Lila fired off rapid shots, the camera's shutter clicking like frantic heartbeats as the silhouettes twisted beyond the grimy window. The others huddled closer, breaths shallow, eyes flicking between her and the glass.
I have to take some more shots! There has to be some explanation to this.
She thumbed through the digital display, emerald eyes widening in shock. The images were ghastly—skeletons with jagged ribs clawing from fog-shrouded corners; headless torsos shambling on spindly legs, stumps oozing shadow; limbless husks writhing like severed worms; colossal insects with chitinous mandibles, multifaceted eyes glinting crimson, wings blurring in unnatural motion.
"What the...?" Lila whispered. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.
The group crowded in, peering over her shoulder. Gasps rippled through them.
A ginger-haired woman—sharp-featured, freckles stark against paling skin—snarled, arms crossing tight over her chest, jaw clenched. "This is some twisted show, right? Come on out! These props won't scare us—cheap holograms or whatever!"
The hulking bodybuilder grunted agreement, massive shoulders rolling as he flexed unconsciously, biceps straining his shirt. "Damn right. All smoke and mirrors." His gaze slid to Lila, appreciative and lingering—lips curving in a slow, wolfish grin that traced her curves before snapping back to the screen.
The bus sighed collectively, tension uncoiling like a shared exhale. Nods rippled—the olive-skinned woman rubbed her temples; the teen shoved hands in pockets, shoulders slumping; the blonde forced a laugh, brittle as cracking ice. It sounded reasonable—a prank, a viral stunt. Who'd believe otherwise?
But Lila's grip tightened on the camera, knuckles whitening. The details burned too real—bone textures etched in high-res, insect legs splayed mid-stride, crimson eyes locked on the lens—like they knew.
My photos never lied. This isn't a show... and these aren't props. I am pretty sure that I am trapped in an 'unwanted' place. But the main question is—who kidnapped us? I am not asking about the reason for now, though that's another question that I would like an answer for.
The bus had ground to a halt long ago, engine ticking faintly in the fog-choked silence outside. Lila drew a deep, steadying breath, chest rising under the sheer tank, then slid back to her seat. Leather creaked under her, cool against sweat-damp skin. Cool head now, she thought, instincts screaming—their kidnapper wasn't human. It was something totally different—something beyond her comprehension.
Suddenly, a melodious voice bloomed in their ears—like velvet over razor blades, intimate and omnipresent, vibrating through skulls.
"Welcome, players. This is Unlimited Horror Run—a game where you entertain us... and the audience."
Murmurs erupted as the ginger-haired woman bolted upright, fists balled. She yelled, "What the hell?! Do you think your prank is funny?!"
The bodybuilder cracked knuckles, veins bulging. "Audience? This prank's gone far enough. I have to go home—I have no time for this nonsense."
The teen shrank into his hoodie, eyes darting; the blonde clutched her necklace, lips mouthing silent prayers. Lila's fingers tightened on her camera, pulse steady despite the chill racing her spine.
"I am your host... but this is not a show." The voice didn't show any change—in fact, it was more melodious than before.
"Then what is it?" barked the olive-skinned woman, voice cracking, standing halfway, knees wobbling.
The voice chuckled, low and silken, sending gooseflesh rippling. "Something your simpleton brains could never process. But no more games until it starts for real—let's discuss the rules."
"Rules? You're still joking?" sneered the bodybuilder, pounding a meaty fist on the seatback, rattling the frame.
"The rules are simple. The first rule is—survive. And the second is—entertain us."
A cluster near the back—three jittery office types, faces slick with nervous sweat—forced laughs, slapping backs.
"Ha! Fine, we're out. Unlock the doors, freak!"
"We have work to do, okay? Find someone else!"
"Fuck off! We don't have time for this!"
The olive-skinned woman gave Lila a look before looking at the group. "I am thinking that we all should discuss among ourselves before going outside." She had an ominous feeling bubbling in her heart.
"Why should we wait?" snarled the body builder. He wasn't going to wait for anyone to leave this place. But for some reason, he looked at Lila. "Hey, beautiful, do you want to leave this place?"
Lila gave him a cool look, shaking her head. "No, I am fine here. You can go out if you want."
"Tch! Your loss, beautiful. I never thought that someone like you would entertain this nonsense."
Lila scowled at him before looking away. She was certain that as soon as they would yank at the door, it would open without giving any fight. And that was what really happened.
They surged forward, yanking at the handle. It hissed open with a pneumatic sigh, fog tendrils curling in like welcoming fingers. It sent a shiver down Lila's spine, whose eyes widened with fear.
"Leave if you wish," the voice purred, amused. "The door is yours."
Grins widening in reckless bravado, they joked louder, and piled out into the mist-shrouded road.
"See you later, host."
"Yeah, we are not pussies!"
"Later, beautiful~"
Steps crunched on loose gravel, fading into the thickening fog—three sets, cocky and uneven, laughter echoing brittle against the bus's metal shell. The jittery office types led the charge: the lanky one in his rumpled suit, the ponytail-sporting woman clutching her purse like a talisman, and the balding man with coffee-stained tie, all forcing grins.
"See? Nothing out here!" the lanky one jeered, voice muffled by mist. The door hung open, a yawning black maw exhaling damp rot.
Lila closed her eyes to prepare herself. Then—a wet snap, like a boot grinding marrow from fresh bone. Her eyes snapped open as she looked outside.
The lanky one's scream erupted first—high, animal, twisting into a gurgle as something latched—flesh tearing with a slick shrrrip, arterial spray painting the fog crimson.
His body jerked upright, silhouetted, then crumpled—a limbless torso, arms and legs sheared clean at shoulders and hips, ragged stumps spurting black ichor that steamed on the cold ground. Mandibles—chitinous, scything like oversized shears—clicked from the swarm, iridescent shells glinting wetly, multifaceted eyes reflecting the bus's interior lights in hungry pinpricks.
The ponytail woman stumbled back, heels skidding gravel into sprays, ponytail whipping wildly. "No—fuck—" Her words choked off in a bubbling wheeze; a headless husk lunged from the murk, torso undulating on worm-thick coils where legs should be.
It impaled her mid-spin, barbs erupting from its chest cavity to skewer her ribs. Blood foamed from her mouth, eyes bulging in shock as innards uncoiled in steaming loops, pattering like rain. She twitched once, twice—ponytail matted crimson—then slumped, the husk retracting with a possessive slurp, dragging her into the fog.
The balding man froze at the threshold, bladder releasing in a hot, acrid puddle down his khakis, coffee stain blooming darker. "Help—please—" A colossal insect-thing skittered into view: thumb-sized at first, then ballooning to dog-scale, wings buzzing a deafening whine that rattled bus windows.
Antennae quivered, mandibles parting to reveal nested fangs dripping viscous green. It swarmed him—claws raking thighs to ribbons, exposing white femur glinting amid gouts of red.
He clawed at his face as larvae burrowed into cheeks, popping eyes like overripe grapes. His final screech devolved to wet gurgles, body collapsing in a thrashing heap, fog drinking the metallic tang of blood and the sour reek of voided bowels.
Inside, the survivors recoiled as one. The ginger-haired woman—sharp-featured, freckles stark—bolted halfway up, then doubled over, retching bile onto the aisle in heaving, acrid splatters that steamed on the floor, hands clawing her throat.
The bodybuilder—hulking, veins bulging like rivers on his shaved scalp—gripped seatbacks till leather groaned, knuckles splitting white, massive chest heaving as his Adam's apple bobbed violently, eyes locked wide on the carnage, a low "No... fuck no" rumbling from deep within.
Faces drained to putty-gray ash across the bus; the teen hyperventilated into his hoodie, the blonde clutched her necklace in white-knuckled prayer, vomit rising sour in every throat as crimson rivulets trickled under the door, pooling sticky-black.
Lila gripped her camera, breath steady, horror sharpening to predatory focus. The photos hadn't lied.
It looks like... I—we are trapped in a nightmare.