And that’s all for today’s News headlines, the news anchor said with a practised smile. Up next, we go live to Proxima Prime, where corporate officials have just begun a monumental dig at one of the largest ancient ruin sites discovered in decades. Some are calling it the find of the century.
The screen shifted to a live feed, the image flickering briefly as it transitioned to a scene of excited reporters and a vast excavation site under the bright sun of Proxima Centauri. Massive cranes and automated digging machines hummed in the background as they unearthed enormous slabs of alien stone. The ruins stretched as far as the eye could see, a labyrinth of forgotten civilization buried beneath the colony’s surface for millennia.
The camera panned to the lead correspondent, a young woman standing with a microphone in hand, her expression one of barely-contained enthusiasm.
“This is Claire Montgomery, reporting live from the excavation site at Sector 7,” she said, the wind tugging at her hair as she stood in front of the alien dig. “Behind me, you can see the research teams from Horizon Corporation and Centauri Archaeological Services working to unveil what might be the most significant discovery of the 24th century. These ruins, thought to be millions of years old, hold the key to understanding the civilization that once thrived here, long before humanity arrived.”
The camera zoomed in on a team of researchers wearing high-tech suits, carefully brushing away layers of dust from the stone. Some were handling advanced scanning devices, while others stood around, analysing the strange, intricate symbols etched into the surface. The air crackled with anticipation, excitement, and the faint hum of machinery in the background.
The feed was interrupted for a moment—static crackled across the screen, then quickly cleared. The feed resumed, but something had changed. There was movement in the background. Something...off.
“Hold on,” Claire said, her eyes narrowing as she looked behind her. “Something’s happening...”
The camera zoomed back out to reveal a flurry of activity at the centre of the excavation. The researchers had stopped what they were doing, staring at a deep fissure in the ground. Dust swirled around them as a low rumble echoed through the air.
“What’s that sound?” Claire’s voice wavered slightly as the tremor grew stronger. The ground beneath them seemed to shift, as if something deep within the planet was stirring, awakening after aeons of silence.
The camera jostled slightly as the cameraman adjusted, trying to capture the scene. A sharp, metallic snap rang out—one of the cranes buckled under the pressure of the shifting ground, toppling to the side in a deafening crash. The reporters nearby screamed as they scrambled to get out of the way.
“Get back!” shouted one of the foramen, his voice barely audible over the growing din. “Everyone, get back!”
Claire’s face flashed with panic as she spoke into her microphone. “We...we seem to be experiencing some kind of seismic event here. I’m not sure what’s happening, but the ground is—”
She was cut off as the camera suddenly jerked violently. The cameraman, clearly struggling to keep his balance, swung the feed toward the fissure, which was now widening, black tendrils of smoke or gas seeping from its edges. There was a strange hiss, like steam escaping from a pressurised tank, followed by an eerie silence. For a moment, everything went still.
Then, the ground erupted.
A plume of black mist shot into the air, and with it came the first wave. A mass of writhing shapes, at first indiscernible in the chaos, spewed forth from the cracked earth, engulfing the researchers who stood too close.
Screams filled the air. People scattered in all directions, some tripping over the equipment in their desperation to escape. The camera feed tilted and spun as the cameraman was knocked to the ground, the image going shaky and blurred.
“What the hell is that?” Claire’s voice screamed off-screen, her professional demeanour gone, replaced by pure terror.
The camera righted itself just long enough to catch a glimpse of something impossible. The researchers…they were changing. Their bodies convulsed, twitching unnaturally as the black mist swirled around them. Their eyes turned a sickly, glazed white, and their skin began to slough off in chunks. Whatever had come out of the ground, it was no longer just gas—it was alive, and it was spreading fast.
A researcher nearest the fissure staggered forward, his mouth open in a silent scream, as his body twisted into a grotesque, semi-human form. His arms elongated unnaturally, fingers curling into talons. Others fell to the ground, their bodies spasming as the infection ravaged their cells, changing them, warping them into something inhuman.
“Backup! Back up!” Claire’s voice was filled with panic now as she backed away, stumbling over debris. The camera was pointed directly at the excavation site, capturing everything in horrifying detail as more and more figures succumbed to the virus, transforming into violent, mindless creatures.
One of the infected—once a scientist—let out an ear-splitting shriek and charged at a nearby crew member. The camera shook as the beast tackled the man, ripping into him with savage ferocity. Blood sprayed across the ground, and within seconds, more of the newly infected creatures were attacking anyone within reach.
The feed jolted again. The cameraman was running now, panting hard as the camera bobbed up and down. Claire could be heard in the background. Her voice choked with fear as she tried to keep up.
“Cut the feed! Cut the damn feed!” someone off-screen shouted. But the camera kept rolling, capturing every horrifying moment as chaos erupted around the excavation site.
Just before the feed cut out, the camera zoomed in one final time, focusing on the fissure at the centre of the excavation. Something was moving within the depths—something massive. Dark, shadowy shapes slithered out of the crack, the mist coiling around them like a shroud.
And the screen went black.
###
Dante Harrison slouched in the worn-out chair of his apartment, his VR headset dangling loosely around his neck. The soft glow of the holoscreen in front of him cast a faint light over the mess of action figures, comic books, and scattered cables strewn about his living space. He absentmindedly scrolled through media feeds, his thoughts drifting as another retro zombie movie marathon passed by on one of his screens.
The allure of the apocalypse fascinated him, but in the way someone fantasised about building a log cabin in the wilderness—nice to think about, but not something he'd actually do. Dante was obsessed with the genre: the cheesy movies, the survival games, the tactical discussions on forums about what people should do if zombies ever came knocking. But it was all fantasy. He enjoyed poking fun at the tropes, mocking the silly mistakes characters made, and imagining how he would outsmart every undead scenario.
At least, that’s how he thought about it. It wasn’t something he really believed would happen.
A headline blinked onto the screen, drawing his attention back. "LIVE: Horizon Corp Excavation—Ancient Ruins Unveiled."
Dante squinted at the image. Some big dig site on Proxima Centauri b, the colony where he’d lived his whole life. Horizon Corp always seemed to be poking around, unearthing some mysterious alien artefact or another. It was one of those things people tuned into out of habit, not because they expected anything dramatic.
"Ancient ruins," Dante muttered, sipping on cold coffee. "Bet it’s another useless relic."
He wasn’t particularly interested, but he let the feed play in the background while he turned his attention back to a VR mod he’d been toying with—a survival sim based on old Earth zombie movies. A part of him liked to imagine how he’d handle the scenarios, but it wasn’t like he’d ever have to do it for real. His life was normal, boring even. The apocalypse was fun as long as it stayed on-screen.
The feed flickered, then zoomed in on the excavation. The reporter, Claire Montgomery, was standing front and centre, her voice brimming with excitement. "This could be one of the greatest discoveries in our history," she said. "We’ve already uncovered artefacts that predate anything we’ve seen before."
Dante rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure," he mumbled, not really paying attention.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Suddenly, the camera shook. Claire’s voice faltered, and the screen jittered as a low rumble echoed through the site. The workers in the background had stopped what they were doing, backing away from the deepening fissure in the ground.
"Wait, what’s that?" Dante muttered, sitting up a little straighter. He tapped the screen to adjust the audio.
Claire turned, her face pale. "It looks like… there’s some kind of movement from below," she stammered. The ground shook again, harder this time, and a thin plume of black mist shot from the crack.
Dante’s grip on his coffee cup tightened. His heartbeat quickened—not with excitement, but with something else, something uncomfortable. He’d seen scenes like this play out a thousand times in movies and games, but this… this was different. The camera wasn’t following a script. The people weren’t actors.
On-screen, chaos erupted. Workers scattered in all directions, screaming, as the mist spread, engulfing those too slow to react. The feed blurred as the cameraman tried to keep focus, but then the picture stabilised. Dante’s breath hitched when he saw it.
The people closest to the mist were… changing. Their bodies contorted in unnatural ways, skin splitting and twisting as they fell to the ground. Those still standing writhed in pain, their eyes clouding over, mouths opening in silent screams. One of the researchers stumbled toward the camera, his arms elongating, his skin peeling away in thick, sloughing chunks.
Dante’s stomach churned. This wasn’t special effects. This wasn’t makeup or some VR sim designed for shock value. This was real, and it was happening just a few kilometres away from where he sat. The people on-screen were turning into monsters right before his eyes, and there was nothing scripted about it.
"Turn it off," he muttered, his hand hovering over the screen control, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
The camera zoomed in on one of the infected, its body jerking unnaturally as it pounced on a nearby worker, tearing into them with savage, animalistic fury. Blood sprayed across the excavation site as the creature ripped and slashed at its victim.
Dante’s hand finally jerked away from the controls, shaking. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He had spent years laughing at scenes like this, talking about how he’d never be the dumb character who got caught off guard. But now, sitting in his apartment, he felt something new. Fear. Raw, unfiltered fear.
The screen suddenly cut to static. The live feed died. The silence that followed was deafening.
Then, the emergency broadcast flashed across the holoscreen: "ALL CITIZENS REPORT TO YOUR DESIGNATED SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. STAY INDOORS. DO NOT APPROACH THE SITE."
Dante just stared at the words, his mind blank. The first sensation to break through was the cold sweat running down the back of his neck. He should move, get to a shelter, or do something. But he sat there, paralyzed, the weight of what he’d just seen crashing over him.
This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t a fun thought experiment about how he’d handle an apocalypse. This was real. The people he’d just watched were dead—or worse—and something far more terrifying was spreading across Proxima Centauri b.
He forced himself to stand, his legs trembling. His eyes scanned the room—action figures, old comics, posters of his favourite films—and for the first time, it all felt… small. Useless. None of it mattered now. All the survival strategies he’d spent years thinking about, all the tropes he’d mocked—they were meaningless in the face of what he’d just witnessed.
The gun he kept stashed away felt heavier in his hands than it should have. He had no real training, just ideas—ideas born from media that made survival look easy, fun even. Now, with the weight of the weapon and the knowledge that it might soon be needed, everything felt different. Wrong.
He slipped it into his pack, more out of a sense of obligation than conviction. He didn’t want to go outside. The idea of facing whatever had just emerged from the ground made his skin crawl. But the emergency broadcast kept flashing, demanding action. He had no choice.
Dante stood at the door of his apartment, staring at the handle. His hand trembled as it hovered over the latch. He wasn’t ready for this. In the back of his mind, the old, comforting idea of the apocalypse as a fantasy—a game to be played, a story to laugh about—was dying a slow, painful death.
And now, he had to face it.
"Guess I’m about to find out," he whispered, voice barely audible.
Then, with a deep breath, he stepped out into a world he had only ever imagined—one that was far more terrifying than he’d ever wanted it to be.
The moment Dante stepped out into the hallway, the reality of the situation hit him with full force. The usually quiet apartment complex now hummed with a low, collective panic. He could hear people rushing down the corridors, voices echoing in the distance—frantic conversations, hurried footsteps, the occasional sound of something breaking.
His heart pounded in his chest as he took tentative steps toward the stairwell. He had lived on Proxima Centauri b his whole life, but nothing in his 28 years had prepared him for this. The apocalypse, it seemed, wasn’t nearly as exciting when you were living it.
"Stay calm," he whispered to himself. "It’s just a disaster protocol. You know the drill. Get to the shelter, stay safe, and wait for the authorities to handle it."
But even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t enough to settle his nerves. The memory of the live feed kept replaying in his mind—the mist, the people transforming, their bodies twisting into monsters. He had watched the apocalypse unfold countless times in his favourite films and VR games, but those were just pixels and special effects. This was real. These were real people.
At the base of the stairwell, the door to the street stood wide open, letting in the cool evening air. Dante hesitated, the faint noise of distant chaos filtering through the gap. There were no sirens yet, no military presence, no organised evacuation—just confusion. The colony’s security forces were not built for such a situation. Proxima Centauri b had been peaceful for decades. There had been no serious conflict here in over a century.
He stepped cautiously through the doorway, bracing himself as he entered the open street. What he saw outside sent a chill down his spine.
It was a scene of controlled chaos—at least, for now. People rushed back and forth between buildings, their faces pale with fear. Vehicles swerved down the roads, some careening into walls or skidding to avoid panicked crowds. The air was thick with tension, and although the infection hadn't reached this part of the city yet, everyone seemed to know something terrible was happening.
Dante stopped, scanning the street for any sign of the infected. He saw nothing—no twisted, zombie-like creatures, no black mist—but that only unsettled him more. How long before infection spreads here? Hours? Minutes?
His mind raced. What would a smart character do now? The answer, as always, was simple: Don’t be a hero. Get somewhere safe. Think before acting.
But where? His apartment was too close to the potential outbreak. Emergency shelters were designed for weather crises, not viral outbreaks. And more importantly, the one nearest to him was likely already packed with frightened civilians. If the infection spread there...
"Shit," he muttered under his breath.
He started walking, clutching the strap of his bag like a lifeline, his head down as he made his way toward the shelter. He wasn’t running—there wasn’t any reason to yet—but his feet moved faster than they had any right to. His eyes flicked nervously to every alley, every shadow, half-expecting something to jump out. He could hear people talking behind closed doors, their voices muffled and anxious, unsure of what was happening beyond their walls.
As he rounded a corner, his eyes caught sight of a group of people gathered near the entrance of a building. At first, he thought they were just neighbours talking, maybe discussing what they had seen on the news. But as he got closer, he realised something was wrong.
There was a figure on the ground—a man, maybe in his forties, twitching violently. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his veins stood out like dark lines beneath the surface. Dante froze, his blood turning to ice.
The people around the man didn’t know what to do. One of them knelt beside him, their hands hovering uselessly over his convulsing body. "Someone call for help!" a woman yelled, her voice trembling.
Dante took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to leave, to get away before things got worse. This is how it starts. He had seen this scene play out too many times before—someone sick, someone trying to help, then the sudden, horrific transformation. But those were just tropes, right? That wasn’t how things really worked.
Except now, it was.
"Hey!" a voice snapped, pulling him out of his thoughts. Dante turned to see a young man staring at him from across the street. He was waving frantically. "You! Help us out, man! He’s not breathing!"
Dante’s heart raced. He wanted to run, to tell them to get away from the infected man before it was too late, but the words stuck in his throat. What if he’s not infected? a part of his brain reasoned. What if he’s just sick?
But the memory of the broadcast flooded back into his mind—the black mist, the grotesque transformations, the blood. It didn’t matter if this man looked normal now. He wouldn’t stay that way for long.
"Stay back," Dante finally managed to say, his voice shaky. "You don’t know what’s wrong with him."
The young man blinked, clearly confused by Dante’s reaction. "What the hell are you talking about? He’s having a seizure or something! Help us!"
Dante shook his head, taking another step backward. "You need to leave. Now."
Before the young man could argue, the convulsing man on the ground suddenly went still. The group around him froze, unsure what had just happened. Then, slowly, the man’s body twitched—once, twice—before his head jerked up violently, eyes wide and bloodshot, mouth hanging open in a grotesque, unnatural grin.
The woman kneeling beside him screamed as the man lunged, his hands clawing at her throat. Dante didn’t wait to see what happened next. He turned and ran, his heart pounding in his chest as he bolted down the street, his footsteps echoing in the rapidly emptying city.
As he ran, the reality of what was happening finally sunk in. This wasn’t a story. This wasn’t a game. People were dying—people were becoming something else, something monstrous—and the infection was spreading faster than anyone could contain it.
His mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do. The shelters were a risk, but staying in the open was suicide. He needed somewhere defensible, somewhere away from the crowds, away from the infection. Somewhere safe, at least for now.
He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a soldier. He was just a guy who knew a lot about survival horror. And now that knowledge was all he had.
The apocalypse had come to Proxima Centauri b. And Dante Harrison was nowhere near ready for it.