[TV voiceover, blurry footage of burning streets, crying faces]
“Extremist cults are spreading through the affected zones. One of them, called The Purified, urges its followers to slit their own throats in a single motion, in order to ‘cleanse their souls before the coming of the Second Wave.’”
On the screen, chilling images scroll by: men kneeling in circles in public places, some staring blankly into the void, others sobbing, as silent bystanders film. A detached voiceover continues while blood trails are visible on the ground, symbols traced by hand, and sometimes even children watching the scene, frozen.
Léo
This morning, Thomas texted me. It’d been a while since we met up just to hang out. No reason. He told me to wait for him near Cordeliers, just to kill some time. It had been a long time.
To be honest, I’d been looking forward to it. Lately, I’ve been suffocating. Doing something other than working… it helps.
So after my shift, I wait near a bus stop. And, like always, he's late. Predictably late.
- Thomas (shouting from behind): “BAAAMMM!!!”- Léo (startled after a couple seconds, hand on his chest): “Shit, man! Why did I flinch with a delay??”
- Thomas (laughing hard): “That’s talent, my friend. Your brain crashed before it could panic.”
- Léo (exhaling): “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
- Thomas: “Relax, I’ll bring you back with coffee and mouth-to-mouth.”
- Léo: “Yeah, yeah… quit fooling around, let’s get inside.”
Outside, the rain taps against the windows. Heavy, steady rain, like a metronome laid on top of the world. Each drop bursts on the pavement, on the glass, like it’s trying to pierce through something, go further. I stare at my coffee. It’s still steaming a little, but I can’t feel it anymore.
Thomas talks. He always talks when I fall silent. About the future, what we could build, fix, improve. Tangible stuff. I half-listen, words slipping past. I’m here, but not really. Caught on the dark surface of my cup.
He leans back, tie loosened, eyes sharp, that calm energy that never leaves him. He looks alive. Me, I just look there.
- Thomas (with a half-smile, slightly concerned): “Seriously, you’re really about to throw everything away? Now? You’re right on the edge, man… that’s when you’ve got to hold on.”
- Léo (quietly, almost to himself): “I’m alone, Tom’. No one’s counting on me. And sometimes I wonder… if I just stopped being here, would it even matter? I don’t know. But weirdly, having no one who depends on me, no one who forces me to act… it kinda pushes me to do nothing.”
A silence falls.
- Léo: “I can’t really picture tomorrow anymore. My head’s full, but empty at the same time… you get that? Like everything’s been paused somewhere.”
Thomas nods. He knows he should just listen—but it’s hard.
- Thomas: “So, no job, no girl, no kid, no dream, no drive… Honestly, man, between the two of us, you’re the freest one. You can do anything right now. And you’re good in a crisis… just only when things are falling apart.” (he chuckles)
Léo doesn’t answer. He gives a tiny smile, barely there, but his eyes stay blank. A noisy emptiness.
Thomas sees it. Puts down his cup, hesitating.
- Thomas (lower): “Funny… I always thought you were the one who understood the world best. But lately, it feels like no one understands anything anymore. Me included. I… Maybe you don’t need answers. Maybe you just need someone around.”
- Léo: “Don’t worry, man. You’re the one who does things right. The one who gets it. Not me.”
A waitress wipes a nearby empty table absentmindedly. Then, without a word, she walks over to the counter and turns up the volume on the TV mounted to the wall.
“...health authorities and Dr. émile Lavoisier confirm the spread of an orally transmitted epidemic. Main symptoms include temporary motor loss and speech difficulties. The situation is under control, officials assure…”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A short silence hangs between them, caught by the words. Outside, the rain seems to fall harder, as if to mark the moment.
- Thomas: “You think they’re telling the truth? That it’s temporary?”
- Léo: “I don’t know… They tell us what we need to hear. Until it doesn’t matter anymore.”
- Thomas: “Yeah... If it keeps going, they’ll lock us down again. Maybe that’s not so bad, right? Slow down a bit, breathe.”
- Léo: “Breathe, or suffocate. Depends where you’re standing.”
Thomas gives a bitter smile, thinking.
- Thomas: “I just hope it doesn’t go sideways. We don’t need more crap right now.”
- Léo (looking at the window): “Don’t you feel like it’s already too late?”
- Thomas: “Too late for what?”
- Léo: “To believe we’re still in control. We’re always one step behind. We think we’ve got the upper hand, but everything’s moving without us. Faster than us. Like the world is slipping away, day by day.”- Thomas: “Man, you’re depressing as hell. But honestly… deep down, we’re all winging it. First time for all of this. First time living, even. Sometimes we think we’ve seen stuff like this before… but we always realize it too late to change anything. We just do what we can, the way we can.”
- Léo: “Yeah… you’re not wrong.”
Thomas looks at him, then shakes his head with a half-smile.
- Thomas: “You overthink everything, man. Sometimes you should do the opposite: act first, think later. Just once. For fun.”
He stands, grabs his jacket.
- Thomas: “Come on, let’s go. You’re paying, that’s the fee for this little therapy session. I’ll wait outside, gonna smoke one.”
- Léo: “Go ahead, I’ll hit the restroom and join you.”
Thomas steps out. Léo stays a moment, pays, and heads to the bathroom.
He splashes water on his face and leans on the sink, silent, still. The sound of rain rumbles faintly in the background, steady and deafening. Moments later, he rejoins Thomas outside, leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand. But their attention, along with a crowd of twenty or so passersby, is caught by something strange.
In the middle of the rain-soaked street, a woman stumbles forward. Her limbs seem weakened, her body struggling with each step. Her throat tightens, her mouth open in a silent scream. A breathless, almost ghostly gasp.
Around them, people are frozen. Some take out their phones to film. No one moves. The rain keeps falling, relentless.
- Léo (murmurs): “Holy shit… what’s wrong with her?”
- Thomas (low voice, slightly sarcastic): “Little cough. Don’t worry.”
They stand motionless. Thomas takes a drag, shaky.
- Thomas: “You think it’s panic, or something real?”
- Léo: “People freak out over nothing sometimes.”
- Thomas: “You saying that to reassure yourself?”
- Léo: “Yeah, a bit.”
Silence. A man steps closer to film. She collapses to her knees without a sound. And I can’t look away. Somewhere in the city, an ambulance wails—maybe for her, maybe not. I don’t know. No one knows. But her twisted body, lying in the rain, is already carved into my memory.
I stare, unblinking. The cold, damp air fills my lungs, reminding me I’m still here. Arms crossed—not for warmth, but for protection. Instinct. I want to understand what I’m seeing, but nothing fits. Something’s wrong. And yet no one moves. Not even me.
- Thomas (more to himself, with a crooked smile): “Let’s hope it doesn’t get any worse, hahaha.” (loud laugh)
I look at him, fascinated.
- Thomas: “We shouldn’t stick around too long. Gonna draw a crowd, and honestly I don’t wanna catch whatever she’s got.”
- Thomas: “Also, since you quit your job, you’re gonna have to leave your apartment soon, right?”
- Léo: “Nah, I already missed two months of rent. I’ll slip out with a few things, quietly.”
- Thomas: “Okay but… where to? And you know they can find you if you start paying anything.”
- Léo: “There’s a hotel near the beltway. Half-abandoned, half-under-renovation. I can stash my stuff there. It’s quiet at night. As for the rest… I don’t know. We’ll see. You’re the one who told me to act first, think later.”
- Thomas: “Yeah but not like that, hahahaha. Alright, I’ll go with you. Let’s stop by your place and grab your bike.”
We stop at my place first. Thomas waits downstairs, the bike engine idling softly. I climb the stairs—smells like dust and damp. I grab a few clothes, soap, toothbrush, the first-aid kit, a couple things that matter. Stash it all under the bike seat. Quick and quiet.
Seeing I took too long, Thomas came up.
- Thomas: “Damn, what a mess. No wonder you can’t deal with it all.”
- Léo: “No, man—it’s a mess because I can’t deal with it, hahaha. What are you doing here anyway? Thought you were waiting downstairs.”
- Thomas: “You were taking forever, man. And I wanted to drop something off.”
I see him place a piece of paper and a water bottle. Didn’t get to check what it was. Doesn’t matter. We have to go. We head down, start the engine, and take off.
On the road to the hotel, we stop at a small corner market. Shutters halfway down, the gate’s been forced. I go in, grab some canned food, dry bread, biscuits, a bottle of water. Thomas shows up behind me with two packs of beer in his arms.
—“If it’s the end of the world, might as well go out with a buzz,” he says with that kid grin.
I say nothing, but yeah—it earns a little smirk from me.
We load up, Thomas revs the engine. The rain drums on—on the pavement, on rooftops, on shoulders. The streets slowly empty, like the city itself wants to vanish. And then, through a break in the clouds, a few golden rays filter through. A soft light kisses the wet rooftops.
Like the day giving one last wink, before night opens its jaws wide.