《Crimson Genesis: The New WorldCrimson Genesis》 The Last Dance The night was dark, the sky heavy with clouds that seemed ready to burst. Rain fell in torrents, pounding the asphalt with force, creating small streams that snaked through the streets. The sound was deafening, a constant roar that drowned out any other noise. In the middle of the street, a man stood out as he swung his arms and spun his body with fluid, almost hypnotic movements, as if conducting na orchestra. The rain struck him mercilessly, soaking his clothes, which now clung to his body. His hair, matted by the water, fell over his face, hiding his eyes and darkening his vision. Even so, none of it seemed to hinder him. Each gesture appeared synchronized with the rhythm of the storm. When the wind howled stronger, he raised his hands, following the direction of the air. When he spun, lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating his solitary figure. It was as if he were the maestro accompanying the chaotic symphony of the world. Suddenly, he stopped, his arms still outstretched. And then, slowly, he opened his eyes. The flash of lightning tore through the sky, bathing the surroundings in a pale light for an instant. What once seemed like an empty street now revealed itself as a stage of pure carnage. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, twisted in unnatural positions like puppets with their strings cut. Some were severed in half, their torsos separated from their legs in jagged cuts, exposing blood-soaked viscera mixing with the rainwater. Heads rolled across the asphalt, some still with their eyes open. Others, crushed like rotten fruit, spilled brain matter among the wreckage. The ground was a red lake. Blood flowed through the gutters, mingling with the stormwater, forming crimson rivers that ran between the bodies. Torn limbs were thrown carelessly¡ªa dismembered arm floated in a torrent, fingers curled in a final spasm. A leg lay a few meters ahead, violently torn off, bones exposed and covered in shredded flesh. There were ribs splayed open like broken wings, chests split in half as if something had torn them from the inside out. The walls around were covered in dark stains, smears of blood mixed with rain, slowly dripping as if the walls themselves were bleeding. Pieces of entrails were caught in corners, stuck to shattered windows, hanging from poles like macabre decorations. And at the center of it all, the man began to cry. *** [Three months earlier.] Dreams are fascinating enigmas. In them, we defy the laws of logic, experience the impossible, and walk through worlds where everything is allowed. We are, at the same time, spectators, screenwriters, and protagonists of these stories that unfold in our sleeping minds. In an instant, we can fly through golden clouds, and in the next, dive into oceans of forgotten memories. We create settings with such vivid details that we can touch them, feel the warmth of the sun or the cutting cold of a snowstorm. And even when everything seems disconnected, there is a strange harmony stitching each scene together. But the most curious thing is how much these reveries can touch us. A simple dream can awaken intense emotions¡ªjoy, fear, longing¡ªfeelings we carry upon waking, as if a fragment of that unreal world had clung to us. Perhaps that''s why, sometimes, we wake up with a racing heart, smiling for no reason, or with tears in our eyes, trying to decipher what it all meant. Because, in the end, dreams are more than nighttime stories. They are reflections of who we are, hidden desires, or fears we avoid facing. They are portals to a universe that exists only while our eyes are closed but somehow remains with us even when we wake. Why am I reflecting on them? Maybe because I am having a lucid dream. That rare moment when I realize that none of this is real, yet everything feels so vivid, so tangible. It''s like walking on a stage built by my mind, knowing that I am the author of this play but unable to fully control the script. I look around, and everything feels both right and wrong at the same time. The walls ripple slightly, as if they are breathing. The ground seems solid, but there is something strange in every step, as if I am floating even when I feel the weight of my feet touching the floor. And the voices¡ªthe voices are distant echoes, calling me with names I do not recognize. It is a strange sensation, this awareness within a dream. Knowing that I can shape the world around me. Create or destroy? Stay or wake up? There is a silent power here, and it whispers to me. A call to dive deeper and break everything at once. And that''s when the idea arises, dark and sharp. If all of this is mine, then I can shape the impossible. I can create whatever I want. A knife, for example. It appears in my hand, cold, perfect, its metallic gleam reflecting the distorted world around me. I don''t know why I created it, but it''s here. Maybe it''s curiosity, maybe it''s despair. Maybe I just want to see what happens when I push a dream to its limit. The reflection on the blade stares back at me, eyes fixed and strange. Is it me? Or just a shadow of what I think I am? But I don''t dwell on that¡ªafter all, I''m curious about what will happen when I drive this knife into my neck, and that''s exactly what I do without hesitation. TCHAC!! *** "Ah!" I wake up startled and breathless, feeling the clothes I slept in uncomfortably sticking to me because of the sweat running down my body. I look to the side and tap the screen of my phone on the nightstand, seeing that it''s seven in the morning. "Great." I lay back on the pillow and stare at the ceiling, reflecting on the dream I just had. What the hell was that? I''m almost sure I don''t have suicidal thoughts¡­ almost. With a sigh, I get up and head to the bathroom, knowing I wouldn''t be able to sleep again. After taking a shower and brushing my teeth, I put on clean clothes and walk to the kitchen. As soon as I arrive, I see that my dad is already having breakfast at the table. He''s frantically typing on his laptop and doesn''t seem to notice me coming in. "Good morning, Dad," I say, walking to the fridge. He jumps at the sound of my voice and pulls his eyes away from the screen, finally noticing me. "Son, you''re up early." "I had a nightmare and couldn''t go back to sleep," I reply, taking the milk from the fridge. I turn around and grab a mug from the sink, checking if it''s clean before pouring the milk in. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. When I look back at my dad, I see that he''s already focused on his laptop again. Curious, I walk over and glance over his shoulder. It''s a video of four police officers trying to restrain a woman on the ground. She was thrashing violently, and the four men didn''t seem able to hold her down. The woman then lifted her head and opened her mouth¡ªI assume she screamed since my dad had his headphones in. The video ended with the woman breaking free and charging at the person filming. "Where was this?" I ask, walking back to my mug of milk. "China," my dad replies, taking his headphones off. He gets up and brings a dirty plate to the sink. "China? Do they know what was wrong with that woman?" I take a sip of milk, trying to wash away the bitter taste left in my stomach after watching the video. "No one''s sure. Some say it''s a mutation of rabies, others think it''s a new drug," he says, turning on the faucet and rinsing the plate. "What kind of drug gives that level of strength? I''m buying it right now," I joke, which earns me a wet face after my dad tilts the plate, making the sink water splash on me. "Hey!" I wipe my face with my hand, shaking off the excess water into the sink. "You know I''m joking." "There are things you don''t joke about, kid," my dad says with a smile. Before I can argue back, he places a hand on my shoulder. "Since you''re already up, go clean out the garage." Oh no, the garage. The same one my family insists on filling with boxes of things we''ll never use. "Huh, you''ve got to be kidding me." "Not this time, son. Your mom told me yesterday that we need space. And being the good father that I am, I''m transferring that mission to you." I just stare at him in silence, not believing that waking up early has led me to this punishment. My dad then removes his hand from my shoulder and walks out of the kitchen. "I''m heading out to buy some things. Good luck, Jonathan." "¡­Thanks, Dad," I mumble and take another sip of milk. *** "Argh!" With difficulty, I lift a box from the corner of the wall and carry it out of the garage. I''m not exactly the symbol of physical strength, but I also didn''t think I''d nearly throw out my back just by carrying a box. Which only made me think: what the hell is inside this thing? I crouch down, open the lid, and find several school books neatly arranged side by side. "Damned chemistry, still causing me problems," I grumble, closing the box with a snap and pushing it with my foot toward the pile of things meant for donation. "What the hell are you doing?" I jump at the voice behind me and turn around, coming face-to-face with a girl with shoulder-length black hair. She''s wearing a white tank top along with denim shorts and her inseparable black sneakers. I recognize her immediately and go back to pushing the box. "Good morning to you too, Ellie." Ellie and I have known each other forever. One of those friendships that start before you even understand what friendship is. And since then, we''ve been stuck in this weird cycle. We date, we break up, we date again, we break up again. A mess, basically. But, just like the Earth and the Moon, we always end up orbiting around each other. ''Look at that, how poetic.'' "Yeah, yeah, good morning. What are you doing?" she repeats, cutting off my thoughts. "Isn''t it obvious?" I say, nodding toward the pile. "Cleaning the garage." Ellie raises an eyebrow, walking over to one of the boxes and opening the lid with disdain. "And since when do you clean anything?" "Since my mom asked my dad, and my dad passed the mission to me," I reply, wiping the sweat off my forehead with my forearm. "You''re so lucky," she comments, losing interest in the box and turning to me. "My mom asked me to go to the store to buy some batteries. Want to come with me?" "Huh..." I glance at her, then at the boxes. "I still have a lot to¡ª" "We can get ice cream afterward," Ellie interrupts me. "Hm... Even so¡ª" "I''ll pay." Ah, Ellie... you know exactly how to break me down. Without a second thought, I leave the boxes behind and start walking toward the door. Unfinished work and a possible lecture? Problems for ''my'' future self. "I''ll just put on some sneakers." *** After a few minutes of pedaling, we arrive at the market. Ellie hops off her bike and, without much ceremony, drops it on the ground. "I''ll be right back," she says, walking into the store without looking back. I get off my own bike, but unlike her, I take the time to lean it against the wall. I stand there for a moment, watching the constant movement in the parking lot. Engines rumbling, tires sliding on the hot asphalt, people rushing in and out with bags full of groceries. The kind of scene that usually goes unnoticed but, for some reason, holds my attention for a moment. Until a groan catches my attention. I turn to my right, my eyes locking onto a parked truck, almost certain that the sound came from there. I hesitate for a few seconds, debating whether I should go or not, but another groan convinces me to check it out. Some would say curiosity kills, but me? I have more courage than common sense. I take a few hesitant steps, rounding the vehicle. The closer I get, the clearer the sound becomes. And then I see it. A cat. Medium-sized, with gray, dirty fur, lying on its side in a pool of blood. Its belly is torn open, as if something had ripped through the skin from the inside out, leaving its internal organs exposed. My eyes widen, and I take three steps back as I inhale the worst smell I''ve ever encountered in my life. "What the fuck is this?" That''s when I notice the trail of blood on the asphalt¡ªirregular and thick. My eyes follow it until they lock onto a small moving silhouette further ahead. A rat. Small, but not enough to go unnoticed. Its fur is soaked in red, and it seems to be dragging something in its mouth as it moves forward before disappearing into a storm drain. A shiver runs down my spine. I don''t know what''s more disturbing¡ªthe state of the cat or the fact that a rat apparently did this. Secret Truths My eyes widen, and I take three steps back as I inhale the worst smell I''ve ever encountered in my life. "What the fuck is this?" That''s when I notice the trail of blood on the asphalt¡ªirregular and thick. My eyes follow it until they lock onto a small moving silhouette further ahead. A rat. Small, but not enough to go unnoticed. Its fur is soaked in red, and it seems to be dragging something in its mouth as it moves forward before disappearing into a storm drain. A shiver runs down my spine. I don''t know what''s more disturbing¡ªthe state of the cat or the fact that a rat apparently did this. *** [Ellie Carter''s Point of View] If I had to sum up my life in one word, it would be chaos. I grew up surrounded by screams, slamming doors, and flying objects. My parents fought all the time¡ªthe kind of fight that doesn''t stay just in words¡ªand I learned early on that relationships were made of shards and broken promises. I guess I must have some heavy trauma because I never managed to make friends. It was hard to trust people when the only example of a relationship I knew was destructive and unstable. But then I met Jonathan. You know the kind of person who goes unnoticed at first glance? Black hair and eyes, a not-so-athletic build, average height. He doesn''t have anything that immediately stands out¡ªbut once you get to know him, he becomes the center of attention. I don''t remember exactly how it happened, but at some point, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into his group of friends. I quickly became part of the group, but I was never really close to the others. Even after years, the only person I truly care about is him. Some might say my fixation on Jon is strange. That''s why I learned to hide my... obsession¡ªno, I mean, my connection with him. Our relationship has always been a cycle. At first, we were just friends. Then, friends who looked at each other for too long. And then, suddenly, we became something more. There was no big event, no cinematic moment¡ªit just happened. A stolen kiss after a silly conversation, a look that lasted longer than normal. Before I knew it, we were dating. But I didn''t know how to maintain a relationship. I didn''t know how to handle affection without suspicion, how to accept an "I love you" without expecting it to be followed by a scream. Over time, I started pushing him away. Small fights, lame excuses, uncomfortable silences. Then, we broke up. A few months later, we got back together. The cycle repeated. Again. And again. And now, we''re in a phase where we''re nothing more than friends. But sometimes, when I see him laughing with another girl, I feel something rise in my throat. A hot, suffocating wave. They look at him as if they have the right. As if he''s available. And he smiles back. I pretend I don''t care. I pretend I don''t clench my fists under the table. I pretend I don''t feel the urge to grab his arm and pull him away. Because that would be crazy, right? I''m not crazy. But some days, I wonder... What if he falls in love with someone else? If he decides that some random girl is worth more than everything we have? No. That can''t happen. I''m the only one who understands him. The only one who really knows Jonathan... the real Jonathan. "Haa..." I sigh, wondering why I''m thinking about this now. At the checkout, I pay for the batteries and put them in a plastic bag. I leave the store and walk up to Jon, who was leaning against his bike with a somber look. "What''s with that face?" He blinks a few times before finally looking at me. "I think I just saw a rat coming out of a dead cat." I frown. "... What?" He nods his head toward a corner of the parking lot. "Over there, behind the truck. There''s a cat with its belly open, and I think a rat did it." I let out a sigh and shake my head. "Jon, sometimes you need more sleep. Or to stop watching those disgusting videos on the internet." "I''m serious." He speaks in a tone that makes me raise an eyebrow. Jon rarely speaks seriously with me, which means he''s not joking. "Okay, I''ll go check it out." I grip the plastic bag more firmly and walk toward the truck, feeling Jon right behind me. As we turn the corner around the vehicle, the first thing I notice is the smell. A metallic, nauseating odor lingers in the air, strong enough to make my stomach churn. My eyes scan the asphalt, and then I see¡ªNothing. Just a pool of thick, dark blood. But the cat? Gone. My shoulders tense. "It was here?" "Yes¡­" Jon responds, shocked, staring at the blood on the ground. "It was right here¡­" I look around, searching for any sign of movement, anything that indicates the cat was dragged away, but the only thing I see is a thick trail, as if something had slithered out of it. A chill runs down my spine. This doesn''t make sense. "Ellie." Jon places a hand on my arm and pulls me back toward the bikes. "Let''s go home." *** [Jonathan Bennet''s Point of View] After biking back to my house, Ellie went to drop off the batteries at her place, two blocks ahead. I, on the other hand, went straight up to my room and turned on my computer. I sit in my chair and rest my head on my hand, reflecting on what happened at the store. I''m not exactly a conspiracy theorist, but I can''t deny that what I saw was supernatural and completely terrifying. I mean, where did the cat go? I''m sure that wound was fatal. As soon as the computer boots up, I debate for a few seconds on what to search for until I remember the video of the woman my dad was watching earlier. "Hmm... let''s start with that." I open the browser and type: [Bizarre cases of extreme violence] If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The first results were the usual: gang fights, psychopath attacks, crimes. But then, I started noticing patterns. "Homeless man attacks a man by biting and continues even after being shot in Brazil." "Zombie cow in the Congo? Understand the case that shocked the country." "Monkeys kill five tourists in India." ''What kind of madness is this?'' I ask myself, startled, and scroll down the page, finding news from various parts of the world. London: A man was run over but kept moving. When paramedics tried to assist, they were attacked. Tokyo: A security camera captured a torn-up dog walking in the middle of the street. Mexico City: A woman was seen chewing her own fingers on a crowded subway, showing no sign of pain. Russia: Dog kills and eats a family while they slept. My hands were sweating as I kept scrolling through the news. With each new report, my heartbeat quickened. Something was wrong. Very wrong. But if there were already so many cases¡­ how the hell had I not heard about this before? I swallowed dry and clicked on the homeless man''s news report. ERROR 404 ¨C PAGE NOT FOUND "What the fuck¡­?" I muttered, clicking refresh. Nothing. I go back to the previous page and see that the news had disappeared. I scroll up and click on the one about the dog. ERROR 404. I try the article about the tourists killed in India. ERROR 404. By this point, I was already holding my breath without realizing it. How could the news be disappearing as I read it? If it were just one, I might have assumed the page was under maintenance, but several? I can only presume that someone didn''t want that to be seen. And now, I had no doubt that something much bigger was happening. *** [Point of View ???] The patrol car slid down the narrow street, the tires lightly screeching against the wet asphalt. Inside, officers Ramirez and Collins exchanged a silent glance before stepping out. The call had come from a neighbor: screams, sounds of struggle, maybe domestic violence. Nothing unusual for that part of town. "Let''s take it slow," Ramirez said, adjusting his gun holster. "You never know what to expect from these people." Collins nodded, his hand already hovering near his holster. They climbed the creaking porch steps and knocked on the door. "Police! Anyone home?" Collins called out, waiting for a response. But no one answered. Only the heavy silence of the place. Ramirez tried the doorknob, and the door gave way, slowly creaking open. "Unlocked door. Never a good sign," he muttered, exchanging a worried look with his partner. Both entered the house with steady hands on their holsters, ready to draw their weapons at any moment. The interior was dark, with only the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains. "Anyone home? Police!" Ramirez called out again, his voice echoing through the rooms. They moved down the hallway, hearing only the sound of their own footsteps. The tension in the air was palpable. Every door they passed was slightly ajar, but nothing seemed out of place. Until they reached the kitchen. The door was half-open, and a faint, almost imperceptible sound came from within. A wet noise, like chewing. Ramirez signaled to Collins, and they positioned themselves on either side of the door. With a swift motion, Ramirez pushed it open, and both stepped in with their weapons raised. What they saw made them freeze. Standing by the table, a man was hunched over the body of a woman, tearing chunks from her stomach with his teeth before swallowing. His skin was pale, almost cadaveric, with red veins snaking across his body, pulsating as if alive. "Jesus Christ..." Collins whispered, his voice trembling. The man stopped chewing and slowly turned his head back, staring at the officers with black eyes and crimson irises, his mouth smeared with blood. He grinned, revealing his filthy teeth. "Hands up!" Ramirez ordered, but the monster only tilted its head, as if analyzing them. Then, it moved. In the blink of an eye, the creature lunged at Ramirez with inhuman speed. The officer barely had time to fire before he was thrown against the wall with brutal force. His body crashed into a bar, sending bottles and utensils clattering to the floor. Collins opened fire. The bullets struck the creature''s chest, piercing its pale flesh. But instead of falling, the monster merely staggered back, a guttural growl escaping its throat. The wounds healed before Collins'' eyes, the veins pulsating as they sealed shut in seconds. "What the fuck?!" he shouted, reloading. The monster leaped. Its hands wrapped around Collins'' neck, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Fingers dug into the officer''s flesh, and he struggled to pull the trigger again. A final shot echoed through the kitchen before the creature crushed his trachea with a dry snap. On the floor, Ramirez raised his weapon with a trembling hand and fired directly at the creature''s head. The bullet tore through its eye, exiting the skull from the other side. The thing''s head snapped back from the impact, but almost instantly, it returned to its original position. Then, it smiled. Before Ramirez could react, the creature lunged forward, lifting its foot and stomping his skull against the floor. The impact was brutal. Blood, bone, and brain matter splattered in all directions, painting the ground with the remains of the officer. Death is Here (1/3) [Jonathan Bennet''s POV] "I''m telling you, it''s like those zombie shows," I say, pushing the last box onto the pile of things going to the trash. It had been a few minutes since I looked it up online. And, as scary as it was, I couldn''t just stay in my room staring at the walls. So I went down to the garage and got back to my cleaning mission. Which didn''t make much sense given the situation, but... I didn''t want to piss off my mom. Ellie came back in the meantime and sat on one of the boxes, watching me as I worked. "Zombies are scientifically impossible, Jon," she said. I shake my head and walk up to her, stopping in front of her. "Then how do you explain those news reports? And the pool of blood in the parking lot?" Ellie brings a hand to her chin and furrows her brows. I know that expression well enough to understand it means I''m in deep thought, don''t talk to me. "Let''s see... maybe a virus that makes people violent?" she said after a few seconds. I fix my gaze on her. "... Isn''t that basically the same thing?" "Obviously not, zombies are... well, zombies! Walking corpses, the undead, all that classic stuff. A virus that makes people violent is... it could work as a catalyst for rage, but it''s not the same thing," Ellie says, raising a finger as if giving a lecture. "And if the infected can still move even when extremely injured, the virus must also induce a very high adrenaline spike." I open my mouth to add something, but she keeps going. "Besides, scientifically speaking, a virus that reanimates dead tissue is impossible. Decomposition is an irreversible chemical process. Now, a virus or fungus that alters human behavior... that''s more plausible." I close my mouth and reflect for a moment. Okay, a literal zombie virus really doesn''t make sense, but the idea of a mind-controlling virus has its flaws too. For a virus to create something similar to "zombies," it would have to act in an extremely specific way, selectively attacking the areas of the brain responsible for empathy, pain, and reasoning while preserving functions related to aggression and survival instincts. That seems... unlikely. A fungus, on the other hand, makes me think of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis¡ªthe parasite that infects ants and takes control of their nervous system, basically turning them into living puppets. It forces the host to climb to a high place before killing it, ensuring its spores spread as effectively as possible. If something similar happened to humans, it would make way more sense than a virus. The fungus could invade the brain and manipulate basic impulses, suppressing free will while preserving motor control. But still, there''s a problem. Ophiocordyceps doesn''t reanimate corpses. It needs the host to be alive to function. So how the hell were those infected I saw on the news still moving, even with fatal injuries? This just doesn''t make sense¡ª "What are you two doing?" A soft voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn around and see a woman standing at the garage entrance, watching us with her arms crossed. She was wearing a closed robe with slippers. Her eyes had deep dark circles, evidence of yet another sleepless night. Her skin was pale, with exhaustion lines that seemed to carry the weight of years. And the most striking thing: her head, completely devoid of hair. This was my dear mother, Sophia Bennet, the strongest woman I know. Two years ago, we found out she had cancer. Since then, our lives turned upside down, but she never stopped smiling and fighting. Even now, with exhaustion written all over her face, she stood there, staring at us with that mix of concern and curiosity only she could convey. "I''m... cleaning the garage," I answer, a little awkwardly. "Good morning, Mrs. Bennet," Ellie says beside me, waving at my mom. "Hi, Ellie, sweetheart." Mom smiles at her before turning back to me, frowning. "I asked your dad to do that." "Huh... and he asked me to do it," I say, fully aware that I''m making my old man''s life harder. She lets out a sigh, shaking her head. "Haa... that man." Her eyes then scan the garage, evaluating my work. "Hmm... you did a good job, son. Did you set aside what we can donate?" "Yeah." I point to the donation pile and then to the things that can go in the trash. "And those over there can be thrown out." "Alright." She nods, but soon covers her mouth with her hand as a yawn escapes. "Hmm... now you two get inside, the sun is getting too strong." "Okay, Mom." Apparently satisfied with my response, my mother heads back inside, leaving Ellie and me alone again. "Well, I think it''s better if we discuss this inside." Ellie stands up and stretches before starting to walk toward the house. "Yeah... let''s go." *** [Next day] One of the dumbest things someone could do upon learning that extreme violence cases are happening would be to leave home and go to crowded places. The right thing to do would be to stock up on supplies for weeks, reinforce home security, and get some weapons. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. In the end, the worst-case scenario might never even happen... but those who prepare always have a better chance of dying of old age. I know this. I know exactly what I should be doing. But the problem is that I''m a teenager. And teenagers don''t have money for food stocks, access to weapons, or the authority to say, "Hey, maybe we should lock ourselves inside indefinitely." So, instead of building my own personal bunker, I''m here, in the back seat of the car, going with my parents to yet another one of my mom''s hospital appointments. Outside, the world keeps turning as if nothing is wrong. People walking on the sidewalks, cars honking, crowded caf¨¦s. Everything seems normal. But I know it''s not. I trust my mental ability to read situations, and the same instinct that told me things were about to go horribly wrong in 2020 has come back in full force. "Jon?" My dad''s voice pulls me out of my trance. I look up and see him watching me through the rearview mirror. "Huh?" "You''re too quiet." He narrows his eyes, as if trying to read me. "Are you okay?" I could tell him about what I saw and read. But what would I say? That I think we''re on the verge of an apocalypse? That maybe the whole city is on the brink of chaos? My mom wouldn''t believe me, and my dad, even after seeing the video of that woman yesterday, would probably brush it off. If only I had proof, like news reports of multiple cases worldwide. Maybe that would work, but whoever is behind this has made sure to take them down, and any thread on the subject disappears quickly. So, all that''s left for me to do is force a smile and shrug. "Just tired." My dad doesn''t seem convinced, but he doesn''t press the issue. My mom, sitting beside him, just watches the street through the window, unaware of our conversation. When I look back out the window, the hospital is already in sight. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for a few more hours of waiting in cold white hallways, pretending everything is fine. The car slows down at the hospital entrance, and my dad maneuvers into a parking spot. The white, towering building rises before us, so familiar that it has lost any sense of newness. I''ve been here so many times, waiting, listening to the monotonous beeping of machines and the murmur of muffled conversations in the hallways. My dad turns off the engine and lets out a sigh before turning to my mom. "Do you want me to come in with you?" Sophia smiles slightly, the same tired smile she always has on these days. "I''m fine, Adam. It''s just another appointment." He presses his lips together, clearly dissatisfied with the response, but he knows arguing won''t change anything. My mom opens the door and steps out of the car with the calmness of someone who has been through this countless times. My dad and I follow right after, and the summer heat hits me the moment I step out of the vehicle. The hospital air, on the other hand, is cold and carries that distinct antiseptic smell. The reception area is busy, as always. Patients sit in neatly arranged chairs, some coughing, others looking at their phones or staring at the television. As my mom approaches the counter to check in, I glance around, looking for any sign of¡­ I don''t even know what exactly, but I look. Thankfully, after scanning the area twice, I don''t see anything screaming "Infected!"¡ªwhich should be a good sign. At that moment, I feel my dad''s hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, Dad?" "Are you sure you''re okay?" Adam asked, concerned. Huh, my behavior must be anything but normal. Sorry, Dad. "I am." He furrows his brows, but before he can say anything, my mom turns to us. "I''m going up now." My dad immediately shifts his attention and holds her hand. "Are you sure you don''t want me to come with you?" She squeezes his hand and smiles. "No, stay with Jon. It shouldn''t take long." He hesitates but nods. "Alright." My mom waves goodbye before disappearing down the hallway. My dad sighs and looks at me. "Wanna grab a coffee while we wait?" "Sure, I''ll just hit the bathroom first." "Alright, I''ll get the coffees." I give him a slight nod and head down the hallway toward the restroom. Pushing the door open, I step inside and walk to one of the stalls, closing the door behind me before undoing my belt. Just as I start pissing, I hear a knock on the door. "Occupied!" For a moment, the only sound filling the space is the steady stream hitting the porcelain. "Haa..." I sigh, relieved to finally empty my bladder, but then¡ªanother knock, this time louder. I frown. Something feels off. "It''s occupied, man!" No response. Just a low, heavy breathing on the other side of the door. I finish quickly and flush. The muffled sound of the mechanism echoes through the silent restroom. Facing the door, I focus on the outside. The breathing is still there, but now, there''s also a faint clicking of teeth. "Hey¡­ you okay out there?" Whatever is on the other side doesn''t answer. But then, I see something red crawling under the door. Blood. Ah¡­ I''m screwed.