The Sanctuary of 17B

Chapter 1: The Silent Off-Line

"Push B, push B!" Dimas yelled into his headset, his fingers flying across his mechanical keyboard in a blur of frantic clicks. "They're planting the spike! Rian, cover heaven, don't let them peek you from the boxes!"

"I'm trying, man, but my ping is literally crying right now!" Rian’s voice crackled through the D*****d channel, thick with panic. "I'm rubberbanding all over the place. Did the server just die? I can't even move my camera!"

"No way, I'm perfectly fine," Gilang chimed in, his voice tense and rushed. "Watch flank, watch flank! They’re coming from spawn! Dimas, they're behind you!"

"I've got flank, I've got flank," Dimas said, leaning closer to his monitor, his eyes tracking every pixel of the digital corner. "Just hold your angles. One more round and we rank up. Do not throw this, guys. I swear to god, if we lose because of a throw, I am personally unfriending both of you. If I derank back to Silver, I'm literally deleting this game."

"You say that every week, Dimas. Just play the game!" Gilang yelled.

"Wait, my game just froze," Rian cut in, his voice dropping an octave in sheer disbelief. "Guys? Can you hear me? Hello? Am I muted?"

"Yeah, we hear you loud and clear. You're standing still in the middle of the corridor like an idiot," Dimas said, his brow furrowing as he saw Rian’s character model running in place against a brick wall. "Stop joking around, get into cover before you get sniped."

"I'm not joking! My screen is literally frozen!" Rian shouted back. "Wait, my D*****d is disconnecting. It says searching for route... what the hell is happening?"

"Gilang, you still there?" Dimas asked, his eyes darting to his own latency counter.

"Yeah, but my ping just jumped to five hundred," Gilang muttered, sounding utterly defeated. "What the hell is going on? My internet never does this. Is the ISP having a stroke or what?"

"Don't tell me..." Dimas groaned, his eyes darting to the bottom-right corner of his screen. A red triangle popped up over his network icon. "No. No, no, no. Not now. We are literally one kill away from winning! Just one kill!"

"Connection Lost," a bold, merciless prompt splashed across the center of his screen, replacing the vibrant tactical shooter with a cold, grey loading wheel.

"Are you kidding me?!" Dimas slammed his desk, the plastic chassis of his keyboard rattling against the wood. "IndoNet, I am going to personally burn your headquarters to the ground! I pay fifty bucks a month for this garbage!"

He threw his headset onto the desk, the plastic clicking against the wood.

"Come on, work," Dimas muttered, staring at the router on his shelf. "Just a temporary hiccup. It has to be."

His phone suddenly buzzed, the screen lighting up with Rian’s caller ID. He swiped to answer.

"Rian? Did you call my actual phone? What's going on?"

"Dimas! Thank god it went through!" Rian's voice was frantic, gasping for air. "Are you still inside? Tell me you're inside!"

"Yeah, I'm in my room. Where else would I be?" Dimas frowned. "Why are you breathing like you just ran a marathon? Did you lose your mind because of the disconnect?"

"Look out your window, dude! Seriously, look outside right now!"

"I am looking. It's just foggy. Why are you freaking out over a little mist?"

"It's not just mist, Dimas! People are... they're walking out into it and they're not coming back the same. Or when they do, they don't know who they are! My sister just went to the convenience store down the street, and when she came back, she just stared at the wall. She didn't even recognize me! She asked me who I was!"

"Wait, what?" Dimas let out a nervous laugh. "Are you pulling some weird prank on me because we lost our promo match? Because if you are, it's really not funny, man."

"I'm not pranking you! I swear to God, Dimas! She looked at me like I was a total stranger! And then she just walked out again, and I couldn't stop her because... because there are things out there!"

"Things? What do you mean, things? Like animals?"

"Shadows! Huge, weird shadows in the fog! They don't look human, Dimas! They're like... stretching! The cell towers are dying, I can barely hear you—"

"Rian? Hello? Rian!"

The line went completely dead. Dimas stared at the screen.

"No signal," he whispered, his thumb tapping the screen in vain. "No signal at all. This is ridiculous."

He walked to the balcony door and slid it open. The air was cold and smelled faintly of copper.

"Mr. Hendra!" Dimas called out, leaning over the railing.

In the courtyard below, his middle-aged neighbor was standing completely still, staring blankly at his own palms.

"Mr. Hendra!" Dimas raised his voice. "Is your phone working? Do you know what’s happening with the signal?"

The older man slowly tilted his head up. His eyes were milky and wide, entirely hollow.

"Who..." Hendra’s voice was a dry rasp. "Who is calling me?"

"It's me, Dimas! From unit 3B!" Dimas gripped the cold metal railing tight. "Are you alright? You look really pale. Did you hurt yourself?"

"Dimas..." the man repeated, his tone entirely flat. "Who is Dimas? Where... where am I?"

"What do you mean? You're in the apartment courtyard," Dimas said, his logical mind scrambling for an explanation. "Your wife, Mrs. Ani, she’s probably inside. Did you have a stroke or something? You need to go inside."

"Ani..." Hendra muttered, looking around the empty space. "Who is Ani? What is this place? Who am I?"

"Hey, stop joking around, it's not funny," Dimas said, his voice shaking. "Get back inside right now. The mist is getting really thick."

"I don't... I don't have a home," Hendra whispered. He turned and began to wander down the empty street, his steps slow and aimless. "I don't know who I am."

"Mr. Hendra! Wait! Don't walk off! Think about Mrs. Ani! She'll be worried sick!" Dimas shouted.

But the older man just kept walking, his figure slowly dissolving into the dense, grey fog.

"This is insane," Dimas whispered, backing away from the ledge. "This makes absolutely no sense. Amnesia? A whole crowd of people having strokes at the same time?"

He looked further down the street, squinting through the gloom. In the distance, towering, spindly silhouettes were moving silently through the mist. They moved with a jerky, spider-like gait, their limbs unnaturally elongated.

"What on earth are those...?" Dimas breathed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Those aren't people. Those are definitely not people. What is that?"

He rubbed his eyes vigorously, shaking his head.

"No, no, no," Dimas muttered to himself. "I am hallucinating. I must be. Did I inhale some kind of gas? Is there a leak in the building? Yes, a chemical leak. That explains the confusion and the hallucinations."

Suddenly, a piercing wail shattered the silence.

REEEEEE—AARRRRR—REEEEEE—

Dimas covered his ears, his shoulders tensing. "The disaster sirens? No, please, not this."

A static-heavy voice boomed from the street speakers.

"Attention all citizens," the mechanical broadcast crackled. "This is an emergency protocol. Please remain indoors. Seal all windows and doors. Do not make contact with the mist. Do not attempt to help those outside. Repeat, do not—"

The broadcast cut off with a harsh, metallic screech. The streetlights flickered once, then died completely, plunging the courtyard into shadow.

"Great. Total blackout," Dimas said, his voice trembling in the dark. "Perfect. Just perfect."

He hurried inside, slamming the balcony door shut and locking it.

"Okay. Logic check," he said aloud, pacing his small living room. "First, lock the front door. Double lock it."

He slid the heavy deadbolt into place.

"Second, food and water," he muttered, opening his kitchen cabinets. "Let's see what we have."

He began pointing and counting. "One, two, three... twenty-four packs of instant noodles. Six cans of sardines. Two bags of rice. And five large gallons of mineral water."

He let out a shaky breath. "That's enough for a month. More than enough if I ration it properly. I can survive this. It's just a temporary quarantine. The government will fix it. They always do. I just have to stay inside, stay quiet, and wait it out."

He sat down on the floor, his back pressed against the kitchen counter.

"Just a game," he whispered, staring at his lifeless computer monitor. "It's just a really immersive survival game. I just need to play it safe and stay put."

Suddenly, a heavy, frantic banging echoed from his apartment door, shattering the eerie silence.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Dimas froze, his breath catching in his throat.

"Is... is someone there?" he called out, his voice barely a whisper.

BAM! BAM!

"Dimas! Open the door! Please!" a voice cried out from the hallway.