Dr. Elihan Seo stood at the edge of the observation deck, hands buried deep in the pockets of his lab coat, staring out through the reinforced glass. Beyond the wide steel-rimmed window, the world was bathed in a dying gray.
Sunlight—what was left of it—struggled to shine through. It barely touched the broken buildings, the twisted trees, the wandering silhouettes far below.
They moved strangely, the not-humans. In jerks and glides, in rhythms that pulsed like music only they could hear. They no longer stumbled or screamed like they once did. They had become coordinated, quiet, focused.
Elihan's dark eyes followed a group of them as they slipped into a crumbled library, one by one, like shadows being drawn into a mouth.
"They don't even try to hide anymore," he said, voice low, cracked at the edge. "Because there's no one left to hide from."
Behind him, silence.
Then—
"I told you it would happen like this."
The voice was deep. Steady. Cool, like mountain water cutting through stone. It belonged to the man standing a few feet behind him, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.
Ryu.
Ryu Saeyoung.
Tall, dark-haired, and sharp-edged like something forged in war. Black eyes like obsidian. Beautiful in a way that didn't warm the room—but made it heavier. A presence like gravity. Controlled. Contained. Dangerous.
Elihan didn't look back at him yet.
He simply sighed.
"You told me monsters were coming. You didn't say they'd win."
"I said humanity was too weak to stop them."
Elihan finally turned. The light overhead caught the faint silver strands in his otherwise dark hair, the result of too many sleepless nights and too many years carrying the burden of knowing too much.
Behind him, the lab lights hummed. Screens flickered with impossible data—graphs of solar decay, spikes of electromagnetic distortion, and strings of formulas no human outside this lab would ever understand.
Ryu remained still, arms folded, his long coat falling clean and perfect against his body. He didn't blink. He didn't flinch.
"So what are we seeing now?" he asked.
"Not humans." Elihan's voice dropped. "Not anymore."
He walked over to the center console and tapped a control panel.
A hologram sprang to life above the table—a 3D map of the Earth's upper atmosphere, covered in erratic, flickering waves.
"Space fluctuations have reached maximum instability," Elihan said. "The barriers between our world and others are nearly torn apart. Whatever is on the other side is bleeding through—physically, biologically, even psychologically."
Ryu's eyes narrowed slightly. "And the sunlight?"
"They're winning," Elihan said, gesturing to the solar decay logs. "The monsters—whatever they are—they've figured out how to interfere with our sun. Not destroy it. Not yet. But weaken it enough to shift the balance."
"How?"
"Still unknown. Could be a dimensional bleed that dampens light. Could be something built—some device in orbit we can't detect. The more the sunlight fades, the more the population transforms."
Elihan's fingers moved rapidly across the touch interface, pulling up side-by-side images of infected humans from two weeks ago versus now.
"Before, they were unstable. Shaky. Violent in bursts. But now? They move with purpose. They coordinate. They're not just changing."
He turned to Ryu. His voice dropped.
"They're evolving."
Ryu stepped closer, eyes locked on the data.
"And if it continues?"
Elihan stared at him. "There will be no humans left. Not because they'll all be killed—but because they'll be converted."
A silence passed between them.
In it, the weight of extinction.
Ryu's jaw clenched slightly. The only hint of emotion.
"Is there a solution?" he asked.
His tone didn't waver. Not hopeful. Not pleading.
Just a question, cold and honest.
Elihan hesitated. His shoulders rose, then slowly fell.
"Not unless humanity gains a miracle," he said. "Not unless ordinary people somehow develop the ability to fight them on equal terms."
He turned back to the screen and tapped another button. A simulation loaded.
It showed a red line—humanity's remaining "free" population—falling off a cliff.
Over it, a blue line—the spread of infected, now labeled M-Type Entities—rising steeply.
"At this rate," Elihan said quietly, "we'll have less than 0.2% uninfected population in two months."
Ryu's face didn't change.
But his fingers flexed slightly at his sides.
Elihan noticed.
And for a moment, the cold between them cracked.
"You still believe they can survive, don't you?" Elihan said, voice soft.
Ryu didn't answer.
Instead, he walked to the observation glass and looked down again at the world below.
He said nothing for a long time.
Then: "Belief isn't a weapon."
"No," Elihan murmured. "But desperation might be."
Their eyes met. Two very different kinds of men. One, a scientist shaped by fear and logic. The other, a weapon wrapped in silence and mystery.
And between them—this war no one could win.
Not like this.
Ryu finally broke the silence.
"If they were to gain power… where would it come from?"
Elihan's gaze darkened.
"That's the question, isn't it?"
He tapped the screen again.
Up came old research files.
Not government.
Not public.
Files marked: "PROJECT REBIRTH - REJECTED EXPERIMENTS"
Ryu narrowed his eyes. "You kept those."
"I studied them," Elihan corrected. "And I never stopped wondering why we gave up."
"You know why."
"I know what they told us."
He turned away again.
"There were anomalies. People touched by the fluctuations, but not infected. Changed in ways we couldn't replicate. I think it's starting again. I think the ones who resist—some of them—might become something else."
Ryu's voice dropped. "And if they can't?"
Elihan didn't answer for a while.
Then quietly: "Then humanity ends with a whisper. Not a war."
Ryu looked back at the infected swarming below.
They didn't scream.
They didn't rage.
They just moved.
With grace.
With purpose.
With unity.
It wasn't an outbreak.
It was a takeover.
And it was almost complete.
Behind him, Elihan asked, voice quieter now:
"Why did you come back, Ryu?"
"You know why."
Elihan turned to face him fully.
Their eyes met.
And something unspoken passed between them.
Not regret.
Not romance.
Something deeper. Something unfinished.
"You think you're immune to all this," Elihan said.
"I know what I am."
"You're not human anymore."
"I never said I was."
Elihan stepped closer.
"There's a reason they don't come near you, isn't there?"
Ryu didn't blink. "Maybe."
Elihan stared at him. "Then maybe you're the miracle."
Silence.
Outside, the last light of the sun flickered like a dying candle.
---
The lab had fallen into a stillness too heavy to bear.
The strange moment had passed—Ji-won's eyes had cleared, the shimmer gone—but something deep inside Kim Jisoo warned it hadn't truly left. It was waiting, maybe hiding, but it was there.
He stood by the main console, watching the data scroll by, heart refusing to settle. Haru sat cross-legged near the wall, his eyes red, cheeks still streaked with tears. Ji-won sat on the edge of the bench, holding a cup of water that trembled just slightly in her grip.
Jisoo turned toward her.
"Whatever tried to get into you…" he said slowly, "…it might try again."
Ji-won blinked. Her lips pressed tight, but she nodded. She already knew.
"I don't think you'll be able to stay human for long," Jisoo said, the words cold but necessary.
Her eyes flickered toward Haru.
The boy looked up. Confused. Then scared.
"No…" Haru whispered. "No, she's fine! She's okay now!"
Ji-won gave him a soft smile, a kind of sad strength in her eyes. "Haru…"
He stood up, rushing to her side. "You're not one of them. You're not—! I'll protect you—!"
She pulled him close. Her thin arms wrapped around his small frame. "Shh… I know, sweetheart. I know."
Haru buried his face in her shoulder.
Ji-won met Jisoo's eyes over the boy's head.
"You said the transformation is gradual, right?"
"Yes," Jisoo said. "So far, the data suggests it takes time. Hours. Sometimes days. But it's accelerating. Especially when the sunlight dims."
She nodded. "Then we don't have time to waste."
Jisoo tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath and looked down at Haru, then back up.
"I want you to study me," she said.
Jisoo froze.
"What?"
"I want you to use me. Learn from me. If I'm going to turn into one of those monsters, then use me to find out how. Fight back. We need to give humanity a chance. They need to know we didn't go down without trying."
Her voice was calm. Steady. It didn't tremble like her hands did.
Haru pulled back. "No! No, you're not going to die!"
Ji-won ran her fingers through his hair. "Haru, listen to me."
She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a small silver locket on a worn chain. Carefully, she placed it into his hands and curled his fingers around it.
"This was your mother's," she said. "Open it."
Haru opened the locket with trembling fingers. Inside were two tiny photos—faded, but still clear enough to see the smiling faces of a man and woman, arms wrapped around a much younger Haru.
"Your parents loved you so much," Ji-won whispered. "They would have given anything to keep you safe. I've tried to keep that promise for them."
Tears welled in the boy's eyes again.
"But now," she said, her voice faltering just once, "I need you to keep going. I need you to trust Jisoo. He's going to protect you. He's going to make sure you survive."
Haru looked over at Jisoo, confused and afraid.
But Jisoo said nothing.
He stood there, arms at his sides, cold dread creeping into his spine.
He didn't know how to comfort a child. He barely knew how to speak to people. His life had been silence and solitude, obsession and planning.
He had no parents.
No photo locket.
No last goodbyes.
Just him.
Ji-won's eyes flicked to him, as if reading his silence.
"You'll do it, won't you?" she asked. "You'll take care of him."
Jisoo nodded once. "Yes."
It was all he could manage.
Ji-won took a deep breath and held Haru one last time.
"Promise me you'll keep the locket close," she whispered. "And remember… your parents are always with you. Inside you. They'll guide you, even if I can't anymore."
Haru clung to her, shaking his head. "Don't go… please don't…"
Jisoo couldn't take it anymore.
He turned away, walking to the edge of the lab, to the shadows behind the storage racks. He let his fingers grip the edge of the cold metal shelf, his eyes locked on the blank wall ahead.
His chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.
He'd always thought he didn't need family. That family was just pain waiting to happen. But now, watching this woman say goodbye, seeing how she gave everything to a boy that wasn't even her own…
He realized how empty his life had been.
No one had held him like that.
No one had told him they loved him, that they would protect him.
His mother had given him a pendant… then left.
His sister had run away.
And his father…
He forced the thoughts down like acid.
When he returned to the center of the lab, Ji-won had finished speaking with Haru. The boy sat in the corner now, curled in on himself, clutching the locket to his chest.
Ji-won stood, hands folded, face calm.
"I'm ready," she said.
Jisoo swallowed hard.
"No," he said softly. "Not yet."
She blinked.
"I'll do what you asked," he said. "I'll study the transition. I'll document everything. But not now."
He glanced at the artificial sunlamp overhead, then at the soft glow of the simulation window that mimicked a warm sunset—part of the children's room lighting.
"Spend your last moments as yourself with him," Jisoo said. "When the change begins, I'll be ready."
Ji-won gave him a long look.
Then smiled. Not like the shimmer-smile. But something real. Something human.
"Thank you," she said.
Jisoo nodded, once.
Then turned to the monitor again.
As Ji-won returned to Haru's side, sitting with him in the corner beneath the soft artificial sunlight, Jisoo began pulling up files, loading tests, preparing scanners.
He had work to do.
But for the first time in years, it wasn't just for himself.