Disclaimer: This is a fanfic created solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own any characters mentioned that belong to existing franchises, only my original creations.
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Highway to Bogotá - 45 km from the southern entrance - 4:23 PM
The landscape blurred past the stolen Toyota's windows. Trees, traffic signs, abandoned houses—everything merged into a continuous gray-green streak as the T-1000 kept the accelerator fully pressed. The engine roared in protest, pushed beyond its design limits, but the android constantly calculated the stress on each component and adjusted as needed.
Three hours. Just three hours since they'd left the farm, and they were already entering Bogotá's outer suburbs.
In the backseat, Carmen Ariza pressed her cellphone to her ear, worry etched on her face. The screen displayed "Call Failed" for the fifth time in a row.
"Jhon isn't answering." Her voice trembled slightly as she stared at the screen, as if she could will it to work by sheer force. "Andrés, it's been two hours since he last picked up."
Her husband—Andrés, sixty-two years old but with a body hardened by decades of farm work and military service—looked at her and gave a calm smile, placing a calloused hand over hers.
"Easy, dear. The kid's fine. Jhon's smarter than both of us combined." His voice was firm, reassuring, but Carmen knew that tone. It was the same one he used when he lied to shield her from worry.
She gripped his hand harder than she meant to. "Don't tell me 'easy' when you know something's wrong. What if something happened to him? What if those crazy animals attacked him?"
"Nothing happened to him." Andrés gently pulled her against his side, his arm wrapping around her. "That grandson of ours has the blood of two stubborn mules. He pulled through after losing his parents, he'll pull through now."
Carmen wanted to believe him. God, how she wanted to believe him. But the image of her son—Jhon's father—in that closed casket was still burned into her mind. The police telling them the accident was so bad it was better not to see.
'I can't lose my grandson too. I can't.'
She wiped her eyes quickly before tears could fully form.
Andrés glanced toward the driver's seat, where the man calling himself Daniel kept both hands on the wheel, driving with perfect precision.
"Hey, Daniel." Andrés leaned forward, his tone friendly. "Know anything about Jhon? Did he tell you anything else besides picking us up?"
The T-1000's eyes stayed fixed on the road. "The last I heard, he sent me coordinates for a base. That's our destination."
Andrés frowned deeply, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. He'd served twenty years in the Colombian army before retiring, mostly in intelligence and special operations. He knew about bases. About military installations. About things the government didn't publicly admit existed.
"A base?" His voice grew more serious. "Where the hell does a nineteen-year-old kid get a base?"
Carmen looked at him with wide, worried eyes. "What's that? Is it dangerous? Andrés, is our grandson mixed up in something dangerous?"
Her hand squeezed his arm hard enough to leave marks.
The T-1000 responded without taking its eyes off the road, its tone completely flat. "I'm not authorized to share that information. My only order was to get you to the provided coordinates without letting any harm come to you."
Andrés went very still. His eyes—still sharp after all these years—narrowed as he studied the back of Daniel's head.
"You know…" he said slowly, "I've been watching you since we got in this car."
Carmen looked at him. "Andrés?"
She pinched him to stop being rude, as he'd never acted like this before.
Andrés felt it but continued, his voice gaining an edge he rarely used. "You haven't blinked once in three hours. Not once. Your hands are exactly at ten and two on the wheel, not moving a millimeter except to turn. You haven't scratched your nose, haven't shifted your neck to relieve tension, haven't yawned. Your breathing is so regular it seems programmed."
The T-1000 didn't respond.
"And your answers." Andrés pressed on relentlessly. "Every one sounds like you're reading from a manual. 'How did you meet Jhon?' 'He gave me a purpose.' 'Where are you from?' 'I can't share that information.' Protocol answers. Answers that say nothing."
Carmen glanced between her husband and Daniel, her breathing quickening slightly.
"The only reason I got in this car with you," Andrés said, his voice low but firm, "was because my grandson trusts you. If it weren't for Jhon, I wouldn't have gotten in with someone who seems to have no emotions. Not after the things I saw in the army."
The silence that followed was thick.
Carmen squeezed Andrés's hand. "Andrés, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Andrés didn't take his eyes off Daniel, "that this man isn't entirely human. Either he's very well trained, or he's something else."
The T-1000 remained silent. Its hands didn't move. Its apparent breathing didn't change rhythm.
But in that moment, its eyes turned red and glanced upward.
Carmen opened her mouth to say something—she didn't know what, her mind was spinning too fast—when the ground shook.
It wasn't subtle. It was as if a giant had slammed a hammer into the earth.
RRRUMMMMBLE
The highway rippled under the Toyota's tires. Cracks split the asphalt like black lightning.
"What the hell—?" Andrés barely managed to say.
The T-1000's sensors detected the approach 1.3 seconds before impact. Seismic vibration. Moving mass. Collision trajectory.
It moved.
Its hands morphed into silver blades that sliced through the vehicle's roof like aluminum foil. In one fluid motion, it grabbed both elderly passengers—one with each arm—and leaped from the moving car.
"What the—!" Andrés shouted as the world spun.
CRASH-CRUNCH-BOOM
A massive tail—easily three meters in diameter—smashed into the Toyota. The vehicle literally exploded, metal fragments flying in all directions. The impact's force created a crater in the highway.
The T-1000 landed fifteen meters away, its legs perfectly absorbing the impact. It set the elderly couple down with careful but firm precision.
"Damn it!" Andrés gasped, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum. "That thing's huge!"
Because it was huge.
The anaconda emerging from the roadside vegetation was easily the size of a school bus. Its body—thick as a tank, covered in scales that gleamed with an unnatural greenish hue—slid over the shattered asphalt with movements that shook the ground.
Its head was the size of a small car. Its eyes—yellow, with vertical pupils—glinted with an intelligence no normal anaconda should have.
"That thing's bad news!" Carmen screamed, her voice jumping several octaves. Her hands grasped for something—anything—but found only air. "Andrés, we have to run!"
The T-1000 was already processing. Its neural computer analyzed possibilities at impossible speed.
Option 1: Immediate escape. Success probability: 23%. The anaconda has already marked them as prey. Maximum android speed with load: 45 km/h. Estimated anaconda pursuit speed: 60 km/h.
Option 2: Direct combat. Success probability in neutralizing without harm to protected targets: 31%. Anaconda mass: approximately 8 tons. Estimated constriction force: sufficient to crush steel.
Option 3: Distraction while targets flee. Target survival probability: 67%. Android survival probability: irrelevant.
Conclusion: No scenario with over 70% complete success probability. Primary order: protect targets. Definition of protect: keep both alive and uninjured.
"You need to—" the T-1000 began.
"Get Carmen to safety." Andrés cut it off, his voice shifting completely. No longer the worried old man. This was the soldier who'd survived two decades of combat. "I'll distract the snake."
"Analyzing probabilities…" The T-1000 processed scenarios at breakneck speed. "Male target survival probability in solo combat: 4.7%. I cannot allow—"
"I'm not asking permission." Andrés extended his right hand. The air around his fingers rippled with heat.
A machete materialized in his palm. It didn't appear from nowhere—it was simply there, as if it had always been waiting. The blade glowed with an orange-red sheen. Incandescent flames danced along the metal, so hot the surrounding air distorted.
"My order was to keep both of you safe." The T-1000 said. "That order cannot be fulfilled if you—"
"Do it. Now." Andrés ripped off his shirt in one motion, letting it fall to the ground. His torso—surprisingly muscular for his age—glistened with sweat. Old scars crisscrossed his skin like a map of past battles. "I didn't keep the guerrillas from taking my land in the eighties just to cower from an oversized anaconda."
Carmen stared at him with wide eyes. She swallowed audibly. For a moment—just a moment—she saw the young man she'd fallen in love with fifty years ago. The decorated soldier. The man who'd fought in jungles and mountains and kept coming home to her.
But fear crushed her like a physical weight. "No." Her voice came out broken. "Andrés, no. We should run together. Both of us. Please."
She clung to his arm with both hands. "After what happened with our son… after losing Juan…" Tears streamed freely now. "I can't lose you too. I'm not strong enough for that."
Andrés looked at her. Really looked—at the eyes that had seen everything he'd seen, that had cried the same losses, that had shared every joy and every pain.
"You doubting me, woman?" A small, almost mischievous smile curved his lips. "If I fought the devil himself on Sumapaz Hill and won, this is nothing."
"Stop joking!" Carmen shouted, shaking him. "We have to get out of here! Both of us! Together!"
But then Carmen's eyes widened, and she screamed at Andrés, "LOOK OUT!"
The scream tore through the air.
Andrés spun just as the anaconda struck. Its mouth opened impossibly wide, revealing fangs the size of kitchen knives. The stench of its breath—rotting meat and death—hit like a physical wall.
The T-1000 moved faster than the human eye could follow. It grabbed Carmen by the waist and ran—truly ran, a fluid metallic motion that devoured distance as if space itself bent.
"NOOO!" Carmen screamed, reaching for her husband. "ANDRÉS! ANDRÉS, PLEASE!"
The anaconda pursued for a fraction of a second before something stopped it abruptly.
Andrés—who had waited for the exact moment—leaped. His leg extended in a perfect side kick that connected with the side of the snake's massive head.
THWACK
The impact made the anaconda's head tilt slightly. Barely a couple of degrees.
"Look at me, you son of a bitch!" Andrés roared, landing in a combat stance.
But in his mind, cold sweat was already running. 'That kick would've split a wall. It barely moved it.'
The anaconda turned its full attention to him. Its eyes locked on with what could only be described as intelligent fury.
And it attacked.
The massive body lunged forward with impossible speed for something so large. Andrés tried to dodge, but the sheer mass clipped him from the side.
WHAM
He flew through the air like a ragdoll. His back slammed into a tree with a sickening crunch.
CRACK-THUD
"Ugh—" The air was forced from his lungs in a harsh exhale. Pain—sharp and terrible—exploded in his left shoulder.
Dislocated. Damn it.
He forced himself to stand, staggering. With his right hand—still gripping the flaming machete—he grabbed his left shoulder. He took a deep breath once. Twice.
Then he yanked.
POP
"GGHHAA!" The scream tore from his throat. Involuntary tears sprang from his eyes. But the shoulder was back in place, more or less.
He allowed himself one second—just one—to process what had just happened.
I'm not getting out of this alive.
The certainty settled in his chest like ice. It wasn't pessimism. It was military realism. Cold tactical assessment. This thing was too big, too strong, too fast.
'At least Carmen's safe. At least that.'
Images flashed through his mind. His son Juan and Jorge laughing as Andrés taught them to fish. Carmen in her wedding dress fifty years ago, smiling as she walked down the aisle. Jhon—his grandson, his pride—graduating high school with honors.
'Thank you.'He thought toward… who? God? The universe? It didn't matter. 'Thank you for giving me a life full of people worth loving.'
The machete in his hand flared brighter. The flames surged—one meter, two meters, three meters upward. The heat was so intense that the bark of the tree behind him began to smoke.
He charged at the anaconda. His legs—strengthened by ether, still powerful despite his age—propelled him at a speed no Olympic runner could match.
The anaconda waited, its mouth opening again.
Andrés leaped just as he came within reach. His body arched in the air, the flaming machete tracing a brilliant arc.
SLASH
The blade connected with the snake's head, slicing through hardened scales. Blood—black and thick—spurted from the wound.
The anaconda hissed—a sound that made the air itself vibrate.
Then its tail moved.
Andrés didn't even see it coming. The impact hit him like a divine hammer.
BOOM
He flew. The world spun—sky, ground, sky, ground. His back hit the earth hard enough to create a small crater.
Everything blurred. Dark at the edges. Concussion from the blow.
Through the fog of pain, he saw the anaconda approaching. Its mouth open. Ready for the killing blow.
'I'm sorry, Carmen. I'm sorry, Jhon. I'm sorry, Jorge. I love you all.'
Then something descended from the sky.
Light. Golden and warm like morning sunlight. It touched his chest and expanded.
WHOOSH
The pain vanished. The fog in his mind evaporated like dew. His ribs—which he was certain were broken—realigned with subtle snaps.
'Carmen?'
He couldn't see his wife, but he knew. He felt it deep in his core.
---
A hundred meters away, Carmen was on her knees. The T-1000 had tried to take her farther, but she'd planted herself firmly, refusing to move another centimeter.
Her hands were clasped in front of her chest. Her lips moved in prayer—words she'd said a thousand times before but never with such faith, such desperate need.
"Our Father, who art in heaven…" Her voice trembled but didn't stop. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Hallowed be thy name…"
Something began to glow in her chest. A soft light at first, then brighter.
"Thy kingdom come…" The words came stronger now. "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…"
The T-1000 observed, its sensors detecting energy fluctuations that matched no known database. 'Anomaly. Energy of unknown origin manifesting in female target.'
"Give us this day our daily bread…" Carmen no longer saw anything but the image of her husband in her mind. "And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…"
The light in her chest pulsed now, bright as a star. Her eyes opened—and they glowed with that same golden light.
"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…" Her voice resonated with a power that wasn't entirely her own. "And protect him, my God, protect Andrés with your sacred mantle…"
She extended her hands toward where her husband fought for his life.
"Amen."
The light erupted from her in a shockwave of pure energy. It passed through trees and earth as if they didn't exist, seeking, finding.
And it fell on Andrés like a living blessing.
---
Andrés stood. His body felt twenty years younger. The machete burned brighter than ever.
The anaconda stared at him with what seemed like surprise in its reptilian eyes.
Andrés grinned—a wild, toothy grin. "Round two, you son of a bitch."
He prepared to charge again when the T-1000 appeared at his side in a silver blur. The android positioned itself between him and the snake.
"Allow me." Its voice held no inflection, but there was something different in its stance. "My function is to protect you. You've already done your part."
Its arms transformed. The forearms elongated, flattened, forming razor-sharp metallic blades. Its legs reconfigured for greater stability.
The anaconda attacked.
The T-1000 moved like liquid. It dodged the bite, its blades slicing through scales as it passed. Black blood sprayed, but the snake barely seemed to notice.
The tail came from a blind angle. The android detected the seismic vibrations 0.4 seconds before impact, leaping, its feet finding purchase on the snake's own body.
It ran up the massive spine, its blades cutting with each step. The anaconda thrashed, trying to shake it off, but the liquid metal simply adapted, maintaining perfect grip.
Andrés watched, ready to intervene if needed, when he felt something different.
The ground trembled again. But this was different. More subtle. Like… millions of tiny footsteps.
His blood ran cold.
Sounds filled the air. Crickets. Cicadas. The buzz of insect wings. The click-click-click of beetle mandibles.
"Is this it?" Andrés murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
A dark cloud emerged from the forest. No, not a cloud. A swarm. Insects—thousands, tens of thousands—flying, crawling, moving as a single organism.
His mind went immediately to his grandson. To Jhon, who was probably somewhere in Bogotá. 'I wanted to see you, kid. I wanted to hug you again. It's been almost a year…'
The T-1000 detected the approach too. Its processors worked frantically, calculating, searching for solutions.
Then a voice came directly into its mind—not through radio, not through sound, but simply there.
"Leave it. I've got this."
The voice sounded distant, distracted, as if multitasking. But it was unmistakable.
Jhon.
The T-1000 froze immediately, retreating from the anaconda. "Order received."
The insects descended on the snake like a living storm. They covered every inch of its massive body in seconds.
The anaconda began to thrash. Its hiss turned into something higher, more desperate. The massive body shook violently, crushing trees, gouging furrows in the earth.
The screams—if they could be called that—were horrific. Like metal scraping metal, like glass shattering, like something being torn apart from within.
Andrés had to look away.
Minutes later—though it felt like hours—silence returned.
Where the anaconda had been, only remnants remained. Shattered bones. Scattered scales. Fragments of flesh that the insects were still methodically processing.
Andrés swallowed hard. His throat felt like sandpaper.
"It was your grandson," the T-1000 said, its arms reverting to normal human form. "He sent the insects."
Andrés looked at the android. Then at the insects. Then back at the android.
He suddenly felt old. Very old. Like he was eighty and couldn't do anything without help.
His grandson—his nineteen-year-old grandson—was practically babysitting them from a distance like they were children.
But after a moment, he shrugged.
"I don't feel bad about my family helping me," he said finally, picking up his shirt from the ground. "That's how families work."
The T-1000 suddenly bolted toward the forest.
Andrés's eyes widened. "Carmen. I need to find Carmen."
He followed, running too, his rejuvenated legs moving faster than they had in decades.
They found her halfway. Emerging from the forest with firm steps but an expression on her face that Andrés knew all too well.
Veins bulging on her forehead. Eyes blazing with holy anger. Jaw clenched.
Andrés started sweating. 'Oh no.'
Carmen marched toward him with measured steps. Each one sounded like a sentence.
"Idiot." Her voice came out terrifyingly calm. "I thought you were going to die."
"Carmen, I—"
"Do you think I married you so you could push me away whenever you feel like it?" Her voice rose an octave. "Do you think I turned down five rich guys—guys with estates and fancy cars—for you, just so you could treat me like a vase that needs to be tucked away?"
"No, darling, I just—"
"Did I make a mistake, Andrés?" Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her voice didn't waver. "Did I make a mistake choosing you? Believing you'd treat me like a queen, like your equal?"
Andrés raised both hands in surrender, sweat beading on his forehead. "No, my love, never. I just didn't want anything bad to happen to you. You're the most important—"
Carmen bent down, slipping off her right sandal with one practiced motion. She held it like a weapon.
"This is a marriage, Andrés Ariza." Her eyes shone—that golden light pulsing with her emotion. "You're not my bodyguard. Do you think I'd be happy while you die and I'm hidden like a coward?"
"Wait—"
WHOOSH-SMACK
The sandal flew through the air in a perfect arc. It connected with his face with surgical precision.
Andrés flew back several meters. He landed in the dirt with a dull thud, his face marked with the perfect imprint of the sandal.
"Damn it!" Carmen gasped, her anger evaporating instantly. "Andrés, I hit you too hard!"
She ran to him, kneeling at his side. Her hands—now glowing with that golden light—touched his face. The mark began to fade, the skin healing.
Andrés sat up, spitting dirt. Before he could say anything, he hugged her tightly.
She squirmed, trying to break free. "Let me go! I'm still mad at you!"
"It won't happen again." His voice was muffled against her shoulder. "I promise, Carmen. Forgive me. I won't push you away again."
She gradually stopped struggling. She took several deep breaths.
"Okay," she murmured finally, hugging him back. "But I swear to God, if you do something like that again—"
"I won't. I swear."
They stayed like that for a moment, embraced in the middle of the wrecked road.
Forgiving each other, without grudges, as they always had in their long life.
Until Carmen pulled away abruptly, remembering the car, her face paling. "Andrés, how are we going to get to Jhon now? The car's destroyed!"
Both looked toward where the Toyota had been. Only twisted scrap remained.
"That…" Andrés scratched his head. "That's a problem."
At that moment, all the insects—that had been scattered processing the anaconda's remains—turned toward them.
Thousands of compound eyes glinted with an eerie, unnatural light.
Suddenly, translucent bubbles began forming around each of them. Carmen, Andrés, even the T-1000.
Carmen screamed, clinging to her husband. Andrés pulled her against him protectively.
Only the T-1000 remained still, processing. "It's Jhon. He's implementing alternative transport."
The bubbles moved, floating gently toward where the insects waited. They settled onto the swarm—thousands of tiny bodies forming a living platform.
Carmen grimaced in disgust but said nothing. Andrés held her tighter.
Then something shifted. The air around them distorted. To any outside observer, they simply… vanished. Became invisible.
And the swarm—with its three invisible passengers—began moving toward Bogotá.
Toward where Jhon waited.
…
Tolemaida Military Base - Operations Center - One Hour Earlier - 3:15 PM
The air inside the command center was thick—not from lack of ventilation, but from the palpable tension filling every inch of the space. Screens covered three entire walls, displaying live feeds from dozens of locations around Bogotá and its surroundings. The constant hum of computers, frantic typing, and urgent hushed conversations blended into a chaotic symphony of contained crisis.
Soldiers in camouflage uniforms worked shoulder-to-shoulder with civilian analysts. Some had deep bags under their eyes, evidence of not sleeping for over twenty-four hours. Others showed signs of recent tears—streaks on their cheeks, red eyes—but kept working because stopping meant giving up.
And some—a growing minority—were using abilities no human should have.
A twenty-two-year-old with thick glasses had his eyes closed, his breathing deep and measured. In front of him, three screens displayed simultaneous feeds that he processed mentally at impossible speed. His newly awakened power let him absorb and analyze visual information like his brain was a supercomputer. Useful. Exhausting. But useful.
An older woman—maybe fifty, gray hair pulled into a tight bun—typed without looking at the keyboard. Her fingers moved so fast they blurred. Enhanced speed, but only in her hands. Odd, specific, but in this exact moment, invaluable.
Another man could hear radio frequencies without equipment. He just… picked them up. He sat in a corner with headphones on—not because he needed them, but because they helped him focus on specific channels amid the constant noise flooding his head.
The soldier monitoring Bogotá's surroundings—Corporal Third Class Ramírez, twenty-five, two tours in conflict zones—frowned as he watched a satellite feed.
Something was moving in the southern outskirts. Big. Very big.
He leaned forward, nearly touching the screen with his nose. He adjusted the controls with precise movements born of months of accelerated training.
The image sharpened.
"Mother of God…" he whispered.
His eyes widened fully. For a moment, he froze, his brain refusing to process what he saw. The image wasn't fully clear yet, but he already had an idea based on the silhouette.
Then he snapped into action. "MAJOR SOTO! I need you to see this immediately!"
The noise in the command center didn't lessen—too many simultaneous crises—but several faces turned toward him.
Major Soto—forty-three, twenty-year veteran, scar across his left cheek from an IED in Caquetá—crossed the room with long, quick strides.
"This better be important, Ramírez." His voice was low, tired. "I've got seventeen active situations needing attention."
"Sir." Ramírez pointed at the screen with a slightly trembling hand. "You need to see this."
Soto looked at the screen. He went very still. "Full report, everything leading up to this. Now."
Ramírez swallowed, organizing his thoughts quickly. "Sir, since the ether pulse occurred—" he checked his watch "—six hours and forty minutes ago, approximately sixty-three percent of the population has manifested some form of enhanced ability."
He switched the screen, showing graphs and statistics. "Most powers seem to correlate with individuals' occupations or passions. Firefighters manifesting heat resistance. Doctors developing enhanced diagnostic abilities or accelerated healing. Athletes with increased speed or strength."
"I already know all that, Corporal." Soto cut him off. "Get to the point."
"Yes, sir." Ramírez switched to another set of images. "But other powers have no logical correlation. People manifesting elemental manipulation—fire, ice, electricity, air—without prior training. Telekinesis. Shapeshifting. Teleportation. Things that…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Things more tied to fantasy than any known science."
He showed video feeds. An elderly woman levitating flowerpots with her mind on an apartment balcony. A teenager with flames dancing around his hands, his expression half terror, half awe. A man whose skin had turned fully metallic, punching a concrete wall that crumbled under his fists.
"The animals are worse." Ramírez switched to more images. "Full frenzy in most species. Size growth. Increased aggression. Enhanced intelligence."
Video after video showed chaos. Dogs the size of horses attacking in coordinated packs. Birds with three-meter wingspans hunting in groups. A hippopotamus—escaped from who knows where—that had grown to twice its normal size and now roamed a residential neighborhood, smashing cars like toys.
"We've managed to contain most threats." Ramírez showed images of soldiers working. Medical teams tending to the injured. Special units entering buildings for evacuations. "Casualties are… significant. But they could be much worse."
One image showed soldiers helping civilians trapped in a collapsed building. Another showed a soldier—clearly an awakened—using some kind of energy barrier to protect a family from a mutated bear.
"Some civilians are cooperating. Others…" Ramírez grimaced. "Others don't trust us. They attack us. We've had to neutralize seventeen hostile individuals in the last four hours."
He showed footage of confrontations. A man hurling ice projectiles at soldiers, shouting about a government conspiracy. A woman whose hands generated electric shocks, attacking medics trying to help her. Each situation ended with neutralization—non-lethal when possible, but final.
"The zoos are hot zones." More images. "We sent special units to evacuate civilians. Most operations were successful."
A recording showed a tactical team entering the Bogotá Zoo. Civilians being escorted to safety. Professionalism under extreme pressure.
"But there are anomalies." Ramírez paused the video. "This zoo, for example. By the time we arrived, all civilians were already safe. None remember exactly how. They say 'some people' helped them, but the descriptions are vague, contradictory."
"And the recordings?" Soto asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Completely wiped, sir. Not just the digital files—the physical hard drives are fried. Like they were exposed to a localized electromagnetic pulse." Ramírez switched the image. "And all the mutated animals reported at that location… vanished. No trace."
Soto leaned closer to the screen, his frown deepening. "Expand the view. Show me the surroundings."
Ramírez obeyed. The satellite image zoomed out, showing the streets around the zoo.
Nothing unusual. People running. Some overturned cars. The normal chaos of a city in crisis. But nothing explaining the disappearance of animals several meters tall.
"Are you telling me," Soto's voice dropped dangerously, "that mutated animals—some the size of buses according to reports—just vanished? How the hell is that possible?"
Another analyst—a young woman with blue-dyed hair, clearly a civilian hired for her technical skills—spoke without looking up from her station. "It's possible whoever saved them also completely eliminated the animals. Total incineration. Chemical dissolution. Something that left no identifiable remains."
Ramírez swallowed audibly. "Or… it's also possible someone can control them."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Soto went very still. "Control? Like Corporal Second Class Restrepo?"
"Possibly, sir. But that doesn't explain how they made them disappear afterward. Unless…" Ramírez hesitated. "Unless they took them somewhere."
"Animals that size don't move invisibly through a city." Soto shook his head. "Someone would've seen them."
"Unless they have some form of concealment," the blue-haired analyst added. "Invisibility. Perception manipulation. Something."
Before Soto could respond, Ramírez pointed at another screen. "Sir! Another anomaly. South zone, approximately forty-five kilometers from Bogotá's entrance."
The image showed something that made everyone within view stop what they were doing.
An anaconda. But not just any anaconda.
This thing was as big as an articulated bus. Its body—easily three meters in diameter at its widest point—stretched over twenty meters of visible length. The scales gleamed with an unnatural greenish hue under the afternoon sun.
"Holy Mother…" Soto whispered.
Soto's eyes nearly popped out as he processed what he saw. "How big is that thing?"
"Conservative estimate: twenty-two meters long, three-point-two meters average diameter. Estimated mass: eight to ten tons." Ramírez typed frantically, pulling up data. "Sir, a specimen of this size…"
"Could be invaluable," Soto finished, his mind already working through possibilities. He straightened, his posture growing more rigid. "If we could capture it, study it, maybe even control it… We could use it to manage other animal threats. A predator that size would keep smaller species in check."
He spun abruptly. "Someone get Corporal Second Class Restrepo! NOW!"
Several assistants immediately ran toward the doors.
At that moment, something new appeared on the screen.
A vehicle. A Toyota, speeding down the highway directly toward the anaconda.
Ramírez went frantic. "Sir! Civilian vehicle in the danger zone! Where did it come from? It wasn't there thirty seconds ago!"
"DAMN IT!" Soto slammed the console. "Get the rapid response team on the line! I need a chopper at that location in five minutes! MOVE!"
The command center erupted in renewed activity. Orders shouted. People running. The sound of helicopters spooling up in the distance.
Soto turned, his face red with frustration. "WHERE THE HELL IS CORPORAL RESTREPO?"
The door burst open.
A woman came running in—stumbling slightly—with two birds perched on her left shoulder and a squirrel clinging to her right. Corporal Second Class Restrepo, twenty-three, light brown hair disheveled, uniform slightly rumpled.
And dried drool visible at the corner of her mouth.
The silence was absolute.
The veins on Soto's forehead pulsed visibly. "Corporal Restrepo." His voice came out dangerously calm. "Were you sleeping?"
"N-no, sir!" Restrepo stammered, snapping to attention. One of the birds squawked. "I was ready, sir! Prepared for any—!"
"You have drool on your face."
Restrepo frantically wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I… that's… I was meditating with my animal friends, sir! To strengthen our bond after the awakening and—!"
Soto closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Once. Twice. When he opened them, he looked years older.
"Do you see that?" He pointed at the screen showing the giant anaconda.
Restrepo's eyes widened to take up half her face. Her mouth opened slowly.
"It's beautiful!" She ran toward the screen, nearly tripping over her own chair. "Look at that size! That coloration! The scales have a pattern I've never seen! It must be an *Eunectes murinus* but mutated, and oh my God, sir, can I meet it? Can I try communicating with it?"
The animals on her shoulders chirped excitedly, seemingly feeding off her enthusiasm.
"Corporal," Soto cut in before she could continue, "I need to know if you can control that specimen."
"Control it?" Restrepo looked at him like he'd asked her to fly to the moon. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't 'control' animals. I form bonds of trust and mutual communication based on—!"
"Yes or no?"
Restrepo looked at the screen again. Her expression grew more serious, more professional. Years of biology studies and animal conservation work shone through the initial excitement.
"It's… possible," she admitted slowly. "My power's gotten much stronger since the pulse. Before, I could only communicate with small animals—birds, rodents, some medium mammals. But now…" She gently touched the squirrel on her shoulder. "Now I feel connections with much larger species. I haven't tried with anything this size, but theoretically, if I can establish an initial empathetic bond…"
"That's a yes." Soto turned to an assistant. "Prep transport. The Corporal's going with the rescue team."
Then he looked at another soldier. "Send Sergeant Pallares with the alpha team. Their priority is getting those civilians out alive. The anaconda is secondary."
The soldier nodded and ran off.
Soto was already moving toward the door when Ramírez shouted again.
"Sir! The civilians are out of the vehicle!"
Soto stopped dead. "Are they dead?"
"No, sir! They got out through the roof before the snake destroyed the vehicle. One of them…" Ramírez leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing. "One of them turned into liquid metal. Sir, you need to see this."
Soto returned to the console in three long strides.
The footage showed the exact moment. The Toyota's roof being cleanly sliced from the inside. Two figures—elderly, clearly—being extracted. And a third figure moving in ways the camera barely caught as silver blurs.
"Rewind. Play in slow motion."
Ramírez obeyed. At reduced speed, they could see more clearly. The silver figure—a man, it seemed—whose skin reflected light like a polished mirror. His movements were unnaturally fluid, as if his joints had no normal limitations.
"Elderly people?" Soto muttered. "What are elderly people doing in the middle of nowhere during a national crisis?"
He watched more closely as the elderly couple interacted. No audio, but he could see their mouths moving. Gestures. The woman clearly worried. The man calmer, military in his posture even in danger.
Then the anaconda attacked.
"Shit—" Soto began to say.
The silver man moved. The speed was impossible—faster than the human eye could track even on camera. One moment he was next to the elderly couple, the next he'd covered fifty meters with the woman in his arms.
The old man stayed behind.
And something appeared in his hand.
Soto leaned so close to the screen his nose nearly touched it. "What is that? Zoom in on that section."
The image sharpened. A machete. But not a normal one—visible flames danced along the blade.
"A machete?" Soto said incredulously, as if dreaming. "Seriously? Against that thing?"
He turned to an assistant. "Get me information on those people. Names, addresses, history. Everything."
Fingers flew over keyboards. Databases were accessed. Facial recognition ran.
"Sir! We have positive IDs."
Images appeared on an auxiliary screen. ID photos alongside files.
"Andrés Montoya Ariza. Sixty-two years old. Resident of a rural area, Cundinamarca department. Retired military—twenty years of service. Decorated three times. Served in anti-guerrilla operations in the eighties and nineties."
"Carmen Lucía Rodríguez de Ariza. Seventy years old. Wife of the former. No military history. Retired teacher."
More information appeared. Family tree. Connections.
"Sir…" The assistant hesitated. "They have a deceased son. Juan Carlos Ariza Rodríguez. Died two years ago in a traffic accident along with his wife."
"Another son named Jorge Andrés Ariza Rodríguez, military on leave, sir."
"Other relatives?"
"A grandson. Jhon Ariza Montoya. Nineteen years old. University student in Bogotá." The assistant clicked another window. "Sir, there's a note here. The grandson helped neutralize an aggressive awakened two days before the pulse. Reported by a… Captain Ricardo Méndez."
Soto frowned deeply. "Two days before the pulse? What kind of abilities did he have befo—?"
"It doesn't say he had abilities, sir. Only that he helped in the neutralization. No further details."
"Find Jhon Ariza's current location." Soto ordered, his military instincts prickling.
More typing. More searches.
"Last known location: near the Bogotá Zoo, approximately four hours ago, a call to his grandparents via cellphone. After that…" The assistant paused. "No trace, sir. No cellphone signal. No card transactions. No cameras capturing him. Like he vanished."
Soto went very still. His eyes flicked between the different screens. The zoo where the animals disappeared. The elderly couple connected to a university student who also vanished. The liquid metal man.
"There's something very strange about this family," he murmured.
He turned to the lead analyst. "I need a full report on the Ariza family in one hour. Everything. Medical history, social connections, bank movements for the last six months. Everything."
He looked at the waiting soldiers. "Has the response squad been notified?"
"Yes, sir. They took off three minutes ago."
"Good." Soto headed for the door. "Keep me updated on any developments. And if anyone sees anything related to Jhon Ariza, I want to know immediately."
The door closed behind him.
Ramírez kept watching the screens. The anaconda was now engaged in combat with the old man and the metal man. But something new appeared on another monitor.
Heat signatures. Thousands of them. Small. Moving in coordinated mass toward the anaconda's location.
"What…?" Ramírez zoomed in on the image.
Insects. A massive swarm of insects moving with singular purpose.
He opened his mouth to report it when the signatures simply… vanished. All of them. Simultaneously.
He blinked. Checked the equipment. Recalibrated sensors.
Nothing. Like they were never there.
"This doesn't make sense…" he muttered.
…
30 Minutes Later - Black Hawk Helicopter - En Route
The roar of the rotors filled the military helicopter's cargo compartment. Five people occupied the seats—four special operations soldiers and Corporal Second Class Restrepo.
Sergeant Pallares—thirty-eight, stone-faced, three tours in conflict zones—ate a granola bar methodically while checking his gear. His assault rifle rested against his leg, the magazine checked three times.
Habit of the trade, even when they're not as effective anymore.
Corporal First Class Gutiérrez—twenty-five, easy smile even in tense situations—tried to lighten the mood. "Heard Major Krüger woke up from her coma already?"
Restrepo looked up from where she was petting one of her birds. "Seriously? Already? I thought the doctors said she'd need weeks."
"Apparently regenerated in two days." Gutiérrez whistled. "That woman's a monster."
Soldier Ramírez—not the analyst, this one was field—nodded. "Heard she's already asking to return to active duty."
"Of course she is," murmured the youngest soldier, Torres, nervously checking his bulletproof vest for the fifth time.
Pallares let out a derisive snort without looking up from his granola bar.
The others exchanged glances. They knew better than to ask about the history between Pallares and Krüger. Water under the bridge. Poisoned water.
The radio communicator crackled. "Alpha Team, this is base. Situation update."
Pallares pressed the button in his ear. "Received, base. Go ahead."
"Detected multiple heat signatures approaching target coordinates. Small. Thousands of them. Possible mutated insect swarm."
The team tensed immediately. Mutated insects had proven to be nightmares in recent hours. Some spat acid. Others had stingers that pierced Kevlar.
"ETA?" Pallares asked, his voice unchanged.
"Estimated contact in approximately… hold on."
Radio silence. Then:
"Base to Alpha. Signatures vanished."
Pallares frowned. "Repeat last message."
"No animal or human life signs at the coordinates anymore. All signatures vanished simultaneously."
A heavy silence filled the helicopter.
"What do you mean 'vanished'?" Pallares's voice dropped dangerously.
"Exactly that, Sergeant. They were there. Then they weren't. No gradual transition. No dispersal pattern. Just… gone."
"Shit," Torres muttered.
The pilot—a forty-year-old veteran who'd flown in every Colombian conflict of the past two decades—spoke over the intercom. "Approaching target zone in thirty seconds."
The helicopter descended. Through the windows, they could see the ravaged landscape. The highway completely destroyed. Trees toppled. Signs of what was clearly a battle.
They touched down. The rotors kept spinning as the team disembarked quickly, weapons ready.
What they saw stopped them cold.
The anaconda's remains were scattered across the area. But they weren't normal remains. The bones were completely clean—not a gram of flesh left. The scales scattered like macabre confetti. Everything else… just wasn't there.
Restrepo approached the remains slowly. Her face paled. One of her birds chirped sadly.
She leaned over a rock and vomited.
"Corporal…" Gutiérrez approached, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I wanted…" Restrepo wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I wanted a new friend. Something so beautiful… so unique…"
The soldiers watched her with a mix of sympathy and discomfort. None knew what to say.
Pallares pressed his communicator. "Base, Alpha. We're on-site. Target neutralized by unknown forces. No signs of survivors or those responsible."
"Any trace of the reported civilians?"
Pallares scanned the area. Widened his search in ever-larger circles. "Negative. Zero signs of human life within a two-kilometer radius."
"Understood, Alpha. Collect any evidence and return to base."
The team spent the next fifteen minutes gathering samples. Scale fragments. Bone pieces. Photos from multiple angles.
Restrepo stayed near the remains, murmuring something that sounded like a prayer.
Finally, Pallares gave the signal. "Enough. We're leaving."
They boarded the helicopter. Restrepo was the last, looking back until the site disappeared from view.
…
Somewhere in Bogotá, Jhon Ariza continued moving toward his bunker.
And no one—not even the Colombian military with all its resources—had any idea where he was.
Or what he planned to do next.
---
End of Chapter 7
Author's Note [Jhon]:
I'm sorry to say that the trip to another world won't happen in Chapter 8; I rushed when I said that. I wasn't able to create a 30k-word chapter to cover everything before 8. Honestly, I want everything to be solid, so I'd say there are still a few chapters to go. Not too many, but enough to set the context for the world.
I'd love for you to leave comments on the chapter and give power stones, please.
Have a great rest of your day.