Chapitre 8: chapter 8: the thin line
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The air in the safe zone felt heavier in the days after our confrontation with Dr. Keller. The sense of safety that had once comforted us now felt more like a cage, every locked gate and watchful guard a reminder of how closely we were being monitored.
Our small group moved cautiously, aware that any slip could put us on the wrong side of the fence. But the whisper of truth had already spread, and the quiet rumbling of unease had turned into something more dangerous. People began to gather in small clusters, their voices low but filled with anger and fear. Rumors swirled—about the mist, about the safe zone's "protection," about the creatures clawing at the outskirts.
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One night, as we were discussing our next move in the shadows of a storage shed, Zoe pointed to the eastern perimeter. Figures were gathering, their silhouettes barely visible through the thick mist clinging to the fence.
"We're not the only ones thinking about leaving," she said, her voice tight with worry.
Caleb looked on, his jaw set. "If they break out, they'll compromise the whole place. The mist could get in."
"But staying here means living with lies," I argued. "We all know this isn't sustainable. If they're not going to tell us the truth, we'll have to find it ourselves."
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Our chance came quicker than we'd anticipated. The tension in the safe zone finally boiled over that night as a crowd gathered near the main gates, demanding answers. People shouted questions at the guards, their voices desperate and raw. Why had we been lied to about the mist? How long had they known it could be controlled? And why were we kept inside if there was a chance for survival beyond the walls?
Dr. Keller appeared, flanked by guards, her face a mask of forced calm. "Please, everyone—return to your homes. We're doing everything we can to keep you safe."
"Safe from what?" someone shouted. "The mist? Or yourselves?"
The crowd murmured in agreement, pressing closer, emboldened by the chance to confront the truth. Keller's facade cracked for a moment, her gaze darting to the mist beyond the fence. She seemed almost… afraid.
"Enough," she said, her voice rising. "This mist is unlike anything we've seen. If we open those gates, you won't find freedom. You'll find death."
But her warning only fanned the flames. A man at the front of the crowd stepped forward, his expression hardened. "If the mist's out there, we'll deal with it. But we'd rather die free than live like prisoners."
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In a surge of motion, he shoved past the guards, triggering chaos. The gates were forced open, and a rush of people poured out, some driven by desperation, others by defiance. We could only watch as they disappeared into the gray fog, their forms swallowed by the mist within moments.
"What…what's going to happen to them?" Maria whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
Caleb's face was grim. "I don't know. But the mist doesn't show mercy."
Minutes passed that felt like hours, the crowd waiting tensely for any sign of the escaped group. Then, slowly, figures began to emerge from the fog. But as they drew closer, our hearts sank. Their skin was grayed, their movements jerky and inhuman. They had become like the creatures we had been so desperate to avoid.
The guards fired on them, but it was too late. The mist pressed forward, seeping through the breached gate like a living tide, swallowing the front line of guards as they fell back.
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"Run!" I shouted, grabbing Maria's arm and pulling her away from the fence. The crowd scattered, and the once-safe haven became a battlefield. Gray-skinned figures pushed through the mist, their vacant eyes scanning, mouths open in silent screams.
Caleb, Zoe, and I bolted toward the inner buildings, ducking into an abandoned supply room. We barricaded the door with whatever we could find, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.
"This can't be happening," Maria whispered, her voice trembling. "This place… it was supposed to be safe."
"It was only as safe as the secrets they kept," Zoe muttered, her fists clenched. "Now, we know what that safety cost."
Outside, the sounds of chaos filled the air—screams, gunshots, the inhuman groans of the transformed. The mist had breached the perimeter, and the carefully controlled zone was unraveling. Dr. Keller's attempt to contain the truth had failed, and now the mist was the one setting the rules.
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We spent the night holed up, listening to the sounds of destruction echoing outside. By morning, a quiet, oppressive silence settled over the safe zone. Peering through a crack in the door, I saw the aftermath: the gates lay open, bodies littered the ground, some human, others too far gone to recognize.
But amid the wreckage, survivors emerged, their faces pale and their eyes wary. A strange, uneasy truce had formed between those left standing, bound together by the shared trauma of the previous night.
Dr. Keller approached us, her face lined with exhaustion, her voice soft yet firm. "I won't pretend I wasn't wrong to keep the truth from you. But now, we have to decide what comes next. The safe zone… it's compromised. But we're still alive."
Caleb crossed his arms, his gaze hard. "What are you suggesting?"
"We move. Together," Dr. Keller said, her expression softened by a rare hint of vulnerability. "The mist isn't going away, and we can't contain it here anymore. But there are places, far enough from the cities, that it hasn't touched. If we travel as a group, we stand a chance."
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The idea felt impossible. But what other choice did we have? We couldn't stay here, surrounded by the mist that had turned friends into monsters. And yet, the fear of venturing into the unknown was like a weight around my heart.
Zoe placed a hand on my shoulder, her voice steady. "We've made it this far together. We can do this."
Caleb nodded, his expression resolute. "Whatever's out there, it's no worse than what we've already faced."
One by one, the survivors gathered, bringing what supplies remained, piecing together a plan for the journey ahead. We didn't know what awaited us beyond the fog, but we were ready to face it, together.
The mist might have won a battle, but it hadn't won the war. Not yet.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone