Warning content: Blood, violence.
Fanfic based on scream franchise.
Animation by David Liu.
It was a night like any other; the world was the same every single day. No real stimulation— the only “fun” was sliding her fingers across her phone screen. The same depressing news ran on a loop: death and destruction.
Her life could be summed up as a tedious job, a barely active love life, and friendships that stirred her up just a little. Corporate life could be described as absolute garbage— bosses with the mindset of a bratty teenager, coworkers constantly competing with each other over who was better. Ego battles, or rather, the rat race, were what kept the system running.
Ventilation in the house was almost nonexistent. The only noticeable sound came from social media videos— shallow content about empty lives meant to spark envy in other empty people.
Another one of her phones rang somewhere in the distance.
The phone rang again. She took a deep breath, her brow tightening. She walked over to the table and answered.
“Who is this?” she asked, mildly irritated.
“Go find something to do, loser.” She hung up, a faint chill crawling down her spine.
A brief flash burst in front of her, followed by a soft boom near the spot where the phone she had answered lay.
The bright light was a blade, and the boom was the phone— now shattered. Slow, deep breathing became noticeable, the sound coming from beneath the table. She reacted immediately with a scream.
A figure dressed in black from head to toe rose up, its face covered by a strange mask.
She knew she wasn’t safe. Her hands trembled for a moment, but she didn’t hesitate. She ran back to the couch where she had been earlier, grabbed her phone, and dialed the first number that appeared.
The figure in black charged toward her. She threw several cushions at him as he ran in her direction.
“Hello?” another female voice came through the line.
He knew he had failed. Inside the black outfit and peculiar mask, his body was sweating, his lungs heaving under the tension. His arms felt like blocks of cement. One hand held the gleaming object, swinging it lightly in a sequence of strikes that tore the cushions in half as the woman dodged the blows.
She didn’t retreat from the danger. The adrenaline surge drove her to throw whatever she could grab at the apparent man in front of her, always keeping a safe distance. She was trained, the masked figure thought as he advanced relentlessly.
A cold sensation crept down her back, followed by a rising anger.
Her vision blurred for a moment, and the black-and-white shape moved in a strange way. He tilted his head along with the mask, seeming to savor the sight in a sadistic pause.
What she felt was a sudden chill.
Anger took over her body. She didn’t scream like the others.
She was injured. The warmth of the blood on her hands jolted her with the reality of the danger she was in. Red pools stained the hallway of the main room as she ran as fast as she could toward the door— and she made it.
She opened the door successfully, but in desperation slipped on the steps and fell face-first onto the ground outside. The figure in black emerged like a ghost, ready to savor the moment.
The masked man stood firm, broad shoulders squared, his gloved hands wiping the blade clean. Like a wild animal with its prey trapped, he was ready for the final act.
The dark-haired woman on the ground rose calmly, her expression neutral, head lowered. In a cold tone, she gave a response to the figure standing just a few meters away.
She made no sound now. She stood there, facing him— different from the others.
In some way, she resembled him.
And the man in black knew that the woman before him now represented one thing:
A potential danger to him.
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