The distant sound of sirens cut through the night air.
Red and blue lights reflected off the old buildings, dancing erratically across the peeling walls of the apartment complex. The street, once silent, was now partially sealed off by yellow tape, with onlookers watching from a distance, murmuring theories no one could confirm.
At the center of the scene, a car crushed at the roof.
And on top of it, a body.
Francielly stood several meters away, wrapped in a thermal blanket one of the officers had given her. Her face was pale, her eyes far too alert for someone who had just gone through something so violent. She wasn't crying. She wasn't screaming. She was just watching.
"Step back a little, ma'am," a police officer said, gently but firmly.
She took two steps back, obeying, never taking her eyes off the thing lying on the car.
That was definitely not human.
The dark skin looked far too thick, irregular, as if it had been molded carelessly. The limbs were long, with joints bent at wrong angles. Its neck was twisted, the knife still lodged there, and a thick liquid slowly dripped down, reflecting the streetlights in an unnatural way.
"What the hell is that…" murmured one of the younger officers, low enough not to draw attention.
"Shut up," another replied. "That doesn't go in the report."
The sound of a heavier engine approached. A black car with no visible identification stopped behind the standard patrol vehicles. The door opened calmly.
Commander Hamilton stepped out.
A tall man, rigid posture, neatly groomed gray hair. His gaze was trained, direct — the kind that doesn't waste time on emotional shock. He studied the scene for a few seconds in absolute silence, absorbing every detail.
The body.
The destroyed car.
The knife.
Francielly.
"Who's the main witness?" he asked, without raising his voice.
"Her," a cop replied, pointing. "Resident of the building. She's the one who called."
Hamilton walked toward Francielly, stopping at a respectful distance.
"My name is Hamilton. Commander." A brief pause. "Are you injured?"
"No," she replied. Her voice was far too steady. "Just… tired."
Hamilton gave a slight nod.
"I need you to tell me exactly what happened. No assumptions. Just facts."
Francielly took a deep breath.
"I got home… heard a noise. When I saw it, that thing"—she nodded toward the body—"was trying to escape through the window. It didn't look like a person. It didn't move like one."
"Why?" Hamilton asked.
"Because…" she hesitated. "Because everything about it was wrong."
Hamilton watched her with clinical focus. "And then?"
"I grabbed a knife. I didn't think. I just… did it." She swallowed. "I hit its neck. And it fell."
"Did you feel like you were in danger?"
"Yes."
"Did you feel like you could die?"
"Yes."
Hamilton nodded again.
"Anything else? Any words? Any sound?"
"A noise. Like…" she frowned. "Like it was trying to breathe without knowing how."
"Pneumonia's a bitch," said a random officer.
"Silence," Hamilton snapped, raising his voice.
"Who's this idiot?" Francielly asked, mocking.
"That's James, the rookie. Ignore him," Hamilton said as he wrote everything down in a notebook.
Hamilton didn't react further. He just turned his head back toward the body.
"Call the special transport," he ordered. "Closed code."
One of the officers widened his eyes.
"Sir… are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
Minutes later, a white truck with no logos arrived slowly. Men wearing thick gloves and masks surrounded the body, performing procedures that were definitely not standard.
Hamilton approached the creature once more. He crouched with difficulty, ignoring the metallic smell in the air. His eyes went straight to its feet.
He froze.
They weren't feet. They were wide, rigid structures, with deep grooves — almost as if they had been designed to press into the ground with absurd force.
Hamilton closed his eyes for a second.
Images flooded his mind:
photos of disappearance scenes,
marks on the ground,
footprints that matched no known animal.
"It's the same pattern…" he murmured, too softly for anyone to hear.
He stood up slowly.
"Take it to the lab. Now."
The creature was carefully hoisted, placed inside the truck, and sealed as if it were highly dangerous biological material. The vehicle left without sirens.
Hamilton walked back to Francielly.
"You're coming with us."
"I… what?"
"I need everything you can remember. Every detail." He gestured toward the patrol car. "It's better that you're with us than here."
She hesitated for only a second, then nodded.
Inside the police car, the silence was heavy. City lights passed by the window like stretched stains. Francielly kept her hands folded in her lap.
"You understand this isn't a normal case," Hamilton said eventually.
"I understood that when I saw that thing," she replied.
He glanced at her.
"Smart."
The car stopped sometime later — not at a police station, but at a building with no signs, surrounded by tall fences.
Hamilton exited first. He opened his own trunk and took out a briefcase.
Inside, neatly stacked bundles of cash.
He placed the briefcase on the seat between them.
"One hundred and ten thousand dollars."
Francielly stared at it, without touching it.
"For what?"
"So you don't tell anyone about this," he said bluntly. "Ever. Not friends. Not family."
"And if I do?"
"You won't," Hamilton replied. "Because if you do, the consequences won't be legal. They'll be… administrative."
She stared at the money for a long moment.
"What was that thing?" she asked.
Hamilton closed the briefcase with a sharp click.
"Something we're still trying to understand."
He pushed the briefcase toward her.
"Do you accept?"
Francielly took a deep breath… and nodded.
"I do."
Hamilton opened the door.
"Then welcome to the beginning of the end of normality."
The door closed.
And for the first time, the world began to respond to what had been awakened.
(Morning…)
The sound of the alarm clock brutally cut through the silence of the room.
Davincci's eyes flew open, confused for a few seconds. Morning light filtered through the curtains, illuminating a space that wasn't his bedroom. The ceiling was different. The smell, too.
He blinked a few times… until he remembered.
He slowly turned his head.
Elloysa was still asleep beside him, curled under the blanket, breathing calmly. Her hair spread across the pillow, her face relaxed, as if the world hadn't decided to become strange yet.
The alarm kept ringing.
"Damn…" Davincci muttered, carefully reaching out so he wouldn't wake her.
The sound stopped — but the movement was enough.
"Hm… is it morning already?" Elloysa asked, her voice heavy with sleep.
"Yeah…" he checked his phone. "And I think I was supposed to be home by now."
Elloysa opened one eye, then the other, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before turning toward him.
"You passed out yesterday. I tried to wake you up, I swear."
"I believe you," he said, rubbing his face. "I remember sitting on the bed… then nothing."
She smiled, slightly guilty.
"If you want, I can lend you some clothes."
"Thanks, but…" he yawned. "I think I'll just go straight to school with you."
"Really?"
"Yeah. No point going home now."
Elloysa sat up, stretching.
"Alright. But don't complain about my coffee."
"I complain about every coffee."
"Liar."
They got up, still clumsy with sleep. While Elloysa got dressed, Davincci leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone, trying to wake his brain up.
"My parents would freak out if they found out," he commented.
"Relax. Nobody needs to know," she replied simply.
The kitchen was quiet. The sound of the coffee maker filled the space as they sat at the table, still sluggish.
"Sleeping over without planning it is weird," Davincci said, taking a sip. "Feels like the day starts… wrong."
"Or different," Elloysa corrected. "Sometimes different is good."
He gave a half-smile.
"Sometimes."
They left the house shortly after, walking side by side down the still-quiet street. The morning air was cool, and the city seemed to wake slowly.
"Do you think Francielly is okay?" Elloysa asked suddenly.
Davincci took a moment to answer.
"I don't know. She looked tired yesterday… but she's pregnant, right? That's probably normal."
"She never skips school," Elloysa said. "Not even when she feels bad."
"Maybe she had an appointment. Or… something more important."
Elloysa nodded, but didn't look convinced.
"I hope so."
The school appeared ahead like always. Open gates, students arriving, voices mixing together. Normality stubbornly held its ground.
As they entered the classroom, Davincci automatically looked toward Francielly's desk.
Empty.
He frowned.
"She didn't come," he murmured.
"Strange…" Elloysa replied, dropping her backpack.
A little later, Valhalla showed up, walking over to them.
"Good morning, secret couple," he said with a lazy grin.
"Shut up," Elloysa shot back.
"She's not here today," Davincci said, ignoring the tease.
Valhalla looked at the empty desk.
"Francielly?" He shrugged. "Maybe she just wanted to skip."
"She never wants to," Davincci replied. "Never."
During class, Davincci barely paid attention. He kept checking the clock, the door, then his phone hidden under the desk.
"Do you think something happened?" he whispered to Elloysa.
"I think we're overthinking it," she whispered back. "Sometimes people just… disappear for a day."
"Yeah."
But he didn't sound convinced.
At lunch break, Davincci went straight to the cafeteria and sat in front of the TV, waiting for… anything.
Nothing.
Normal news. Politics. Sports. No disappearances. Nothing strange.
Elloysa and Valhalla sat beside him.
"Nothing?" Valhalla asked.
"Nothing," Davincci replied. "Like yesterday never existed."
"Good," Elloysa said. "Maybe we're just tired."
The rest of the day dragged on.
When the final bell rang, Davincci felt a strange relief. He said goodbye to Valhalla at the exit and stayed a few seconds longer with Elloysa.
"See you tomorrow," she said.
Davincci nodded… then pulled her into a quick but sincere hug.
"Take care."
"You too."
The walk home felt longer than usual. When he arrived, he greeted his parents, answered questions automatically, and went straight to his room.
He tossed his backpack on the floor and dropped onto the bed.
Grabbed his phone.
Typed:
"Are you okay?"
Seen… no.
Minutes passed.
Nothing.
Davincci set the phone down beside the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
The feeling that something was wrong came back in full force.
And for the first time, the lack of an answer felt more terrifying than any news on TV.
The camera would slowly pull away, leaving Davincci alone in the dark room, while the world moved on, still ignoring, for now, what had already begun.