What the hell is a Vitrum?
["What damn bad luck,"] —Astrad growled, raising his air rifle as if he were sick of repeating a video game tutorial that no one understood.
["Assembly's over. Women, grab everything you can and make noise, lots of noise. Men, get weapons and get ready to fight… and make even more noise."]
["Are you crazy?"] —Franco protested, clutching the metal bar he was using as a makeshift bat—. ["We need to evacuate!"]
["OBVIOUSLY we need to evacuate,"] —Astrad spat—, ["but the door is locked. And even if it weren't, these pieces of crap will follow you to the ends of the earth."]
Silence. The truth hit us late: the same doors that had protected us were now the bars of a cage.
["…Shit."]
Franco's curse was the signal.
The first of the monsters took a step.
"Step" is a kind term. Its limb scraped the floor like nails on a chalkboard. To its right, another appeared, and a third rose up from behind the freezers, multiplying reflections like cursed funhouse mirrors.
Astrad fired without hesitation. The bang shot through my skull. The projectile tore off a glass shoulder and turned it into a rain of blades. The creature didn't even flinch. It lifted its face—that jumble of shining edges—and emitted a shriek so high-pitched I felt my stomach churn.
Some of us stumbled back, trembling. Others stood paralyzed, easy prey. Only Astrad and his five satellites moved naturally. Not because they were brave, but because they had already learned the only rule: move or die.
Kiti disappeared like a cat: she slipped under the curtain and reappeared on the opposite side with a gray backpack and tape stuck to her forearm. Louise pulled Carmelia towards the aisles. Amelia clumsily grabbed a first-aid kit with maternal haste. Mika, the delinquent, ran towards the cleaning supply closet with the crooked smile of someone who has already chosen chaos.
["You all heard him!"] —Franco shouted, raising the bar as if he were going to bat away fate itself.
The first slash tore through the plastic curtain to my left. The cold air grazed my face.
And then the scream.
["AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"]
Heartbreaking, paralyzing, the sharp reminder of our situation.
He screamed with desperate terror as he held his face; blood seeped between his fingers like water on stone. The monsters celebrated with a screech that sounded like applause.
["Get back! Form a line behind the baskets!"] —Franco ordered.
Too late.
I knew it like someone watching a glass fall in slow motion. Too much momentum. Too much clumsiness.
The second monster's disproportionate arm swept through the air. I felt the vibration in the floor before the impact. The boy with the wounded face didn't lower his head in time: the blade sliced his throat open in a cut so clean it looked surgical. He fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
No epic, no glory. Just panic and a slice.
For a moment, I remembered him.
He was the boy who always sat two seats in front of me in chemistry class. I never knew his name. And now, I never will.
["There we go,"] —Astrad smiled, cynical—. ["Welcome to the tutorial."]
He fired again, aiming at the joints: glass elbows, fake necks, corroded metal ankles. Each impact tore off a piece, but for every stumbling figure, another "assembled" itself from reflections like a living puzzle.
["I'm going to open the door."]
["Don't rush it,"] —Astrad didn't look at him—. ["If you go outside, they'll follow us and go into boss mode. In here, in an enclosed space, we can disorient them. Make noise. Lots of noise. It fucks with them."]
["Can we win?"]
["We can make it so that not everyone dies. That's the closest you'll get to a 'yes'."]
["Where do you know these things from?"]
["We'll talk later."]
From between the aisles, Louise's voice cut through the panic with surgical precision.
["GIRLS, WITH ME TO THE FABRIC SECTION! Kiti, take the tape and wires to the idiot. Amelia, bandage his hands. Carmelia, flour and water. Mika, flammable liquids. NOW!"]
["Kekeke, bitch, I like the way you think."]
["Consequences of bad company."]
An absurd exchange, but effective. The improvised battle took shape.
Astrad fired, moving two steps forward, three steps back. We men surrounded the creatures, shouting, banging on shelves to draw their attention. The air filled with glass fragments that ricocheted like living blades.
Astrad used his bandaged forearm as a shield, but soon the blood was soaking the floor. He didn't scream. Every drop seemed to make him more insolent.
Carlos moved us around like chess pieces. Franco covered the rear, ready to become a human wall if necessary.
We were ridiculous: with hockey sticks, broom handles, and football pads, we looked like extras in a cheap movie. But in that moment, it was the only thing between us and the abyss.
And the irony: without anyone naming him, we were all following the undesirable one. The foul-mouthed jester was, suddenly, the only leader.
Hehehe… the irony almost killed me with laughter before the glass could.
["I've got it!"] —Carmelia shouted, pushing a cart loaded with flour and water bottles.
["Flour? What for?"] —someone asked.
["SO YOU CAN MAKE ME AN OMELETTE. Move your hands, not your mouth!"] —Astrad growled.
White clouds exploded as he threw the packages. The dust covered the aisles and, as if by magic, the monsters hesitated. Their movements became slower, more visible.
["LOUISE, STATUS!"]
["ALMOST! GROUP UP HERE!"]
We all obeyed instinctively, caught in the absurd rhythm of these people. No one understood the plan. We all followed it anyway.
["Alright, let's regroup at the entrance."]
["What?"]
["But now that we know their weakness, we can…"]
["Die however you want. The rat kid is out. Peace."]
He turned around. And, as if they were magnets, the five of them followed him without a word.
The rest of us stood motionless, confused, betrayed. And then…
The ceiling groaned.
Not an immediate collapse. No. A long groan, like old bones remembering they're alive. The lamps vibrated in patches of light, and the monsters erupted in a different chorus: they weren't shrieking; they were singing. As if an invisible conductor had raised a baton.
My stomach understood it before my head did: this was about to get worse.