Samantha woke up on cold, hard ground.
"Ugh, my back hurts..." she thought groggily.
She blinked her eyes open to an eerie sight—it looked like a massive shopping mall, but something was off. The lighting was strange, dim and tinted red, with flickers of green coming from emergency exit signs scattered around the space.
And she wasn't alone.
Dozens—maybe over a hundred—others were waking up at the same time, groaning, murmuring, all echoing the same thought:
"Where am I?"
Samantha wondered the same.
"Argh." Mike woke up at the edge of the crowd, rubbing his temples.
"What the fuck? How high am I right now?" he muttered, half-drunk.
**Grrrrrrr...**
A deep, guttural growl echoed behind him. Those nearby backed away instinctively, eyes wide with horror.
"What?" Mike asked, confused by their reaction. He turned to look behind him—and froze.
"Oh f—"
Three monstrous hounds towered over him—easily as tall as a teenager. Their red eyes glowed. Saliva dripped from between jagged, oversized teeth. Muscles rippled beneath patchy, bloodstained fur.
"RUN!!!"
The scream came from another side of the crowd.
Another two hounds had appeared.
Distracted by the shout, Mike turned his head—and never got the chance to turn back.
One hound lunged.
**Crunch.**
His head was bitten clean off, crushed like a ripe fruit. Blood sprayed across the floor.
Chaos erupted.
"RUN!"
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!"
"AHHHHHHHHHH!"
Samantha, still disoriented, stood frozen in the center of the crowd. Then—arms around her—she was lifted off the ground.
"It's okay, Sam. Hold on to me," her father said, his voice calm but urgent.
Panic rippled through the group like wildfire. People scattered in every direction—some sprinted up escalators, others dove into stores. Some stood frozen, paralyzed by the sight of death and blood.
The hounds tore through the mass of people like blades through paper. Blood pooled. Bodies dropped.
"It's gonna be alright," her father repeated, clutching her tightly. He sprinted into a large multi-story clothing store along with around fifty others—and one of the rabid hounds.
Those who didn't make it up the stairs in time were shredded apart.
When they reached the third floor, he set Samantha down and turned to the crowd.
"EVERYONE! THEY SELL PERFUME HERE! COVER YOUR SCENT AND HIDE—NOW!"
Few heard him through the panicked screams.
"GUYS! GUYS! EVERYONE!!!"
He dumped bottles of perfume on himself and Samantha, drenching their clothes.
Some began to follow suit, grabbing bottles and copying his actions.
Those who kept running upward—past the third floor—never heard him. They were slaughtered by hounds waiting above. Meanwhile, those on the second floor unwittingly slowed the beast now climbing toward them.
But her father didn't stop.
"EVERYONE UPSTAIRS! GET DOWN HERE! GET TO THE PERFUME SECTION!"
His voice was hoarse, but relentless.
Then he turned back to Samantha, crouching down.
"You okay? Sam? You okay?" he asked, patting her face gently.
Samantha was paralyzed, her eyes wide with terror. But she forced a whisper:
"I'm okay…"
"Listen. I'm going to help the others downstairs. You go hide in a fitting room. Don't make a sound. Understand?"
She nodded slowly, not fully processing his words until he turned to leave.
"Wait! Dad! Don't go down there!"
"There are still people down there who need help."
"Dad!"
Everyone else was already diving into hiding places—fitting rooms, backrooms, between clothing racks—soaked in perfume.
Only Samantha's father was calm. He grabbed a mannequin and a few more bottles of perfume before heading back downstairs.
"Dad!"
She couldn't help but follow, peeking down from the third floor.
Her father hurled the mannequin with all his might. It crashed loudly into a corner, far from any survivors.
The hound turned instantly, lunging at the decoy with a snarl.
While it mauled the mannequin, he shouted again:
"EVERYONE! UPSTAIRS—NOW!"
Seven survivors rushed up from the second floor. He drenched them with perfume as they arrived.
"Move! Move! MOVE! SAMANTHA?! WHY ARE YOU HERE?!"
He scooped her into his arms again—but instead of heading to the fitting rooms, he ran outside the clothing store and into the shop next door.
"EVERYONE! THIS WAY! FOLLOW MY VOICE!"
He called out again and again, guiding more survivors toward the new hiding spot.
"IN! IN! IN! IN!"
One by one, people scrambled in.
Then the growling returned.
He grabbed the rolling steel gate and slammed it down just in time. It might not hold against the hound's enormous strength, but it was enough—for now. Enough to hide, enough to breathe.
Inside were thirty-something survivors. Silent. Shaking. Blood on many of their faces.
Only when her father turned to check on her did Samantha notice the gash across his cheek. Blood streamed down his face. Some of it had stained her, too.
She wiped it away with trembling fingers.
Her vision sharpened. Her heart pounded. This was real. This wasn't a dream.
She looked around the store—faces pale, eyes wide. Every survivor was stained with blood.
Her father knelt in front of her.
"Sam... hey, you okay?"
She stared at the cut on his face. Her voice wavered. "What's happening?"