Zorio and his friend finally staggered back to their homes after a night of endless running. Neither of them managed to sleep. Every creak, every shadow against the wall made them wonder if the plant woman was already at their door.
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Ron and Locki arrived at the restaurant owned by Zorio's friend—their usual meeting spot. The sight that greeted them was startling. Tables overturned, walls torn apart, the place was nothing but ruins.
They exchanged a knowing glance, then quietly shifted to another small restaurant down the street. Locki pulled out his tablet and connected to the city's CCTV grid, scrubbing through the cameras near the destroyed building.
After a long silence, he sighed.
"Nothing."
Ron leaned forward. "No trace at all?"
Locki shook his head. His voice dropped. "Two days have passed since that nurse disappeared. And more people are vanishing every single night."
Ron frowned, his gaze lowering to the table. "Just like the time Dracula appeared."
"Yes," Locki said grimly, "but this is worse. They're vanishing much faster. And unlike Dracula… we have no idea what we're dealing with."
Ron thought for a long moment, then finally broke his silence. He told Locki everything—about meeting Akira, the transparent sphere, and the horrifying vision of the nurse's transformation.
Locki listened without interruption, his expression hardening with each detail.
Just then, the restaurant door swung open. Zorio and his friend walked in.
They exchanged greetings, then, seeing Ron, began to recount the terrifying events of the previous night. Both men had known Ron from his earlier days, back when they had all worked together in sports. Their voices shook as they described the plant woman's relentless pursuit.
Locki folded his arms and thought deeply. Then he spoke with conviction.
"From everything you've told me, here's my hypothesis. It all started with Akira. These creatures only appear at night. Ron, from your account, Akira infected the nurse. And from there, it spread. The people disappearing every night—it's them. Akira and the nurse."
"Who was the nurse?" Zorio's friend asked cautiously.
Locki's eyes narrowed. "Her name was Chloe. She belonged to the Vaidar family."
Ron leaned in. "But how did Akira get infected in the first place?"
Locki shook his head. "We don't know when or how. But it started with him. And the way it spreads… I suspect it's like Dracula. A bite. Once bitten, a human turns into one of them."
Silence fell across the table. Finally, Locki asked the question hanging over them all.
"Now the real problem—how do we stop it?"
---
Meanwhile, in Bruce's City (Late Night):
Bruce returned to his underground base after a brutal clash with several cult squads. His body was battered, his armor cracked. His loyal servant stitched his wounds in silence.
The base bell suddenly rang.
The servant tapped the screen, and Bruce's eyes narrowed at the sight—it was Akira.
"Let him in," Bruce ordered, his voice low but steady.
Though he had heard the rumors, Bruce had been too entangled in constant battles with the cult to investigate. Now, here Akira stood at his door.
The heavy metal door slid open. Akira descended into the base, his figure cloaked in shadow. Bruce studied him carefully. Something was… different. His aura was wrong, twisted.
The servant, oblivious, stepped away to prepare tea.
Akira smiled, extending his hand in greeting. Bruce clasped it firmly—then his expression hardened. Akira's grip didn't let go.
That smile turned into something cold, something sinister.
Bruce's instincts screamed. He lashed out with a swift kick, forcing Akira back.
Akira only landed lightly on his feet. His smile remained, sharper than ever.
Bruce couldn't pull his hand back. A sharp sting shot through his skin, sudden and electric, freezing him mid-motion. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Akira's smile twisting—no longer familiar, no longer human. It was something darker, more sinister.
Instinctively, Bruce swung his leg, delivering a hard kick. Akira dodged with unnatural agility, springing back with a fluid, almost otherworldly grace.
And then it happened. Akira's body warped and twisted, morphing into a plant-like form. Vines coiled around his limbs, flowers blooming with an eerie, sickly light.
"I knew something wasn't right," Bruce murmured under his breath, heart pounding. "The Akira I know… if he were here, he'd be terrified."
Akira's hands shot out, vines snapping and twisting toward Bruce with lethal intent. Bruce rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the sharp thorns, but a subtle unease gnawed at him. His movements felt sluggish, delayed—as if his own body had started conspiring against him.
"Damn you…" he muttered, jaw tight.
Bruce dodged, countered, and landed two precise kicks to Akira, sending him skidding across the floor. Still, the sense of wrongness didn't vanish. It clung to him like a shadow, growing heavier with every strike.
A sudden, misjudged punch sent Bruce careening into his computer console. Metal screeched as he collided with it, and panic bubbled in his chest. He slammed a button beneath the desk in desperation.
He tried to fight back, but each movement betrayed him. His fists moved in perfect synchronization with Akira's commands, as if his body had become Akira's puppet.
Bruce's mind raced, memory clawing its way back to the earlier handshake. That sting. That was the key.
"So… that sting I felt," he murmured, voice tight with realization, "that's why my body isn't obeying me."
"Exactly," Akira's voice hissed, cold and unfamiliar, echoing with malevolence. "You're far sharper than you look."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. A dangerous, calm smile curved his lips. "Do you really think you can win?"
In one swift motion, he removed his gloves. "Now… I'll show you why cults, organizations, and criminals fear me."
He lunged. Akira tried to seize control of Bruce's body, but Bruce fought back with deadly precision. Each strike, each movement, was calculated—deliberate. Bruce's fists rained down in a flurry, a combo so precise it shook Akira to his core.
"How… how is this possible—" Akira stammered, but Bruce was relentless. Another series of blows sent him slamming into a wall with bone-jarring force.
Bruce took a step forward, voice calm, sharp, and commanding. "If you're wondering why my body won't obey you, listen carefully. This body… is forged from decades of battles, suffering, and relentless hardship. Do you honestly think some outside force can conquer it?"
Akira's eyes widened in disbelief.
"You infect people when you touch them," Bruce continued, his tone unwavering. "You control them. Yes, you've touched me. Yes, I am infected. But I can still beat the life out of you."
A bitter, sharp laugh cut through the chaos. "A lowly human… you think you can stop me?"
In the blink of an eye, Akira was upon him, fist smashing into Bruce and tearing through the walls around them. Bruce staggered but refused to fall. Akira's grip caught him by the face, slamming him into the ground with crushing force.
Then, like a storm breaking, a force erupted from the shadows. Akira was hurled backward, smashing through walls and debris. The room echoed with the sound of destruction.
Bruce looked up. Standing before him, poised and lethal, was his servant. Every line of his body screamed precision, every stance spoke of countless battles fought and won.
The servant extended a hand to Bruce, calm but resolute. "Let's take him down together, sir."