8. Disorder.
Myutants were cool.
Jesse Deseirch knew it was a stupid, ignorant, horrible thought. He also knew that if he ever said it out loud, people would spit at him, call him crazy—maybe even beat the idea out of his skull. And they'd be right.
Myutants were mindless destroyers, monstrous distortions of insects and animals, tearing through everything in sight, driven only by bloodlust and instinct.
But that wasn't what made them cool.
He kicked his ball, watching as it slammed against the concrete wall, ricocheted off—
And flew straight over the fence.
Shit.
Jesse ran toward the bars, gripping them tightly as he peered through. The ball had landed just past the fence, resting near the water's edge on the sloping riverbank.
His stomach tightened.
Their haven had been built at the edge of the river, a natural barrier against the dangers outside. Beyond the water was open land—unclaimed, uncovered.
Crossing that fence was a mistake.
Everyone knew it.
The bounty hunters, the scavengers—the desperate people who lurked beyond the depths—they weren't the kind to show mercy.
His parents had warned him.
Everyone had been warned.
But the wind was picking up.
And in a few more seconds—
His ball would be in the river.
Gone forever.
Finding a foothold on the fence, he hoisted himself up, fingers gripping the cold metal as he scrambled for balance. The sharp edge at the top pressed into his palms, but he ignored the sting, swinging his legs over before dropping down onto the other side.
The damp earth met him hard, his knees sinking slightly into the softened ground.
He barely had a second to breathe before he saw it—his ball, nudged forward by the wind, rolling ever closer to the river's edge.
Panic shot through him.
He lunged forward, his knees hitting the grass as his fingers closed around the ball just before it could roll into the river.
He sat there for a moment, catching his breath.
"Safe."
He exhaled, standing up and brushing the dirt and stray grass from his clothes. The wind had picked up even more, cool air rushing in from the water, carrying the faint scent of rain.
He had what he came for.
It was time to go back.
His parents were probably already looking for him—maybe even furious that he'd left where he'd been playing earlier.
But as he turned to leave—his eyes caught on something massive further down the riverbank.
Jesse froze.
Lying there, partially sunken into the mud, was a severed Myutant corpse.
Even in death, it was monstrous.
Its large body stretched across the earth like a ruin, its exoskeleton cracked open at the seams, exposing layers of thick flesh. The uneven remains of its missing head jutted from its broken torso, leaving a gaping wound where something had cleaved it clean off.
Its limbs, twisted and stiff, were curled inward, as if it had died mid-thrash. The edges of its shell were splattered in dried blood, long since turned a sickly black.
Jesse swallowed, gripping the ball tighter.
His parents were definitely looking for him now.
He should turn back.
He needed to turn back.
But his feet didn't listen, instead—they carried him forward.
Step by step.
Ball clutched tight in his hands.
His heart drummed in his ears as he walked toward the Myutant's corpse.
Closer.
Closer.
Until he was close enough to smell the rot of its mutated flesh, Jesse finally took in the full extent of its form. It resembled a centipede, its segmented body sprawled across the riverbank. Its face was a tangled mess of oversized forcipules, the venomous pincers multiplying beyond reason, extending out at the end of each segment.
It hadn't just grown a random extra set of limbs.
It had perfected its biology.
That was the coolest part about Myutants to Jesse—the way mutation didn't just turn them into mindless beasts but reshaped them, as if it were perfecting their already powerful biology.
They didn't just become something else entirely.
They evolved.
Curiosity outweighed caution as he reached out, his fingers pressing against the Myutant's exoskeleton. It was rough, solid like hardened steel, yet strangely organic, pulsing with the memory of something that had once been alive.
His hand traced downward, following the curve of its segmented body until he reached the place where its head had been severed clean off.
He stepped around the corner—
And fell backward.
His heart lurched as he hit the ground, his ball slipping from his grasp and rolling forward—right to the feet of the man standing beside the Myutant.
Dressed in all black, his form tall and unnervingly still, the man's face was completely obscured by the elongated beak of a crow mask.
Jesse's breath hitched.
This was bad.
The Depths were uncharted, dangerous, forbidden—not even the most hardened mercenaries ventured here without reason.
And yet, here this man was.
He wasn't a scavenger.
He wasn't lost.
He was here for a reason.
Jesse needed to run.
If he could just turn—sprint back toward the fence, scale it, and disappear into the safety of the haven—maybe he could pretend this never happened. But his gaze flickered downward.
To the ball.
It had come to a stop by the man's boots—stark white against the blackened mud.
Slowly, the man tilted his head.
Then, without a word, he bent down and picked it up.
His movements were strange—rigid, almost unnatural, as if he wasn't entirely familiar with how to move his own body. He glanced over the ball, rolling it in his gloved palm as if it were some ancient relic, something fragile, something misplaced in time.
Jesse swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
The figure didn't look at him.
Didn't acknowledge him.
Instead, he turned his attention to the Myutant's corpse, his gaze lingering on the clean, precise wound that had severed its head.
Jesse just needed to get his ball back, if he could do that. He could get the hell out of here.
"Can I—" his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, forcing the words out stronger. "Can I have my ball back?"
The figure still didn't respond.
The longer the silence stretched, the more Jesse's skin crawled.
His mind screamed at him to run.
But his feet stayed planted in the dirt.
"Please," he tried again, his voice weaker this time.
The masked man finally spoke.
His voice was low, hoarse, rough—as if it had been worn down over time. The mask distorted it further, turning it into something almost inhuman, hollow, and broken at the edges.
"What's your name?"
Jesse stiffened.
Something about the way he said it made his stomach twist.
"Jesse," he answered after a pause, barely holding back the tremor in his voice.
The man repeated it, slower this time.
Like he was testing the shape of it in his mouth.
Like he was committing it to memory.
"Jesse."
Finally, the masked man turned his full attention toward him.
"Tell me, Jesse—what do you see when you look around?"
Jesse's fingers tightened around the fabric of his jacket.
What kind of question was that?
Slowly, he turned his head, scanning the riverbank. The murky water rushing below. The grassy plains stretching above. The half-collapsed houses, skeletal remains of a world that once stood proud.
And then, the Myutant's corpse.
The perfected remains of a creature evolved to its pinnacle by the pollutant, its towering form laying over the riverbank, dead for what seemed like weeks, but still carrying the perfected grace of an organism with no where left to evolve to.
Jesse's eyes lingered on it, drinking in every detail.
He hesitated before answering the man's question. What do you see when you look around?
"I see... dirty water, grass—"
He didn't want to say it.
Didn't want to admit it.
His fascination with Myutants was a conversation he had never voiced aloud—pointless, awkward, something no one else would ever understand.
But this man... he was here for a reason.
Standing next to a Myutant most wouldn't dare approach, speaking in that strange, hollow voice through the mask.
Maybe—just maybe—he would understand.
Jesse swallowed.
"I see a perfect creature."
The man's head tilted slightly.
For a second, Jesse thought he saw a twitch of movement beneath the mask—as if there were a grin hidden behind the beak.
"What's perfect about it?"
The man's voice was light, intrigued. He took a step back, disappearing behind the Myutant's massive corpse, his body hidden but his voice still echoing through.
A conversation had started.
And Jesse wasn't sure whether to be frightened or not.
But his grip on his jacket loosened. The tightness in his chest eased.
He wanted to explain.
"It's in the biology books, right? How creatures perfect themselves over time, adapting until they no longer need to evolve any further." Jesse glanced at the corpse again. "But evolution has no endpoint. It's supposed to be an endless process, something that goes on forever."
A low rumble rolled across the sky.
Thunder.
The pitter-patter of rain began tapping against his clothes, soft at first, then steadily heavier.
"But... what if mutation is that endpoint?" Jesse's voice dropped slightly. His next words felt dangerous.
"If this is the pinnacle of evolution—"
He stopped himself, to say it out loud would be blasphemous, crude, unthinkable.
The masked man stepped back into view.
Jesse stiffened.
The man's voice, distorted through the mask, filled the space between them. "What if humans could evolve as well?"
Jesse's throat went dry.
He didn't answer.
He only nodded.
The pollutant hadn't affected humanity the same way it had warped wildlife. Humans didn't sprout extra limbs or develop razor-sharp mandibles. They didn't grow towering exoskeletons or gain the ability to regenerate on command.
Their genetic code resisted mutation.
At least, past a certain point.
Infants born in contaminated zones—they were different. Their bodies were still malleable, capable of subtle changes under the pollutant's lingering influence.
But nothing revolutionary.
Nothing like what he had imagined.
Which meant his theory was wrong.
Baseless.
Pointless.
"You are correct."
Jesse stiffened.
The masked man had stepped closer, the ball still resting in his gloved palm.
Jesse inched back, just slightly—not enough to be obvious, but enough.
"About what?" His voice came out more cautious than he intended.
The masked man extended the ball, offering it back. Jesse hesitated, then slowly reached for it.
"Humanity," the man said, his tone almost casual. "Inelegant. Stagnant. Stupid creatures that should have evolved centuries ago but never did."
Jesse let out a nervous laugh, gripping the ball tighter.
"Yeah, well... can't argue with that."
The sky rumbled overhead, the pitter-patter of rain growing steadier as droplets clung to Jesse's jacket.
Still, he felt too warm.
His throat, dry.
He cleared it, forcing himself to sound normal.
"What are you doing here, anyway?"
The masked man turned back to the dead Myutant. He placed a hand against its severed head, fingers curling slightly.
"I'm looking for my sister's killer."
Jesse wasn't sure how to respond.
Finally, he muttered, "I'm... sorry about that."
"It's okay."
A pause.
"It's happened before."
Jesse frowned.
Something about the way he said it felt... wrong.
Maybe he meant his sister had died the same way so many others did—to illness, to starvation, to Myutants tearing through their homes. It wouldn't be unusual, the world was merciless.
Still—
"How many siblings do you have?" Jesse asked, not sure why he even wanted to know.
The masked man didn't turn.
His gloved hand traced slowly along the Myutant's carapace, dragging across its toughened shell like he was memorizing it.
"I can't count them all."
Jesse blinked.
The air shifted.
A small nervous laugh slipped out before he could stop it. "Maybe if you looked on the bright side, you could—"
He stopped.
Something was wrong.
The atmosphere had changed.
The air felt thicker, like the storm had turned into something much fiercer, much worse.
Jesse turned fully toward the masked man, gripping the ball like a lifeline.
"What do you mean you can't count them? You bad at numbers or something?" He forced another laugh, but this one felt hollow.
The masked man finally looked at him.
The voice that followed was low. Distorted. Unshaken.
"No."
"My siblings are all Myutants."
"Scattered across the world."
"Counting them would be impossible."
Jesse's pulse slammed against his ribs. He had heard the words clearly, but his brain to refused to understand them. He glanced at the man, maybe it was a slip up, maybe the mask had distorted his voice–somehow twisting his words.
He swallowed hard.
"I'm sorry, I think you made a mistake—" Jesse forced a laugh, the sound brittle, strained. He gripped the ball tighter, fingers digging into the worn surface as if holding onto it could somehow ground him. "You said your siblings are all Myutants."
The masked man tilted his head slightly, as if considering the statement—before nodding once.
"Yes."
The weight of that single word hit Jesse like a gut punch.
His throat felt dry, his pulse thudding in his ears, and for a moment, he genuinely wondered if he had misheard him once again.
However that was impossible, unfortunately.
The air around them felt heavier, the distant murmur of the river almost erased by an overwhelming silence. Jesse's fingers twitched around the ball, his breath coming in shallower increments.
This was a joke, right?
It had to be.
But the way the masked man stood there, unflinching, the way his presence felt too heavy, too unnatural—this was no joke.
Jesse forced himself to turn away.
"I'm heading back now," he muttered, not waiting for a response. His feet had barely moved an inch before—
He slammed into something solid.
Jesse recoiled, stumbling back onto the damp ground, his palms scraping against rough gravel. His pulse hammered as he looked up—
Towering over him was a second man.
Jesse's breath hitched.
The first thing he noticed was his height. The man was tall—taller than the masked figure. His broad frame was draped in the same dark trench coat, but unlike the first man, his face was completely visible.
It was unsettlingly perfect.
Chiseled features, smooth, almost porcelain-like skin, and long, dark hair that parted slightly over his forehead. But it was his eyes that unnerved Jesse the most—
Or rather, the fact that he couldn't see them.
Dark sunglasses sat over his eyes, sleek and reflective, concealing whatever lay beneath.
Even in the dim daylight, Jesse couldn't see through them. No matter how hard he tried.
Something about that was wrong.
The masked man's voice cut through the silence.
"Diamantis."
The second man—Diamantis—didn't even glance at Jesse. He simply walked past him, completely ignoring his existence, his strides slow and deliberate.
Diamantis stopped at the dead Myutant's corpse, standing before it with a stillness that was almost reverent.
The masked man's voice remained calm.
"Have you found out who killed Yelen?"
Diamantis didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he placed one gloved palm against the hardened exoskeleton, fingers splayed out as if feeling for something.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he bowed his head.
Jesse watched, his skin crawling.
It looked like... a prayer.
He didn't understand it.
Why were they treating a Myutant like a fallen comrade?
After a long silence, Diamantis finally spoke.
"Locals said it was a company called Dead End Solutions," he muttered, voice deep, devoid of any warmth. "They're an extermination unit. Kill on demand."
Jesse barely had time to process the words before he felt the shift in the air.
The masked man's gloved hand clenched. The sound a mixture of leather shuffling and bone cracking.
"So they're hunting our brethren like animals," he murmured, his voice carrying a quiet, controlled fury.
Not creatures.
Not myutants.
Brethren.
Jesse's heart skipped a beat.
Diamantis lifted his hand from the Myutant's carapace, his attention shifting.
Landing on Jesse.
Jesse felt it immediately.
A weight—an invisible pressure, like something thick and suffocating had settled over him.
It wasn't just a stare.
It was an assessment.
Like a predator studying its prey.
Jesse's muscles locked. His instincts screamed at him to move, to run, to get away from these men as fast as possible.
But he couldn't.
His body felt frozen in place, his grip on the ball turning vice-like.
"Have you found the one who killed her?" the masked man asked.
Diamantis didn't break his stare.
"Most likely the one at Raval. Closest haven to this," he replied. "But Dead End Solutions has branches all over. It's hard to pinpoint."
"I see." The masked man exhaled slowly, unclenching his fist.
Diamantis took a slow step forward.
Jesse inched back, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs.
The masked man finally turned toward him, his head tilting slightly.
"And who's the kid?"
Jesse couldn't answer.
His jaw trembled, his breathing coming shallow and uneven.
The masked man studied him for a moment longer before speaking.
"A believer of human evolution," he murmured, his voice unnervingly smooth.
Jesse's breath hitched.
"A perfectionist."
A pause.
"A martyr."
Jesse shook uncontrollably, his body betraying him. His legs felt like they'd been thrown into quicksand, every muscle refusing to obey. He tried to push himself up, his palms digging into the damp earth, but his arms trembled so violently that his elbows nearly buckled beneath him.
He was beyond scared. Terrified.
His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath coming in frantic gasps.
"What a shame," Diamantis muttered, his tone eerily casual. Almost disappointed. "Under different circumstances, you would have been our best friend, our brother—"
"Under different circumstances."
The masked man stepped forward, his slow, measured movements impossibly deliberate. He loomed over Jesse, staring down at him like one would a wounded animal.
Jesse's chest heaved. His fingers dug into the dirt.
He wanted to run.
But his body wouldn't move.
He could only watch as the masked man reached for his glove.
With a slow, fluid motion, he peeled it off.
Beneath the leather, his hand was decayed.
The skin was dirt brown, cracked, blistered—dead. It looked mummified, rotten flesh clinging stubbornly to still-moving bone. Yet somehow, it was alive.
"Please—" Jesse choked, tears streaking down his face.
"You don't have to do this," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I won't tell anyone. I swear—I won't tell a soul. Just let me go. Please, just let me leave—"
The masked man tilted his head.
"This is what you wanted, no?" he murmured, voice smooth and cutting.
Jesse froze.
"Didn't you want to be perfect?"
"No—please—"
But the masked man's rotting fingers met Jesse's cheek.
And then—
He screamed.
A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek tore from Jesse's throat, splitting through the air.
His body seized, convulsing violently, his limbs thrashing as his very DNA unraveled and rewove itself all at once. His bones snapped, lengthened, twisted—his spine arching back unnaturally as if being strung up by invisible wires.
New limbs burst from his abdomen, uneven and rough, ripping through his flesh as if he were being torn apart from the inside out. His skin rippled, stretched, darkened—his very form contorting into something unrecognizable.
A third eye erupted from his forehead, rolling wildly in its socket as his jaw unhinged, elongating into a mouth filled with sharp, uneven fangs.
The sound that left him was no longer human.
It was something monstrous.
Something wrong.
Something perfect.
And then—
Silence.
The massive creature that had once been Jesse stood tall, towering over them, its horrid form twitching as it adjusted to its new existence.
The masked man finally exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly.
"Hypocrite," he muttered.
Then, he coughed—a violent, wet cough that sent him staggering to one knee, his hand bracing against the ground.
Diamantis stepped beside him, watching him carefully.
"Manipulating pure DNA," he whistled, shaking his head. "Another horrible result... well at least this one didn't self implode."
The masked man didn't respond at first, his breath still shallow, his shoulders rising and falling.
Diamantis turned his attention back to the massive creature looming before them.
"Is it time?" he asked, his voice almost eager. "Shall we begin our upheaval?"
For a moment, the masked man remained still.
Then, with a slow breath, he steadied himself and rose to his feet.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his mask.
In one smooth motion, he removed it.
The elongated crow beak clattered against the damp earth, rolling slightly before settling.
He inhaled deeply, tasting the air—letting it fill his lungs, letting it wash over him. His gaze lifted to the mutated husk of Jesse, still shifting, still adapting.
A moment passed.
"Yes," he said at last. His voice was calm. Unwavering. Absolute.
"But first—"
He turned toward Diamantis, his eyes brimming with hatred.
"Burn Raval to the ground."
Diamantis laughed softly, a shrewd grin playing on his lips.
"As you wish, Visca."