Interlude – The Summit
The emergency assembly was called in silence. No press, no media. Only the glow of screens and the murmur of translators.
One by one, the delegates appeared, their flags behind them like ghosts.
The Chair:
"This epidemic—whatever it is—has destabilized more than half the world. Communication systems are collapsing. We must share data, pool resources. For humanity."
China:
"For humanity, yes. We have developed surveillance systems capable of detecting shadow-cases. Cameras, algorithms, behavioral scans. We are prepared to export this system globally. Free tariffs. Immediate delivery."
The United States:
"Surveillance alone will not protect us. These things adapt. We should be considering… decisive measures. Military measures."
France:
"You mean bombing your own citizens? Like the so-called 'third-rate countries' you armed?"
United States:
"They chose their path."
Nigeria:
"No, you chose it for them. You gave them weapons and whispered in their ears. Now they burn their cities and call it cleansing. They kill the sick—and the healthy—with the same fire."
Russia:
"Enough moral theater. We all know what is happening. Some of us are losing population. Some of us are profiting. That is the truth."
The room stirred, but no one contradicted him.
Brazil:
"We are running out of food. Out of medicine. Do not speak to us of profit. Speak to us of aid."
China:
"You will have aid. With our cameras, our system, your people can be catalogued, sorted, contained."
Japan:
"And when the shadows learn to blink again? To smile less? Your cameras will fail. What then?"
The Chair:
"We cannot descend into suspicion. If we do not cooperate, the epidemic will consume us all."
Germany:
"Consume? It already has. The shadows are not disease—they are evolution. If this is the next human, then perhaps we are the disease."
A silence followed. Heavy, dangerous.
The Chair:
"Then the meeting is adjourned. Until next week."
But there would be no next week. The media was shut down the next day. The Internet fell silent. Nations retreated into themselves.
And Edward, in his small house, never heard a word.
The Farm
The next day, the house grew quieter. His parents, desperate, planned to leave with the truck and hunt for food.
Maria stayed. She refused to leave the house unguarded. Besides, she said, she had better plans.
Boredom itched at her skin until she remembered her old obsession: systems that fed themselves. She dug into the garden, laying pipes, filling tanks, sketching circuits with frantic hands. Fish and plants in perfect balance—one feeding the other, water cycling like veins.
Her mother always said it was a weird hobby. Uncle Mike said it was genius.
She worked until her palms blistered. Until sweat blurred her eyes. Until she forgot to be afraid.
Case 33
She lifted her head and froze.
He was standing at the edge of the garden. Case 33. Not a swarm, not a flood—just him. Tall, pale, white-eyed, with that smile like a mask too tight for his skin.
She collapsed, fainting.
When she woke, she was in her room. The air was still. He sat in the corner, waiting.
Her breath caught. She counted without meaning to.
…fifty-one.
…fifty-two.
…fifty-three.
And then—he blinked.
The silence pressed in, heavy.
Maria's lips trembled, but her voice came out steady.
"Welcome, Case 33."