Planet of Monsters

The Earth was a shadow of its former self. Once thriving cities had become barren wastelands, their skeletal remains stretching toward a sky perpetually choked with ash and smog. The streets, now silent, were home to creatures that once called themselves human—twisted, grotesque forms, their shapes a cruel mockery of the species they once were.

It had started with the vaccines, rushed into arms in a desperate bid to stave off a pandemic that seemed unrelenting. At first, there had been hope—a brief, shining moment where humanity believed it had triumphed over nature. But the triumph was fleeting. The vaccines, untested and deployed at breakneck speed, carried unintended consequences. Genetic mutations that had been dormant within human DNA were activated, twisted by the foreign chemicals now coursing through veins worldwide.

At first, the changes were subtle—a patch of discolored skin, an extra joint where none should exist. But as months turned into years, the transformations became undeniable. Bones stretched and splintered, flesh grew in unnatural patterns, and eyes glowed with an eerie, animalistic light. Minds, too, began to unravel, descending into madness as instincts overpowered reason.

Humanity’s decline was not uniform. In some, the mutations were grotesque and immediate. They became mindless beasts, roaming the ruins in search of sustenance, their guttural cries echoing in the emptiness. In others, the changes were slower, more insidious. These people retained their intelligence but bore their deformities like a curse. They hid in shadows, their monstrous forms a constant reminder of their doomed fate.

Legends began to circulate of pockets of untainted humanity, survivors who had refused the vaccines or were somehow immune to the mutation. These people lived in isolation, terrified of the creatures that roamed the world and equally wary of each other. They scavenged for what little food remained, whispering prayers to gods who no longer seemed to listen.

The monsters, however, were not content to haunt the ruins. They organized in primitive ways, forming packs and herds, their mutated forms seemingly drawn together by some instinctual force. At night, their howls filled the air, a chilling symphony of despair that echoed across the empty plains and through the shattered skyscrapers.

Nature, too, had begun to adapt. Animals mutated alongside humanity, creating predators that were faster, stronger, and more terrifying than anything that had come before. The once-familiar ecosystems had turned into a nightmarish parody of their former selves.

The Earth was no longer home to mankind but a planet of monsters, haunted by the ghosts of its past. Survivors huddled in darkened basements, clinging to the fragments of a civilization long gone. They spoke of a time when the world had been whole, when humanity had stood atop the food chain, unchallenged. Now, they were the prey, hunted by the very creatures they had unwittingly created.

The dawn was no longer a symbol of hope but a grim reminder that the world belonged to monsters now. And humanity’s greatest sin was believing it could rewrite nature’s laws without consequence.