This dangerous expedition wasn't a reckless whim. It was a necessary gamble—one that could tilt the entire balance of suspicion.
I roamed through the jungle, my awareness heightened. I'd made sure no one saw me leave the camp. If word spread that a half-broken man wandered into radioactive rain alone, it would cause unnecessary panic—or worse, suspicion.
The forest breathed danger. Insects crawled along the bark—centipedes with a thousand twitching legs, caterpillars with eyes that shimmered unnaturally, beetles that could release neurotoxic gas strong enough to kill a bear. Yet none of them touched me.
I tested my ability again.
Two things became clear.
One: the ability still works on lesser lifeforms.
Two: it hasn't been taken from me.
That presence—the one who granted me this power—he may be observing, calculating. He might even punish me later for using his gift so freely. After all, I don't trust anyone completely.
Not even myself.
Because sometimes the person who lies best… is the one staring back in the mirror.
But I wasn't out here aimlessly. I was searching for a specific mutated beast—one not well-documented but rumored to be able to sense emotional intent. A rare breed, nearly mythical. And if my theory was right… it might help me identify the traitor.
Not all mutated creatures are catalogued in our database. The more dangerous ones—the legends—dwell near the Forbidden Zone. That's where I was headed.
I walked for over an hour, every step a scream from my damaged bones. The rain slowed. For a moment, silence reigned. The earth hissed where drops met flesh and stone.
And then, a rainbow appeared—faint, broken, but real.
A rainbow born of acid.
Ahh
"Even in corrosion, beauty finds a way." I said to myself.
Carnivorous flowers bloomed around me, their petals glistening with venom. But they didn't move. I stood still. Just breathing. Just witnessing.
Sometimes, nature teaches what humans forget—
Even death has a rhythm.
Then I saw it.
It didn't walk into view—it emerged out from the abyss, like a truth from beneath the lies.
It was six-legged, low to the ground, with silver fur and amber eyes that glowed like molten sap. Its claws were long, not for attack—but for delicate precision.
The Lucent Whisperfang.
It didn't snarl. It didn't charge. It simply looked at me, as if it had been waiting.
I locked eyes with the creature.
"I've finally found you," I whispered.
It looked… disappointed.
Those amber eyes shimmered with a quiet, haunting intelligence — not fear, not rage, but a question:
My right hand trembled.
My left did not.
Emotion and logic stood across a battlefield within me.
In the end, calculation drew the sword first.
I moved without sound, without flair.
No flourish.
No hesitation.
No witness.
The creature didn't resist. Didn't cry.
It simply folded inward — as if it knew its part in a story far older than either of us.
I knelt.
Carefully, reverently, I harvested its blood.
It shimmered faintly — not garish, but subtle.
Gold laced with the color of old wounds. Like liquid betrayal.
The scent was quiet, but not dead.
And then I saw it — the glow… it pulsed in rhythm.
Not just with heartbeat, but with something deeper.
Fear.
Guilt.
Intent.
A cursed mirror — not reflecting light, but reflecting truth.
Perfect bait.
I stabilized the serum, each drop calibrated like a tightrope walk above disaster.
Too much glow, and it would reveal itself too early.
Too little, and the reaction would vanish.
The balance had to be absolute.
Because one mistake — just one —
And the entire web would unravel in the wind.
• By the time I returned, soaked and shaking, the rain had stopped—but not the storm in my head.
"Oi! Cameraman! Did you forget your medicine again? And why does this steel rod look like it's been through a warzone? Don't tell me you actually walked in that storm!"
Dr. Ankita roared at me the moment I returned.
"It couldn't be helped," I replied, smirking slightly. "This might've been the last rain of my life. How could I not enjoy its beauty?"
She clicked her tongue, half-annoyed, half-impressed.
"Enjoy life while you still can, kiddo. It gets truly hard if you manage to crawl out of here alive."
"Miss Ankita… any progress identifying the traitor?"
Her head shook, eyes heavy.
"No clues. Just dust and silence."
I leaned closer. My voice was low, steady.
"Then hear me out. I have a plan—a foolproof method. Not just a guess.
A strategy so tight, not even a shadow can slip through."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Shoot."
I looked out the rain-streaked window, eyes sharp.
"If this works… the mask will fall."
"Can you do me a favor, Dr. Ankita?" I asked, still catching my breath.
"Call everyone to the lounge at 7:00 p.m."
She glanced at the wall clock. "It's already 8:30, genius."
"…Ah. Guess I really didn't notice the time pass. Then… call them at 10:00."
She raised an eyebrow. "What should I tell them? That a half-dead lunatic wants to host a suicide seminar?"
"That would work," I smiled faintly. "But better say this—
'If you want to return home with your body intact, be present.'"
Her gaze shifted. She corrected her posture.
For a brief moment, her lips parted as if to speak…
But she said nothing.
She left.
At 10:00 PM — Lounge
I entered the lounge, last to arrive.
Eight survivors remained. Seven still wore their masks. But only one needed to be watched.
They all stared at me—but it was Dr. Zabir who spoke first.
"Mr. Kamanuzzaman," his voice rasped, dry as rusted metal, "you claim you have a clue. Who is the traitor?"
I shook my head. "Not yet. But I've found something. Before I share it, I want to hear from you. Each of you. No detail is too small."
Silence.
Then, Dr. Imra leaned forward, her sharp cheekbones catching the dim light. She had the calm of a surgeon—but not the warmth.
"Three days ago," she began, "my data logs were tampered with. Subtly. No signs of hacking—someone edited by hand. Not erased. Altered."
She looked around. "Only someone with scientific understanding could do that. And nerves of ice."
Mr. Zabir scoffed. "So it could be anyone here."
"No," Imra snapped. "Only those who truly understand the experiment's variables. And that narrows it down to… four of us."
Tension. Thick enough to choke.
Then Miss Katrina spoke. She stood by the window, half-lit by flickering light.
"I saw footprints."
Everyone turned to her.
"Near Maria's corpse. Small. Light. The kind made by someone who didn't panic while fleeing… but walked away slowly. Like it was planned."
Dr. imra's fists clenched. "You saying one of us watched her die?"
"No," Katrina said quietly.
"I'm saying someone orchestrated it. Murder wrapped in coincidence."
Zabir's voice cut in again. "This is all conjecture."
"But conjecture," I said, "is the first step to revelation."
Then Dr. Zakir finally spoke. His voice low. Tired.
"The traitor… is someone who didn't flinch.
Not when Maria died. Not when the explosion happened.
Someone whose emotions don't match their losses. Watch their eyes, not their words."
The room fell into eerie silence.
Guilt hung in the air. But no one wore it visibly.
And I was done waiting.
I stepped forward, voice calm but certain.
"My friends...
The time has finally come.
The masks will fall.
So without further delay—
Shall we begin?"