Hey, everyone!

Thanks for reading my story! Oh, and a side note: if you see this symbol= ❇, that means there is a change of POV; if you see this symbol= 👁‍🗨, that means it is a flashback.

Update 11/09/20: POV changes and flashbacks will now be marked with banners.

Warning! Gory depictions near the end.

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The next morning...

I let out a yawn as I drowsily blink my eyes open. The first thing I'm greeted with is the sight of my friend's face. That itself isn't a surprise; but his expression is. His brows furrowed as his lips are purse as if pondering something.

For someone so laid-back, you'd think he'd be snoring away in Dreamland, Lalaland, or whatever-land.

I sit up and stretch, before glancing at the clock. 

Ugh, right—today I have a morning shift in like two hours. Climbing out of bed, I do all the boring morning stuff (don't wanna bore ya, so let's just skip this part, hmm?)

After about an hour or so, I finished doing everything I should—including buying breakfast and this morning's paper; what? Someone's gotta buy them.

Once I open the door, I notice Max is still dozing the day away. One of his arms touched the floor while the other covered his eyes—you'd think he was pretending to be asleep, but with that snore? That's the real deal.

I move to stand beside him, before swiftly smacking him with the rolled-up newspaper—which I almost immediately regret; as soon as he felt the impact, the blond jumps up and literally slams me onto the floor, holding the paper at my throat like it was some kind of weapon or something. His mismatched eyes were sharp while his lips pulled back in a rare scowl. The hand on my shoulder grip tightened, I could feel his nails prickling my skin—curse his sharp, well-manicured nails.

I really gotta keep a mental note not to surprise this guy, seriously; especially if he's in the kitchen. (Though honestly? I'll probably won't)

"Calm down, will ya? It's just me," I sigh, rolling my eyes. Max really needs to relax; that said, he also needs to take certain things more seriously. He's weird like that, I guess.

Max blinks, and then his expression turns into a mix of guilt and surprise. His tense muscles relax as he retracts his arm, and lets go of me. He offers his hand—to which I accept, albeit reluctantly—and pulls me to my feet.

"Sorry, mate," the male starts, laughing awkwardly. "I just thought you were some kind of—" Max instantly snaps his mouth shut. I raise a brow at his actions; to which he simply shrugs and looks away.

"Thought I was... what?" I inquire, narrowing my eyes. Max thins his lips and scratches his hair in a clear effort to avoid the question. After about five minutes of silence, I knew I wouldn't be getting anything out of him. For someone so sunny, you'd think they'd be more truthful. I cross my arms and sigh.

Noticing my expression, Max quickly states, "It's nothing, really. Don't get yer knickers in a twist, guv'nor." I couldn't help chuckling—I loved it when he overplayed his British accent; it was amusing, entertaining, and any other synonyms.

"Fine, fine," I shake my head in amusement. He always knew how to cheer me up—besides, I could never stay mad at him anyway.

Huh, can't say that's a good thing; but can't say it's bad either.

"Blimey! Ya' alright, lad? You're actually forgivin' me?" I nod, biting back a laugh at his remark. "Bloody brilliant! So everything's hunky-dory, innit?" He smirks, once again laying his accent thick. I roll my eyes at him but smile nonetheless. Pulling out a chair from my study desk, I take a seat and start my supermarket-quality meal.

"Ooh, breakfast. Ya got some nosh or a cuppa for me?" He leans forward, peering into the plastic. I shake my head.

"Nah, just some OJ and a sandwich." For emphasis, I took out the mentioned food items. It's nothing fancy—just a normal ham and egg sandwich and a juice box. Completely affordable, and decently made. Max purses his lips, probably sulking cause he assumes I didn't buy him anything.

Well, he's wrong; I did buy him something.

"Here," I say after rifling through the bag for his impromptu breakfast. I hand him two tuna and one sardine sandwich—he's a big eater—with two juice boxes; one apple, and one (I'm shuddering at this one) durian. I don't hate durian per se, but I'm definitely neither a fan of its smell nor texture; though I'm not opposed to eating it, once in a while.

"Aw shucks. Thanks, mate!" He grins brightly, taking the food into his lap. Without hesitation, he rips off the plastic wrap with an almost beast-like voracity, then finishes his first sandwich in two large bites and swallows all the liquid from the juice in one go. Finally, he crushes the trash and dunks them in the trash bin in the corner of the room. I gave him a look.

"Seriously?" I utter. Max tilts his head, brows knitted with confusion. "You were eating like you haven't for like, a month," I deadpan. Max looks away, scratching his cheek nervously. This time, he gingerly unwraps the plastic before hesitantly, almost sheepishly, taking a bite.

"Th—" he begins, but I put up a hand to stop him.

"Don't talk with your mouth full; swallow first," I scold him, frowning at him.

Seriously, what is he? A child?

...don't answer that.

Max rolls his eyes but obliges. He finishes his second sandwich and begins to unwrap the other. "I was going to say, 'that's because I haven't eaten anything really filling since yesterday's lunch'."

I raise a curious brow at his confession, while he simply shrugs. That's peculiar; usually one of his elder sisters would make lunch. Maybe...,he got into a fight with them?

I know he and Princess don't get along—or, more accurately, she doesn't even think of him as a friend, much less a brother—but for the most part, she's civil enough with him, I suppose. Maybe their fight is bigger than what he implied?

Huh, Jennifer seems unperturbed though; then again, that girl doesn't take anything seriously (just like her relationships).

"Oi," I call out to the blond. He gazes at me oddly. I click my tongue. At some point, Max had finished his breakfast, all the trash was already thrown away. So now he was idly scrolling through his phone, oblivious to the ketchup stain on the corner of his mouth.

"Wipe your mouth," I sigh, taking a bite of my own sandwich. I probably sound like a tired mother who has to constantly scold her kids—kinda accurate, now that I think of it.

"Stop!" I exclaim hurriedly, noticing that my friend is about to wipe the sauce with his sleeve. "Use your handkerchief," I command curtly. Once again, Max rolls his eyes but humors me. Taking out his linen handkerchief, he wipes the condiment off his face.

"Better," I mumble, after swallowing my last bite of the sandwich. I stand up and drop the plastic and empty juice box into the trash—cause, unlike Max, I'm not a basketball player. Wiping my hands on a napkin, I inquire, "Got any plans?"

I glance at the male through the corner of my eye. He was playing with his fingers and mumbling—almost resembling a prayer. He's had the habit since we were kids. It always means one thing; he's nervous.

"What's wrong?" I survey him closely, concerned. Max quickly snaps his gaze to look at me. For a moment, we both go silent, just staring at one another. But it doesn't last long. Max tries to smile, to ease my worries; but it was brittle and shaky—a far cry from his usual winsome grin.

"Don't… don't worry. Everything's fine, mate!" He gives a thumbs-up, the usual cheeriness now forced. I stare at him expectantly, but he looks away; an emotion I never saw on him before swirling in his eyes. I turn away from him but suddenly in a soft, almost imperceptible voice, he mutters;

"Everything's always fine..."

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I let out a tired sigh as I lounge in the chair. It was already close to midnight; I have another nightshift, and just like before Max is waiting at one of the tables, typing away at his computer. It had been a rather hectic evening, but the craziness died down about two hours ago—give or take (my shift is five hours). Actually, it really is dead; I haven't seen a customer since.

I'm actually working overtime. Hey, someone's gotta bring home the bacon—and unlike someone—I'm an independent loner; okay maybe not loner, but you get the idea. My coworkers left already, apparently; I couldn't really be bothered to find out. Besides, it's not like I'm completely alone anyway.

"Hey, Rave," Max calls out. Ugh, I really dislike that nickname; honestly, I prefer Mayo-san (and no, I'm not kidding). I glare at him, but Max is still staring at his laptop screen, his focus semi-entirely on whatever project he was doing.

"What, Maxie?" I ask with a smirk on my lips. Max looks up from his device, lightly glaring.

"Heh, haven't heard that one in years! Can't say I miss it," the blond chuckles, dropping his English accent in favor of a Scottish one (Max is a hardcore Anglophile). I just simper, which causes Max to roll his eyes.

A few moments of silence pass. Max goes back to typing on his laptop, while I just stare at everything and anything. "...you're worried about what that woman said, ain't ya?" I inquire, knowing full well what the answer would be. Unsurprisingly, he nods.

I lean back into my chair, close my eyes, and ponder that weird woman's warning.

It was maybe about half an hour after our improvised breakfast. As his routine, Max went out for a jog; I decided to follow. I haven't found the time to exercise in weeks, and so this was a good opportunity.

It started out pretty normal; we went jogging, did a bit of parkour along the way, and then stopped at the park for a break. It was a nice day honestly. I stayed under a tree while Max went to refill his flask. I leaned on a nearby tree and my eyes just casually roamed over everyone. There were some kids playing on the slides, swings, and what-not; some lovey-dovey couples who should seriously go get a room; a few elderly playing chess; and some people walking and playing with their pets.

It's nice getting away from the hustle and bustle of the city and relaxing somewhere so open and serene—well, as serene as it can get, considering it's New York and all.

As my gaze passed over everything, I caught sight of something… odd. Almost directly opposite of me, a few miles away, was a girl—no, a woman, staring intently at me. She was almost completely hidden by the foliages’ shadow. I couldn't make out any discernible features, except one: she was wearing a long and heavy-looking black cloak.

She didn't move at all—I'd almost assumed she was a statue at one point; but when I decided to approach Max, I turned to look over my shoulder, she was still facing me. I involuntarily shuddered before I cast my eyes elsewhere. Besides that, she didn't seem to have moved.

"Hey, Howard," I whispered urgently. Max peered at me in concern; I've only ever called him Howard when I'm completely serious, or in dire situations.

"What?" He raised a questioning brow. I glanced at the woman once more. She was still there, just standing there… staring.

"We're—or at least, I'm—being watched." Max leaned away from me and tried to subtly look around.

"That her, mate?" he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. I glanced at where he was gazing, and sure enough, it was the woman; surprisingly, she wasn't looking at me anymore—not even in my general direction! She had her back turned to us.

"I'm gonna confront her," my friend proclaimed abruptly.

I stared at him, gaping. "You outta ya mind?!" I whisper-shrieked, careful not to draw too much attention to us. Without missing a beat, Max gave a decisive nod. He swiftly made his way to the woman. I groaned, running a hand through my mane, before following after.

"Hey, lady," Max started once we came into the woman's hearing range—unless she had terrible hearing, that is. "Why're you spyin' on ma mate?" Max questioned, his accent once again shifting. At first, the woman seemed to ignore him—looking at something only she could see.

Finally, after a long and awkward moment, the woman turned to face us. She scanned us intently as if we were some foreign creatures she had never met before; then she nodded, a gesture more to herself than to us.

"The deadliest sound is silence. Be careful, of the dead who walk among the living."

After uttering those chillingly ominous words, she strutted away—disappearing from sight once she turned a corner.

I don't even bother repressing my shiver at the memory. It was creepy on a whole new level—and I knew lots of emo and goth kids.

"Gotta admit; I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disturbed," I confess, blowing out a tendril of smoke. I lean back and glare at the clock. Just a few more minutes to the zero-hours, and then my shift is over (on weekends, the cafe is open 'till midnight).

"Careful of the brown bread, you's china plate; it ain't no bubble bath," Max mumbles, going heavy on his Cockney accent. And of course, using their rhyming slang as well.I narrow my eyes, uncertain of the meaning.

Great… another riddle.

If I remember correctly:nwhich, most of the time, I do— 'brown bread' means dead, but I have no clue about the other two; unlike Max, I don't read English dictionaries to perfect my accents nor for the fun of it.

Okay, maybe I do.

Noticing my expression, my friend looks up from the screen and explains (going back to his usual English accent), "Sorry, guv'nor. I just said, 'Careful of the dead, mate; it ain't something to have a laugh about'. Give or take a few mistranslations." Max scratches his cheek, laughing. I couldn't tell whether he was joking or being serious.

"D'ya think she was talking rubbish and pork pies?" the blond asks as he continues to type away at his computer, his eyes once again pinned to the laptop. Okay, that I know; 'pork pies' means lies. I roll my lips together.

"As if I have any clue; I'm in the dark with ya," I sigh heavily, taking another puff of my cigar. Today, I honestly thought it started out nicely; but now I'm stressing over what that eldritch woman said. It's probably nothing, though. Maybe she was just high, or drunk, or both. Then again, I didn't smell any alcohol or drugs on her—unless she took the 'subtle' ones (even so, I should've at least caught a whiff of it).

Suddenly, I noticed someone at the door. Ah, demon's blood; there's a freakin' customer! I hope they weren't waiting too long—more importantly, I hope they won't tell my manager. The person was standing outside the cafe, seemingly watching us through the tinted windows. I couldn't make them out, but a customer is a customer. They probably thought we were closed or something.

I quickly put out my cigarette and dump it in an ash tray nearby. As I move to open the door for them, I catch a whiff of something nasty. I immediately cover my nose.

"Having a gander, mate? By the way, do you smell that? Thousands of rotten borrow and begs, I'd say," Max pipes up, eyes on me even as his fingers dance over the keys.

Seriously, this guy can be really freaky when he wants.

Borrow and begs? Uh, I think it means… eggs? Yeah, that's it. Well, can't say I disagree with the assessment.

"There's a customer; and no, I don't know where the smell came from," I shrug, my hand already on the doorknob.

Finally, the blond looks up, only for his eyes to widen with literal horror. "WAIT! DON'T—" Max hurriedly stood up, knocking his chair, but I had already opened the door—and I immediately understood his tenseness.

As soon as I open the door, I'm hit by the stench of rotting flesh and blood. But the worst part was when I saw the face of the 'customer'.

The person's face was horribly maimed and rotting, with pieces of skin peeling off. One of their eyeballs was dangling out of its socket, while the other was unfocused. Their lips were chapped and disfigured, and they had a blood-freezing Glasgow smile. His skin was an abomination of colors as if someone ripped others' skin only to hastily stitch it on this person.

They were wearing rudimentary leather armor while holding a worn-out but sharp ax. I also notice a smaller ax embedded into their back. They were missing an arm; I could actually see the bone protruding, along with the muscles, and a few strips of flesh clinging off it.

And of course, the person was dyed red with blood—but something tells me, it wasn't all theirs.

I stared at it for who knows how long, my feet rooted to the spot.

No, no, no... this, this can't be real!
What the f*** is this?! 

Noticing my petrified state, the creature smiles, revealing its missing and discolored teeth

"STEP BACK!" Max shouts, appearing by my side in an instant. He immediately slams the door in the thing's face before grabbing my wrist and tugging me to move away.

But we only got as far as the counter before we heard the sound of glass breaking. My mind screamed at me not to turn around, but I did—and the sight horrified me.

The creature used his ax to smash through the glass, as I thought, but not entirely. It only made an opening big enough for its head. The remaining shards of glass pierced through its flesh and further tore it as the creature pushed itself through the shattered glazed door. The shards cut open a gash on its stomach as more blood spills onto the floor.

"No... no, not again," I mumble, a feeling of dread and nausea overtaking me. Flashes of... something invade my mind; of a beautiful woman with jet black hair lying in a pool of her own blood, a pained smile on her face. I shake my head frantically.

I don't even know who that was! What the actual hell is happening?!?

"Raven! Snap out it!" Max yells, gripping my shoulders and shaking me. I nod dumbly, too dazed to fully comprehend everything. Max quickly drags me to the back door, kicking it open. I breathe a sigh of relief, but it quickly dies in my throat. There were two more of those creatures in front of us. And they were no less as disfigured as the one before.

Both had mismatched colored skin, but only one had a Glasgow smile. The other one had its mouth stitched closed. The former was missing a leg; the only thing that remains is the sharp bone (kinda like a pegleg). Unlike the first one, the One-legged carried a giant heavy mace. While the 'No-mouth' wielded three rusted sword staffs.

I'm presuming No-mouth is the leader. He has three arms and legs—and you don't have to be a genius to figure out where the extra appendages came from. I shudder.

The two stare right back at us, unmoving. Then I heard uneven footfalls, and the first one came around; it was hunched forward, the deep gash on its stomach prominent. I notice some of its decayed intestines dangling out of the laceration and blood pooling at its feet.

I also notice no-mouth momentarily glancing at the new arrival, before shifting its gaze back to me and Max. Unlike the other two, whose eyes were unfocused, no-mouth was the most… alive(?) I shudder and shiver at my own thoughts.

All three of them watch us, their weapons at the ready; their stances stiff, ready to attack; their muscles—or whatever's left of it—tense. I gulp.

Max takes a confident step forward, but I notice the rigidity of his movement. "What do you want?" he questions. Suddenly, One-arm starts to laugh, its broken figure quaking with the vibrations. It—no, they open their mouth to answer but their reply is slurred and (as Max would say it) absolute rubbish.

"You...," One-legged pipes up, an alarmingly gleeful smile on their face. They point their mace at us.

"Fr... keke..." One-arm laughs again. Their body sways as they step towards their comrades, before getting into a stance, along with the other two. Their message clear;
'No more talking.'

To my shock and horror, Max curls his hands into fists and gets into an impromptu stance as well. I tug at his shirt desperately. "Are you insane?! You're gonna fight them?!!?" I shriek, not caring about my volume. Max turns to look at me. He smiles gently, and my heart stops for a moment.

For a split second, in my mind, the image of his smile is suddenly warped: I can see his severed head, blood streaming down his eyes like a waterfall; his face was almost entirely deformed, to the point I could barely recognize him; but he was smiling, that stupid, godforsaken grin still on his face.

Max turns to face the three creatures. His eyes narrowed and steely. His lips pull back into a smirk as he cracks his knuckles.

"Heh, I'm gonna try."

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