The TV came on by itself.
Not spooky. Just what happens to old electronics when they've been sitting plugged in for so long. The screen snapped with static, and then went to live broadcast.
Edward couldn't remember falling asleep on the couch.
His mouth was parched. His skin, chilled. Metallic taste at the back of his throat.
He blinked and leaned forward.
There was a seal from the government on the TV, and then a drowsy-looking news anchorwoman. Her hair was immaculately styled, but her eyes would constantly drift out of focus off-screen.
"This is a mandatory announcement from the CDC and Urban Safety Department. Residents in Zones Four through Nine remain under total lockdown until further notice.".
Edward pushed the heel of his hand against his left eye. His eyes misted at the fringes. A flowing wave of a feeling—not pain, exactly. But pressure.
The woman on-screen continued, voice breaking:
"Whereas early reports suggested pathogen transmission was limited to direct contact, overnight data demonstrates a second mutation—airborne symptoms now manifesting in certain cases. Initial transformation appears to affect higher-order cognitive reasoning, self-control, and—
She looked away again.
The camera switched to film.
Edward stood rigid.
It was the corner out in front of his building.
Daylight.
And a man in a hazmat suit running.
Not away from something.
Away from them.
Three silhouettes—incorrect in shape, incorrect in gait.
Jagged, near-too-smooth strides carried them after the man. They were mottled-skinned. Their hands were stained with blood. One let out a screech—a long, hoarse near-human wail—and leapt onto the back of the CDC responder.
He screamed once.
Then nothing.
The rest of them piled up.
The broadcast was broken.
Static. And then emergency alerts.
Edward did not stir.
The world had altered—and the world knew it.
He turned down the volume.
"You see now," the Shadow Man panted. "The collapse is no fantasy. It has started."
Edward got up from the couch and walked over to the window.
The city, which at night was humming even after a full day, was ridiculously still now. Cars were strewn at random. Streetlights flashed but lit up nothing underneath them but rubbish and emptiness.
Until movement caught his eye.
Two of the victims lurched into view—limping their limbs but not with weariness. From disconnection. As if their nerves had been rerouted. Their eyes were wide and unfocused, their mouths moving as if still trying speech.
But there were no words left in them.
They spun around suddenly—toward some sound he couldn't detect—and scuttled out of view with sudden, insectoid purpose.
Edward stepped back from the window.
"You need to go right away," the voice in his ear told him. "The city will choke. There will be no safe food. No haven."
"I'm staying."
"You'll die."
"I've already started to die," Edward growled, his words barely above a whisper.
He stretched up and touched the skin on the side of his neck. It was constricted—like a string wrapped too tightly under the skin. His heart wasn't booming, but it was deeper. Deeper in the chest than it had been. Slower. Measured.
Engineered.
"You are not dying," the Shadow Man breathed. "You are shedding."
Edward swallowed bile.
He entered the bathroom.
Pushed his shirt up.
The mirror didn't lie.
No monstrous face. No glowing eyes. But his muscles were too defined—like someone had vacuum-sealed his skin to reveal the underlying scaffolding. There was no fat left over his hipbones. No loose tissue around his ribs. He looked like something optimized.
Not starved.
Not sick.
Rebuilt.
"You asked what you're becoming," the voice went on. "You're becoming what survives this. What walks out when the rest burn or rot."
Edward didn't respond.
He turned on the shower. Let the water run cold. Stepped in fully dressed.
He stood under the spray until the cloth clung to his body, until the cold numbed his fingertips.
But the pain did not persist.
The cold did not burn.
His body adapted. Quick.
Efficacious.
Sirens shrieked outside. Not ambulances—military. A chop-chop of blades above confirmed it.
The virus had broken.
Lockdown was now containment.
Quarantine had become siege.
Edward stepped out of the shower and stood dripping on the tile floor. The mirror was fogged now. But his reflection lingered beneath it—eyes dark, chest heaving slow, mouth drawn tight in disbelief.
"I'm not ready for this," he said softly.
"No one is," said the Shadow Man. "But you're closer than most."