The sound came before consciousness.
Cutlery clinking against the plate.
Rapid chewing.
Shallow breathing.
Francielly was sitting at the table, surrounded by leftover food. Stacked plates, opened packages, crumbs scattered everywhere. She ate without stopping, almost mechanically, shoving whatever she could into her mouth without actually tasting it. Bread. Cold rice. A piece of meat she no longer remembered cooking.
Her stomach felt like a hole.
She swallowed another bite and waited.
Nothing.
No sense of fullness. No relief. The hunger was still there, pulsing, alive, as if it had nothing to do with ordinary food.
— That's not possible… — she murmured, her voice hoarse.
She stood up and opened the refrigerator. Cold air hit her face. She grabbed whatever was there: a yogurt, a piece of fruit, forgotten leftovers. She ate standing up, leaning against the open door.
Still nothing.
The hunger wasn't pain.
It was need.
Francielly slammed the fridge shut and leaned against the counter, breathing deeply. Her heart was beating far too fast.
— Stop… — she told herself. — This will pass.
The television on in the living room caught her attention. A soap opera was playing—bright lights, well-lit faces, people smiling, arguing, living.
She sat down on the couch without realizing when.
Her eyes locked onto the screen.
One character spoke. Another stepped closer. A close-up on a woman's face.
Francielly felt something strange.
Her gaze changed.
It was no longer distraction.
It was focus.
She began noticing too many details: the movement of the character's throat when she swallowed, the visible pulse along the side of her neck, the way the camera framed the mouth as she spoke.
Her stomach twisted.
An idea surfaced.
Clear.
Fast.
Wrong.
You don't need to eat that.
Francielly blinked hard, as if she could erase the thought.
— No. — she whispered.
The idea persisted.
They're right there. They're made of it.
Her heart raced. She stood up abruptly, backing away from the TV as if she'd been shocked.
— Stop it — she said out loud, breathing unevenly. — That's not me.
But the sensation didn't go away.
It wasn't a constructed thought.
It felt like an implanted impulse.
— No… no… — she repeated, rubbing her face.
She was hungry.
But now she knew for what.
And that terrified her.
Francielly forcefully turned off the TV and stood in the middle of the living room, trying to think of anything that would push that idea away.
— I'm not going to do this — she said firmly, even as she trembled. — I won't even think about it.
She took several deep breaths.
— Normal food. Just that. Normal.
She grabbed her phone.
— Pizza… — she murmured. — Pizza will fix this.
She placed the order quickly, as if the simple act of choosing something ordinary anchored her to reality. When she confirmed it, she dropped the phone onto the couch and began pacing the apartment.
Every second felt too long.
Her body was restless, muscles tight, fingers opening and closing on their own.
— Just wait — she kept repeating. — Just wait.
Miles away, the atmosphere was completely different.
Davincci and Elloysa were sitting on her bed, leaning against the headboard, watching something random on TV. The room was lit only by the screen, casting soft shadows on the walls.
— This is way too bad — Davincci laughed. — Who approved this script?
— You picked it — Elloysa replied, tossing a pillow at him.
— I was fooled by the cover.
She laughed, but soon fell quiet.
Davincci absentmindedly checked the time on his phone.
10:00 PM.
He frowned.
— Wow… it's already that late?
Elloysa shifted on the bed.
— Already? — she asked. — We got here before four…
— Time flew by.
She bit her lip and glanced at the bedroom door, then at the phone in her hand.
— My mom still hasn't texted…
Davincci noticed the change in her tone.
— Hey — he said calmly. — She's come back late before, remember?
— I know… — Elloysa replied. — But today feels different.
— Different how?
— I don't know. — She shrugged, uneasy. — With all this stuff about people disappearing, school letting out early… it's hard not to think about it.
Davincci thought for a moment.
— She'll be fine — he said. — She's probably busy at the event. She'll text soon.
Elloysa took a deep breath.
— Yeah… you're right.
She tried to smile.
She tried.
The intercom rang.
Francielly jolted.
The sound echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.
She looked at the door.
Then at her own hands.
— It's here… — she murmured.
She walked to the door, her heart pounding far too hard. She opened it.
The delivery man stood there, thermal bag slung over his shoulder.
— Good evening — he said, smiling. — Pizza.
The smell hit Francielly like a punch.
Not cheese.
Not dough.
The smell of life.
Before she could think, her body moved.
One step forward.
A sharp punch.
The impact was brutal.
Francielly's fist struck the left side of the delivery man's head with a force she had never felt before. The sound was dull, wrong. He dropped instantly, without even understanding what had happened.
Silence.
Francielly stood there, her arm still extended.
— No… — she whispered.
The body on the floor didn't move.
— No… no… — she repeated, her voice breaking.
She looked at her trembling hand.
— I didn't mean to… — she said, in shock. — I didn't do this…
But deep down, she knew.
That hadn't been a choice.
Something inside her had reacted.
Francielly knelt beside the body, her heart racing, her breathing shallow.
— This wasn't me… — she murmured, tears forming in her eyes.
Even so, her fingers closed around the delivery man's arm.
She began dragging him inside the apartment.
The door closed slowly behind them, muffling the world outside.
The pizza box fell to the floor, untouched.
Forgotten.
The delivery man's body scraped against the floor as Francielly pulled him into the apartment. The effort didn't seem to tire her, but her face showed panic, confusion, and denial.
She shut the door with her foot, the sound echoing through the silence.
— No… no… — she murmured, almost to herself. — This wasn't supposed to happen…
When she dropped the body onto the living room floor, something unexpected happened.
The man groaned.
Francielly froze.
She knelt beside him quickly, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest.
— You… — she whispered. — You're alive?
The delivery man's eyes opened slowly, unfocused. He blinked several times, clearly disoriented.
— Huh… — he murmured. — What…?
He raised a hand to his head and winced.
— My head… — he said, confused. — What happened?
Francielly backed away slightly, swallowing hard.
— I… — she began, her voice shaking. — I hit you. A punch. It was… it was an accident. I swear.
The man tried to sit up, propping himself on one elbow.
— A punch? — he repeated, as if it made no sense. — I don't remember…
He took a deep breath, clearly dizzy, but conscious.
— I think I… must've fallen. — He rubbed his face. — I need to go. I'm still working.
Francielly stared at him, frozen.
He's going to leave.
The thought surfaced—and with it, something worse.
He's going to leave alive.
Her stomach twisted again, the hunger crashing back like an electric shock. She clenched her teeth.
— Wait — she said, too quickly.
The delivery man looked at her.
— What?
Francielly took a deep breath, as if standing before an invisible threshold.
— I… have a proposal for you.
He frowned.
— A proposal?
She nodded slowly.
— I'm… looking for someone for a serious relationship.
Silence settled between them.
— A relationship? — he repeated, clearly confused.
— Yes — she continued, trying to keep her voice steady. — But… it would have to be with a woman. It's easier for people to accept. Fewer questions.
The delivery man blinked, trying to process it.
— Okay… and where do I fit into this?
Francielly looked directly at him.
— I'll pay you.
She went to the table, opened a drawer, and pulled out a stack of cash. The bills made a dry sound as she placed them on the surface.
— Five thousand dollars.
His eyes widened.
— Five thousand?
— In exchange — Francielly continued — you find someone. A woman. Someone who agrees.
He was silent for a few seconds.
— I… — he started. — I have a friend.
Francielly tilted her head slightly.
— What's she like?
— Kind of complicated — he said, scratching the back of his neck. — Annoying sometimes. Not easy to deal with.
Francielly showed no reaction.
— That works.
He hesitated, then nodded.
— She was already on her way to meet me today — he said. — She should be close.
Silence returned.
Francielly picked up the money and handed it to him.
— When she gets here, you leave.
He took the bills, still incredulous.
— Right… — he murmured. — Right.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
The sound was clean. Final.
Francielly opened the door.
A woman stood there. Hair tied up carelessly, tired expression, wary eyes.
— Are you Francielly? — she asked.
— I am.
— I'm Layla. — She glanced around. — Domn said it was important.
Francielly nodded.
— Come in.
Layla stepped inside, still confused. Domn gave Francielly one last look.
— Good luck… I guess — he said nervously.
She didn't respond.
The door closed.
The click of the lock sounded far too loud.
Layla took a few steps into the living room.
— So… — she began. — What's this about a relationship?
Francielly didn't answer.
She stood behind her.
Her entire body tense.
Heart racing.
Hunger screaming.
Layla slowly turned around.
The punch came without warning.
Francielly struck Layla's neck with impossible force. The impact was deep and brutal, accompanied by a horrible sound—bones giving way, collapsing under pressure.
Layla didn't have time to scream.
Her body fell to the floor, lifeless.
Francielly stood there, breathing heavily, staring at what she had done.
The silence was absolute.
She looked at her hands.
— … — she tried to speak, but couldn't.
The hunger, for the first time since it began, eased.
It didn't disappear.
But it was… satisfied.
Francielly took a step back.
Then another.
The apartment felt smaller. Darker.
Something inside her had crossed an irreversible point.