It began with glass.
Aiden barely registered the sound at first—a single pane shattering in the Ward kitchen, like a dropped cup—but then came the thud of heavy footfalls and the dull metallic clang of something slamming into the stove.
Nathan Ward barked something sharp and guttural from inside. Tess shouted for Mira.
Then came the gunfire.
Not sharp and cinematic. Loud. Deafening. Crude. The house shook with it. Aiden ducked by instinct, pulling Mira down with him as two rapid shots punched through the porch window behind them.
"MOVE!" Tess's voice cut through the night like a whip.
Mira scrambled, pulling Aiden toward the gate as her boots skidded across the wet grass. More windows broke. More screaming. Somewhere, the dog across the street let out a high, garbled yelp—and then it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Aiden looked back just once.
A man was standing in the Wards' kitchen.
Or what used to be a man.
He was naked from the waist up, skin slick with something that shimmered under the overhead lights. Patches of moss grew along his neck and ribs, like mold blooming over a forgotten peach. His eyes were blank—but not dead. Focused.
He turned toward the back door.
And smiled.
Not at anyone.
Just up. As if listening.
Mira yanked Aiden harder, dragging him through the side yard.
Nathan met them at the fence, rifle slung over his shoulder, shirt half-buttoned, hair soaked with sweat. Tess was already throwing bags over the edge—backpacks stuffed with gear, duct-taped ammo packs, water bottles, old maps.
"Don't look back," Tess growled, her eyes scanning the tree line. "Don't stop moving. Don't speak unless I say. Understood?" Tess said this as she threw a makeshift Molotov cocktail to the man, and the fire slowly started to spread.
Aiden nodded.
…Mira scrambled, pulling Aiden toward the gate as her boots skidded across the wet grass.
Then Aiden made the mistake of looking back—not at the Ward house, but across the street.
His front door was open. The window was shattered inward. The porch light flickered.
And inside—briefly, horribly—he saw his mother's silhouette.
Back arched. Head twitching like something had severed the thread of thought. One hand clawed at the air like she was reaching for something already gone.
His father's voice howled from deeper in the house—guttural, desperate. Then something crashed through a wall. Screaming. Something thudded against the piano.
Then silence.
And the humming.
Mira didn't notice anything she just jumped the fence first.
They crossed three backyards in silence. Lights flickered behind curtained windows. Some houses were already empty—doors wide open, sprinklers still spraying the dead grass.
Behind them, the Ward house began to burn.
The infected never screamed. Not yet. They hummed.
Like they were remembering a song no one taught them.
By the time they reached the cul-de-sac on the far edge of the neighborhood, the firelight had turned the sky orange. Sirens screamed in the distance. One helicopter hovered low near the city skyline before vanishing behind a plume of smoke. Gunfire barked to the east. Distant. Controlled.
The city was dying in layers.
Mira stumbled to a stop at the edge of a drainage tunnel that led beneath the freeway.
Nathan held up a hand. Cal knelt and drew his pistol. Tess scanned the tree line again, her face unreadable.
Aiden crouched beside the tunnel mouth and adjusted his radio.
The device hissed, then blared:
"–containment breach confirmed. Zones Bravo through Echo compromised. Do not engage unless critical. The estimated saturation rate exceeds the projected model. If exposed—"
He shut it off.
Mira turned toward him.
"Do you know what's happening?" she asked, voice thin.
Aiden hesitated.
Then: "It's not just a sickness. It's... learning."
Tess raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Nathan slung his bag tightly and nodded toward the tunnel. "Move."
They slipped inside—one by one—into the cold mouth of concrete and shadow.
Behind them, the world groaned. Buildings didn't collapse. They sank. Trees leaned in unnatural ways. Spores drifted like slow, patient snow.
Aiden followed the others into darkness, unaware of the faint green shimmer now pulsing across the back of his salvaged radio.
The System had begun to wake.
And it was listening.