章 175: Chapter 175
The Dollirus had been spreading for months, creeping through cities, towns, and homes like a disease too strange to fathom. At first, it was just a whisper in the back of the news, a quick mention in an overseas report. But soon, reports began flooding in. People were changing. No one knew why. No one knew how. But it was happening. The Dollirus wasn't just a virus—it was a transformation. A body, once human, was warped, remade into something hollow and grotesque, a lifeless thing that could no longer be called a person.
Aida had seen the first case in her city weeks ago. A woman, once vibrant and alive, had been found sitting in a park, her body rigid and stiff like a porcelain doll. Her skin was smooth and too perfect, and her eyes had been painted over, flat, and empty. The police had tried to save her, but they couldn't. They didn't know what to do. They just stared at her, hoping it would be a freak accident, a fluke. But it wasn't. The next day, there were two more, then four, then ten. And the numbers kept rising.
Aida's apartment had been isolated from the outside world for days. She hadn't stepped out since the government declared the quarantine, only venturing out to collect food and basic supplies. The virus spread too quickly. No one was immune. No one could stop it.
She kept her door locked, her windows covered, and her thoughts in turmoil. Her mother had been one of the early cases. At first, they thought it was just an illness. But her body changed. Her skin paled and tightened, her hair turned brittle and thin. The last time Aida saw her, her mother was sitting in a chair by the window, not moving, not speaking. Aida had reached out to her, but the touch of her mother's hand had been cold, like the hand of a doll.
Since then, Aida had refused to leave. The outside world was a nightmare now, full of things that couldn't be saved. People walked the streets, not alive, not dead, just hollow shells with stiff limbs and glassy eyes. They looked like dolls. Perfect, artificial dolls.
The fear weighed heavily on her. She watched the news, the endless reports of new cases, the world descending into chaos. Governments had tried to contain the virus, but they couldn't. People locked themselves indoors, tried to protect their families, but no one was safe. There was no cure, no medicine, no escape.
One night, as she sat in her dimly lit apartment, Aida heard a sound at her door. A thud, followed by a soft scraping noise. It was so faint she almost ignored it. But the sound came again, louder this time. Something heavy was being dragged against the wood. Then, a knock. It was a slow, deliberate knock, like the tap of a hollow finger.
Aida froze in place. Her heart thudded, her breath shallow. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to answer. She knew what it meant. If it was a doll, she couldn't fight it. But if it was a person, she didn't want to risk it.
"Open the door, Aida," a voice called softly, too soft. The voice was strange, distorted, like it was coming from deep inside a thick, crumbling well.
Aida's body tensed, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of the door breaking down. But it didn't come.
She stood up slowly, trying to steady her shaking hands. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached the door. The handle rattled again. The tapping continued, a rhythm that felt like a slow countdown.
Aida leaned against the door, her back cold against the wooden panels. She wanted to scream, to ask who was out there, but the words stuck in her throat. She wanted to run, to escape, but where? The entire world was filled with these monsters now.
"Please," the voice called again, so soft it almost sounded like it was whispering from behind her. "I'm not one of them."
Aida's breath hitched. She knew that voice. It was her mother's voice, but it wasn't her mother. She had heard that same voice days ago, right before her mother stopped moving, stopped speaking, stopped being. It was impossible. Her mother was gone.
She reached for the door handle and stopped. The voice was wrong, distorted, as if it wasn't meant to be heard. She hesitated, the panic rising in her chest. What if it wasn't her mother? What if it was one of the dolls pretending to be her? What if it was something worse?
"Please, Aida," it whispered again. "I need you."
Without thinking, Aida swung the door open.
Her mother stood there, or what had once been her mother. Aida's heart pounded. Her mother's skin was tight, unnaturally smooth, too perfect. Her hair hung limp and dull. The hollow eyes stared blankly, and yet Aida could still hear her mother's voice, faint but real.
Aida gasped, stepping backward. She reached for something, anything to defend herself, but she knew it was too late. The virus had taken her mother, turned her into this... thing. The Dollirus had stolen everything.
Her mother's head cocked to the side. "Why don't you come with me?" the voice murmured, the words laced with something too chilling to be human.
Aida backed into the wall, but it didn't matter. Her mother stepped forward, and Aida felt the coldness of her touch, the unnatural stillness of the doll-like body. It was too much. She couldn't fight it. She could barely move. She couldn't even scream. Her body felt as if it were frozen, trapped in the same empty gaze that consumed everything around her.
Suddenly, Aida felt something inside her snap. The horror of it all—of seeing her mother like this—was too much. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor, hands over her face, choking on a sob that didn't come.
The doll-mother knelt beside her, its hand reaching out to touch her cheek. It wasn't comforting. It wasn't real. It was something that had once been human, but was now nothing more than a mask of a person, a lifeless shell.
"Aida," the voice breathed, again so soft, so broken, and yet so chilling. "You'll be with me soon. We'll be perfect, just like me."
Aida shuddered, her chest tight. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She could barely think.
Aida closed her eyes, wishing it would stop, wishing it would all go away.
And then it did.
The next day, the world woke up, and Aida was gone.
The Dollirus didn't need a cure. It didn't need a solution. It didn't need saving. It just spread. It kept growing, reaching into the hearts of every living person and turning them into something else. Something perfect. Something still. Something dead.
The world was no longer a place of life. It was a collection of hollow dolls, every face painted, every body stiffened, every soul drained. And there was no end to it.
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