Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The lights buzzed overhead—low, clinical, unblinking.

Juno awoke in a chair bolted to the floor. Her wrists were bound with polymer cuffs, stronger than steel but light as bone. The room was small—square, spotless, and familiar. Too familiar.

Across from her: a single observation mirror.

To her left: a small table, empty except for a recorder flashing red.

And above the door, stenciled in white paint:

Interrogation Room 6

Her pulse quickened.

Not because she didn't know where she was… but because she did.

This was where they used to break subjects—gently, surgically. Where truths weren't beaten out of people… but extracted.

The door opened with a hiss.

Mason stepped in, unarmed, wearing the same tailored coat he always had when pretending to be one of them. A soft smile curved his lips.

"Good morning, June."

She didn't answer.

He sat across from her, placed a folder on the table, and opened it slowly.

Inside—photos. Her. Shade. H-13. Caleb. Axen. The infected boy from Riverbed. The cultist girl with mirrored eyes.

"Your life," he said. "All the people you tried to save… or couldn't."

Juno stared at him with stone-hard silence.

"You know what this is?" Mason continued. "This isn't an archive. It's a map. A pattern of decision points. We've been studying you for years, June. Every time you choose mercy over logic, connection over escape… you light the path to the Vault."

He leaned forward.

"We didn't need you to survive. We needed you to care. That's what unlocked the algorithm."

Juno's voice was a blade.

"Then why am I in chains?"

"Because," Mason said, standing, "you've reached the final threshold. And before we let you in… we need to know one last thing."

He pressed a button on the recorder.

A door behind the mirror opened.

Shade stumbled in—bloodied, bruised, arms tied behind his back.

"No," Juno whispered.

Mason held out two syringes—one glowing blue, the other black.

"One is the key," he said. "The Vault will only open if it detects emotional trauma at maximum spike. And the fastest way to do that…"

He held the syringes out like a twisted game show host.

"...is to make you choose. Save him. Or doom him."

Juno's heart pounded.

Shade locked eyes with her, and though his mouth was bloodied, his words were clear:

"Don't give them what they want."

Juno looked down… then up.

And smiled.

"You still don't get it," she said to Mason.

"I am the trauma. I don't have to choose. I carry it."

She smashed her head into the table edge—drawing blood.

Alarms blared.

Sensors triggered.

The Vault signature spike detected.

Access granted.

Mason's smug face dropped.

Juno kicked back from the chair, used the bolt to snap her cuffs, and lunged for the black syringe.

Shade broke free.

And just like that… Interrogation Room 6 became a warzone.