Bruno lay sprawled on the ground, his body heavy as lead, breath stuttering in uneven bursts. His vision swam, a high, needling buzz filling his ears. When he tried to stand, his legs buckled beneath him like overcooked noodles.
— Shit… I can't get up. — He growled the words out, jaw clenched as he tried to force his exhausted muscles to obey.
Iris rushed over, brows knitting tight.
— What do you mean you can't get up?
— For fuck's sake! — He tried again—nothing. — I've got no strength… Help me out here, damn it.
Iris scanned the street, and a few meters away she spotted a row of houses with their doors hanging open, creaking softly in the wind. A chill crawled up her spine. Something about the scene felt wrong.
— There are some houses over there, doors wide open… I'll check them out. If it's clear, we hide inside. Just stay here and don't pass out on me! — she said, already sprinting toward the nearest doorway.
Bruno sucked in a slow breath, fighting to keep his mind anchored. The exhaustion dragged him toward a strange fog where memories tangled with hallucinations. The metallic stench of blood clung to his clothes, mixing with the rancid rot of the infected he'd just torn apart.
Iris moved through the house cautiously, steps light, knife in hand. Every room was a mess of toppled furniture and dust. Despite the disarray, there were no bodies, no fresh blood, nothing crawling or moaning in the corners. The silence was both comforting and unnervingly absolute.
A moment later, she returned, slinging his arm over her shoulders and hauling him up with effort.
— Hang in there, big guy. Jesus, you're heavy as hell.
On the way to the house, they passed a street littered with mangled corpses—scattered limbs, shredded torsos, organs gleaming wet in the open air as if something had feasted wildly and without restraint. Flies swarmed in a dense cloud above, and the stench was thick enough to taste.
— Looks like a group of survivors rolled through and had one hell of a fight with these infected… right? — Iris said, trying to keep him talking as she dragged him forward.
Bruno let out a weak, humorless snort, eyes half-lidded.
— That wasn't a group of survivors…
Iris stiffened, an uneasy shiver crawling across her skin.
— What do you mean?
— I was here when it happened. — His voice came out low and rough, carrying a weight she didn't recognize. — It was early yesterday morning… and I'm the one who killed all of them.
The weight of those words dropped between them like a slab of iron. Iris looked at the corpses again. Then at Bruno. And in that instant, she understood something undeniable.
Not only the infected had died that night.
Bruno had lost another piece of himself.
She didn't say a word. She simply eased him onto the living-room couch, then hurried through the house, locking doors, blocking windows, darkening every corner until the place felt sealed away from the world. At the very least, they'd be safe for one night.
When she was done, Iris headed to the kitchen. She set her backpack on the table, unzipped it, and pulled out a notebook. On the very first page, a title scrawled in hurried handwriting:
"Everything I Know About Bruno and His Mutation."
She slipped on her headphones and started watching a few videos posted online—reports about people undergoing mutations. As she listened, she grabbed a pen and began recording her own observations.
I still don't understand exactly what's going on, but new types of infected are appearing, along with mutants that people have been reporting online since last night. According to what they say, all these mutated infected lose their consciousness completely. They become killing machines, slaughtering anyone who crosses their path.
Each one of them has differently colored eyes. So far, five colors have been identified in recent attacks: yellow, white, black, purple, and blue. According to the reports, each color marks distinct traits—physical, behavioral, or both. All of them are extremely aggressive and, based on a video I just watched, none show even a hint of humanity.
Bruno seems to be one of them… but his mutation is different. His eyes glow red.
I think he's unique.
Today, I saw Bruno get bitten on the shoulder during a fight. But when I looked again, there was nothing. No wound, no mark. As if the bite had never happened.
What I know so far is that some kind of trigger sets off the mutation inside him, granting him superhuman strength and agility. When it happens, he becomes wild and bloodthirsty. The air around him grows heavy, suffocating, as if an invisible pressure is about to crush everything nearby. And yesterday, I noticed something even stranger…
Anyone who looks directly into his red eyes while he's lost in that state seems to be affected somehow.
But despite everything, he's still himself. His mutation never completes fully. It manifests partially, gradually, as he loses control.
Today, I saw what happens when he comes back. Either he passes out or completely collapses, so weak he has to be carried. I don't know how long his body can take this. But I'll keep trying to understand him, to study every shift. After all, he's our savior.
If I can help him control this transformation, he'll undoubtedly be our greatest weapon against the infected.
Íris rises from her chair and walks into the living room to check on Bruno. The moment she sees him, her stomach twists.
His skin is flushed red.
Her heart kicks into a sprint. She steps closer, hesitant, and touches his forehead.
Burning.
The heat radiating off him is so intense her hand tingles.
"Shit…" she mutters, panic tightening around her chest.
His fever is way too high. If she doesn't act fast, it might kill him.
She needs to cool him down. Now.
Bruno is unconscious on the couch.
Desperation takes over Íris as she tries to wake him. Her hands grip his shoulders, shaking hard, but he doesn't react. The heat coming off him is unreal—he feels like he's on fire.
"Bruno! Wake up, dammit!" she shouts, trying to pull him up, trying to drag him toward the shower.
He moves slightly, his eyes fluttering open, but he's so weak he can't even lift his head.
"W… water… I want water…" he whispers, voice cracked and fading, before his eyes roll back again.
Íris sprints to the kitchen, yanks open the fridge, and grabs the first thing she sees: a two-liter bottle of ice-cold water.
Back in the living room, she lifts his head and tries to get him to drink. Bruno swallows with effort, lips dry and cracked, his body trembling. But then… something makes her freeze.
Black veins began to rise along his neck, crawling beneath the skin like roots.
Panic surged through her. Instinctively, she yanked the bottle away from his lips.
— What… what is it…? — Bruno mumbled, his voice weak and unfocused.
Íris didn't answer. She let the bottle fall to the floor and, without hesitating, started tugging his shirt upward.
— Babe, what're you…? — his voice dragged, a tired smile flickering on his face. — I'm way too out of it to fuck right now…
Íris froze.
She stared at him, stunned, unsure if he was delirious or actually trying to crack a joke in the middle of a fevered breakdown.
Ignoring him, she kept pulling until she got the shirt off completely.
Her stomach twisted.
The black veins covered his chest—thick, pulsing, spreading slowly across his body like something was corrupting him from the inside out.
Whatever was happening to Bruno, it was getting worse.
Fast.
His eyes changed in an instant.
Íris felt a shiver crawl up her spine before she even understood what was happening. In a swift, dominant motion, he grabbed her by the neck. But instead of the brutality she expected, his touch was… different. The look he gave her wasn't threatening—it was something far more dangerous.
It was seductive.
Hypnotic.
She felt trapped, not by his strength, but by the weight of that gaze. The red gleam in his eyes seemed to cut straight through her, stripping her bare from the inside out.
— L-let go of me, Bruno… — Íris whispered, her voice barely holding.
The corner of his mouth curled into a teasing smile.
— My name isn't Bruno.
The voice was different. The tone, the cadence… it wasn't him. Something had shifted.
— What the hell is this? Some kind of joke? — Íris tried to push him away, but her arms wouldn't obey. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, and even though every instinct screamed at her to be afraid, she couldn't. Something about him held her in place in a way she couldn't explain.
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He bit his own lower lip, and a thin line of blood slid down the corner of his mouth. Íris felt heat rush up her body as he dragged his tongue across the wound, leaving a vivid streak of red behind.
Her eyes widened.
She wanted to look away. She couldn't.
He leaned in slowly, like a predator already certain its prey had surrendered. When his lips met hers, the metallic taste flooded her mouth. Íris tried to resist, tried to push him away, but her body refused to obey. Her blood ignited the moment their mouths touched.
Then she felt something else.
A heat—no. A current of electricity ripping through her from the inside out.
Her eyes burned.
When Bruno—or whoever he was—pulled back, Íris was breathless. Her knees buckled, her chest heaved unevenly.
— Now… you belong to me.
His voice was low, steady, absolute.
Íris blinked a few times, dazed, until something felt wrong. Her reflection in the dark window revealed it.
Her eyes.
They were red. Just like his.
Panic clawed up her throat, but something inside her stopped the scream. A bond had formed. A tether she couldn't explain, pulsing through every nerve in her body.
— W-who… who are you? — she asked, still feeling the lingering heat of the kiss on her lips.
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and smirked.
— I don't have a name… but you can call me Mohammad.
Íris swallowed hard as he pulled off his shirt, revealing skin laced with dark, throbbing veins.
— Now give me a cold shower — he said, tossing the shirt aside and turning his back to her. — Or the other guy is going to heat this body up until all three of us die… or drink blood to satisfy his hunger.
A chill raced down her spine.
— Th-three of us?
Mohammad let out an irritated sigh while unbuttoning his pants.
— This is the second time I've come out. That idiot Bruno gets weaker every time he loses control… and the other guy takes over. — He paused for a second and glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression shadowed. — And I don't like that one bit.
Íris stayed frozen as he finished undressing and stepped into the bathroom.
Her mind spun, her body still buzzing with his presence… and worse, that touch still burned on her skin.
Something inside her had changed.
And without knowing it, that bond of blood would only make whatever she felt for him even stronger.
Íris brought a hand to her lips, as if trying to erase the taste still clinging there. But it was already too late.
She already belonged to him.
And no matter how much she might want to, she would never be able to pull away again.
Her heart raced, her mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened, and she simply followed him.