A full day of riding had led me here, huddled in the shadows of a rocky outcropping, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Around me, the silent and watchful jagged hills loomed in the gathering twilight. The determination I’d felt leaving that gas station this morning had been replaced by something else—a creeping sense of impending doom that clung to me like smoke. The comfort I’d found in playing Dad’s guitar earlier had faded with each passing mile. A growing sense that something was following me gnawed at my thoughts, making staying in one place feel dangerous. The dread overwhelmed me, stronger with each passing hour, until I finally abandoned my bike, retreating deeper into the wild in desperate hope of evading whatever horror might be out there.

My hands tremble as I fumble with the knobs on my worn-out emergency receiver that dad had me place in the backpack. The device, an old relic, salvaged from my grandfather's attic, had become my only companion during this self-imposed exile. Static hisses from the speaker, occasionally interrupted by the ghostly echoes of fragmented voices. The white noise fills the silence, but it's little comfort in these desolate hills. Then, cutting through the static, clear and sharp:

Warning. This is an urgent transmission. I repeat, this is an urgent transmission.

I spring up, twisting the dial with shaky fingers, desperate to catch every word.

We’ve received verified reports of strange occurrences appearing worldwide. These events are being described as shimmering gateways or wormholes. The source and function of these phenomena remain unknown.

My heart pounds in my chest. Gateways? Wormholes? It sounds like the ramblings of a sci-fi enthusiast, not an official emergency broadcast. My mind struggles to process it, but the tone of the announcer’s voice—so authoritative, so serious—forces me to listen.

We urge the public to practice utmost vigilance and caution.

A burst of static cuts the voice short. I slam my fist against the side of the receiver, cursing under my breath. "Come on, come on!" The radio crackles and hisses, then suddenly—

"IF THIS MESSAGE REACHES YOU, PAY ATTENTION." The voice blasts through the speakers, so powerful it makes them rattle. It's deep, metallic, wrong—like nothing I've ever heard before. "Don't believe the government's lies. These gateways aren't dangerous—they're your escape route. They offer a way out of this dying world, a chance to start fresh."

I freeze, the words echoing in my mind. A way out? A new world?

The alien voice booms through the static again, each word vibrating through the radio's frame: "FIND THE CLOSEST PORTAL. TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS. ONCE YOU FIND IT DON'T HESITATE—STEP THROUGH. FREEDOM IS WAITING FOR YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE."

A mix of fear and hope surges through me, my heart pounding in my chest. Could this be true? The promise of freedom feels almost too good to believe, but the desperation gnawing at me makes it impossible to ignore. I can't shake the feeling that this might be my only chance.

The voice disappears, consumed by static. A distant, faint glow pulses on the horizon, flickering like a beacon in the darkness. Silence descends, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the weight of the radio heavy in my hands.

My breath comes in shallow gasps as I sit there, clutching the receiver, as though it might offer some explanation for the madness I’ve just heard. Gateways? Wormholes? A new world? My rational mind rejects it outright, but somewhere deep inside, a flicker of curiosity ignites. Could this be real?

I scramble to my feet, ignoring the protests from my aching muscles. I can't just sit here wondering—I have to see for myself. If these so-called gateways are appearing, I might spot one from the highlands. From up there, I’ll have a clear view of the surrounding terrain.

I shove the receiver into my pack and climb, my boots slipping on the loose stones as I make my way up the rocky incline. The air grows colder as I ascend, and the sun, now sinking behind the hills, bathes the world in hues of deep purple and red. My breath comes in shallow bursts, more from the anxiety building in my chest than the physical effort.

The climb is treacherous; the wind biting at my face as I navigate the narrow crevices. Several times, I lose my footing, the sharp, jagged rocks slipping beneath my boots. The rough surface scrapes my palms as I brace myself, the gritty texture of the stone digging into my skin, reminding me just how fragile my balance is on this unforgiving slope. The rocks are sharp, jagged edges jutting out like teeth, and I can feel them tearing at my clothes, scraping against my skin. But I press on, driven by a mixture of fear and hope, the latter a faint, fragile thing that seems to grow stronger with each step I take.

When I finally reach the summit, I drop to my knees, my chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. From here, I can see for miles—the rolling hills, the darkening forest, the distant shimmer of water. The vastness of the landscape stretches out before me, an unbroken expanse of wilderness, untouched and untamed. But it’s not the natural landscape that holds my attention.

Far on the horizon, a faint glow pulses in the distance, flickering like a beacon in the darkness. My heart skips a beat. Could it be? The light resembles nothing I’ve ever seen before. It shifts and shimmers, casting strange hues across the land, like the surface of a rippling pond caught in moonlight.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I feel my pulse quicken as I fix my gaze on that distant glow. The gateway.

Without a second thought, I scramble back down the slope, the loose rocks and sharp outcrops tearing at my clothes and skin. The ground beneath my feet is treacherous, but I can’t slow down—I have to reach that light. I have to know if what I heard was real.

As I draw closer, the glow intensifies, filling the air with an unnatural, otherworldly radiance. Strange colours immerse the trees and rocks around me—hues I’ve never seen before, shifting in and out of existence, bending the rules of reality. The very air seems to hum with energy, a low, vibrating sound that resonates deep in my bones.

My pace slows as I near the source of the light. An overwhelming sense of awe and terror washes over me as I crouch behind a pile of rocks, my heart thudding in my chest. The colours shift continuously; the portal pulsating with a rhythm that seems almost alive. It’s like staring into a kaleidoscope, a constantly changing swirl of light and shadow.

There it stands—a gateway. Hovering in midair, suspended by nothing, its surface rippling like a veil of liquid light. Staring at it hurts, the glow too intense, too unnatural. My mind struggles to comprehend what I'm seeing. It’s as if reality itself is fraying at the edges, revealing something beyond my understanding.

But that’s not the only thing that sets my nerves on edge.

Encircling the gateway is a group of men—rough-looking, dangerous, with scarred faces and hardened expressions. They wear mismatched and tattered clothes, a mix of military gear and scavenged clothing, and constantly dart their eyes around as if expecting trouble. Some of them have tattoos peeking out from beneath their sleeves, and their hands rest on their weapons with a practiced ease that speaks of experience. They’ve claimed this place, and everything about them screams they won’t give it up without a fight. They’ve erected makeshift barricades, and several of them stand guard, armed with handguns and rifles. Their movements are sharp and purposeful, like soldiers on a mission. My stomach churns as I realize what I’m witnessing.

This gang—this group of opportunists—has claimed the portal. They’ve set up camp, staking their claim on the passage, exploiting it for their own purposes. I can see the outlines of tents and makeshift shelters, crude structures built from scavenged materials. The men move with a kind of grim efficiency, their eyes constantly scanning the surrounding area, searching for any sign of trouble.

I watch in horrified fascination as a small group of haggard civilians approach the gateway. Their clothes hang in tatters, hunger and desperation etched into their gaunt faces. They clutch what little they have—backpacks, blankets, a few meager possessions—and look toward the glowing gateway with a mixture of fear and hope. I can see the exhaustion in their eyes, the way they stumble forward, each step a monumental effort.

One of the gang members, a tall man with a cruel grin plastered across his face, steps forward. His voice is loud, dripping with false friendliness as he addresses the newcomers.

“Welcome, friends! You’ve come seeking salvation, haven’t you?" His smile widens, and the refugees nod, their heads barely moving, some whispering among themselves.

“Well, you're in luck. You’ve found it,” the gang leader spreading his arms wide. “But as you might imagine, crossing into paradise comes with a cost. You see, my crew and I are the gatekeepers. We make sure only the worthy get through.”

I grip the edge of the rock, my fists clenched in anger. Gatekeepers? They’re extorting these poor people, charging them for something that should be free—a chance to survive.

One by one, the refugees step forward, handing over money, jewellery, whatever valuables they have left. The gang takes everything, stripping them of their possessions. The gang pushes aside those who can't pay, causing their faces to crumple in despair. I watch as a young woman, her eyes filled with tears, clutches a small locket before giving it up. The gang member snatches it from her hand without a second glance, his expression indifferent.

One man—a middle-aged fellow with wild eyes and a look of pure desperation—tears away from the group. Without warning, he sprints toward the portal, ignoring the shouts of the gang members.

"Stop him!" the leader barks, but it's too late. The man throws himself into the glowing veil, his body illuminated for a moment before disappearing into the light.

A stunned silence falls over the clearing. The gang members exchange uneasy glances, shaken by the sight of someone slipping through without their permission. I can see the tension in their posture, the way their hands tighten on their rifles. For a moment, it's as if they're unsure of what to do, their authority challenged by the man's act of defiance.

The leader is the first to recover. His face twists into a snarl, and he turns to the remaining refugees, his voice filled with venom. "Let this be a lesson. No one crosses unless I say so. No one."

The gang leader snatches a young refugee standing near the escapee. He drags the terrified refugee to the front of the group.

"You all need to understand the consequences of defiance," the leader snarls, his voice cold and menacing. He pulls out a knife, the blade glinting in the portal's ethereal light. "For every person who tries to cross without my permission, one of you will pay the price."

With a swift, brutal motion, he slashes the young man's face, leaving a deep gash from his temple to his chin. The refugee crumples to the ground, clutching his bleeding face and whimpering in pain.

The leader turns to face the horrified crowd. "This scar will be a permanent reminder of what happens when you disobey. Next time, the punishment will be far worse. Do I make myself clear?"

The refugees nod, too terrified to speak. Some avert their eyes, while others stare in shock at their injured companion.

"Good," the leader says, wiping his blade clean. "Now, let's continue our business. Who's next to pay for paradise?"

The refugees huddle together, fear etched into their faces, but they say nothing. They have no choice but to wait, to hope they can bargain their way through. I can see the hopelessness in their eyes, the way they cling to each other for support, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and fear.

I shrink back into the shadows, my mind racing. What I've just witnessed has shaken me to the core. The portals are real—there's no denying that. But they're not the salvation I'd imagined. Not with people like this exploiting them for their own gain.

I can't stay here. If the gang discovers me, I'll be in just as much danger as those refugees. And I can't fight them—not like this, not unarmed and outnumbered.

I retreat from my hiding spot, creeping back into the cover of the trees. My thoughts whirl as I put as much distance between myself and the gang as possible. Where did that man go? What did he find on the other side of the portal? Was it a new world, or was there something else, something far worse, waiting beyond the veil?

The journey back down the slope is slow and careful. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves sends my heart racing. I can't afford to be careless—not now, not when I'm so close to finding answers. The sun has almost completely set, and the darkness seems to swallow everything around me, the shadows growing deeper with every passing minute.

I might need to find an alternative route, another gateway. Those exploiting the frightened and vulnerable won't have a monopoly on them. Somewhere out there, beyond these hills, there must be another portal—one not guarded by greed and malice. As I slip into the shadows, the portal's throbbing glow seared into my memory, I am reminded of the bizarre situation I've stumbled into—a place where gleaming doorways dangle the prospect of salvation, and humanity's darkest elements stand poised to cash in on others' dreams of a better life.