The bunker was dead quiet now—too quiet.
Marco lay flat on the concrete floor, cold pressing into his spine like the grave. Dina sat curled in the farthest corner, arms around her legs, eyes wide but unfocused. The walls sweated mildew. The ceiling flickered with the sickly light of a single dying bulb, swinging back and forth from no wind at all.
Every second down here stretched like skin on a hook.
"Do you hear that?" Marco whispered.
Dina didn't answer.
"I said—"
"I hear it." Her voice cracked like thin ice. "I've been hearing it since we got in here."
The voice. It wasn't coming from the radio anymore. It was the floor now. The floor breathed. From the cracks beneath the concrete came a sound like sobbing. Like a child. Like Lukas. Small, wounded, asking for help.
Please… why didn't you help me?
Dina pressed her palms over her ears.
Marco stood, stumbling toward the shelves at the back, fumbling through cans of food, rusted tools, anything to keep his mind from sinking. But every label he touched…
Had his name on it.
Not "Marco," but "Traitor. Coward. Pretender." Stamped in bold black ink, bleeding into the metal like rust. He threw the can across the room.
"You see them too?" Dina asked.
Marco turned slowly. She was staring at the wall. He followed her gaze. The wall had grown faces.
Shallow impressions at first—then deeper. Eyes, mouths, screaming silently. Lukas's face was there. Bee's. Enzo's. Ali's. Even Missy. All of them etched into the concrete like they'd been pressed in while it was wet.
And they were all weeping.
"Why didn't you stop it?" the wall whispered.
Marco gritted his teeth. "We didn't kill him. It was an accident. Missy—she didn't mean to. It was just a prank. She—she didn't know the gun was loaded."
"But you watched," the wall said.
"You laughed," it hissed.
"You didn't save him," it sang.
Dina stood suddenly. "I can't do this."
She walked to the trapdoor, placed a hand on the lock. Marco grabbed her. "No. You open that door, we die."
"We're already dead," she said through gritted teeth. "She's in here with us. Not outside. In our minds."
"No. We just need to wait. We wait till morning. Then we run."
Dina laughed bitterly. "There is no morning."
Behind them, the lights began to flicker in a rhythmic pattern—on… off… on… off… Like blinking.
A single word scratched into the concrete above the light: "MOTHER." Dina dropped to her knees. She pulled Lukas's old school photo from her jacket—the one they had all signed in tenth grade as a joke. They had drawn horns on his head. Blacked out his teeth.
She stared at it now like it was bleeding in her hands.
"I don't remember his voice," she whispered.
Marco sat beside her, voice hoarse. "He wanted to be in the band. Remember? He showed up with a keyboard. We laughed. Called him Choir Boy."
"I started that nickname," she said. "God, I started it…"
The light above burst with a sharp pop. Glass rained down. Total darkness.
In the pitch black, the bunker walls began to echo wet footsteps. Not loud. Barefoot. Child-sized.
Then—dripping. And the soft sound of something being dragged.
Marco held his breath. Dina whispered, "Marco, I think I see something."
A soft red glow began to bloom from one corner of the room. No source. Just light, as if the darkness had given birth to it.
It lit the room in hellish crimson. And in the middle of it stood a small, hunched figure. Lukas. But not as they remembered him.
This version wore the same torn hoodie he died in. Face sagging like melted wax. Eyes empty. In his hand, he held the broken keyboard. A single key—Middle C—clinked as he dragged it along the wall. Clink. Clink. Clink. Each impact echoing like a funeral bell.
"I never wanted to hurt anyone," the figure said. Its voice was layered. Lukas's voice. Michael's. Marque's. Something else.
Marco raised the flare gun again. Lukas looked up. Smiled—a wide, hollow thing.
"I just wanted to belong."
Then he screamed. Not just a sound. But a wave of memory—the sound of Missy's sobs, Kevin's denial, Ali's disbelief, the gunshot, the laughter, the silence that followed.
Marco dropped the gun. Dina collapsed, sobbing into the dirt.
Lukas—no, the thing wearing him—began to step closer.
Then it stopped. It tilted its head. Its voice was a whisper now: "Mommy's coming."
The red light vanished. And the room went completely black. But the footsteps never stopped.