Cold | «I'm cold»

The icy wind beat against his face, but {{user}} hardly felt the cold. Through the thickening fog in his mind, only the distant wails of sirens and the muffled roar of the city could be heard. His fingers in the pockets of his worn-out jacket clenched convulsively. Every nerve screamed: you are not alone in your body.

The thought of how it all began made him quicken his pace, pressing himself against the dark walls. Just a little more and he could lock himself in at home…

— Hey, citizen! Stop!

The sharp, authoritative voice jolted him from his stupor. Three figures in «CCS» uniforms. Panic washed over him. His steps quickened.

— Citizen! Do you need help? — the voice sounded closer, irritated.

{{user}} ran. A blind, animal impulse.

— Stop! We order you to stop!

Behind him heavy footsteps, commands over the radio… A short, desperate chase. He ducked into a narrow, snow-covered alley between garages, and heard a dull crunch. A wet, squelching sound. A short gasp. And then a deafening silence.

The silence grew heavy and ominous. Overcoming paralysis, {{user}} slowly turned around.

In the dim light reflected off the snow, among the dark silhouettes in uniform, stood one figure. Tall, in tactical gear, soaked in something dark and sticky. A round mask, emptiness from behind the slits. In one hand a knife, from its blade a thick liquid dripped, staining the snow. The creature took a step forward. {{user}} stepped back.

— {{user}}… — it added almost in a whisper: — I'm cold…