In other parts of the city, streets outside Marisol’s children’s apartment building betrayed no signs of impending chaos. A deceptive calm enveloped the surroundings, allowing the sounds of normal life to echo through the otherwise somber evening. In the distance, the approaching werewolf apocalypse overwhelmed the city with the stench of fear, the wail of sirens, and the palpable dread of an infectious mycovirus. The lycanthropic pathogen spread at alarming speed, triggering a cascade of horrifying symptoms. The city, once alive with activity, has now teetered on the brink of annihilation.

Marisol, on a mission from Antonio, ascended the steps of an apartment building. Nia observed her with a smile, recognizing the wisdom in taking the stairs. The distant wail of emergency sirens bridged the two scenes, with a cacophony hinting at impending chaos. The contrast between the gruesome scene in the newsroom and the apparent tranquility in the building was stark. Distant emergency alert sirens from the city bridged the two locations, a discordant symphony underscoring the tension that awaited.

Nia followed Marisol as she navigated the hallways, searching for room numbers, her destination clear. Marisol, driven by an undisclosed mission, arrived at her destination — an apartment within the building. Hesitation marked her as she stood before the door while she composed herself, and knocked. The door swung open, jubilation erupted within, and Marisol entered.

Nia found a spot on an air conditioning unit and settled in, her gaze drawn upward as she pondered current events. In the midst of her musings, a presumably fifty-seven-year-old woman interrupted Nia’s thoughts. The woman cleared her throat and looked over her glasses with a raised brow and a slight smile.

Irritated, Nia curtly asked, “Can I help you?” In the dimly lit hallway, Nia found herself face-to-face with the epitome of an infamous “Karen.” The woman, 57 years old, radiated entitlement, and her anti-vaccination stance was apparent in the heated discussions she had engaged in with fellow tenants before. Nia’s patience was stretched thin, given the feral uprising, but she forced herself to engage civilly. The woman eyed Nia with a mix of suspicion and condescension. Without warning, the emergency lights were activated. Their surreal red glow and white exit signs made everything look ten times worse.

Karen squinted suspiciously at Nia. “You work here? Where’s the manager? They should have informed us about these emergency lights. This is unacceptable!”

Nia responded with a tight smile, “Hey there, no, I don’t work here. I’m just trying to reach someone from one of these units. I wouldn’t know about the lights. You wouldn’t happen to know Marisol Rodriguez, would you?”

Karen looked Nia up and down, “Marisol, huh? Well, I don’t get involved in other people’s business. You know, it’s a shame.” Ignoring Nia’s response, she continued, “Did you see what happened on the news just now? I can’t believe these networks are always trying to manipulate us with their fake news.”

Nia nodded, sighing inwardly, “It was a tragedy. It was… unexpected. And you are?”

Karen smirked, “Call me Karen. I watch Michelle every evening. Can’t believe what they’re trying to pull. It’s probably just some movie stunt gone wrong. You can’t trust what they show you. That anchor probably faked it. They’re all in on it.”

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Nia suppressed a sigh, “It wasn’t a stunt. It’s real. There’s something happening out there.”

Karen scoffed dismissively, “Oh please, it’s just those Hollywood stunt people messing with our minds. I bet they’re behind all this. That’s just a distraction. They’re trying to divert us from what’s really happening.”

Nia said patiently, “Look, I get it. But right now, you need to get to safety. Those emergency lights mean something’s not right.”

Suddenly, the red glow intensified, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. The distant wail of sirens added to the mounting tension.

Karen panicked, “What’s going on? Has this happened before? We have to get out of here!”

Nia urged urgently, “Look, I don’t have time to debate this. You need to go. For your own sake.”

Karen, hesitant and clinging to her skepticism, asked, “Why do you want me to leave all of a sudden?”

Nia silenced her, “Quiet.”

Karen questioned, “What?”

Nia insisted, “Quiet!”

They heard a distant roaring sound, rapidly approaching like an express train.

Karen asked, “What is that?”

Karen’s gaze swiftly turned away. A scream down the hall drew her attention. Heavy footsteps sounded like a vast group of people running down the hall. Screams grew louder. Something crazy and wicked came that way. An explosion of a gas line roared from outside. Nia stood, looking around, stretching as if for a yoga class.

The old woman moved off, her feet slower than her panic. A panicked mob of stampeding people slammed against a locked stairwell door. The pounding of fists and shoulders rang through the hallway, desperation in every strike. Nia heard the riot of survivors huddled together.

Karen, worried, asked, “Don’t you have a key for the door?”

Impending doom echoed through the walls. A cacophony of more frantic footsteps clattered on the metal steps, accompanied by cries and desperate pleas for help. People from lower floors were trying to get to higher levels. They were pushing and shoving one another. Trapped souls desperate in the narrow confines of the apartment stairwell. The metallic pounding of fists and the dull thuds of shoulders striking the door reverberated in a macabre rhythm. The air in the stairwell was thick with tension, mingled with the acrid scent of fear, thickening with every passing moment.

The pounding of footsteps, a chaotic symphony of panic, echoed through the enclosed space. Desperation clung to the sound, a haunting reminder of humanity’s futile struggle against the unleashed terror. Rising panic became palpable.

The metallic clang of fists on the locked door reverberated through the stairwell, creating a dissonant melody of desperation. Each strike carried with it a plea for escape, a desperate attempt to break through the barrier between the trapped survivors and the incoming threat. Muffled cries and anguished pleas for help layered upon one another. Each impact on the door carried a pulse of anguish. The air thickened with a palpable sense of urgency. The footsteps on the metal steps were punctuated by the occasional yelp of someone who had stumbled or collided with another in the frenzied chaos. The scent of sweat and fear permeated the stale air, creating a suffocating atmosphere.

Amidst the chaos, the rising crescendo of snarls and guttural growls hinted at the encroaching danger. The werewolves, drawn by the scent of the living, were climbing the stairway from the street level. Their inhuman roars blended with the symphony of terror, adding unearthly quality to the nightmare unfolding in the confined space.

On the other side of the locked door, Karen hesitated. She was unmoved. Her face reflected a tumultuous mix of fear and uncertainty. Her earlier skepticism had morphed into a stubborn conviction, a misguided determination to resist the mounting evidence of the dire situation. Nia, a silent witness to the unfolding tragedy, watched Karen’s internal struggle play out on her face.

The metallic jingle of the handle and the sharp clicks of a lock being manipulated created a counterpoint to the desperate pleas outside. Nia, silent but watchful, felt no mercy for them.