Rick paused at the edge of the village—mist curling between his boots like it was alive.
"Remember the sign from earlier?" he asked, voice low.
"Yeah," 777 said slowly.
Rick's eyes didn't move.
"Don't react. Even if I die."
777 blinked. Paused. Then muttered, "Cool. Mental trauma speedrun it is."
—
The village looked like it was rotting from the inside out.
Some houses were no taller than sheds—leaning wrong, like they'd grown from the dirt by mistake.
Others loomed wide, windows open like mouths waiting for screams.
Wood cracked beneath their boots.
Some doors stood half-open, swinging gently.
The wind whistled through shattered mail slots—like someone trying to speak in reverse.
No people.
No voices.
Just cold air and the soft creak of something inside one of the buildings. Like the village itself was watching them walk through.
And just like that...
Their search began.
—
Flashback – Inside the Van (Just after the sign)
The fog still clung to the windows. The engine hummed low.
777 leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What are we getting ourselves into?"
Rick didn't look over. "god knows."
777 glanced back at the road. "That sign… it feels wrong. Almost like a trap."
Rick nodded once. "It's misleading on purpose. 'Do not acknowledge it.' Too many questions packed into four words."
777 squinted. "What is 'it'? What are they warning us not to see?"
Rick took a breath. Calm. Measured.
"We play it safe," he said. "If we see anything—anything that doesn't fit—don't react. Don't speak. Don't even think too loud."
777 blinked. "So what, if a demon crawls out of the floor, I just keep sipping soda and pretend it's not there?"
Rick didn't answer. Just looked him dead in the eye.
"If there's an anomaly—we ignore it. Like it never happened. Don't talk about what's happening around us. Don't question it. Just follow my lead."
777 gulped. "Right. Watch you. Don't mess up."
"Exactly," Rick said.
Back to Present—
The van door creaked open.
And they stepped into the fog.
—
Except… something was wrong.
Rick took one step.
777 followed.
Then they turned—just to check.
The van was ten steps behind them.
Not two. Not five.
Ten.
The space between them had stretched. Warped.
Like the fog had breathed in… and pulled the ground with it.
Neither said anything.
They didn't dare.
—
Rick's eyes scanned the blur of buildings ahead—shadows behind the mist.
He didn't turn his head.
"Remember the sign from earlier?" Voice low. Measured.
"Yeah," 777 said slowly, eyes still flicking back to where the van should've been.
Rick stayed still.
"Don't react. Even if I die."
777 blinked.
Paused.
Then muttered, "Cool. Mental trauma speedrun it is."
And the fog rolled in deeper.
Almost like it was listening.
Flashback — Inside the Van (Minutes after seeing the sign)
777: "We're gonna need a way to communicate."
Rick: "We'll test some theories."
777: "Yeah—putting your hand in fire again."
Rick: "Exactly."
777: "You're leaning into the edge again."
Rick: "Fully."
777: "Don't you die."
Rick: "I'll try not to. I'm not expecting something worse than a mimic. But if it is… I'll find a way to let you know."
777: "We don't have real data on this place."
Rick: "Who told you that? We've got fragments. People missing. A town missing."
777: "A whole town?"
Rick: "Gone. No name. No digital footprint. But deep in some archive logs, it's there. Something big happened here."
777: "Like what?"
Rick: "Big enough to justify an airstrike."
777: "There's no documentation of that."
Rick: "No official docs, no. But they never clear the logs. Everyone checks the polished reports. Nobody digs through a thousand raw op-logs."
Rick paused. Then added quietly:
"And airstrike logs? They never delete those."
777: "Damn."
Back to Present
Rick's thoughts coiled tight behind his eyes.
"How do I tell him we're dealing with something worse?"
No good answer. Just a bad idea.
"Let's test the first theory."
He didn't turn.
"Remember the sign from earlier?" he said again.
777's face twitched.
"…Yeah."
"Don't react. Even if I die."
Silence.
Then 777, I his mind
"…Yeah, we're so fucked."