Mary's body was still on the ground.
The street remained strangely silent, as if the environment itself had decided not to react to what had just happened. No cars passed. No windows opened. Only the distant sound of wind weaving between buildings and the metallic smell of fresh blood saturating the air.
Elloysa stood still.
Her eyes were locked on her mother's body, unblinking. Barely breathing. Her face showed no tears, no anger, no despair — only absolute emptiness, as if something had been ripped out of her and left behind a space impossible to fill.
Davincci stood a few steps away.
The AR-15 still hung heavy in his hands. His arms felt numb, whether from the weight of the weapon or from what he had done with it, he didn't know. The echo of the gunshots still seemed trapped inside his head.
— Elloysa… — he called, his voice low, fractured.
She didn't respond.
He swallowed hard and stepped forward.
— I… I know it hurts. I know it feels wrong… — he took a deep breath — but there was no other choice. She was going to kill you. You saw it.
Nothing.
Elloysa kept staring at the ground, at the body that was no longer exactly the mother she knew, but also wasn't just a thing. It was something in between. Something her mind refused to classify.
— If I hadn't done that… — Davincci continued, faster now, almost justifying himself to himself — you wouldn't be here right now.
That was when Elloysa's body gave out.
Her legs failed all at once, as if they had been switched off. She collapsed forward, unconscious, before Davincci could properly react.
— Elloysa!
He dropped the weapon and ran, catching her before her head hit the asphalt hard. His heart raced again, now for a different reason.
— Hey… hey… no… — he murmured, trying to wake her, fear momentarily replacing guilt.
But she didn't respond.
The world seemed to spin.
Elloysa woke with a strange heaviness in her body.
The ceiling above her was familiar. The cracks in the corner, the old stain near the light fixture — everything was… too normal.
She blinked a few times, confused.
The silence of the house was almost comforting, if not for the memory that returned all at once, like a punch to the chest.
She sat up in bed with difficulty.
— …mom… — the word slipped out before she could stop it.
No answer.
Elloysa ran a hand over her face and stood up, still unsteady. She walked slowly to the bedroom door, her body heavy, as if she had run for miles.
The main room was partially lit by light coming through the window. And then she saw it.
The weapons.
Two AR-15s leaned against the wall, partially disassembled, hastily cleaned. They didn't belong in that house. They were completely out of place — aggressive, almost offensive to the normality of the space.
Elloysa felt her stomach twist.
She walked toward the kitchen.
The sound of something being stirred in a pot came from there. The simple smell of hot food filled the air — basic, everyday, almost absurd after the night they had lived through.
Davincci stood with his back to her, focused on cooking something on the stove. He looked exhausted. Slumped shoulders. Messy hair. Deep dark circles under his eyes.
When he noticed her presence, he turned quickly.
— You're awake… — he said, relieved — are you okay?
Elloysa nodded slowly.
— I am… — her voice came out quiet — it was just… low blood pressure. Exhaustion.
Davincci let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
— I was worried. You just collapsed out of nowhere.
A short, heavy silence followed.
— Do you want to eat something? — he asked, trying to sound normal — it's nothing special, but it helps.
— …I do.
She sat at the table while he served two simple plates. Neither of them was really hungry, but eating was a way to pretend that some form of normality still existed.
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
— I'm sorry… — Davincci said suddenly, staring at his plate — about what happened to your mother. I know no apology— but—
Elloysa raised her hand, stopping him.
— I know — she said, with effort — I saw… what she was. I felt it. If you hadn't done that… — she paused, took a deep breath — I wouldn't be here.
Davincci closed his eyes for a second.
— Even so… — he murmured.
After they finished eating, exhaustion finally set in. The kind of exhaustion that didn't come from the body, but from the mind.
— Let's try to sleep — Elloysa said — tomorrow we'll… think better about all of this.
They stood up, but before heading to the bedroom, Elloysa stopped and looked back at the living room.
— Davincci… — she hesitated — what are you going to do with those weapons?
He stayed silent for a moment.
— I took them from two SWAT officers — he answered plainly — they were dead. They wouldn't need them anymore.
A chill ran down Elloysa's spine.
— That's dangerous. Very dangerous. Us being armed like this…
— More dangerous is being defenseless — he replied, without raising his voice — after what we saw today, I'm not going to pretend this doesn't exist.
She didn't answer.
Not because she fully disagreed — but because, deep down, part of her knew he might be right.
They went to the bedroom.
They lay down in silence, each facing a different direction, separated not by physical distance, but by the weight of what they had lived through.
Elloysa closed her eyes, but the image of her mother's bloodied smile kept returning.
Davincci stayed awake, staring into the dark, with the feeling that something inside him had changed that night.
And there was no going back.
The street was isolated.
There were no yellow tapes, no regular patrol cars, no onlookers. Only a black, unmarked vehicle parked beneath the weak glow of a flickering streetlight. The engine was off, making the silence feel even heavier.
The rear door opened.
Hamilton stepped out first.
His expression was serious, his eyes alert, scanning the surroundings like someone who already knew that what he would find there was not normal — just another confirmation of something far worse.
— Begin — he ordered, without raising his voice.
Agents exited the vehicle in absolute silence. They wore no traditional uniforms, only dark tactical clothing without insignias. Everything about the operation was designed to officially not exist.
Two of them immediately headed toward the bodies of the SWAT officers scattered across the area. Flashlights swept the ground, illuminating dried bloodstains, impact marks on walls, and metallic casings spread across the asphalt.
— Collect every casing — Hamilton said — nothing stays here.
An agent knelt and began picking up the shells one by one.
— 5.56… — he murmured — a lot of rounds fired.
Hamilton didn't respond. He walked slowly down the street, observing the signs of the confrontation. Asphalt scarred by deep gouges. Broken chunks of concrete. A bent streetlight, as if something had slammed into it with absurd force.
— Here — said a SWAT officer walking beside Hamilton — this is where the cruiser was hit.
Hamilton approached what remained of the destroyed vehicle. The metal was torn, warped outward in places — something that definitely didn't match conventional ballistic impacts.
— This wasn't firearms — he said quietly — this was brute force.
They moved on.
Farther ahead, near the entrance to an alley, something caught Hamilton's attention. A body lying on the ground, partially illuminated by distant light.
— Stop — he said.
The officer beside him stepped forward slightly.
— Sir… there's a body here. Female.
Hamilton approached.
The body lay in an unnatural position, as if it had collapsed suddenly. There was a large amount of blood around the torso, concentrated, not like bites or claw marks, but consistent with violent internal impact.
Hamilton crouched.
His eyes narrowed.
— Those nails… — he murmured.
The woman's hands had extremely long, sharp nails, almost like natural blades. Something completely outside the human norm.
— Call the team — Hamilton ordered, standing — now.
The officer tapped his communicator.
— We need containment personnel here. Unusual body located.
Within minutes, more agents arrived. Stronger flashlights illuminated the corpse more clearly.
— Time of death is recent — one of them said after examining it — a few hours at most.
Another agent studied the wounds.
— Penetrations consistent with 5.56 NATO — he said — clean entry pattern, high energy… AR-15.
A brief silence followed.
— So this wasn't the creature — the SWAT officer commented — it was someone armed.
Hamilton remained still, staring at the body.
— Or someone trying to survive — he replied.
He stood slowly.
— Take this body as well — he ordered — maximum care. It doesn't stay here.
— Where to, sir? — one of the agents asked.
Hamilton turned toward the black vehicle.
— To the laboratory.
As the agents prepared the body for transport, Hamilton watched in silence, his mind racing.
A creature disguised as human. Killed by military ammunition. At the same location where two civilians had been seen fleeing. SWAT weapons missing.
Too many loose pieces.
— Whatever happened here… — he murmured to himself — it wasn't random.
The body was carefully loaded into the transport vehicle.
Shortly after, the convoy departed.
The black car moved down the empty street, carrying with it yet another piece of proof that the situation had crossed every acceptable limit.
When the laboratory gates closed behind them, Hamilton already knew:
This was no longer just containment.
It was war.