Tito Edgar laid a thick folder on the metal table like it was made of TNT.
Across the front:
PROJECT EDEN
Stamped in red. Smudged. Burned at the edges.
Chai immediately pulled out her phone. "Okay, we're either solving a conspiracy or discovering Darren's a clone. Either way, I'm filming."
Sir Quackers let out a skeptical honk from his beanbag.
Bruno the zombie—my unexpected undead fanboy—was now duct-taped to a chair and humming ominously through his gag.
"This is insane," I muttered, sipping lukewarm instant coffee. "I just wanted to deliver pizza, not unlock the secrets of the apocalypse."
"Too bad," Edgar replied. "You glowed. You're in."
---
Inside the folder were a bunch of blurry documents, hand-drawn maps, chemical codes, and one photo.
A photo of **me**.
Delivering pizza.
To a secure government facility.
Three days before the outbreak.
Chai squinted. "Your hair looked better back then."
Aira pointed at the facility ID. "That's not just any lab. That's the DPRUT experimental zone."
"DPRUT?" I repeated.
"Department of Paranormal Research and Urban Threats," Edgar said. "Very hush-hush. Super illegal. Funded by the same guys who put mayonnaise in spaghetti."
"Oh, those monsters."
---
Edgar leaned forward. "The virus was a bioweapon. Project Eden was their test run. Supposed to enhance time perception and neural capacity. Then things went sideways."
"Let me guess," I said. "The pizza box was contaminated."
"More than that. It was the container."
I blinked. "Wait—you're telling me I hand-delivered the apocalypse inside a **cheesy crust combo meal**?"
"Yes."
"I want to die."
---
The room fell quiet.
Everyone stared at me like I was a missing puzzle piece that had been jammed into the wrong board game for years.
"Okay," I said, standing up and brushing crumbs off my hoodie, "so I'm Patient Zero, but I'm also, apparently, syncing with the virus like it's Bluetooth. Now what?"
"We test your powers," Edgar said.
"Again?"
"This time, *intentionally.*"
---
We cleared out the center of the room.
Chai set up her GoPro and gave me a thumbs-up. "Okay, Darren. Try to slow time."
"Like on command?"
"Yes. Just… vibe with it."
"That's your advice? 'Vibe with the virus'?!"
"Worked for Bruno. He's glowing now and he's brain soup."
I sighed and closed my eyes.
**Deep breath.**
**Focus.**
Imagine time slowing. Stretching.
Like stretching plastic wrap over a bowl of chaos.
Everything around me faded.
And then—
**FLASH.**
---
It worked.
Sort of.
For exactly **0.8 seconds**, the air thickened, lights dimmed, and sound distorted.
I could see dust frozen mid-air.
The microwave clock paused mid-blink.
I turned toward Chai. She was mid-sneeze. It was… majestic.
And then—
I tripped over Sir Quackers' food bowl.
Face-planted.
Time snapped back.
I took down the rice dispenser, the kettle, and knocked over a shelf of sardines.
Landed flat on the ground.
Chai clapped.
"8/10," she said. "Points off for form."
Sir Quackers pecked my toe in disapproval.
---
Edgar knelt beside me. "The virus is adjusting. You're getting stronger."
"I just concussed myself on canned tuna," I groaned. "I'm getting dumber."
But the weirdest part?
It felt **natural**.
Like a muscle that had always been there, unused. I just needed to stop falling on my face long enough to figure it out.
---
Later that night, we went through Aira's notebook again.
And found something we missed.
On one of the pages, scribbled beside Bruno's usual mumblings, were a set of **coordinates**.
Latitude. Longitude.
Chai punched them into a cracked tablet.
It zoomed in.
To a location outside the city.
A place labeled:
**"Sector 12: Repeater Hub."**
Edgar squinted. "That's a signal tower. Government-grade. Project Eden used it to broadcast test frequencies."
Aira nodded. "If there's any chance of stopping this thing—or understanding it—it starts there."
"Great," I said. "Let's go visit the evil science tower. What could go wrong?"
---
Just as we were gearing up for a possible day trip to Sector 12, the Boy Scout rushed in from the hallway, looking pale.
"Guys," he panted. "There's someone outside."
Edgar stood. "Zombie?"
"No. Person. Alive."
We grabbed gear and moved quietly to the upper hatch.
Peered through the periscope.
A figure was walking through the alley.
Alone.
Wearing a ragged military jacket.
Holding a flare.
Chai zoomed in with her camcorder. "He's not infected. Not moving like one."
"Could be a survivor," Aira said.
"Could be bait," Edgar replied.
I squinted through the foggy glass.
The figure stopped.
Turned directly toward the bunker.
And **held up a sign**.
Written in red marker.
**"I KNOW WHAT HE IS."**
And under that:
**"LET ME IN OR THEY FIND YOU FIRST."**
---
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Aira stepped back. "He's talking about you."
Chai whispered, "Oh, this just got spicy."
Sir Quackers flapped once and pooped dramatically.
Classic.
Edgar stared hard at the man through the scope.
Then looked at me.
"Do you want to let him in?"
I hesitated.
Because something in me… felt it.
This guy *knew* me.
And I didn't like the feeling.