The first light of dawn crept over Hyosan, staining the fog a dull orange. Smoke still curled from the ruins of the school. What was once a place of learning now stood as a monument of silence — every corridor, every classroom echoing with the ghosts of what we had lost.
We moved cautiously through the city streets, stepping over broken glass and splintered concrete. The world beyond the school wasn't any better — it was worse. Buildings were hollow shells, cars overturned and rusting, and the faint smell of rot clung to the air.
Nam On-jo covered her mouth. "It's like the whole city just… stopped."
Cheong-san scanned the rooftops. "No. It didn't stop. It changed."
He was right.
Everywhere, the remnants of chaos whispered around us. Torn posters fluttered from cracked walls — "Hyosan quarantine. Await military evacuation." The words meant nothing now. The soldiers were gone, or worse.
I could feel the faint vibration under my skin — my kagune responding to something. A pull, distant but insistent, from the outskirts of the city. The facility. The heart of this nightmare.
Ji-soo studied the map she'd taken from a dead soldier's pack. "According to this, the quarantine facility was built near the old industrial park. That's our best chance for answers."
Seok-yoon frowned. "Or it's a trap. If the government's still running experiments, they won't let survivors just walk in."
Cheong-san nodded. "We move slow. Quiet. We find a way around their perimeter. If anyone's still alive in there, they'll be heavily armed."
We began our descent through the city — alleys filled with shadows, streets that whispered our names. Every corner felt alive with eyes. The infected didn't moan as much anymore; they waited. Some stood motionless, heads tilted toward the sky, as though listening to a voice we couldn't hear.
And in a way, I could feel that voice — faint, buried beneath layers of noise. The same energy that had changed me pulsed faintly through them, like a song just out of tune.
As we crossed a narrow bridge, the silence broke.
A shrill scream cut through the fog — human, but cracked with pain.
We ran toward it instinctively, weapons ready. A young woman lay on the ground, clutching her arm, blood seeping through her fingers. Her skin shimmered faintly red, veins twitching under the surface.
"Don't come closer!" she screamed. "I'm not… I'm not stable!"
Her eyes were wide, terrified. Her kagune — small, underdeveloped — flickered behind her like trembling wings.
She was like me.
I knelt beside her carefully. "You're turning, aren't you? The virus mixed with the mutation."
She nodded weakly. "They… they said they could fix us. They said we'd be strong enough to fight back. But it hurts. I can't control it…"
"Who said that?" I asked.
"The soldiers. The facility. They said they'd make us weapons. Against the outbreak." Her breathing hitched. "But they lied. They made monsters."
Cheong-san's expression darkened. "So it's true. They kept experimenting even after Hyosan fell."
Before we could say more, the girl convulsed — her body twitching violently as the mutation overtook her. Her kagune flared, cutting through the concrete beside her.
Nam On-jo screamed. "She's losing control!"
I grabbed the girl's shoulders, locking eyes with her. "Listen to me! You can fight it! Focus on your breath!"
But she was gone. Her eyes turned black, pupils stretching into slits. Her voice became a snarl. She swung wildly, tearing through a nearby lamppost.
I had no choice. My kagune burst forth, intercepting hers mid-strike. Sparks flew as we clashed — two powers born of the same curse.
For a moment, I hesitated. She wasn't evil — just broken. But mercy couldn't exist here. I struck her once, clean and fast, ending it before she could hurt anyone else.
Silence returned. The only sound was the wind.
Nam On-jo trembled. "You didn't have to…"
"I did," I said quietly. "Because one day, that could be me."
No one answered. We just kept walking.
As we moved closer to the industrial park, the air grew heavier. The faint hum of electricity returned — low, rhythmic, almost mechanical. The facility wasn't abandoned. It was alive.
Ji-soo pointed ahead. "There. That glow — generators. They still have power."
From the shadows, I saw it too: a tall, fenced perimeter with barbed wire, floodlights turning slowly in programmed arcs. Drones hovered above, scanning the ruins.
But what froze me was the sight beyond the fence — dozens of containment tanks. Inside each floated a human silhouette, motionless, wrapped in cables.
Nam On-jo whispered, "Oh my god…"
Cheong-san's jaw tightened. "They're still experimenting. Even after all this."
Seok-yoon crouched, peering through binoculars. "There's movement near the central tower. Looks like guards — or what's left of them."
"Not guards," I said. My senses sharpened. "They're hybrids. Like the girl."
Ji-soo looked at me. "Can we fight them?"
I shook my head. "Not head-on. Not yet."
We found a place to rest in an abandoned café nearby. Dust covered everything, and the walls were streaked with dried blood. I sat near the window, watching the facility from afar. The faint hum of machines called to something deep inside me.
Cheong-san came over, his voice low. "You felt it, didn't you? Whatever's in there — it's connected to you."
"Yes," I admitted. "It's where the virus and the ghoul mutation were merged. I can feel it pulling at me, like it's waiting."
"Then we go in," he said. "We find who's behind this and end it."
I stared at the distant tower, its lights blinking through the fog. "It won't be that easy. Whatever they've built in there… it's not just experiments anymore. It's evolution."
He nodded grimly. "Then we evolve too."
Outside, thunder rumbled — faint, but enough to shake the dust from the ceiling. The storm was coming, and with it, whatever lay inside that facility.
I looked at my reflection in the cracked window — red eyes glowing faintly, kagune pulsing beneath my skin. Each beat felt stronger, darker, hungrier.
But for the first time, I wasn't afraid of it. I needed it.
Tomorrow, we'd enter the heart of the storm. And maybe — just maybe — we'd uncover the truth about what we'd become.