“The Fog”

Prologue:

A secret lab has been on the hospital grounds for 45 years. While it looked like an ordinary warehouse, it hosted top-secret experiments and mysterious developments.

Then everything went wrong. Nobody knows exactly what happened because there were no survivors at the scene to call for help.

It was a day like any other when she went to work at the store. She arrived shortly after the lunchtime rush, completely unaware that the day would end differently than it had started.

She had heard from a friend that he was going to stop by while he was in the area on business.

When he arrived, she took her break, and they were sitting in the employee break room catching up when they heard someone yell, "Hey, take a look at this!” Together, they ran out into the store to see what was happening and were shocked to see an odd green fog entirely obscuring the view outside through the large glass windows at the front.

Several customers in the store rushed out the door to see what was going on, and their screams could be heard amid the fog. What happened to them? Nobody knew.

Concerned that downtown might be on fire, people pulled out their phones to call 911, but there was no service. The store's landline was dead too. They were cut off from the world, stranded in what seemed like an isolated island amongst an unknown disaster.

Fearing the fog might be poisonous, the trapped shoppers rolled up towels and packed them around the edges of the door to seal it.

Inside were the store manager, our heroine, and her male friend, a stock boy, and two customers who had not fled into the fog.

All they could hear on the radio was static. Through the fog, they first heard a siren or two, then the sound of a vehicle crashing, and finally silence.

As the afternoon went on, the fog thickened and grew darker. They heard strange noises from outside—clicks, growls, squishy-wet sounds. A few times, they thought they saw shadows moving through the fog, but it was impossible to tell what they really were.

—-—

My best friend, the store manager, two women, the stock boy, and I all gathered, pondering our next move with anticipation.

One of the women possesses a sculpted figure, slender as a strand of twine, with a graceful, elongated form. Her waist is meticulously tapered, accentuating her hourglass silhouette, while her complexion radiates a warm, polished glow, reminiscent of honeyed amber under soft light. Arched eyebrows beautifully frame her eyes, which are further enhanced by long, sweeping lashes. A dramatic streak of silver runs across her temple, a stark, white exclamation point contrasting sharply against her dark, brunette hair, adding an element of striking individuality. The skin around her eyes bears faint, delicate crinkles that evoke a sense that she is not as polished or put-together as she would like to appear, subtly hinting at a touch of grace that comes with her awareness of aging and its effects. I estimated she is middle-aged, likely in her late thirties to early forties; a silver fox.

The other one had hair the color of worn broom straw, and her skin resembled old, untreated leather. Her features weren't individually unattractive, but they didn't quite harmonize. Her nose was too prominent for her narrow face, and although her eyes were bright, they were set too far apart, giving her a startled, lopsided look. Eyeing her up and down, it was difficult to discern her age estimate. She could be old as hell or an unfortunate victim ravaged by earlier poor life choices, creating an image of teetering on death’s door.

My vision shifted towards James. If it were not for three engorged pimples framing the center brim of his nose, an ugly cold sore at the corner of his lower, right lip, and misshapen, huge Dumbo-like ears, he might had better success with dating. He’s no sex god by any means but he’s a decent-enough worker—when he’s not complaining.

My manager, he was a stout man, with a belly that served as a convenient landing pad for loose papers and stray crumbs. He wore a tweed jacket with patched elbows that hung just a little too loosely over his middle, smelling faintly of pipe tobacco, and he can always be found with a fountain pen behind an ear. His fingers were perpetually stained with ink, and his vest buttons always appeared to be putting up a valiant fight against the rising tide of his midsection.

There is only blinding light. We observe the fiery ball in the sky, shining intensely and powerfully today. Not a single person in our group of survivors was wearing long slacks, sleeved shirts, or coats. If the day wears on much longer, the heat will surely finish us off. Right now, the market is quiet and eerily serene. The overhead fluorescent lights are off, and with the AC shut down and no electricity, there’s a strange stillness in the air.

The fog's thickness may have obscured partial vision, but the sun showed us many silhouettes. When I squinted, raising a flat palm to my forehead to shield my eyes as a makeshift visor, I could see two distinct shapes cruising through the store parking lot. One shape resembled something like a curved banana or maybe an eggplant, moving slowly across the asphalt. I squint harder. This particular shape reminded me of how a snail moves; it scoots slowly, leaving behind a clear, sticky, wet residue that glistens in the sunlight. The other shape, an object—it couldn’t be, could it? I focus intently, trying to discern its form.

I take my friend’s hand into my own, hoping his touch will offer comfort. His grasp tightened as he squeezed my hand, a silent signal of his support. If what I observe is accurate, the outline of the second shape is unmistakable. Every woman on the planet knows what a vagina is supposed to look like. If those are them out there, does that mean the other creatures are penises?

“What are we supposed to do?” James, the stock boy, cried. “Food, water, we can’t live indefinitely inside a grocery market forever, and I’ll be damned if either of you chumps start to re-create the Donner Party! Fuck that. I’ll kill myself first before any of you try to.”

“You are aware that the Donner Party members consumed their deceased during their ordeal... It’s called cannibalism, James,” I said, rolling my eyes. “No one is coming after you while you’re alive.”

“You never know!” he shot back. “I’m just saying, I'd rather roll over and die first.”

“Idiot,” I said.

“Jess, quit riling him up,” my friend mumbled.

“Yeah, Jess,” I heard the manager say behind me. “You saw what happened earlier once those people dashed outside. They vaporized, or melted, or were eaten. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, and without phone signals to contact the police or a fire station, shouting and arguing aren’t going to solve anything. So, how about we drop it down a few notches and think? Try to come up with a plan.”

“If you’re going to kill me, do it, but if you're just going to pose, you’re all in my light,” the silver fox said.

“Does it matter? If you’re dead, no one will be blocking your precious sunlight, sweetheart, and it wouldn’t hurt to eat a little protein. What do you weigh? A hundred pounds?”

“Shut up!” the silver fox back.

“What’s your name? Cleopatra?”

“Yelena,” she grumbled. “What’s yours?”

“Beth.”

I turned to my left. My friend squeezed our hands with a lighter, gentler, and less firm a hold than before, conveying a layered emotion he rarely showed. While I’m in my forties, and he is fifteen years my senior, the knucklehead boasts loyalty, comfortable familiarity and trustfulness.

“Well?” James asked. “Anyone have a plan about how the hell we’re going to survive? Anything?”

“I think we should start looking for how much water we have on the shelves, and start rationing it,” I suggested. “Wait.”

“What is it, Jess?” the manager asked.

“Has anyone tried turning on one of the faucets in the bathrooms or at the deli sink? Is there running water still?”

Everyone in the room exchanged uneasy glances.

“No,” the manager mumbled.

“James, go check if the pipes are working,” I said.

James sulked and begrudgingly trudged away from us. “Hold on.”

I turn my attention to the two female customers. “Right, so, which one of you is the tough, strong type?”

“Miss, I am not meek,” Yelena said, tapping a toe as she placed her hands at her waist.

I nodded. “And what about you?” I asked Beth.

“I,” she muttered. “Well.”

“Forget it,” I interrupted, dismissing that one’s resolve.

“No, but I mean, I am not just a housewife. I am an accountant, nurse, negotiator, cook, and driver.”

“Well, we’ll all bear that in mind if any one of us requires a pro negotiator to tell those monsters outside to agree to our terms or fuck off,” I said.

“Rude,” Beth scoffed.

My friend leaned to the side and whispered, “Well, if I die, at least I’ll be with you.”

I looked at him and frowned. What was going on? I mean, sure, the situation is pretty bleak right now, but we’re not six feet under yet. I’ll be damned if I don’t fight to the bitter end, tooth and nail.

“Beth, why don’t you go with Dick,” I thumb behind me, “and collect all the non-perishable food since the freezers are out of power, and start stacking as much as possible on the front end counter so we can make an inventory of our supplies.”

“Your manager is named Dick?” my friend asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, I find it ironic about that. He has a dick, and his parents decided it was a great idea to name their newborn son after the male appendage.”

“I heard that. Not amused,” Dick grumbled. “I’m named after my father. Let’s go.”

“Dick, Junior. You sure got the shaft on name selections. So, your dad is called Big Dick, and you’re his Little Dick, son?” my friend inquired slyly.

That comment completely broke me, causing me to burst into uncontrollable laughter. I wasn’t the only one, except for Dick and my friend, who surprisingly kept a straight face, was giggling softly, sharing the humorous moment.

When the laughter quieted to a dull roar, my friend asked, “If you’re named Little Dick, is it some type of secret reference to having a small dick between those pasty white, hairy legs of yours?”

“Enough! I don’t have a small penis, okay? How old are you anyway?”

“Fifty-nine, but my mind hasn’t matured past fifteen.”

“Obviously,” Dick growled.

“Bye, Little Dick,” my friend quipped, and then winked after my manager muttered something under his breath as he and the housewife walked away toward the back hallway, then they both pushed the right swinging door flap together where the overstock is stored and entered.

“Anyway, what is up with you?” I asked.

“What do you mean by up?” he asked.

“Awkward,” I said, cringing.

“I think I'll go see, Jim? John?”

“James,” I corrected.

“James, and see if he had any luck discovering running water,” Then Yelena moved toward the deli’s display case and walked behind, probably eager to find out why the nimrod teenager was taking so long. They’re just water faucets, not a Rubik's Cube.

My friend gave my hand a little tug after my comment. “Look,” he pointed. “The fog, is it really clearing up, or am I just imagining things, Jess?”

I led him toward one of the largest windows near the entrance of the store, where the sun displayed the most light to see by.

When we peered out, those objects seemed unfamiliar, alien. Were they aliens from space, or did a secret government create giant genitalia in test tubes that became sentient and escaped? Their unusual shapes and glowing surfaces suggested advanced technology and extraterrestrial origins, but one thing was undoubtedly certain. My earlier suspicion was spot on. My friend and I were observing a small group of penises, complete with nutsacks. Surprisingly, it was captivating—like watching a bizarre, chaotic National Geographic special. For every penis I counted, a matching vagina seemed to appear alongside it.

“Hey,” I started without knowing exactly what I wanted to say.

“You asked about what’s wrong with me.”

“Uh, huh, you’ve become awfully affectionate for some reason. Your hand gives mine subtle pumps, and then you told me, ‘If I die, at least you’ll be with me?’ You once told me men hate showing emotion. It’s taboo. So, what’s going on?” I repeated.

“Not necessarily hate, it’s just not done. At least, not where other people can see.”

“Tell me, what’s going on?” I insisted.

“Don't be obnoxious about it. People share stuff when they're in the mood to do so. If you want to be a shrink, you gotta exercise patience.”

He pulled the button of his shirt up, exposing a very hairy belly, to pat sweat off his chin and the bottoms of his cheeks.

He’s right. I was being pushy. “I’m sorry.”

“Remember that people, especially guys, aren't always comfortable discussing their feelings.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. What do you think those things outside are doing? We know the purpose of a vagina and a penis is procreation, but I don’t understand what’s happening. Where did they come from?”

I shrugged.

“Hey,” I heard James holler from across the other end of the room. “Hey! There’s no water coming from both the faucet nozzles!”

“Great,” I groaned. “All we have is bottled H20.”

“And urine.”

“Ew!”

“It’s obviously a last resort. Survival of the fittest. Darwin’s law.”

“I guess,” I said, crinkling my nose, disgusted by the sheer thought of swallowing piss to remain hydrated.

“We could eat him now, if you wanted. That James kid is annoying. He’s no prize to the evolutionary cycle.”

I smirked at my friend’s sarcasm. Even in the darkest, bleakest moment, probably in our entire lives, happening right now, he still has the gall to crack a joke. The man has brass balls sometimes.

“It’s too bad you and I ended up stranded here, and not holed up at my place, where it is loaded to the gills with firearms, gun powder, ammo, etc.”

“Yeah, we could have made pipe bombs or something. Blow up a few dick heads.”

“Like your boss?”

“You’re not helping, Mike.” I said.

“Jess, do you want to get laid?”

“That came out of left field. Why?” I shifted my focus from observing the outdoors to paying attention to Mike’s question.

“I don’t want to damage our friendship, and as much as I want it, it’s your call. But think about the situation we’re in. We could live and carry on as before, or drop dead in ten minutes unexplained causes. Do you really want to go out like that? If our fate is eventually death, at least I will be able to provide you with something you’ve never experienced before, and we’ll both die happy. Just give it a little thought.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, would I be overstepping boundaries with a playful little grope action below your panties?”

“I guess not,” I shifted nervously.

“You’re certain, you’re saying yes?”

“Yes.”

He guides me slowly into a corner out of sight from the others and out of the line of view from the store’s video cameras. I hear him inhale, breathing in deeply. He lifts the end of my T-shirt just high enough above the waistband for blue cloth to show. I feel my heart thump, but I hold my ground. Why? Who knows. I sure don’t, but I do know my body isn’t recoiling, so there’s that. My friend leans gently to the side and slowly, carefully, allows his right, free hand to glide downward along the smooth curve of my belly. As he does so, I feel the elastic band of my underwear shift subtly out of place, exposing enough of my skin for his fingertips to slip inside. He then twirls my curly crotch hair with a gentle, deliberate motion.

I’m sure if he weren’t sporting a thick, gray beard, I’d witness him blushing. Hell, my own cheeks are warm, and my palms are clamming up. The world may be ending. The six of us saw civilians rush outside, never to be heard from again. We're likely to die of dehydration before starvation sets in. Strange reproductive organs are cruising around, along with the strange, killer green fog. The main thing Mike wanted to do? Have sex. And I can’t say I’m any better wanting a little grope action.

“Where did they go?” I heard Dick.

I stepped backwards, pulling away. My friend released our joined hands, quickly pulled his right hand out of my jeans, then performed a smooth aerobatic side-step maneuver.

“Pretty spry for an older guy. Impressive,” I nodded.

“Not anymore,” he mumbled.

“That’s true. It’s starting to feel warm,” I said, shaking my shirt to create air circulation. I shouted, "Coming!" from behind the blind spot where we hid.

“What are you and your friend doing over there?” Dick hollered.

I tucked in my shirt, smoothed out any wrinkles, and then quickly pulled my shorts' waistband above my waistline, readjusting them to prevent them from loosening and falling.

Mike eyed me up and down, frowning.

“What?”

“Checking to see if your clothing matched how it looked before.”

I tugged the front of his gray short-sleeved button-down work shirt. “Come on.” We walk from around the corner, and moved with purpose. “What did you both find?”

“Well,” Dick nodded, squinting curiously at my friend who was standing closely by my side. “Well, Yelena here, and I, we have good news, and, well, you know, bad news.”

“Shoot. What is the bad news?” my friend asked.

“We counted 6 complete cases of bottled water. Our supplier was supposed to arrive today with today’s order and other groceries to restock the shelves. I had planned to help James with unloading the truck and restocking.”

“And how many ounces does each bottle hold?”

“4 of those boxes contain one-gallon water jugs, four in a case. The others are 16-ounce bottles still wrapped in plastic. Each of those comes in a 24-pack, and we counted 6.”

My friend sneered and then grumbled under his breath.

Dick threw his arms high in the air. “Look, it’s been fucking hot, okay, Jess’s friend, or whatever your name really is. You think you are better than me? I let you go into the employee break room, which, just so you know, I wouldn’t normally do, but because I respect Jess and her work ethic, I made an exception. And then you gave me that shitty, smug look?”

Wow. It was the first time I witnessed the manager lose his cool.

“Sorry, I apologize. It’s not that I meant to be an asshole; I expected a manager to be better prepared and to have more stock before it became too depleted. That’s all.”

“It HAS been HOT! We sold a lot of water last week,” Dick said, pulling a napkin out of a pocket and then dabbed beads of sweat forming near his eyebrows.

I saw James and Beth walking towards us now. They probably heard the commotion.

“James,” Dick said, exasperated, “What’s going on with the faucets?”

“No water,” the middle-aged woman spoke up before James answered. “What did the rest of you find out?”

Dick sighed. “I’m afraid to report our water supply is minimal. We will have to begin rationing, only taking sips, just enough to quench our thirst. We cannot over-indulge if we are going to make it through this ordeal.”

“And food? The non-perishable stuff?” I asked, reaching up and under my shirt to pat off sticky dampness dripping off my back.

“There seems to be enough canned goods out back to last a couple of weeks, plus the food already on the shelves,” Yelena said.

“So, what do we do now?” James asked softly as he spun his sneaker in circles; his neck hung low.

“Mike leaned in and whispered into my left ear, “You know, we can still eat him.”

I swatted him in the chest. “Stop it, you’re not helping.”

“What did he say?” the middle-aged woman said.

“He said, ‘he’s an asshole,’” I remarked, eyeing Mike.

“What are we going to do about those thingsoutside?” Yelena asked. “And the gas or fog or whatever it is out there. Anyone know anything?”

I looked at my friend knowingly. He frowned but nodded approval to tell them about our discovery.

“When he and I were at the front of the store, we saw that the fog cleared up. It wasn’t as thick a smog as before. We saw…” I stopped and swallowed. “We saw dicks and pussies.”

All eyes, except for my friend, widened.

“What do you mean by ‘dicks’ and ‘pussies,’ Jess?”

“She meant penises and vaginas…, Dick,” my friend remarked.

“What?” James asked.

“You heard right. There was something else. The penises chased, not chased, were attracted, to the vaginas. The penises followed them wherever they went.”

“And the fog?” Anyone have a hypothesis on that?” Dick asked the group.

“No, not yet,” I said. “Wait.” Another thought popped into my head, which was not as pressing, as dying of cum-fumes, that's still an emergency, but it may be important knowledge later on.

The five of them waited for me to finish.

“Does anyone here take medication? I mean, where a doctor can only fill out a script?”

The two women nodded.

“What is the prescription for?” I asked. “Anything life-threatening?”

Both women looked at each other curiously.

Yelena said, “I take birth control pills, but it’s not because I’m having sex all the time. It’s for medical reasons to control my period cycle.”

“It’s okay. No one is judging,” I said.

“I take the birth control pills too.”

“You’re too old, aren’t you, to be on them?” I asked curiously.

“Thirty-seven,” Beth said. “Most know not to ask about someone’s age though.”

I ignored her snark. “Well, I don’t,” I added.

“Right. Now that we have all that useless information out of the way,” Dick said.

“It’s not useless information,” Yelena interjected.

“She’s right,” Mike agreed. There’s aspirin, cold medicines, and other over-the-counter things for minor sicknesses, but Jess is smart to consider a detail we all overlooked. What about the two of you? I’m not taking any prescribed meds.”

“Neither am I,” James said.

“Okay, fine. It was a valid question. I’m not taking any medicine either. That still doesn’t solve the initial problem. Where do we go from here?” Dick asked us.

I leaned to the side and whispered, “I think we should sacrifice James and my manager. See what happens now that the fog isn’t as strong,” I suggested to Mike.

He cupped his palm and whispered in return, “Sarcasm?”

I shook my head. “Dead serious.”

“Be right back.”

“Where is he going?” James asked with urgency in his voice.

“To take a pee,” my friend remarked over his shoulder as he left. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Just let him go, James,” Dick said, patting his shoulder.

“I’m feeling thirsty. Where is the water, please?” the middle-aged woman asked.

“Hold on. We need to ration it first,” Dick said. “James—“

There was a sickening squishing sound, reminiscent of thick, moist flesh being compressed, and then, before any of us could react, another spray of viscous, pungent red fluid shot through the air. As we watched tendrils of spongy, pink flesh, characterized by their soft, porous texture, slowly unfurl and extend outward from beneath Dick’s skull.His body slumped heavily, crumpling abruptly to the cold, hard floor.

Yelena and the middle-aged woman shrieked and hurriedly dashed to the back room, seeking safety.

And then, there were three: myself, James, and the blood-stained shirt my friend wore. The speckling of bloody smears was especially evident on his gray beard, with streaks of congealed blood lingering in the coarse hairs. His shirt was soaked in dark crimson patches, clinging to his skin beneath the fabric. In his left hand, he held a hammer, its handle slick with blood, hanging limply at his side as if weightless.

“Oh, fuck!” James screamed in the most high-pitched voice I'd ever heard. I mean, if puberty didn’t hit him, I’m sure he’d have a nice career as a soprano vocalist.

My friend tossed the hammer aside, creating a clang as it fell and jumped behind James, slipping both arms under James’s armpits, then placing his hands on the back of James’s head and forcing it downward. A full Nelson. Nice.

“Help me, Jess!” Mike shouted. “Let’s throw his out, as a tribute.”

“And we can tell if the fog is still lethal, like throwing the canary out into the mine. I get it.”

“Please,” James wept. “Please, don’t kill me. Please, please, please.”

I never liked James much, but was I prepared to murder a living human being?

The front of James’s shorts near the fly was damp, with a slight darkening of the fabric. I observed thin, translucent streams of liquid trickling down the right side of his bare leg, collecting into a small, irregular puddle on the floor beneath him. James closed his eyes tightly, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed quietly.

I remembered Mike’s earlier words: Darwin’s law. Survival of the fittest. “Sorry, James.”

I grabbed his ankles firmly and hoisted them in the air, carefully helping my friend guide the teenager toward the store’s brightly lit entrance. When we arrived, I sensed that James had accepted his situation because, as we walked, he stopped kicking, wiggling, or protesting, which bothered me. The fewer people there were outside, the more food and water remained available inside the store. Gently, I lowered James’s legs to prevent any injury. I paused briefly, taking a deep breath, gulping down my anxiety, and exhaling slowly. Then, I unlocked the store doors, pushing them open.

The next few minutes of chaos played out in slow motion. I swear, the scene that unfolded, even Stephen King couldn’t dream this up!

The moment the click sounded, the front doors burst open. Instinctively, I pulled my shirt up over my nose, memories flooding back of how the others had been exposed to the fog earlier. Panic surged through me as I sprinted toward my friend, who was already pulling his shirt over his face. James quickly scurried away, while the two women darted out—frozen by fear, unable to move. Was this the fight-or-flight response kicking in? I don’t know, I don’t care. I cared about survival, and my friend and I were going to survive, live another day.

The fog didn't just roll in; it crawled over the countertops like a living thing, a shadowy, green stalker swallowing the inside in a quiet embrace. It was a creeping, silent ocean vapor that felt heady with an earthy musk aroma that seemed to settle like a shroud, hinting at an impending confrontation. The fog seeped through the fabric of cloth and into skin, acting as a damp, heavy blanket that drained warmth from the air, making the atmosphere feel unnaturally thin and almost poisonous. Shadows and distant shapes moved erratically through the dense mist—blurred silhouettes that flickered at the edge of perception, half-formed and fading.

I ran to my friend. He put an arm around my waist, guiding me while holding his shirt firmly over his nose with his free hand.

I looked behind me. The women were still frozen in place. I have no idea where James went. Maybe one giant vagina consumed James while a giant fucking penis stuffed him in there like a ramrod? I turned around. Those alien creatures—the penises and vaginas—moved in. Every time the vaginas moved forward a step, they left a clear residue behind. The penises turned around, and suddenly, every shaft stood erect. My friend and I paused. We should have kept going, but then again, where would we go? All the penises shot forward with purpose into the vaginal opening. As the penises moved in and out, they started slowly at first but quickly picked up speed. Minutes later, we watched what was probably the most horrific and astonishing scene: The penises poked the vaginas, releasing swirling green fog with each powerful push. At first, it was difficult to tell where the fog was originating from. Then it dawned on me—when a man reaches climax, his load spurts, and it can be a slightly yellowish or white, jelly-like consistency. The fog thickened until I could barely see the sun’s warm, golden glow. My vision blurred.

“I guess we’re done for,” I mumbled under my shirt.

“Guess so,” Mike agreed.

“Look, if we’re gonna go out in a blaze of glory, let’s do it in style,” I said.

“What’s your plan?”

“We might as well stop covering our noses and mouths.”

“Maybe,” he said with doubt in his voice.

“We’re as good as dead, Mike. Just accept it.”

“So, dying here is sort of like a twisted Romeo and Juliet story?”

“What? No!”

“Fine. I’ll die with you.” Mike released his shirt, revealing the lower half of his face, including his chin and mouth, as he looked around cautiously.

I let go of my cloth mask, too.

Mike still had his left arm securely wrapped around my waist, his fingertips gently pressing into the fabric of my shirt.

The fog was so thick now; I was grateful Mike kept me close because otherwise, there’s no way I would find him if he left. The reproductive organs kept doing their thing. Mike and I just waited. For what? Who knows.

Eventually, we saw the penises slow their rhythm, and there appeared to be less of an urgency than before they entered.

Mike and I breathed in the fog. Strangely, it smelled slightly tangy, a sort of sweet scent, like honey maybe? With such a sickly, dark green color, I expected it to smell terrible.

It didn’t take long—maybe a few minutes—before my knees buckled. Mike tried to hold me up, but his legs gave out, and we collapsed, hitting our knees against the concrete floors.

I felt sleepy. I tried to turn toward Mike to see if he was feeling the same drowsiness, but his eyes were closed. His arm fell lifelessly to his side. Mike’s body slumped. There was no more movement after that. I closed my eyes, ready to take a nap, too.

——

Epilogue:

In a strange twist of fate, it was discovered that women who stopped taking birth control pills faced a strange menace: toxic semen laden with sperm. The vapor from this fog was so powerful that inhaling it could nearly suffocate the human respiratory system, causing the victim to drift into unconsciousness as if caught in a sleeper hold. Birth control pills acted as a kind of vaccine, preventing the ovaries from releasing eggs. Without eggs to fertilize, the alien reproductive organs didn’t sense pheromones wafting in the air. A bizarre new dystopia had emerged—where penises and vaginas engaged in continuous hourly sex, day and night. Women lived amid this ceaseless intimacy, yet without human sperm, they too faced extinction. It was a world reborn from chaos, born out of the Cold War experiments—scientists, desperate to conquer enemies, inadvertently unleashed a catastrophe whose true extent remains shrouded in mystery.