Phase C

As they approached the building's entrance, a silhouette appeared.

It was Kita.

She waved casually. “Yoo!”

None of them replied. There wasn’t time for pleasantries. Nanago stepped forward.

“Good to see you. Listen, we're here—”

Kita cut him off.

“I know. Come in, I’ll explain everything I know.”

They followed her inside. Past the dusty corridors and through a steel-framed hallway, they arrived at a door. Kita opened it, and the moment they stepped into the large room beyond, a wave of shock hit them.

Familiar faces turned to greet them—every single one of them. Their entire class. Eleven students. Some standing, others sitting in scattered groups across the concrete floor, each one wearing the same expression: dazed confusion.

Nanago, Toji, and Soja stood frozen. The boys were stunned, but Soja looked especially unsettled—these were strangers to her, and yet she had somehow walked into their private storm.

Nanago blinked, trying to make sense of it.

This... doesn't make any sense. So many people from our town are here, yet we didn’t pass a single one on the road. It’s...

Before the thought could complete itself, Kita’s voice cut through.

“So,” she said, sweeping her gaze across the room, “I brought you all here because I need you to know what’s about to happen.”

A pause.

“I didn’t want to have the same conversation with everyone—that’s why I kept the messages short. I hope you’re not too upset about that,” she added with a light laugh, though it felt oddly placed.

“Now. I’m telling everything to all of you. At once. So…”

Another pause, this one heavier. Measured.

“My dad works in the lab back in our town—with viruses, antidotes, all the good stuff. They try to understand them, kill them... even create them.”

She gave the room a moment to absorb that.

“Of course, creating viruses comes with... certain risks. But it’s part of the process. It’s how they push technology forward. That’s not usually a problem, because the containment protocols are solid.”

She paced slowly, letting her words settle in layers.

“It’s not a job for just anyone. Naturally, they all go through regular psych evaluations—just to make sure there’s no twisted intent behind what they’re doing. These people? They’re passionate. They’ve put years into this. They carry entire libraries in their heads.”

Nanago, Toji, and Soja exchanged glances. The dots were beginning to connect. The rest of the class stirred with unease. Everyone could see where this was going.

Kita noticed. She exhaled.

“To get straight to the point—there’s been a breach. I know this because my dad told me.”

She looked down for a second, then back up.

“If this were just the flu or something minor, we’d consider ourselves lucky. But no. What this virus is... what this virus does...”

The room stiffened.

“All we know is what it does to rats. It... changes them. Not just rage—something else. Their muscles swell. Their movements sharpen. And they don’t just lash out—they stalk. Like they’re... hunting.”

Her voice dropped, but the weight of her words didn’t.

"My dad called it Phase C—short for Cognitive Conversion. It was never supposed to get this far. We don’t know how it affects humans. Or even if it affects us. But we can’t afford to wait and find out. We need to take proper precautions.”

The room fell into stillness. A long, cold stillness.

Terror crept across every face—not panic, not confusion—terror. Clear-cut, bone-deep. They weren’t just shaken. They were beginning to understand.

To understand what this meant.

What it could mean.

And then—for a long, suffocating moment—no one said a word.

Nanago stepped forward, the weight of silence thick around him. His voice cut through it like a blade.

“Why is this not on the news?” he asked. “Are there any infected? Who caught it? What happened to them?”

His tone was steady, but behind it was something sharp—fear laced with urgency.

Kita turned to face him. Her expression darkened slightly.

“You have every right to ask those questions,” she said. “But let me ask you this—have any of you checked the news or the radio since heading here?”

Nanago shook his head slightly. “We have. There were no updates. We checked maybe half an hour ago.”

Kita’s voice dropped into something colder.

“Check again.”

There was a pause—then a sudden shuffle of movement. Dozens of fingers swiped open lock screens, tapped through apps, pulled up headlines. The room was filled with a low buzz of loading pages and collective breath-holding.

And then—quiet gasps. A stifled curse. Eyes widening. Phones illuminating the horror.

The first screen Nanago sees burns into him:

“BREAKING: Riot in Almenio—Dozens Hospitalized After Sudden Psychotic Breaks.”

Another headline flashes across Toji’s screen:

“Almenio Lockdown—Dozens Report 'Animalistic Shifts' After Mysterious Illness.”

And Soja reads aloud, voice cracking slightly:

“Victims Describe Hearing Growls, Seeing Facial Distortions Before Attacks.”

One by one, they all look up—faces lit by the pale glow of their phones, drained of color.

Nanago’s hands tighten around his device as more articles pour in.

“Survivor: ‘He wasn’t human anymore—he moved like a beast.’”

“Blood Tests Inconclusive: Surge in Adrenaline, Muscle Density—No Known Drug Involved.”

“Public Transit Suspended in Almenio. Borders Closed. State of Emergency Declared.”

The room begins to spin—not literally, but emotionally. All footing, all sense of normalcy, slips. Some sit down, others pace without knowing where they’re going. Everyone speaks at once. Or no one speaks at all. It’s hard to tell.

Kita doesn’t say anything for a moment. She lets them absorb it. All of it.

Then, her voice returns.

“This is the start,” she said. “It’s already begun.”

Kita looked around, her eyes locking with each of theirs one by one—as if trying to tether them to something real before the ground gave way.

“We’re not here just to hide,” she continued. “We’re here to prepare.”

A beat of silence. Then Nanago stepped forward. His expression was calm, but his voice carried a sharpness to it.

“These… don’t sound like zombies,” he said. “Are they even biting? Which begs the question—how is the virus transmitted?”

Kita exhaled, almost defeated.

“It’s airborne,” she said. “It’s the worst kind.”

The words hit like a hammer.

Around the room, faces fell—posture collapsing, eyes widening, throats tightening. The quiet turned to dread. The air itself suddenly felt heavier.

Nanago clenched his fists, grounding himself against the panic creeping in.

“The virus,” he said slowly, “it’s bad. Really bad. But... there’s something else. Something even more confusing.”

All eyes turned to him.

He hesitated only a second before asking, voice low but deliberate.

“Have you guys… seen the sky flicker?”