Not long after Bruno and the others had left, Reidner and Alonso joined Daniel and Edivaldo. They had decided to search the nearby houses for anything useful. Before heading out, each of them grabbed a knife, tucking it at their waist as they stood by the market's side door — ready to face whatever waited outside.
Up on the office staircase, Camille sat alone, lost in her phone. She scrolled through online forums and group chats, where panic spread as fast as the virus itself. Screams for help, tales of horror, desperate attempts to form survivor communities and share information filled every post.
Then, something caught her eye. A thread that kept reappearing — people were saying this wasn't CDW. Something new, something unpredictable, was happening. The infection patterns were too erratic to be the same disease. She frowned, opening a new notification.
— Guys, you need to see this! — Camille called out, her voice urgent.
The others stopped arguing and gathered around her, curiosity and tension mixing in their faces. Camille took a deep breath before reading a message out loud:
— "Attention everyone: a new type of infected has appeared. Unlike the others, it still seems to be mutating. One was captured just hours after the outbreak began. Share this with as many people as possible. This is urgent. Prepare for the worst." —
A heavy silence followed. Alonso was the first to speak.— You're kidding me… You mean there's gonna be worse out there? — His eyes widened, his breathing quickening.
— Play the video, Camille. — Daniel said, tension thick in his voice.
Camille hesitated, her fingers hovering over the screen. Then she hit play.
The camera shook as someone — the person filming — began to speak from a dimly lit room. Around him stood five people, circling a man tied to a chair. The narrator pointed the camera at the prisoner, whose head hung low, eyes hidden beneath messy strands of hair.
— This guy's name is Mikael. — The deep, tired voice explained. — As you can see, he's in one piece — just a few scratches from a fight he had with some infected last night. But that's when it all started… —
The camera focused on Mikael. His breathing was heavy, and his tied hands began to show nails growing longer and sharper.
— He was fighting one of the infected — an adult male. During the struggle, he fell. When the infected lunged to bite him, Mikael managed to grab its hair and slash its throat. But… his mouth was open, screaming. —The voice hesitated. — Some of the infected's blood fell right into his mouth. He swallowed it… accidentally. —
Camille and the others exchanged uneasy glances. Reidner muttered:— So he wasn't bitten? —
— No. — Camille replied, her voice trembling slightly. — Just exposed to the blood… —
The video continued. Mikael began convulsing in the chair, his breathing turning ragged. One of the men tried to hold him still, but Mikael lifted his head — his eyes were now pitch black, veins around them dark and pulsing.
— Holy shit… — Alonso whispered, backing away. — He's changing! —
Suddenly, Mikael let out a guttural, inhuman scream. The ropes snapped as he lunged at the nearest man, tearing his throat open with his bare hands. The footage turned chaotic — the camera hit the ground, showing only glimpses of blood, shadows, and desperate screams. Then, it cut off.
Silence.
No one spoke for several seconds. A faint sound of breaking glass outside broke the stillness, snapping them back to reality.
— That… — Edivaldo began, his voice shaking. — That wasn't a normal infected. —
— It looked like… a mutation. — Camille said, still staring at the black screen. — They said he was still transforming. That changes everything. —
Daniel rubbed his face, trying to process what he had seen.— If the virus can evolve like that, we have no idea what else is out there. —
Reidner nodded, tension in his voice.— And Bruno and the others… they're on their way back. Completely unaware. —
A distant thunder rolled, and everyone turned toward the door. The wind picked up, rattling debris across the street — cans clinking and rolling in a rhythm that sounded almost like a warning.
Camille rose slowly, pocketing her phone.— We need to reinforce every door and window. Now. — She ordered firmly. — And pray they make it back before dark. —
As everyone rushed to block the entrances, the howl of the wind deepened — turning into something else. Something lower. Almost human.
Daniel froze in the hallway, his heart pounding.— Please… tell me that was the wind. —
No one answered.
Camille felt a chill run down her spine, but she didn't stop the video.
— At first, we thought it was nothing. He seemed immune. No symptoms, no signs. It even looked like luck — but as the hours went by, his behavior started to change. —
The camera zoomed in on Mikael's face. His head lifted, revealing horrifying eyes: the irises were a glowing yellow, and the whites had turned completely black — like a bottomless pit.
— His eyes turned like that. And when we woke up this morning, he had already killed an infected with his bare hands. The bastard looked like… he was drinking its blood. —
The narrator's voice grew darker.— When I tried to hold him down, he came straight at me. If it wasn't for another guy pulling him off, I'd be dead. During the fight, I saw it — his face wasn't human anymore. It was like… an animal. His nails had become claws, and his black hair… it's almost all gray now. —
The man stepped back, the camera shaking as if even recording it terrified him.— We thought about killing him right away. But we decided to observe instead. To see how far the transformation goes. But here's the warning: if blood from one of these things gets into your eyes, your mouth, or any wound… it's only a matter of time before you turn into this. —
The camera cut off. Camille's phone screen went black.
The silence in the room was crushing. The sound of her trembling breath seemed to echo against the walls. Clutching the phone in both hands, she finally broke the quiet:
— Guys… — Her voice cracked. — Jão told me that Bruno's cut — the one on his face — it was made with a knife covered in infected blood. —
The reaction was immediate. Reidner and Alonso exchanged disbelieving looks. Daniel's face went pale. None of them were ready to hear that.
At the top of the stairs, Samira — who had approached unnoticed — fell to her knees. She had heard every word. João Paulo's comment about the blood-stained knife flashed through her mind like a blade.
— No… it can't be… — she whispered, her voice trembling. The floor felt like it was crumbling beneath her feet.
Terror filled the room, raw and visible. The realization that Bruno might be mutating began to take hold. The group was buried in silence, every heartbeat pounding louder in their ears.
Gabriel approached, wearing a half-smile, waving his phone lazily.— Hey, guys, you seeing this? They're saying this ain't CWD after all! —
Edivaldo replied quickly, as if he already knew where this was going.— Yeah, man, I just saw the same thing! —
Gabriel frowned, unwrapping a stick of gum and popping it into his mouth with the calm of someone who hadn't yet grasped the weight of the moment.— So what are they calling it now? —
Camille, gripping her phone tightly, barely lifted her eyes.— MutaVirus. Because of that video… of the new type of infected that appeared. — Her voice was low, almost defeated.
The air grew heavy — suffocating.
Still chewing, Gabriel tried to cut through the tension, tossing his words like a stone into still water:— Okay… but what the hell happened to make y'all look like you just came from a funeral? —
Daniel swallowed hard before answering, already feeling the weight of his own words.— We think Bruno… might be going through that kind of mutation. —
The silence that followed hit like a gunshot. Reidner, sensing the group needed to act fast, cut through the tension with a sharp order.— We still need to grab some stuff for the night. Move. —
He motioned for the others to follow. Camille stayed behind, her hands trembling as a single thought ran through her mind: I have to show this to Samira… right now.
Gabriel, on the other hand, didn't seem eager to join the rush.— I'm gonna show this to Arthur and Anael. —
Without waiting for an answer, he walked toward the snack aisle, the video still playing on his phone. Deep down, though, he couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if Bruno really changed — right there, among them.
Meanwhile, Camille climbed the stairs. At the top, she found Samira curled up in a corner — the girl's tears were silent but desperate, like a scream trapped inside her chest. Camille stepped closer, but Samira didn't even lift her head.— I already know… I heard your phone… and your conversation. —
Her voice broke between sobs. Camille, realizing the depth of her fear, sat beside her, struggling to find something — anything — to say. But the words never came.
The two of them stayed there, lost in a heavy silence, while the world outside seemed to be falling apart.
***
Reidner and the others slipped out the market's side door, their footsteps light as shadows, eyes scanning every movement in the street. Outside, the infected were scattered, but the tension in the air was thick. Daniel swept the scene with a careful gaze, mentally counting the monsters prowling like silent predators.
— Hey, Reidner, be quick in there! You too, Alonso! — Daniel whispered cautiously. — Edvaldo and I'll keep watch. And for God's sake, no noise. I don't want to draw that pack at the end of the street. —
The infected, huddled darkly in the distance, seemed to wait for the slightest sound to surge forward like a hungry wave.
Reidner opened the door to the house above a shop. The wood creaked softly as Alonso stepped in first, a trembling knife in hand. Beyond the door, a narrow staircase climbed to a second door, slightly ajar. Reidner stayed alert, leaving the entrance open — any wrong sound, and it would be their only chance to escape.
Carefully climbing the steps, they reached the top door. Alonso pushed it slowly, his heart hammering in his chest. The house seemed empty, the silence heavy but treacherous. He stepped inside, and Reidner muttered behind him:— I think it's clear. The house seems… —
His words died in his throat when an adult infected leapt from the shadows like a nightmare, landing on his back. Reidner stumbled, his scream caught in his throat as he tried to shake it off.
— DAMN IT! — Alonso yelled, startled, delivering an instinctive kick. The blow struck the infected's head, and she hit the floor, writhing like a wild animal.
Reidner rose, but the horror wasn't over. Two more infected appeared from a corridor, screaming gutturally, the sound echoing through the walls. The noise reached the street like an alarm, and the monsters outside began moving, drawn like vultures to the scent of death.
— Shit, shit, shit! — Reidner cursed as Alonso backed away. —
Outside, Daniel and Edvaldo saw chaos forming. The infected at the end of the street were turning, their twisted bodies advancing toward the market.
— They've called up a damn horde! — Edvaldo shouted, gripping a piece of iron tightly. —
Inside the house, Alonso and Reidner bolted down the stairs, the infected's screams chasing them like a sentence of death. They barely reached the exit before the monsters swarmed the corridor, clawed fingers reaching out.
The four ran down the street, the sound of dozens of infected behind them turning the air into a nightmare. More than fifteen adult monsters, ferocious and hungry, pursued the group, every step a cruel reminder that there was no easy escape in this blood-soaked world.
When they reached the market gate, infected began to emerge from all directions, an unstoppable wave. Gradually, the market was surrounded. The air was thick with screams of desperation: voices pleading, begging for the side door to be opened before it was too late.
Arthur, Anael, and Gabriel were in the middle of a discussion, planning for a future that already felt like a death sentence in this rotten, blood-soaked world. The sound of desperate pounding echoed at the side door, shattering any logic. The screams demanded entry.
Arthur's eyes widened, and without thinking, he ran to the door. The moment he opened it, chaos erupted. Daniel and Edvaldo were already struggling to hold back the infected, locked in a battle driven purely by instinct. Alonso and Reidner dashed past, panic etched on their faces.
— Arthur didn't hesitate. He saw Daniel wrestling with an infected who was about to clamp his hands around Daniel's throat. With a small, pointed knife in his hand, Arthur lunged. He drove the blade between the monster's neck and clavicle with everything he had. But the creature didn't react. The vacant stare and that bestial strength remained. Arthur's heart slammed in his chest. Desperation spread like fire through both of them.
— He pulled the knife out and a spray of dark, viscous blood drenched them. The sight was grotesque, the metallic stench unbearable. Panicked, Arthur tried again. He stabbed at another spot—nothing. The infected kept coming, unshaken, as if Hell itself propelled it.
— Daniel finally acted. With a low, well-placed kick he toppled the monster to the floor. Arthur and Daniel didn't wait to see the aftermath. They sprinted inside, gasping, eyes wild, as more infected piled up like a tide of death. Now everyone was surrounded. The whole market vibrated with the sound of infected bodies battering the entrances—a siege of pure terror.
— Gates, doors, and walls shook as if they might give way. Every thud from outside sounded like thunder, echoing through the space and making clear they'd do anything to smash their way in. The fear was tangible, almost suffocating. Inside, no one could take their eyes off the gates; stomachs knotted and throats tightened until every movement froze.
— Arthur felt his pulse pounding. He knew he had to act before it was too late.
— RUN TO THE WAREHOUSE, NOW! — he shouted, trying to sound decisive though his voice carried the weight of fear.
— The three girls, however, seemed frozen. Camille and Gislaine stood paralyzed, eyes wide, while Samira lost her strength entirely and collapsed to her knees.
— Help… brother… — Samira whispered, voice trembling and barely audible. Tears tracked down her face as panic swallowed her.
— Desperation in the market rose with every second.
— EVERYONE GRAB SOMETHING TO PROTECT YOURSELVES… MOVE! — Reidner screamed, his voice raw with terror. He ran back and forth like a cornered animal, grabbing anything that might be used as a weapon, but without a plan.
— Arthur, Anael and Raziel had no time to waste. They hauled Samira, Gislaine and Camille by the arms, practically dragging them toward the warehouse. In their hands they gripped big white-handled butcher knives—smooth blades built for meat—but now the only defense standing between them and imminent death.
— As soon as they rushed into the warehouse, Arthur slammed for the door. His hands trembled while he fumbled to lock it, but Gabriel came barreling in, panic written all over his face.
— WAIT! Me too… I… — Gabriel panted, jammed against the door.
Arthur looked at him, a mix of urgency and doubt on his face. Outside, the thuds grew louder, almost deafening. There was no time to think—only to survive.
Those same four who'd drawn the horde to the market's front were now trapped there, with nothing between them and certain death but a set of gates. The constant pounding had already started to warp the metal, cracks forming at the weakened seams.
Alonso looked ghostly pale, fear tightening every muscle in his face. He glanced at Reidner, searching for a scrap of hope, an idea—anything that might save them. All he saw was another terrified teenager, hands shaking so badly around his knife that it seemed it would fall at the slightest breeze.
While Alonso hesitated, Daniel and Edvaldo chose to act. They sprinted to the gate and drove their knives hard into the gaps the blows had opened. The metal screamed; the moans of the infected outside rose like an infernal chorus. Seeing them fight with such determination stirred something inside Alonso—not courage, exactly, but a raw, primitive impulse to survive. He clenched his fists and joined them.
Reidner, however, stood frozen. His legs buckled, the knife in his hand felt useless. He watched, heart racing, as the three assaulted the gate—then the obvious hit him: this wasn't working. None of the infected seemed to be going down.
— THIS IS USELESS! RUN! HIDE BEFORE THEY GET IN! — Reidner shouted, his voice stronger than he expected. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and sprinted off to find a hiding place.
Daniel, Edvaldo and Alonso exchanged gasping looks. Reidner was right—there was no time. They abandoned the gate and raced back toward the warehouse, where the rest of the group was already taking cover.
The frantic pounding on the warehouse door echoed through the small room.
— Open up! For God's sake, open up! — voices shouted, raw with desperation.
Arthur yanked the door wide with a harsh motion, his face twisted with anger and frustration.
— You brought this shit to us! — he barked at the newcomers, low and furious. — Hide wherever you can, but shut up! Don't give anyone away, got it?
— Without waiting for a response, Arthur slammed the door shut again, locking it firmly.
— Minutes later, the inevitable happened. The main gate finally gave way, crashing down with a thunderous noise that seemed to announce the end. The infected poured into the shopping area, but it was empty. Finding no one, they began to scour the space, moving slowly, sniffing like hungry predators on the hunt for their prey.
***
While his sister, cousins and friends fought for their lives inside the market, Bruno and the others rolled closer, utterly unaware of the chaos waiting for them.
Inside the Fiorino the heat was suffocating; the air tasted like metal and sweat. Bruno felt like he was burning from the inside. Sweat ran down his face, veins standing out and pulsing along his forearms. João Paulo, sitting beside him, couldn't ignore it.
— Man, I know it's hot, but damn — you literally just got out of the shower and you're already sweating like this? Something's off.— I'm fine, bro… — Bruno rasped. His voice was hoarse, as if his throat had been sandpapered. He tried to play it cool, but something inside him was shifting. A thin red rim began to creep in at the back of his pupils, barely noticeable, like a stain spreading in dark water.
In the back of the car, Guilherme could hardly stand the heat. He cracked the rear door a little wider, trying to drag in a breath of air.
— I know it's an oven back there, Gui, but you can't leave the door open while we're moving, it's dangerous, — Alicia said, fussing with her hair, the irritation plain on her face.
Without warning, Bruno stomped the brake. The Fiorino lurched violently; the rear door slammed hard. Everything in the back tumbled and scattered across the floor of the vehicle.
— WHAT THE FUCK, MOHAMMAD?! CAN'T YOU DRIVE, YOU PIECE OF—?! — Pedro roared, trying to push himself up but getting crushed as Guilherme fell on top of him.
João and Bruno froze. Their eyes went wide, fixed on the scene ahead. Through the ripped-open market gate a tide of infected surged forward, a living wall of snarls and flailing limbs.
Heat rolled over Bruno like a physical thing. Rage tightened every muscle; his fingers cracked as he clenched his fists. He drew breath after breath, each one shorter than the last.
— Goddamn it… what now? — he thought, a bleak humor trapped behind the fury. — Do I go full Mad Max and plow the car through these motherfuckers?
The red in his pupils flared. It wasn't just adrenaline; something else was happening. A furnace flared behind his eyes, a slow-burning transformation that made his skin feel too small for his bones.
João noticed it first. He leaned closer, voice low, urgent.
— Bro… your eyes— you see that? They're weird.Bruno didn't answer. The sound of someone screaming from inside the market cut sharp through the air. Then another. Then the high, dry crack of glass.
Outside, people were running, slipping over the scattered refuse. A little boy—too small for panic—darted out, tripped, and was instantly swamped by a tangle of bodies. Bruno felt it like a blow. The blood at the back of his vision hummed, like a second heartbeat.
Alicia slammed her palm against the dash, cursing under her breath.
— Mohammad, pull the hell over. Now. We can't just—Bruno's jaw worked. For a second, human reason won: he should stop, help, fight. But the heat in him demanded action of another kind.
He leaned forward, fingers tightening on the wheel until his knuckles blanched.
— Get out. All of you. Now. Help them—get them out. — His voice was rough but steady, carrying that dangerous edge that made people obey.
They spilled into the alley like reflex: João and Bruno out the driver's side, Guilherme stumbling free, Pedro cursing but moving, Alicia already scanning for someone to drag to safety. The market gate gaped like an open wound. Screams and the staccato thud of falling bodies filled the gap.
Bruno's breath was shallow, his pulse a drum in his throat. The red rim in his eyes had spread; under the right light his irises flashed like hot coals. He walked with a predator's calm through the chaos, every step deliberate. He felt… cleaner somehow, focused. The heat that had been torture minutes ago was now a tool, a fierce clarity sharpening his brain.
João grabbed a fallen plank, swinging it to keep an infected at bay while calling for survivors.
— Over here! Move! This way! — he shouted, pulling people toward the car.
Bruno didn't slow. He shoved past a half-collapsed shelf, grabbed a kid by the scruff and yanked him free of a snapping mouth. The motion was brutal, efficient. The boy gagged and coughed, eyes huge with terror. Bruno didn't look like a savior; he looked like a force ripping an obstacle from his path.
A woman lunged at him, screaming that her husband was inside. Without hesitation, Bruno darted into the market, moving through the aisles like someone born to this violence. Boxes, fallen signs, the crack of splintering wood—everything bent away from him as he pushed deeper.
Inside, the smell was worse: copper and rot and something raw under both. The infected moved with the clumsy determination of the damned, but there were kids and old people pinned under tables, hands waving like flares. Bruno knelt beside a man pinned beneath a crushed shelf. He ripped the wood free with a strength that didn't make sense; when the man coughed and spat blood, Bruno simply handed him over to João with a curt nod.
Somewhere near the back, a familiar voice—Samira's—cut through the din. "Bruno!" It was sharp, terrified, but real.
He turned. For a flicker of something like tenderness his face softened. For a second the red glow in his eyes dimmed, replaced by the brother who'd once joked and shielded. Samira stood on the other side of a toppled freezer, clutching Hadassa's hand, mud and blood streaked across her arms. Around them, two cousins were trying to fend off an infected with a rolling pin.
Bruno's lips twitched—not a smile, but something close—and he moved faster than anyone thought possible. He reached them in three lunges, grabbing a length of pipe and using it to clamp the nearest infected's head against the tiled floor. The creature's skull caved with a wet, final sound. No hesitation, no mercy. Those nearest to him sobbed; Bruno's breathing was a quiet, dangerous rhythm.
When he pulled Hadassa free—small, trembling, eyes huge—she looked up at him with all the trust and fear a child could hold. He bent down, and for once his voice was soft.
— You okay? You all right? We're getting out. Now.
Samira nodded so hard she nearly wept. She wanted to hug him, to cry, to collapse—anything to prove the world around them was still the one she remembered. Bruno's hand stayed steady on Hadassa's shoulder, but it was stained. His nails had black under them; there was dried blood crusted along his knuckles.
They moved, then—a ragged line of people, bruised, bleeding, clinging to one another. João cleared a path, Pedro and Guilherme hauling a broken shopping cart; Alicia kept watch, eyes darting, shouting directions. Bruno walked at the head, a living wedge.
They reached the Fiorino, slammed open the rear door, and shoved the survivors in with the urgency of men who knew the next second could be their last. Bruno climbed in last, chest heaving, the heat in him still roaring. He closed the door and thumbed the lock, hands still shaking.
For a breath, the cramped interior of the car was sanctuary—brief and thin. Outside, the market burned and screamed and collapsed. Inside, the smell of humanity and fear pressed in. Bruno sank back against the seat, forehead slick with sweat.
Alicia glanced at him, eyes narrowing. — You okay? You look… different.He met her gaze. The red at the edge of his sight was a fact now, and the truth about what it meant sat like a stone in his stomach. He could lie, but he knew he wouldn't. Instead, he let out a sound that was almost a laugh: low, rough, resigned.
— I feel like I was born for this, — he said, and the sentence didn't come out as either confession or boast but something darker—an acceptance.
Outside, the market's distant flames painted the sky orange. The noise of chaos was constant, but somewhere beyond it the wind had begun to change. The calm they'd tasted for a second was already collapsing. This was the eye of the storm—brief, deceptive.
Bruno stared at his bloody hands. The red around his pupils pulsed once, slow as a heartbeat. He knew, with the cold certainty that terrified him, that what was coming would be worse. He had been useful tonight; that thought warmed and frightened him at once.
He turned to João, voice low and steady.
— Drive. Get us out of here.
João shoved the Fiorino into motion. As they pulled away, Bruno watched the market shrink in the rear window, flames licking the edges of the dark. The calm had slipped through their fingers like water.
Ahead, a storm gathered—both the thunder of what the city had become and the personal tempest that was starting to grow inside Bruno. The night pressed in, and for the first time in a long stretch of breaths, everyone in that cramped car felt the true weight of what lay ahead.
João Paulo froze, his heart pounding in his chest, unable to believe what he was seeing. Bruno, once human, now looked almost unrecognizable. Every movement carried an immense, almost superhuman force; the ground seemed to tremble slightly with each step, as if the very world was reacting to his presence.
The closest infected hesitated, instinctively recoiling from the monstrous roar. But not for long. Their hunger was still there, still craving flesh and blood, and soon they advanced again.
Bruno, however, no longer seemed human. Every strike he delivered was precise, brutal, and too fast for João Paulo to follow. One arm swung sideways, knocking down three infected at once; a side kick shattered a metal door from a cart, sending another group flying. The guttural roar continued, echoing through the empty streets like a wave of terror.
João Paulo struggled to breathe, unsure whether to run or try to help. He knew Bruno had transformed into something more — something destined to fight, destroy, and survive at any cost. At the same time, a part of João still recognized his brother within the beast, the same fierce determination, the same will to protect those nearby, even if in a terrifying, extreme way.
As the white strands in Bruno's hair gleamed under the moonlight and the black veins pulsed like living serpents, he advanced on the horde with almost supernatural precision and ferocity. Every approaching infected was struck down or torn apart, yet Bruno's gaze remained fixed ahead, searching for his sister, Samira, anyone who might still be alive amid the chaos of the market.
The roar continued, now mixed with heavy breathing and the sound of bodies hitting the ground. To João Paulo, this wasn't just a display of strength: it was the manifestation of something growing inside Bruno, a primordial fury, a transformation that made him both savior and monster.
And in that moment, João understood that nothing—absolutely nothing—could stop his brother. The battle, the chaos, the death surrounding them—all seemed to revolve around him, and he was ready to face whatever came, no longer just as a human, but as someone born for combat.