The world had stopped breathing.
Every nation, every city, every street had entered complete lockdown. Governments declared martial law. Borders closed. Public broadcasts halted. The only sound left in the cities was the wind, the occasional crash of glass, and the distant, inhuman groans echoing through concrete canyons.
No one dared to step outside.
People watched from windows, praying they wouldn't be found. The military had already tried. Bullets did nothing. Bombs only slowed them down. The more they were hurt, the stronger they became.
No known weapon could stop them.
Media drones, powered by satellites, continued to fly above ghost cities. What they captured was no longer news—it was a warning to the living.
Empty highways. Buses on fire. Bodies scattered in patterns that told silent stories.
Then motion.
The infected moved in swarms. Coordinated. Calculated. They hunted by scent, by sound, by instinct. Hungry. Fast.
One drone zoomed in on a survivor—a lone man sprinting through an abandoned street. His screams echoed across buildings, through the satellite feed, and into the homes of those still watching.
Then they caught him.
They tore him apart. Live.
The world watched in horror.
The feed cut.
News anchors broke down. Some fainted on air. Religious figures wept. Politicians shook with helplessness.
Across secure lines, nation leaders contacted the island again and again.
"Please—do something!" "You have the technology! The weapons! The minds!" "You were led by the man who saved the world before—why aren't you acting now?!"
Rayyan stood before the global council screen, his voice heavy but firm.
"We are not gods. The armies have tried. The bullets don't work. The fire made them faster. This isn't like anything we've fought before. Until we find a cure, stepping outside is suicide. Pray with us. That's all we can do—for now."
Silence followed. Not agreement. Not resistance. Just... silence.
And inside the island, something sacred was happening.
A scream echoed from the inner halls.
Sophia.
The time had come.
Nine months. Now pain.
She clutched her stomach, her face pale, her body trembling.
Sara was already by her side, holding her tightly. Doctors rushed in, guiding her toward the delivery room prepared weeks ago. Baba followed closely, calm but focused.
He placed his hand gently on her head.
"Stay strong. This pain is not just yours. It belongs to a legacy."
Sophia's eyes met his—filled with fear, but burning with determination.
As the world outside collapsed into shadows and screams...
Inside this island, inside her womb—
A new hope prepared to rise.