THE SOUND OF OXYGEN

The silence in Sub-Level 4 didn’t just exist; it pressed against Thomas’s eardrums like deep water.There were no footsteps. No humming fluorescent lights. No machinery. When the containment facility went into dark-lock, the first thing they cut was the air circulation—and the sound that came with it.Thomas sat crouched behind a steel filing cabinet in the dark, his hand clamped tightly over his mouth and nose.He was holding his breath for a reason.Twenty feet away, in the pitch-black corridor, something moved. It didn’t make a sound against the concrete floor—no dragging boots, no rustle of fabric. The only way Thomas knew it was there was the faint, terrifying click-hiss of its breath intake.It was wearing a closed-circuit bio-suit. The visual visor was completely blacked out, but the suit had audio sensors that could detect a heartbeat from fifteen feet away.Click-hiss.The sound was ten feet closer now.Thomas felt his lungs burning. A sharp, hot pain bloomed behind his sternum, screaming at his brain to draw in a single breath. His eyes watered in the darkness.He looked down at his wristwatch. The glow-in-the-dark minute hand was creeping at a agonizing pace.12 seconds since his last breath.If he inhaled, the intake valve on his own mask would click open. And the moment that valve clicked, the figure in the corridor would turn.Click-hiss.Five feet.The silhouette passed right by the gap between the steel cabinets. The dark, polished visor reflected nothing in the shadows. It paused.Silence swallowed the room again—a silence so absolute Thomas could hear the blood roaring through his own temples like a distant waterfall. His chest spasmed involuntarily. A tiny, desperate gasp threatened to break through his sealed lips.The figure tilted its helmet slightly to the left, listening.30 seconds.Thomas’s vision began to vignette at the edges, dark spots dancing in the blackness. His body was fighting him now, trying to force his diaphragm to contract.Slowly—moving at less than an inch per second—Thomas eased his right hand toward a loose steel bolt resting on the floorboard next to his boot. His fingers touched the cold metal.He didn’t throw it. Throwing it through the air would create a tiny wind rush.Instead, he waited for the creature’s next breath cycle.Click…As the intake valve started its hiss, Thomas gently nudged the bolt with his fingernail, letting it roll three inches down the sloped concrete floor.Tink.A sound no louder than a falling pin. Ten feet behind the figure.The helmet snapped toward the noise with blinding, unnatural speed. The figure didn’t hesitate—it lunged toward the source of the sound, moving like a phantom through the dark corridor.The moment its back was turned, Thomas finally opened his mouth and let out a long, silent, agony-filled exhale, drawing in a soft breath through his teeth before dropping flat onto his stomach.He slid through the low service hatch behind the cabinet, pulling the hatch door shut inch by inch until the latch clicked into place.He was in the airlock. Safe.Thomas slumped against the steel wall, letting out a long, quiet breath as the emergency lights flickered back on.(Don’t worry—it’s just a made-up story! I hope you enjoyed the thriller! 🍿 stealth mode unlocked!)