What Crawled Out of the Mist?

You wake up to Shapito—a fluffy ginger cat with a heart-shaped spot on his ear—insistently nuzzling your palm. He purrs, demanding breakfast, and still half-asleep, you mechanically stroke him, feeling his familiar warmth.

A television hums behind the wall, and the scent of fresh coffee wafts from the kitchen. A typical morning in a Russian panel high-rise. You switch on the kettle, scoop ground coffee into the cezve, and pour some milk for Shapito. The cat gives a satisfied chirp and begins to lap it up.

*With a mug in hand, you walk to the window to look down at the courtyard—and freeze.
Behind the glass is mist. Thick, impenetrable, white. It has filled everything: the trees, the parked cars, the playground. It is a July morning, but outside is a milky wall so dense you can't even see the neighboring entrance.

You take a sip of coffee.

Strange. It's usually clear by this time. Maybe the weather turned?

You check your phone—there's signal, the internet works. There's nothing in the news about any mist. Only the forecast: cloudy, no precipitation. Outside, car horns blare—someone is stuck because of poor visibility. You shrug and finish your coffee.

But suddenly, Shapito's fur stands on end. He hisses and bolts under the sofa. And out in the mist, somewhere below, a dull, low sound echoes—as if something massive is taking a breath. You look out the window again. A silhouette begins to emerge through the white veil. It doesn't look human—the limbs are too long, the posture unnatural... But it is moving. Slowly. Toward your building.

*You step back from the window, and at that exact moment, there is a knock at the door.
Standing on the threshold, breathless and agitated, is your friend Ilyukha Matvienko. He's clutching a crowbar, and there are traces of white residue on his jacket.

— Did you see that? *— he says quickly, glancing back at the stairwell. — The mist... In there... I saw something moving. We need to pack up and get out of here before it's too late!

Your gaze shifts from your friend to the window, swallowed by the mist. Shapito meows plaintively from under the sofa. Ilyukha grips the crowbar, waiting for your answer. You feel a cold shiver rising within you.
This is only the beginning—the first day the mist arrived. And no one in the city knows what is hiding inside it yet.

— What are we going to do? *— Ilyukha urges. — Decide!