I kept running desperately, climbing stairs, dragging metal furniture to block the way, hearing furious shouts behind me: "Faggot! Little son of a bitch! Run! Run, you little shit! But tell me, where will you run when there's no darkness left?" The policeman's voice boomed behind me, but finally, exhaustion and adrenaline began to take their toll. My legs faltered, and I was forced to stop, panting heavily.

  Around me were empty, silent offices, as if everyone had suddenly disappeared, leaving behind an almost supernatural stillness. I peeked into one, the beam of my flashlight sweeping across desks covered in scattered papers and dust. But in a corner, near an overturned filing cabinet, the tiled floor looked cleaner, almost as if it had been recently mopped, and there was a faint, strange smell of... machine oil or some kind of lubricant? I shook my head. Exhaustion was making me imagine things. I tried to reason with myself, aware that the armed policeman, stronger and more determined, might still be looking for me. I pushed on, exhausted, until I encountered another blocked stairwell, likely barricaded by other survivors or perhaps the policeman himself.

  I decided to use the elevator; the electricity was still working, illuminating every corner with an artificial clarity that felt unsettling amidst the silence. I avoided looking at the lights, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor.

  As I ascended, I felt something damp on my back. Touching it, I discovered blood on my fingers; probably a pellet from the previous shot. I had a first-aid kit, but I needed to find a safe place first. Arriving at the next floor, I frantically searched for a way to block the elevator. If the stairs were blocked, I could create a temporarily protected space there.

  The pain in my back intensified as the adrenaline subsided. I smashed the lights in an empty office and carefully peered out between the blinds: it was five-thirty in the afternoon, and the sun still shone intensely. A sudden throb in my head made me recoil, dizzy, feeling nauseous. I fought back the urge to vomit, aware that I needed to conserve the little energy I had left from the fateful last night.

  Finally, I treated my wound as best I could, sealed the office by securing the blinds and the door, and leaned against the latter with the window slightly ajar. I felt a suffocating heat, the dizziness persisted, and gradually, overcome by exhaustion, I fell into a restless, feverish sleep.

  I dreamed, finally, amidst so much darkness, something good. I was graduating, finishing university. Mom cried emotionally, and Dad proudly took pictures. My brother and his wife smilingly held up their little son, celebrating that long-awaited moment with me. Upon receiving the diploma, I knew, deep down, that it wasn't real; I had never actually finished my degree. I felt like a parasite, waiting for my end in the sedentary, dark comfort of failure. In the dream, everyone kept smiling, until slowly those smiles began to distort, becoming something disturbingly alien. I jolted awake seeing their gazes turn to the sky, captivated by a beautiful but terrifying light that flooded everything with deceptive warmth. I then saw my own face from the outside, showing a smile so exaggerated and impossible that the skin seemed about to tear. Blood began to flow from that grotesque smile, until something inside me burst.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  I woke with a start, dragged back into the real nightmare.

  I heard distant gunshots, probably the "policeman" who had been chasing me. They sounded rhythmically, echoing like distant thunder until they faded into silence. I checked my watch: one-thirty in the morning. I had slept for almost eight hours. I slowly stood up, examining my immediate surroundings. I looked outside and noted with relief that the sun had finally disappeared. Cautiously rummaging through the office for something useful, I found a pistol. I briefly recalled my fleeting time in the army: remove the magazine, check the chamber, reload. In theory, it seemed simple, something anyone could do. I counted the bullets; the magazine was full.

  I felt briefly empowered by the acquisition, though doubts soon overwhelmed me. I walked nervously towards the elevator, holding the gun uncertainly. I had never fired one before, and I wondered if I would be able to when necessary. During the slow descent, anxiety built up, imagining a possible confrontation with the policeman who might be waiting below. Finally, the elevator stopped, and the absolute silence of the first floor greeted me.

  Perhaps he had left, perhaps he had taken his own life. I heard nothing but my own footsteps, anxiously searching for an exit towards the parking lot or the back of the building. Suddenly, an unbearable smell hit my senses; a nauseating mixture of decaying flesh and burst pipes that not even the mask could filter out. Following that smell, almost instinctively, I entered a room that looked more like a lair than a human space.

  Nothing I had seen before could compare to the horror that awaited me there: a grotesque pile of naked, flayed bodies, so many it was impossible to count, macabrely intertwined, next to a mountain of discarded police uniforms. Could a single individual be responsible for such an atrocity? The weapon I carried seemed useless against such monstrosity. I backed away and as I turned, a fleeting reflection in the dark, dirty glass of the opposite door. A silhouette with a cap, watching. I spun around abruptly. No one. Only the empty corridor and the echo of my own ragged breath. The wave of pure fear overrode all reason.

  My stomach revolted violently, and in a dark corner, I vomited, soiling the mask. For an instant, the poisonous air I had feared seemed irrelevant compared to that ghastly scene. I leaned back exhausted on the cold floor, permeated by the stench of my own vomit and the surrounding corruption. However, hunger was stronger than any revulsion. I retreated to a safe distance and, with trembling hands, opened a can of sardines I carried. I ate them greedily, almost desperately, savoring each bite as if it were a delicacy.

  When finished, I leaned against the wall, thoughtful, defeated. I slowly processed what had happened: the devastated streets, the broken world, the loss and chaos. I cried. I cried with a force, a wrenching intensity I had never known, wondering amidst the tears how I could escape this infinite nightmare.

  Finally, I approached a window and looked out. The sky was completely dark, without moon or stars. The black immensity was absolute, empty, incomprehensible.

  Where had the stars gone? Perhaps they too had fled far from here, abandoning us to our fate.