The reinforced laboratory doors opened with a deep, metallic sound, echoing through the underground corridors like a silent warning. The cold white lighting revealed an environment completely isolated from the outside world — there were no windows here, only steel, concrete, and technology.
Hamilton entered first.
Behind him, two officers pushed the gurney covered with a dark gray sheet. Doctors and technicians followed in silence, all wearing gloves, masks, and disposable gowns. There were no unnecessary comments. The atmosphere was far too heavy for that.
— Biological inspection center, wing three — Hamilton ordered, walking alongside the gurney.
The group crossed long corridors, passed through two doors with biometric scanners, and entered an elevator that descended even deeper. The air felt denser down there, almost too sterile, as if even the oxygen had been filtered to carry nothing alive beyond what was allowed.
When they reached the main examination room, the gurney was positioned beneath intense surgical lights. The sheet was slowly removed.
Mary's body lay there.
At first glance, she looked like nothing more than a dead woman. But only a few seconds of observation were enough to realize something was wrong.
Her skin had an uneven pale tone, almost grayish in certain areas. Her nails, far too long, were still stained with dried blood. Small fissures ran across her lips, as if the smile had been forced beyond the physical limits of a human face.
— Prepare the sensors — one of the doctors said.
Equipment began to be connected around the table: residual vital-sign readers, electromagnetic activity detectors, advanced biological scanners.
Hamilton crossed his arms.
— Call Michael — he said, never taking his eyes off the body.
A few seconds later, the side door opened and Michael rushed in, adjusting his glasses as he approached.
— I received the notification — he said. — Is this the body found at the confrontation site?
— It is — Hamilton replied. — I want to know exactly what this was.
Michael stepped closer to the table, observing with almost uncomfortable focus. He didn't touch the body at first. Instead, he studied the data on the monitors.
The numbers began to rise.
— This… — he murmured. — This isn't normal.
— Explain — Hamilton said.
Michael finally placed his hands on the body, gently pressing certain areas of the chest and neck.
— The muscular structure is altered. Density above human standards. The fibers… they're reorganized in a way that doesn't occur naturally.
He pointed to one of the monitors.
— And biologically, the metabolism was operating at a level impossible for a normal living human. Even before death.
Hamilton frowned.
— Are you saying she wasn't human?
— Not exactly — Michael replied. — The body was human. But it was being used.
He took a deep breath before continuing.
— Possessed.
The word fell heavily over the room.
— Possessed… — Hamilton repeated. — How can you be sure?
Michael tapped a button on the panel.
A graph appeared on the screen, similar to the one shown in the report on creature Y119.
— Abnormal electromagnetic field — he explained. — Extremely elevated. The same type we detected in Y119. The energy signature is practically identical.
He pointed to the display.
— This doesn't belong to a human organism. It's spiritual energy condensed into physical form. A spirit… but not just any spirit.
Hamilton nodded slowly.
— A demon.
— Yes — Michael confirmed. — A demon possessing a human host. The body was forced beyond natural limits to support the entity.
Silence reclaimed the room.
Hamilton looked once more at Mary's body.
Now, he no longer saw just a victim. He saw proof.
— So someone… — he murmured, recalling the scene report — killed a possessed host.
Michael didn't answer, but his expression confirmed the thought.
Before Hamilton could say anything else, the door to the room opened quickly.
Mark entered, visibly agitated.
— Commander — he said — we have an update.
Hamilton turned immediately.
— Speak.
Mark took a deep breath, as if he had been holding the information in for too long.
— The first prototype of the specialized ammunition is ready.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Hamilton slowly turned his gaze to Michael.
And then, for the first time since all of this began, a subtle — almost imperceptible — smile appeared on the commander's face.
— Finally… — he said quietly.
He straightened.
— Bring me all the data. This is no longer containment.
Hamilton looked back at the body on the table.
— Now… we strike back.
The bedroom was drowned in silence.
Elloysa woke suddenly, as if she had been yanked out of sleep by force. Her heart was beating far too fast, and for a few seconds she remained still, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to understand what had jolted her awake.
Her throat burned.
— Water… — she murmured, barely audible.
She slowly turned, sitting on the edge of the bed. That was when she noticed the empty side. The sheets were still wrinkled where Davincci had slept, but he wasn't there. Maybe he'd gone to the bathroom. Maybe he was awake too.
She stood up.
The cold floor made her feet shiver. Before she could take a second step, a nearly imperceptible sound echoed through the house.
Clack.
Elloysa froze.
It came from the direction of the front door.
The silence returned immediately after — heavy, threatening, as if the house itself were holding its breath with her.
Instinct spoke louder than fear.
She slowly turned her head toward the side of the bed.
The AR-15 was there, leaning against the wall, exactly where Davincci had left it.
Elloysa swallowed hard.
She had never held a weapon like that before. Never fired one. Never even imagined she'd be in that situation. And yet, her hands moved almost on their own.
She picked it up.
The weight surprised her, pulling her arms down for a second. She adjusted her stance, took a deep breath, and tried to remember how Davincci had held it before — firm posture, aligned body.
She walked toward the bedroom door.
With extreme care, she opened it just enough to peek out. First to the right. The hallway was empty. Dark. Silent.
Then a sharp click echoed from the other side.
From the left.
From the living room.
Elloysa's stomach twisted.
She advanced slowly, every step measured, her body tense. The house felt different at night — larger, colder, filled with shadows stretching across the walls.
When she reached the living room entrance, she heard footsteps.
Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest.
She took a deep breath and, in one quick movement, stretched her free hand toward the light switch.
Click.
The light came on.
— FUCK—!
— SHIT!
They startled at the same time.
Elloysa stepped back, her finger trembling near the trigger. In front of her, hands raised on instinct, stood Valhalla, eyes wide, breathing hard.
— CALM DOWN! — he said quickly. — CALM DOWN, IT'S ME!
It took Elloysa a few seconds to process.
— …Valhalla? — her voice came out weak, incredulous.
— Yes! — he replied, still shaken. — Jesus Christ, you almost killed me!
She immediately lowered the weapon, her entire body shaking now that the adrenaline was fading.
— What are you doing here?! — she asked, trying to catch her breath.
Valhalla ran a hand through his hair, nervous.
— I… I got worried — he explained. — I heard the gunshots earlier. Then news about the massacre at the club started spreading. No one was answering messages properly… I needed to see if you were okay.
Elloysa closed her eyes for a moment.
— Do you realize I could've fired, damn it? — she said, her voice mixing relief and anger.
— I know… actually, no — he replied awkwardly, wondering how and why she had a gun. — I should've called… or knocked… or done literally anything other than sneaking in.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
— Why did you come in without warning?
— The door was unlocked — he shrugged. — And I called out, but no one answered. So… yeah, I came in.
Valhalla's gaze then dropped to the weapon in her hands.
— …Since when do you carry that?
Elloysa hesitated for a second.
— Safety — she replied. — Things are… strange.
— And how did you get an AR-15? — he asked, suspicious.
She was briefly surprised that Valhalla knew the weapon's name, but she looked away.
— Found it near a dumpster.
It was a lie. And they both knew it. But Valhalla didn't push.
At that moment, a sound came from the hallway.
— Elloysa? — Davincci's voice emerged, sleepy and tense. — Everything okay?
He appeared in the living room moments later and froze when he saw Valhalla.
— What is he doing here? — he asked, automatically positioning himself slightly in front of Elloysa.
— I just came to check if you were alive — Valhalla replied. — I'm not here to cause trouble.
Elloysa looked at Davincci.
— He got worried… about the shots… about what happened at the club.
Davincci nodded slowly.
— Makes sense — he said. — No one should be alone right now.
The atmosphere grew heavy for a few seconds.
Then Valhalla cleared his throat.
— Look… — he began — I can't go back home now. It's too late. And after what happened… I'd rather not walk alone.
Elloysa thought for a moment.
— You can stay — she said. — But you'll have to sleep on the floor.
Valhalla smiled, relieved.
— Better than not sleeping.
Davincci let out a tired sigh.
The house returned to silence — but it was no longer a peaceful silence.
It was the kind that comes before something worse.
And everyone there knew it.