January 28, 3070
My brows knit together as the distant screams grow louder, their anguished echoes slicing through the sterile silence like a knife as it reverberates through the air, bouncing off the walls. In true sense, it does amplify the sense of dread that seeps into every corner of the space.
Once-pristine NEUN had transformed into something oppressive, cold, and clinical.
But I already knew this place's polished veneer was just a facade. The gleaming floors, the immaculate walls, and the carefully curated atmosphere of order and efficiency — it was all a show, a mask of sophistication designed to veil the chaos lurking beneath.
And now, the masks are slipping.
But it was not supposed to fucking happen this way.
I was already past their defense servers. The access system was next. And then, the door concealing everything behind it would have opened. Section 1 door would have opened.
I can feel the annoyance strangling my veins as my plan runs through my mind again and again. The security room was on the second floor, hidden away behind layers of protection. It was almost too easy; I knew the layout of this place like the back of my hand. Every corridor, dead end — it was all etched into my memory, a map of the institution that I had learnt over years of careful observation and meticulous planning. It would have taken me roughly three to four days to get past the security room servers and then bam!
To the charred heart of this institution.
The underground labs.
The one part of NEUN that still eluded me, that remained shrouded in mystery even as I peeled back layer after layer of its secrets. But I knew they were there, buried deep beneath the surface. And within this week itself, I was going to find them.
Was.
Past fucking tense.
Because in the present, today, people are dying. Or more like turning into a walking, rotting flesh with dead eyes, and a brain that's gone full-on mushy pea soup. Give them a pair of freakishly bright blue eyes, like someone went overboard with the social media filters and you have a necrogen.
I sigh, the screams from outside getting more consistent and more louder.
Before I can glance through the vision panel to assess the situation outside, the door swings open with a force that demands attention. Instinct kicks in, and I automatically step back, shielding Vinay.
Three CORPs rush in, their movements sharp and deliberate, like they're used to owning any space they step into. I scan them quickly, looking for any sign of distress — blood, wound, or even the slightest heavy breathing. But there's nothing. Not a single hair out of place, as if they've just taken a leisurely stroll rather than charging into potential chaos.
I notice Karan in my peripheral vision, and something unexpected happens — he places himself partially in front of me, gripping an office chair in one hand and a scissor in the other. His action, though absurd in its transparency, reveals a misplaced chivalry that I can't quite fathom. It is meant to protect which in itself is quite comical and I'm left feeling more irritated than reassured because this is not the time for comedy.
Maybe Vinay has grown on him.
Anyways, whether he's motivated by a sense of duty or a misplaced notion of heroism is irrelevant at this moment. What matters is the practicality of the situation. If the CORPS turn out to be problematic, Karan's presence could be functional. I could use him as a temporary barrier, something to slow them down while I get Vinay and myself out of here.
"We are not infected," the CORP in the middle says, his voice resonating with authority. He pulls his mask just enough to reveal his eyes, and the two others behind him follow suit. I notice a scar running across his forehead and the corner of his eye — a typical mark of a CORP.
Karan, still maintaining a defensive posture, asks, "What about Dr. Rajbhar?"
The CORPs swiftly pull their masks back into place, but we don't drop our guard. The one in the middle, clearly the leader, turns to Karan, his tone clipped and indifferent. "Dr. Rajbhar is safe, managing the damage control. She's ordered us to escort all uninfected students to our secure center. We need you to stay put until we've ensured everyone's safety. Once we've accounted for all the students, we'll regroup here and move together."
I give a curt nod but my thoughts are already racing. This entire situation reeks of a larger, calculated plan, and the idea of being herded into a 'secure center' feels too convenient, too controlled, too orchestrated.
I need to get out of here.
Karan relaxes slightly, his shoulders losing some of their tension as he nods. "Thank you."
The leader turns his attention to me, tilting his head as if assessing. I arch an eyebrow in return. "If you'd be doing your job, we would have been protected."
Karan exhales heavily. I catch the slightest shift in the CORP's posture, as if he might have narrowed his eyes behind the mask, but he remains silent. With a stiff nod, he signals to his team, and they exit the room.
The door to Dr. Rajbhar's office barely shuts when Karan collapses into a chair, rubbing his face with both hands and heaving a sigh, a sound that seems to draw the air out of the room, leaving behind a suffocating silence.
I, however, have no time for despair. My mind is a machine, whirring through possibilities and probabilities at a dizzying speed. I move to Vinay's side, automatically checking his pulse. The rhythmic beat under my fingers is a small relief, one tiny piece of stability in the chaotic storm around us.
When I finally look up, Karan is watching me, his eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in contemplation. The words he says next surprise me, though I don't let it show. "I'm in."
It takes a moment for the meaning to sink in. When it does, we exchange a long, loaded glance, communicating more in that silent exchange than words ever could. There's no time for reassurances or second-guessing. We both know what's at stake.
Karan's lack of surprise at the proposal to move to the secure center does fuel my suspicion though. As Dr. Rajbhar's nephew and with the nerve-wrecking tendency of minding other people's business, he could be more aware of the inner workings of the institution than he lets on. His willingness to join me in escaping suggests that he, too, harbors doubts about the CORPs' true intentions.
The secure center might be part of their plan, but it's up to us to turn the tables and seize control of our own fate.
"Vinay," I murmured, watching as his eyelids fluttered open. Confusion clouds his gaze but when I help him stand, he quickly becomes more cautious of his surrounding, looking around but not questioning me. Good.
Karan moves with surprising efficiency, thrusting a pair of scissors into my hand as though our lives depend on it — ridiculous but useful I guess. I grasp them instinctively, feeling the cold metal bite into my palm. "What's your weapon?" I ask as I bend and begin tying Vinay's shoe-lace. Kid always had a problem with it.
He doesn't miss a beat, his roguish grin practically visible in his voice. "You," he says, with a flirtatious lilt in his voice and I pause.
I meet his gaze, expecting the smirk and probably a wink. And I do get those. But along with that, there's a seriousness in his eyes that makes me wonder how many people have actually fallen to these manipulation tactics.
Karan Rajbhar has always held a strong dislike towards me. He flushed my notes once, burnt my bag twice and spread awful rumors about me. I got him back twice as hard but still. Everyone knows about his dislike for me. Even a few CORPS. And now that we are in this shit, he thinks the charm can fool me.
I turn back to Vinay and resume tying his lace. The only one who matters right now is this stupid, foolish yet somehow adorable kid who has managed to earn a soft spot for himself in my mind. I push the thought of his mother away. She must be safe. She had gone out to attend a phone call so I hope to everything that she is safe. And if she's not — everyone's got to deal with death in their lifetime.
I stand and turn back to see what this wannabe master manipulator is up to. He is rummaging through the room, his focus shifting to finding more sharp objects, like a magpie collecting shiny things. One by one, he fills his coat pockets with a strange assortment: two box cutters, five pens, and another pair of scissors. The sight would almost be comical if the situation weren't so dire.
"Planning to start your own hardware store?" I mutter dryly.
He just winks at me, unbothered. "Never know when you'll need a backup. Or five."
He saunters over to me, an infuriating air of confidence in his walk that makes me observe him. My eyes instinctively track the movement of his hand, narrowing as I catch sight of the sharp object he's holding. Before I can figure what it actually is, the object is hovering dangerously close to my right eye.
My hairpin.
I raise a brow, a silent challenge. "A great weapon this is."
He smirks, the tip of the blade moving ever so slightly closer, testing the line between playfulness and threat. "You know," he says, his voice low and teasing, "I could say that you're my weapon of choice. After all, you're sharper than any blade."
I don't flinch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "Is this your idea of a compliment?" I ask, my tone cold, as if the blade isn't inches from my eye.
He chuckles, finally pulling the object back, though the tension doesn't dissipate. "Just stating facts, Iris," he says, twirling the hairpin between his fingers before tossing it to me. "You are better at using this anyway."
I catch the pin effortlessly, my gaze locked onto his. "And what about you? Planning to charm the necrogens to death?"
His eyes widen slightly, feigning surprise, but I know better. Deceptive. Always deceptive. "You're right. I need it more."
He reaches out to snatch the pin from my hand, but I sidestep, pushing his hand away and stepping in close. Only inches separate us now, the air between us crackling with tension.
The playful glint in his eyes evaporates, replaced by something darker as the mood shifts. I can feel the change, the sudden intensity that wraps around us like a vice.
"Yeah," I mutter, my voice low and steady as I raise the hairpin to his forehead. Slowly, I trace the sharp metal along the lines of his face, starting with his brows, down the curve of his cheek, then along the hard edge of his jaw. His breath stills, and by the time I reach his lips, he exhales a shaky breath, every hint of nonchalance stripped away.
His posture is stiff, and I see it in his eyes that hasn't left mine in this play — anger; raw and simmering, just beneath the surface. I tilt the pin horizontally and press it between his lips, forcing them to part slightly. "I think you do need it," I murmur, the words laced with challenge, daring him to react.
He holds my gaze, eyes burning with a fierce mix of anger and something unspoken, something that flickers just beneath the surface. Yet, he remains still, letting me press the pin against his lips, the cool metal resting between his teeth.
We linger in the moment, locked in this silent, electrified standoff. Neither of us flinches, fully aware of the precarious edge we're balancing on.
Then, he blinks, breaking the spell. He steps back, the tension between us snapping like a taut string. A small, satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of my lips as I see him turn around, his muscles tense. But that satisfaction is fleeting.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness crashes over me, and I instinctively turn away, blinking rapidly to clear the haze that blurs my vision. My breath comes in shallow bursts, and I struggle to regain control, to anchor myself. I focus on the steady rhythm of my heartbeat, willing the fog to lift.
Slowly, the world steadies, the spinning subsiding as I pull myself back from the brink.
That was strange.
Very strange.
"Is he your boyfriend?"
The timid voice pulls me back to reality. I look down to see Vinay, sitting with his hands neatly on his lap, wide green eyes fixed on me with innocent curiosity. His question hangs in the air, naive and oblivious to the chaos that surrounds us.
I make a face, scrunching my nose in disgust. The absurdity of the situation — the first thing this kid asks after waking up — it's almost laughable. Almost. He giggles at my expression, the sound small and sweet, and for a split second, the tension eases.
Of all the questions, this is the one he chooses? I knew I hated kids for a reason.
"I'd die before committing a sin so unforgiveable."
The boy nods solemnly, his wide eyes filled with a seriousness that seems almost out of place. I catch the slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips, like he's trying to process the weight of my words.
Behind me, there's a scoff — a soft, sarcastic sound that cuts through the moment. I don't need to turn around to know the "Everybody loves me. You know you are just lying to yourself by being in denial" look he is wearing, and I choose to ignore him anyways.
So far, everything is going great.
Or at least, as great as it can be under the circumstances.