The sun hung over Greyden like a curse.
It was the kind of heat that made the pavement ripple in waves and the air itself feel heavy—thick enough to chew. The distant hills shimmered in the heat, dust swirling faintly around them. Even the pigeons on the rooftops looked like they regretted waking up.
Inside the city's modest university, built from beige stone and leftover funding, the air was no better. The hallways felt still and suffocating, broken only by the occasional groan of ceiling fans and the dull buzz of fluorescent lights. Summer had drained the life from the place, leaving behind only a handful of unlucky students sweating through their reexaminations… and one tired maintenance worker.
"Come on, work already…" Dragos muttered, squinting up at the wall-mounted air conditioner that refused to cooperate. He had one arm buried elbow-deep inside the back panel, the other bracing himself against a rickety desk.
From outside the room came the hushed complaints of students.
"It's so hot I can't think!" one whispered sharply.
"Same here… I'm going to melt before I finish this essay."
Dragos let out a long sigh and rolled his eyes. As if I could fix global warming with a screwdriver, he thought, suppressing a grin.
He looked exactly how he always did: floral shirt half-unbuttoned, khaki shorts, and a pair of worn sandals that slapped softly against the tile whenever he shifted. His medium-length hair clung damply to his forehead, and sweat was already making a line down his back.
Business degree? Check. Stable career? Not quite. Glamorous life? Well… the café lady had slipped him a free muffin that morning. That counted for something.
A faint spark snapped inside the AC unit.
"…That's not normal," Dragos muttered, leaning in.
And then—just for a second—everything in the hallway flickered. The lights, the fans, even the vending machine down the corridor stuttered like a skipped heartbeat. Dragos froze, screwdriver in hand.
The students outside murmured, but no one seemed to notice. No fire, no smoke. Just… that brief flicker.
Then came a rapid series of jolts—lights blinking, fans stuttering, projectors flashing off and on. Phones buzzed and died in students' hands. The AC shuddered and clicked like it couldn't decide whether to keep working or not. Pens froze mid-scratch, and murmurs rippled through the classroom as anxiety replaced focus.
In the chaos, a small gasp drew Dragos' attention. A student in the back row fumbled with a tiny audio device tucked in his sleeve. The device had died during one of the sudden flickers, and the boy recoiled like he'd been burned. He muttered a curse and glanced nervously at Dragos, who could only shake his head. Not my problem, kid…
Then—silence.Complete, suffocating silence. The generator hadn't kicked in. All devices were dead, the projector dark. But the classroom wasn't pitch black. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting the room in a warm, golden glow. Shadows stretched long across desks, giving the students just enough light to keep scribbling—but the tension was tangible.
Dragos headed to the utility closet where the main generator was housed, the heavy door creaking as he opened it. The diesel generator sat cold and silent, waiting. He checked the fuel gauge, switched on the main breaker, and pressed the start button.
The generator groaned, coughed, and then roared to life. A low vibration ran through the floor as the classroom lights flickered back on, and the AC hummed once more. The projector blinked to life, casting a dim glow across the front of the room.
Dragos exhaled, brushing sweat from his brow. The heat pressed down, but at least the main systems were running again. Students turned on their phones—and immediately noticed they had no signal.
The supervising professor cleared his throat. "Alright, everyone, let's get back to work," he said firmly. He glanced at the student who had been trying to cheat. "Hand in your paper and leave the room," he added.
The student hesitated, then reluctantly shuffled toward the door. As he stepped into the hallway, he called back, "I'll wait outside for you guys—anyway, it's almost 18:00." The other students nodded, returning to their papers while glancing occasionally at him through the doorway.
Dragos leaned against the wall, scanning the room. Despite the restored power, the flickers had left their mark—an unspoken tension hung in the air. Everyone was on edge, aware that something had gone wrong, even if they didn't know what.
The students returned to their papers, some hesitantly, some muttering under their breath, but the heat and the lingering unease kept them subdued. Dragos kept his eyes on the room, aware that this day was far from over—and somehow, he knew the strange events were just beginning.
After a moment, he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. The tension in his shoulders was too much to ignore, and he decided he needed a brief break. He quietly stood up and stepped into the hallway, letting the cooler air hit his face.
Outside, in the designated smoking area, he spotted the student who had been sent out earlier. The boy was leaning against the railing, glancing nervously toward the classroom. Dragos approached, and for a brief moment, a nostalgic impulse tugged at him.
"I know I quit a long time ago," he said, "but after a day like this… think I deserve one?" He held out his hand, and the student, surprised but amused, handed him a cigarette. Dragos flicked the lighter, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke curl upward into the late afternoon air. For a few minutes, he allowed himself a small reprieve, savoring the brief taste of normalcy after so much chaos.
Dragos inhaled deeply, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before exhaling. The student glanced at him, still a little on edge.
"Man, this is all the power outage's fault," the boy muttered, shaking his head. "If it hadn't gone out, I would have totally gotten away with it."
Dragos raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ah, so it's the blackout's fault, not your planning?"
The student groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly! I had it all set up—my little device, everything. One flicker and boom… caught red-handed."
Dragos chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Well, consider it a lesson, I guess. Maybe next time you'll think twice before trying something like that."
"Yeah, yeah," the student muttered, clearly still frustrated. "But seriously… it's the worst timing ever. I had no chance to finish without getting noticed."
Dragos exhaled again, the smoke curling up into the air. "Sometimes life has a funny way of reminding us that shortcuts rarely pay off."
The student looked at him, a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement on his face. For a moment, the tension eased, and the quiet of the smoking area felt almost normal—though both knew something was still off about the day.
The two of them stood in silence for a moment, each taking a slow drag from their cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the late afternoon air.
Suddenly, the student let out a sharp grunt and swatted at his arm. "Ah, damn it! I hate these mosquitoes so much!" he muttered, frustration in his voice as another tiny buzz found him.
Dragos grinned mischievously, patting his pockets. "You know what? I've got just the thing."
Before the student could respond, Dragos pulled out a small can of mosquito repellent spray. With a dramatic flourish, he sprayed a quick mist around himself, then aimed a tiny stream at the student's arm. "There! You're safe… mostly. Don't blame me if the little bloodsuckers go after someone else," he said, smirking.
The student shook his arm, half laughing, half groaning. "Seriously? You're spraying yourself like a garden gnome on parade!"
Dragos chuckled, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Hey, a man's gotta survive… mosquitoes don't take breaks, so neither do I."
With that, he dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his sandal. He stretched his shoulders, feeling the weight of the long day settling in. "Alright," he said, more to himself than to the student, "time to head back in. Let's see if there's still something left to fix before I can finally call it a day."
The student nodded absently, still swatting at the occasional mosquito, as Dragos pushed the door open and stepped back into the cooler halls of the university. A few students were already leaving the exam room, stretching their arms and whispering to each other as they passed him.
He caught fragments of their chatter—someone mentioned Allan, the one who had been kicked out earlier, wondering if he was still around outside. "Maybe we'll catch him and grab a smoke together," one of them said with a half-laugh, and the others murmured in agreement as they drifted toward the exit.
Dragos exhaled softly and muttered under his breath, "I guess I'll ask the teacher if she still needs help and finally end my day."
He pushed the exam room door open again. Inside, the last handful of students were still bent over their papers, scribbling furiously as the final minutes ticked away. The supervising professor stood at the front, arms folded, her sharp eyes darting from desk to desk. She noticed Dragos step in, gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment, then turned her attention back to the students.
Minutes later, the wall clock struck six. Pens dropped one by one, some with relief, others with frustration. The professor raised her voice, clear and firm:
"Time's up. Please put your pens down and bring your papers to the front."
The remaining students obeyed, some dragging their feet, others rushing to the desk. As they gathered, the professor straightened her posture, her tone shifting from strict to almost motherly.
"I hope today was a lesson," she began. "Not just about the material, but about preparation, discipline, and honesty. Life rarely gives second chances, and when it does, you must respect them. I expect each of you to reflect on this experience and come back stronger. Cheating, excuses, shortcuts—none of these will carry you forward in life. Only work, persistence, and integrity."
Dragos leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, listening in silence. He had heard a dozen speeches like this over the years, yet there was something about today—the flickering power, the uneasy atmosphere—that made the words linger a little heavier than usual.
Everything was over. The papers were collected, the last murmurs faded, and the students filed out of the room one by one. Dragos lingered near the doorway, waiting for a signal from the professor that his day was done.
Then it came—the sharp, piercing yell of a couple of girls from outside.
Dragos didn't hesitate. His heart jolted, and he rushed toward the sound. The heavy doors swung open, and the evening light spilled in on a scene that froze him in place.
Allan was there—his shirt torn, his face and hands smeared with blood. His eyes were wild, unfocused, and he lunged forward, snapping his teeth at a fellow student who stumbled back in terror. Two more bodies lay sprawled on the ground nearby, motionless, their clothes soaked in dark red stains.