The school gates closed behind the students with the same metallic sound as always, but that day, it felt different. Louder. More final. As if, from that point on, nothing could be undone.
The main hallway was crowded. Voices blended together, hurried footsteps echoed across the cold floor, lockers slammed shut. To anyone else, it was just another morning. To them, it felt far too fragile a setting to hide what the world was becoming.
Davincci walked ahead, glancing from side to side.
— Which classroom again? — he muttered.
— Second hallway on the right — Valhalla replied, already recognizing the route.
Elloysa followed just behind them. A little farther back, Francielly walked alone, her steps uneven, as if she were always half a second behind her own body.
They turned the corner and finally found the room. Davincci entered first, followed by Valhalla.
Elloysa was about to step in right after them… but she stopped.
Francielly was standing several meters behind, staring at the floor — too distracted to notice the others had already gone ahead.
— Francielly? — Elloysa called carefully. — Are you okay?
Francielly slowly lifted her head.
— I am… — she replied. — Why?
Elloysa stepped a little closer.
— You've been acting kind of strange since earlier. If you want help with the assignments, or… I don't know.
— I don't need it — Francielly answered too quickly. — It's just nerves.
Elloysa was about to agree, but something caught her attention.
Francielly ran her tongue over her lips without noticing. There was too much saliva. A thin, almost imperceptible strand formed at the corner of her mouth before she wiped it away with her hand.
Elloysa frowned slightly.
— You're… drooling a bit — she said, without accusation. — Are you really okay?
Francielly looked away.
— It's just anxiety — she replied. — Nothing serious.
But when she spoke, Elloysa caught a strange smell in the air.
Metallic.
Like blood.
Before Elloysa could say anything else, Francielly turned abruptly and started walking down the hallway far too fast — her steps clumsy, almost tripping.
— I'm… going to the bathroom — she said over her shoulder.
Elloysa stood there for a moment, watching her walk away.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
The bathroom was empty.
As soon as she entered, Francielly leaned against the wall, the world spinning. Her vision blurred, sounds became distant — as if she were underwater.
The pressure dropped all at once.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to draw in air, but her breathing came short, rapid, uncontrolled.
— Calm down… calm down… — she murmured to herself.
Staggering, she reached the sink and turned on the faucet. She splashed water on her face again and again. The cold shock helped a little. Her breathing began to slow — still heavy, but less desperate.
She slowly raised her head.
And then she saw it.
The reflection in the mirror wasn't right.
Her arms looked different. Broader. More defined. Subtle veins stood out beneath the skin. Her shoulders seemed wider, her torso… larger.
She took a step back from the mirror, her heart racing again.
— No… — she whispered.
She turned sideways, examining herself. Her chest rose and fell too strongly. This wasn't imagination. Not an angle. Not just exhaustion.
Her body was changing.
— This isn't happening… — she murmured, almost pleading.
For a few seconds, she stood there, staring at her own reflection, as if the mirror might offer some answer.
Nothing happened.
No voice. No explanation.
Just her.
She swallowed hard, opened her backpack with trembling hands, and pulled out a looser jacket. She put it on quickly, adjusting the sleeves, tugging the fabric to hide as much as possible.
It worked. Not perfectly — but enough.
She took another deep breath.
— Focus — she told herself. — Just… focus.
She left the bathroom, walking carefully now, trying to control every movement. She entered the classroom and went straight to an empty desk beside Valhalla.
He turned as soon as she sat down.
— Took you long enough — he commented. — Something happen?
Francielly forced a neutral expression.
— Went to refill my water — she replied.
Valhalla nodded, not pushing further.
She stared at the front of the classroom, trying to look normal.
But inside, everything was collapsing.
And deep down, she already knew:
This wasn't temporary.
The laboratory was utterly silent.
Not the comfortable silence of an empty place, but the tense stillness of anticipation — the kind that comes before something goes very right… or very wrong.
Y119's body was secured to a vertical metal structure, suspended by hydraulic supports and reinforced clamps. Even in death, its appearance was disturbing: skin far too pale, muscles rigid as if eternally contracted, and that unnatural quality no human body should ever possess.
White lights shone directly onto it.
Hamilton stood with his arms crossed.
Michael was beside a workbench, where a modified revolver lay open, its internal components partially exposed.
— We had to adapt almost everything — Michael said, breaking the silence. — We couldn't just use a standard carbon-coated round and expect it to work.
Hamilton didn't take his eyes off the body.
— Explain — he said flatly.
Michael took a deep breath.
— The problem isn't just the carbon itself. It's density. — He pointed to a diagram projected on a nearby screen. — If ignition pressure is too high, the carbon fragments inside the barrel. Too low, and the projectile loses velocity and fails to penetrate.
He stepped closer to the revolver.
— We had to recalculate the entire chamber. The bullet needs enough speed to pierce these creatures' skin, but without generating a pressure spike that destroys the carbon coating before impact.
One of the technicians nodded silently.
— The projectile's been nicknamed X-Fire — Michael continued. — A mostly steel core to maintain structural integrity, with an outer layer of compressed carbon at a specific density… and an internal micro-layer as well, to ensure prolonged contact on impact.
Hamilton finally looked away.
— And the revolver?
— We widened the barrel by fractions of a millimeter — Michael explained. — Nothing visible to the naked eye. We also reduced firing pin force. Less initial impact, more controlled ignition. The idea was to soften the shot without compromising final energy.
Hamilton gestured with his hand.
— Fire.
A SWAT soldier took position. The entire laboratory seemed to hold its breath.
The weapon was aimed directly at Y119's torso.
BANG.
The shot echoed through the lab.
The bullet struck the body with a dull thud, burying itself in the dead flesh. A small stream of dark fluid slowly leaked out.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Visually… it didn't look much different from an ordinary gunshot.
Hamilton frowned.
— What's the difference? — he asked impatiently.
Michael stepped closer to the body, examining the impact site.
— The difference isn't immediate — he said. — The carbon doesn't explode the flesh or tear it apart like an expanding round. It integrates.
Hamilton tilted his head slightly.
— Integrates?
— Absorbs — Michael corrected. — These creatures' skin and tissue react abnormally to carbon. The material binds to the tissue and directly interferes with cellular regeneration.
He pointed at the wound.
— Normally, even in death, these bodies begin reconstructing themselves through residual biological reflexes. Not here. The carbon creates a kind of blockage. It halts regeneration and forces the creature to bleed — something these entities avoid at all costs.
Hamilton remained silent for a moment.
— So it doesn't kill instantly.
— No — Michael admitted. — But it weakens. Slows them down. And against a living target, that can be the difference between a monster getting back up… or bleeding until it can't move anymore.
He hesitated.
— Still, I can't say the test is 100% reliable. Y119 had been dead for some time. In an active specimen, behavior may vary.
Hamilton closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, his expression had changed.
— Full specifications — he ordered. — Ammunition, weapon, tolerances. Everything.
— Already being documented — Michael replied.
Hamilton turned and began walking slowly through the laboratory, observing the scientists, the soldiers, the suspended body.
— Activate search teams — he said firmly. — SWAT, tactical forces, everything we have. Any suspicious activity linked to these creatures is to be reported immediately.
The soldiers nodded.
Hamilton stopped, looking once more at Y119.
This time, he spoke more quietly. To himself.
— This isn't an isolated incident anymore… — he murmured. — It's a war.
He turned, resolute.
— And wars aren't won with improvisation.
His gaze grew cold, calculating.
— We're going to need something bigger. An entire organization dedicated to hunting these things… before they hunt us.
The laboratory lights reflected in his eyes.