CHAPTER ONE: THE LAST ORDINARY MORNING
The morning light slipped through the blinds, cutting the room into golden stripes.
Outside, Niraya was already waking — rickshaw horns, temple bells, that same priest's chant from Vaishali.
Normal sounds. Maybe too normal.
Reyan sipped his coffee and frowned. The air felt off somehow, colder than it should be.
Maybe it's just me, he thought. Maybe I'm overthinking again.
He glanced at the fridge. Crayon drawings still clung to it — stick figures, a sun, something that might've been a purple dog.
Promises made without words.
"Papa…"
He turned. His daughter stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Reyan crouched. She walked into his arms, warm and half-asleep.
"Don't be late today," she whispered. "You promised."
"I won't," he said, kissing her hair. Strawberry shampoo. Priya's favorite.
"But you have to promise me something too."
"What?"
"Eat your breakfast. All of it."
"Even the crusts?"
"Especially the crusts. That's where the superpowers hide."
She laughed, and for a moment, the morning felt normal again.
Priya stepped out from the kitchen, drying her hands. Seven years together — she could read him without a word.
"If something feels wrong today," she said softly, "call me. Promise?"
He nodded. "Promise."
She didn't look convinced, but she let it go.
Reyan paused at the door, memorizing everything — the sunlight on the wall, the smell of toast, his family framed in gold.
"Papa!" his daughter called. "You'll come back soon, right?"
"Before you even miss me," he said, smiling like it could hold the world together.
He lied.
STREETS OF NIRAYA
The city smelled like it always did — exhaust, bread, and jasmine from the old flower cart near the statue of that forgotten freedom fighter.
Reyan walked with his hands in his pockets, a bag of pastries swinging from his wrist. Paan shop. Electronics store. Chai stall. The same old Niraya loop.
When he pushed open the bakery door, the bell chimed. Warm air hit him — sugar and yeast, like a hug.
"Morning, Reyan!" Arjun grinned from behind the counter, dusting flour off his arms. "The usual?"
"Yeah. And a few extras," Reyan said. "Office morale, you know?"
"Lucky them. You've got good taste." Arjun leaned closer. "Between us, I steal one when you're not looking."
Reyan laughed. "Save me one next time, thief."
"Deal." Arjun packed the bag and slid it over. "Stay safe out there, Reyan. You never know what the day might bring."
The words stuck for some reason. Reyan nodded, paid, and left.
By the time he reached the office near the river, the unease had crept back in — slow and quiet, like an old injury before rain.
OFFICE
The office smelled of stale coffee and instant noodles. Lights buzzed overhead.
Samir poked an empty noodle cup. "Man, these noodles are my only friends."
Taj didn't look up. "Your friends taste like regret."
"Better than your personality."
"At least I have one."
"Says the guy who cried during a car ad."
"It was emotional. The dad bought the kid the toy car he wanted."
"It was a Hyundai ad, Taj."
"It was touching."
Reyan set down the pastry bag. "Peace offering," he said.
Both looked up. "Boss, you look rough," Taj said. "Did you sleep or just fight gravity all night?"
"Appreciate the concern."
"You okay though?" Samir asked. "You've got that haunted look."
"What look?"
"The I-haven't-slept-since-Thursday look."
"I'm fine," Reyan said. "Just… need quiet."
"Quiet?" Taj scoffed. "In this office? Good luck."
Their banter rolled on. It almost felt normal again.
When they finally left for a supply run, the silence that followed was too sharp.
Reyan sat in his cabin, looked at the photo of Priya and their daughter at Niraya Beach — sunlight, melted ice cream, the dead lighthouse.
He stared too long, then forced himself back to work.
But the air felt wrong again. Like something was waiting.
FAR ACROSS TOWN: THE TURN
Under a fake pharmaceutical office, six floors below ground, a handful of people thought they were changing the world.They called it The Neural Regeneration Initiative.Big words. Noble ones. Healing the brain, curing paralysis — that was the dream.
Ravi was just another man who signed up for ₹50,000 and a promise. Hope in a syringe.
It was supposed to be safe — a quick injection, a few hours under observation, then home with a healed body and a lighter soul.That's what the brochure said.
Then his eyes opened.And he screamed so hard the glass shook.
Ravi's whole body jerked, tendons straining like cables ready to snap. His spine bent back until it looked wrong. The restraints groaned.Monitors went wild — red lights, beeping alarms, doctors shouting over each other.
Then the smell hit — blood, sweat, chemicals — a metallic wrongness that made everyone flinch.
Shreya, one of the assistants, reached out. "Ravi, listen to me—"
He bit her.No warning. No scream. Just teeth and blood.
The sound froze everyone — that soft, wet tear no one should ever hear.
Her veins turned black within seconds, spreading up her neck like ink through paper.Someone screamed. Then another.
Dr. Kapoor shouted, "Hold him down!"A guard swung his baton and cracked Ravi's jaw. It didn't stop him. He didn't even blink.His head twisted with a sharp click — too far to be human — and he lunged again.
Panic exploded.People ran for the elevator. Shreya convulsed on the floor, choking, her eyes rolling white.
Ahmed — junior researcher, containment team, nobody special — just stood frozen.Then instinct took over.
While everyone ran up, he ran down the hall and into the storage room.He slammed the steel door shut, twisted the lock, shoved a metal shelf against it.
The air inside smelled like cold iron and disinfectant. And fear.
Outside: chaos.Groans. Screams. Bones cracking. Flesh tearing.Bodies hitting the glass walls, sliding down, leaving streaks.
Through a crack, Ahmed watched, chest heaving. His mind tried to process what his eyes refused to believe.
Transmission: under thirty seconds.Motor control: intact after death.Behavior: reacts to sound, blind to stillness.Physical signs: black veins spreading like roots.
He forced himself to whisper the details under his breath — not for anyone, just to stay sane.
Then he saw something worse.
Prakash — one of the senior researchers — shuffled past the window.He twitched once, twice, like a broken puppet. Then his hand reached the door handle.Twisted.Stopped.Twisted again.Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned it the right way.
Ahmed's breath hitched.He wasn't just moving.He was learning.
His throat tightened as he fumbled for his phone.No signal. Of course.Still, he hit record.
"Day one… hour zero…" he whispered, voice shaking. "They're not dying. Their brains are rewriting. They're learning. It spreads in under thirty seconds. God help us."
He sat there for hours — listening.The screams faded. Then the sounds changed.Feet dragging. Doors creaking. Then silence.Somewhere far above, the city's noise shifted — fewer horns. More screams.
Finally, when he couldn't take the quiet anymore, he moved.
He packed whatever he could — an axe from the emergency box, a half-empty water bottle, one sealed vial of the compound.His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
He climbed the maintenance ladder, each rung echoing in the shaft. Metal. Metal. Breath. Heartbeat.The higher he went, the louder the noise — sirens, explosions, and that awful chorus of cries that weren't human anymore.
He pushed open the hatch.
Hot air slapped his face — thick with smoke and ash.The skyline of Niraya burned in orange light.Cars crashed into each other. People ran. Others didn't.
Ahmed just stood there, gripping the axe until his knuckles went white.He looked at the chaos — the fires, the people falling, the sky turning red — and whispered,
"God forgive us… we did it."
Then he started walking toward the light.
THE COLLAPSE
Meanwhile, miles away in Niraya's business district, Reyan still thought the day was normal.
Two hours later, he was halfway through a spreadsheet when he noticed it — the silence.
No metro hum, no honking, no temple chants. Nothing.
He stood, stretched. Maybe he just needed air.
Then his phone buzzed.
Priya:Are you okay? News says there's some kind of attack downtown. Please call me.
Attack?
He blinked, confused — until something moved outside the window.
Down on the street, someone was screaming. Another figure — hunched, jerky — was on top of them. A flash of red. Too much red.
Then silence.
The one standing looked wrong — twitching, blood around its mouth, like its bones didn't remember how to move right.
Reyan froze.
He tried calling Priya. No signal. Again. Nothing.
He had to get home.
He turned — and something grabbed his shoulder. Cold fingers. Iron grip. The smell hit first — rot, metal, and something worse.
Then that sound. Low. Inhuman.
Before he could scream, someone yanked him aside.
"MOVE!"
The creature slammed into the wall. Bone cracked.
"Inside!" someone shouted.
Reyan stumbled into the storage room. The door slammed. THUD. THUD.
They shoved a cabinet against it. The pounding stopped.
Breathless silence.
Reyan looked at the others, shaking, knife in hand. "Who—who are you?"
"Quiet," one hissed. "Sound draws them."
He looked down at the knife. It looked stupidly small.
One of them smirked. "Better than a stapler."
"Not the time."
"Just saying."
The tension cracked for half a second. Then the screams outside rose again — raw, human, dying.
Reyan's mind went back to his daughter. To the drawings on the fridge.
"Before you even miss me," he'd said.
He'd lied.
And now, he might never get the chance to make it right