open, breath caught in my throat. A rush of nausea grips me as the world whirls around in a disorienting spiral. Dizzy. Unmoored. Like being yanked out of a dream and dropped into something far worse.Where… am I?The sky above is a bruised gray, stretched wide and silent. I push myself up from the cold, cracked earth, my palms scraping against gravel and dirt. My vision wavers, then gradually sharpens—though I almost wish it hadn’t. The place around me is… empty. Abandoned. A graveyard of steel and stone where time seems to have stopped and nature has begun to reclaim the bones of something that once lived.I stagger to my feet. My knees protest, weak and unfamiliar beneath me. Dust clings to my clothes, and my head pounds with a dull, rhythmic ache. I try to summon a memory, any memory, but all I find is a void.What happened? Why am I here?

I turn slowly, taking in the broken windows, rusted vehicles, and buildings half-swallowed by vines. It’s like an apocalypse passed through, and everything human simply vanished. No sound. No movement. Just a world left behind.My feet start moving—almost without my consent—carrying me deeper into the decay. The cracked pavement beneath is veined with weeds. Trees rise in places they don’t belong, their roots twisting through collapsed roofs and shattered glass. Nature is taking everything back.Still no signs of life. Not a single soul. Only silence and the distant creak of wind shifting through broken structures.What the hell is this place? I pass a fractured pane of glass, half-buried in the creeping vines of a collapsed doorway. Something makes me stop. I glance at the reflection—hazy and warped, but it’s enough.A face stares back.Short, uneven waves of brown hair cling to a dirt-smudged forehead. Eyes too alert for someone who remembers nothing. Clothes that feel foreign on my skin—loose in some places, tight in others. Not mine. I don’t know whose.I close my eyes. A sharp pulse behind them. Like lightning flashing across the inside of my skull.What the hell was that?I keep walking, slower now, unsettled. The ruins seem to press in around me. The air shifts. There’s something here.A sound breaks the silence.Metal, scraping against stone. Heavy. Measured. Deliberate. I freeze mid-step, my breath caught in my chest. From behind a toppled building, something emerges.Huge.Towering.A machine—four-legged, gleaming like bone under the overcast sky. Its body is all jagged plating and dark steel, and behind it sways a long, segmented tail, tipped with a vicious, barbed stinger. It stops. Turns. Faces me.My eyes widen. My mind stumbles.What is going on?The thing jerks once, then launches forward with terrifying speed.It’s running.

Straight at me.

I spin, heart pounding like a war drum, feet slipping against the mossy concrete. I almost fall catch myself—then break into a sprint. No time to think. Just run.Run now. Run.The thing behind me is faster—its movements precise, mechanical, predatory. I can hear the pounding of its limbs against the ground, each step like thunder chasing me down. My lungs burn, legs screaming with every stride. I don’t look back.But I have to.

I risk a glance over my shoulder—just in time to see the stinger arcing toward me, slicing through the air like a blade of death.

My eyes go wide.

Duck.

I throw myself down. The metallic tail whistles past, slamming into the side of a half-standing building. The impact sends a shockwave through the ground, bricks crumbling, the wall groaning as it buckles.

No time.

I scramble up, adrenaline overriding pain, and push myself forward. I don’t stop. I can’t.

Left.

The word flashes through my mind, sudden and certain. I veer hard to the left, nearly slipping on a patch of moss-slicked concrete. My body moves before I understand why—as if something inside me knows the way, even if I don’t.I don’t know where I’m going.

Or how I know to go there.

I just run, as the sound of metal claws and machine breath closes in behind me…The terrain blurs around me—cracked pavement, broken beams, shattered glass—but I don’t falter. My body moves like it’s been trained for this. Not by memory—those are gone—but by instinct, raw and reactive.

A sharp clang echoes behind me. It’s close. Too close.

Without thinking, I vault over a collapsed support beam, my palms catching just enough grip to swing my legs over. I hit the ground and roll, absorbing the impact, then spring forward again, not losing momentum for a second.

A shriek of grinding metal cuts through the air—it’s leaping.

I dive sideways just as its massive frame crashes down where I’d been seconds before. A spray of dust and debris explodes upward. I tuck and roll again, muscle reacting faster than thought, already pushing off the ground and sprinting through a narrow alley choked with vines.

Move. Move now.

A rusted pipe juts out in front of me—shoulder-height. I duck low, sliding beneath it with barely an inch to spare. Something behind me slams into the wall, the entire alley shuddering as concrete splits. I don’t look. I don’t stop.

I leap up onto a crumbling ledge, using a rusted railing to launch myself higher. My fingers catch the edge of a shattered window frame. I swing inside just as the creature’s tail smashes through the alley behind me

Breath heaving. Heart pounding. Muscles coiled.

I land in darkness. Dust spirals in the shafts of dying light. Somewhere above, the machine shrieks again, scanning.

But I’m already moving, fast and low, slipping through shadows and broken walls. need to find cover. Now.

I turn sharply to the right, lungs burning, legs barely keeping up with the terror driving them. My boots slam against the broken ground, skidding through debris. Then—I see him.

A figure.

A man, half-hidden in shadow, leaning casually against a fractured wall like he’s been waiting for something—or someone. His weapon catches the light: a long, jagged spear, forged from the same cold, brutal metal as the creature chasing me. Sleek. Sharpened. Built for war.

Our eyes meet. His are sharp. Alert. Human.

They widen.

“Another person—?”

He doesn’t finish.

The thing crashes through the wall behind me with a scream of tearing metal and shattered stone. The man doesn’t hesitate. He moves with purpose, fluid and fast, snatching up his weapon and lunging toward the beast like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Steel strikes steel with a thunderous clash.

He twists around the tail, avoiding it by inches, slamming his spear into a joint in the creature’s armor. Sparks fly. The thing recoils—but not for long.

“It’s head!” I shout, the words ripping from my throat before I even realize I’m speaking. “Go for its head—it’s easier!

The man falters mid-strike, glancing back at me for a heartbeat.

How do I know that?

I don’t.

But I do.

Something deep inside, buried under all the noise and questions, knows. Just like my body knew how to move. How to run. How to survive.

The machine lets out a screech and lunges again.

And he charges forward to meet it. The man doesn’t question me.

He pivots mid-movement, shifting his grip on the spear. The machine lunges, its stinger slamming into the ground where he stood a second ago. He’s already in the air—legs tucking, twisting—launching himself onto its back with an agility that doesn’t seem human.

The creature thrashes beneath him, its limbs scraping furiously at the ground. He climbs with ruthless precision, scaling its armored spine like it’s a ladder made of knives.

“Hold still, you bastard,” he growls under his breath.

The stinger slices upward in a deadly arc—too fast.

I flinch, but he’s faster.

He rolls sideways across its back, the tail missing him by inches. With a shout, he drives the spear down—straight into the base of the thing’s neck. Sparks explode like fireworks, but it’s not enough. The machine shrieks, staggering back, its movements glitching, more erratic now.

“Again!” I yell, without even thinking.

He yanks the spear free, adjusts, and plunges it forward again—this time into the exposed seam just beneath its head.

The sound is awful—metal bending, grinding, shrieking.

The creature convulses, legs twitching violently. Then, slowly… it collapses in a heap of sparking limbs and fractured steel.

Silence.

The man stands on its back, chest heaving, still holding the weapon buried in its skull. The air is thick with heat and the acrid stench of burning circuits.

He looks at me again.

No words yet. Just the same question burning in both of our eyes I study him now that the dust has settled.Black hair—short, practical. A strong build, like someone used to fighting, to surviving. His eyes are cold, unreadable, like they’ve seen too much. And his left arm—metallic from shoulder to fingertips. Not armored. Replaced. Seamless, brutal, mechanical.“How’d you know that?” he asks, finally breaking the silence. His voice is low, rough around the edges—no friendliness in it, just suspicion.I blink. “I… I don’t know,” I murmur. “I just… did.”He watches me for a moment, like he’s measuring the truth behind my confusion. Then he takes a step closer. Not threatening—just assessing."You got a name?”A simple question. It shouldn’t feel like a threat. But it does.Name.Yes. My name is—Wait.What is my name?My breath catches. My mind goes blank, scrambling through darkness. Nothing. No flicker. No trace.He must see it—the flicker of panic, the way I hesitate.“It’ll come back eventually,” he says. His tone doesn’t change, but there’s something softer beneath it. Something almost like experience. “I’m Liam.”

Liam.

I nod, the name settling like a stone in my chest.“What is this place?” I ask, my voice rough but steadier now. “And that thing—what the hell was it?”He glances at the twisted metal heap still leaking sparks behind us, then adjusts the fit of his robotic arm like it’s part of a ritual.“No idea,” he says flatly. “I don’t know what this place is. Just like you—we all woke up here. No past. No memory. No answers.”We.My eyes narrow.“There are others?”He nods once. “Scattered. Found a few. Lost a few more.” His gaze sharpens. “Let’s just hope that thing didn’t sting you.”A cold chill ripples through me. “Why?”He doesn’t answer at first. He just looks at me, jaw tightening, the muscles in his throat shifting like he’s swallowing something he doesn’t want to say.“Because,” he says finally, “the ones it stings… don’t stay the same.” “Whatever it stings with,” Liam continues, his eyes fixed on the fallen machine, “it’s not just a weapon. It’s a poison. A disease. Spreads through you, fast”I feel the weight of his words settle in my stomach.“Once you’ve got it…” He pauses, his voice low. “There’s no cure. You don’t die fast. You die slow. And wrong.”He doesn’t wait for a response.He just turns and starts walking, his metallic arm catching the light as it swings at his side."You coming, miss?”I hesitate, just for a second.Then I follow.