…
Continuation from few months before
…
Glenn stood frozen, panic flooding his chest. He didn't understand what had just happened—one moment, his uncle Noldy was helping him open the strange plastic-wrapped item, and the next, he collapsed on the floor, shaking and coughing up blood.
His voice trembled as he called for help, not knowing what else to do.
"Tito Morence! Help! I-I don't know what's happening!"
He pointed with a shaking hand. "He was just opening that plastic for me—then he said to step back… and then he just fell!"
Morence, one of his father's coworkers, rushed in after seeing Noldy collapse. His face twisted in worry as he crouched beside the fallen man.
"Noldy! What happened?"
Morence glanced up at Glenn. "What did he touch? Did he eat something?"
Glenn quickly shook his head. "No, he was just opening that—" he gestured toward the half-opened plastic with the jacket still inside. "He said it smelled weird… like something was off."
Morence's eyes narrowed, and he looked at the plastic bag suspiciously before turning back to Glenn.
"Get away from that thing. That could be contaminated with something—maybe the person who owned that jacket had a disease or… worse."
He gently lifted Noldy onto his back and carried him under the shade of a nearby shelter, laying him down on a wooden bench.
Morence quickly grabbed a nearby bottle of water and brought it to Noldy's lips, trying to help him recover as the older man continued coughing violently—his eyes still red and unfocused.
Glenn stood nearby, shaken, as he watched the scene unfold—his gaze falling back to the ominous jacket still lying in the plastic on the ground, its fabric barely visible through the opening.
A few minutes later, Noldy finally began to calm down. His breathing steadied, and Morence stayed close beside him, supporting his weight as he recovered. When the coughing lessened, Noldy managed a weak smile and spoke hoarsely.
"I think I'll go home for now… just need to rest a bit,"
he said, his voice trembling.
He turned to Glenn and forced a reassuring grin.
"Sorry, Glenn. I don't know what came over me earlier. Please tell your father I won't be able to join the truck route this afternoon. My body just… gave up all of a sudden."
Morence nodded, helping his friend stand.
"I'll take him home first. I'll come right back after making sure he's safe,"
he said as they slowly made their way down the street.
Glenn watched them leave, still shaken but unable to ignore the growing curiosity that gnawed at him. His eyes wandered back to the plastic bag lying on the ground—the same one that had made Noldy collapse.
Despite being warned to stay away, Glenn couldn't help himself. He needed to know what was inside.
He quickly grabbed an old, thick T‑shirt and tied it tightly around his nose and mouth like a makeshift mask, making sure it covered him well enough to block whatever strange odor the plastic might emit.
As he took cautious steps toward the bag, a sudden gust of wind swept through the area, blowing hard enough to rattle the nearby tin roofs.
Luckily, the wind blew away from Glenn, carrying the stench in the opposite direction—straight toward a small cafeteria nearby.
Glenn barely noticed. His focus was locked on the plastic.
He crouched down and slowly peeled it open, finally revealing what was inside.
It was a black jacket—sleek and stylish beneath the dirt and dried stains that clung to its fabric. Even with patches of hardened, rust-colored blood, Glenn's eyes lit up with excitement.
"This… this still looks amazing," he whispered to himself.
In his mind, he thought, A little wash and the smell will be gone.
In an unexpected turn of events, Glenn remained unaware that the small cafeteria down the street—the one directly hit by the gust of air from the opened plastic—had begun descending into chaos.
One by one, the customers who had inhaled the strange scent started coughing violently, their throats tightening as they struggled to breathe. Their eyes turned bloodshot, and moments later, dark streaks of blood dripped from their lips with every desperate cough.
"What's going on here?"
cried the owner, rushing out from behind the counter. Panic filled her face as she saw her customers clutching their chests, trembling, and collapsing against their tables.
No one could understand what was happening—it all occurred within seconds. The laughter and chatter inside the cafeteria had turned into cries for help and choking screams.
Meanwhile, Glenn, completely unaware of the spreading sickness, carried the black jacket home with a faint grin on his bruised face.
The dried stains of blood on the fabric had hardened, forming dark, rough patches that almost looked like scars. But Glenn didn't care. To him, it was the most expensive-looking jacket he'd ever held in his life—a piece of luxury from someone else's world.
"Maybe just a little wash and this'll look brand new,"
he murmured to himself.
Stepping inside his small house, he held the jacket up proudly, admiring how it gleamed faintly under the light. Just as he was about to put it down, his cellphone suddenly rang, the shrill tone slicing through the quiet air.
Glenn frowned.
"Huh?"
He wasn't expecting any calls. His parents had already informed the school he wouldn't be attending for the next few days.
So who could possibly be calling him now?
Glenn's heart leapt in panic when he saw the name flashing on his phone screen—Claire.
Without hesitation, he answered.
"Glenn! Help… help me, Glenn! Pastor—"
That was all he heard before the call cut off.
Silence.
His hands trembled. His breath quickened. The air around him suddenly felt heavy and suffocating. Something was terribly wrong. Claire was in danger. And the name Pastor was the last thing she said.
Despite the pain still lingering in his battered body, despite the faint bruises on his arms and ribs, Glenn didn't waste a second. He stood there in a thin, sleeveless undershirt, his body still healing from the beating he took just days ago. His mind raced—but he had only one goal:
Find help. Fast.
His first instinct was to run to the nearest police station, but he couldn't go out looking like this. He didn't want people to stop him or ask questions. He didn't have time to explain. So, he grabbed the black jacket—the one he had pulled from the mysterious plastic earlier—and slipped it on.
It hung loosely on his small frame, slightly oversized, but it covered every bruise and scar.
Just as the fabric touched his skin, something strange happened.
A sharp pain pulsed in his head.
His nose began to bleed.
A sudden wave of dizziness made him stagger.
But Glenn shook it off.
"Not now. Claire needs me."
He wiped the blood away with his sleeve and darted out the door, sprinting through the dusty alleys and narrow roads. His feet hit the ground hard. He didn't stop to breathe.
"Please… just hold on, Claire."
As he ran, he kept wiping at the blood trickling from his nose, still unaware of the dark energy that pulsed faintly from the jacket he wore—
or the silent, cursed bond he had just formed with something far beyond his understanding.
He ran—faster than he ever had.
Glenn's legs burned, his chest ached, and every step sent shocks of pain through his already battered body. But none of it mattered now.
Claire was in danger.
And he was the only one who heard her cry for help.
The sky rumbled with thunder overhead.
Dark clouds swallowed the sun, casting shadows over the narrow streets of their town. The wind picked up, carrying the heavy scent of rain. Glenn didn't care. His old phone gripped tightly in one hand, the cursed jacket clinging to his body, he ran with everything he had left.
But as he rounded a tight corner—an alley shortcut to the police station—his heart dropped.
They were there.
The very people who had beaten him senseless just days ago.
A group of young addicts, loitering, laughing, and smoking. And right at the center of them, still in his school uniform, holding a joint in his fingers, was none other than Bong-Gong.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, time froze.
Bong-Gong's face twisted into a mix of shock, fear, and rage—caught red-handed with drugs in broad daylight.
"Tsk. Just my luck!"
"Why the hell are you here, Glenn?!" he snapped, voice filled with venom.
"Wasn't the beating I gave you enough?!"
His voice cracked slightly—because he knew.
He'd been caught.
And Glenn could run straight to the authorities.
The other boys looked around, uncertain. A few began to hide what they were holding. Others stood up, their bodies tensing—ready to corner Glenn again if needed.