Red light

It took me a whole week to come to terms with Spotty's death. Every night I kept seeing nightmares of a giant black dog jumping through my window and locking its grayish eyes on me, black blood dripping on my face. 

Once I finally snapped out of it, I knocked on my neighbor's door more times than I could count, but no one ever answered. The heavy iron door remained sealed shut, like a wall built to keep the world out, cold and indifferent.

Were they on vacation?

Is that why they'd left Spotty alone, without food or water?

But if they'd gone on a trip… why didn't they take him with them?

No. Something wasn't right. My hand froze mid-knock.

Spotty didn't die of neglect. No way.

The memories hit me like a punch to the gut—dark, jagged fragments I couldn't shake off. His stiff, misshapen body. His mouth stretched too wide, packed with rows of sharp, unnatural teeth. Just thinking about it made a shiver crawl down my spine, the chill sinking deep into my bones.

I leaned my forehead against the cold metal door, feeling the weight of it all.

I'd lost my only friend.

I buried Spotty on the slope behind the house. Just a small mound of dirt, marked with a bunch of long sticks he hid behind his doghouse—his favorites. I even wrote a note about his death and taped it to the neighbor's door, hoping they'd see it when they came back.

But now, I wasn't sure they ever would.

With my mind still tangled in thoughts of Spotty, I left the house, my steps heavy.

I couldn't afford to skip training at the martial arts academy—not unless I wanted to deal with my teacher's wrath.

The sky was still clinging to the last threads of dawn, casting District Apollo in a foggy gray haze. The faint sound of waves crashing against the jagged rocks drifted in and out of earshot. Above, neon signal lights blinked steadily, carving the dark sea into scattered patches of color.

When I passed the docks, I noticed something strange—fewer people were working than usual.

Dock work was brutal, sure, but it paid daily and didn't require any ID, which made it popular with the local young guns. Seeing it this empty was rare.

I glanced around, frowning, and caught bits of a hushed conversation from a shadowy corner.

"…A lot of people called in sick. There's been fewer of us lately."

"Wait, is Mike not here today either?"

"You haven't heard? Mike's dead."

"What? But he was fine a few days ago. How—"

"Poisoned. His whole right hand rotted away. The cops from District Cronus even came down to deal with the body."

"No way… District Cronus? They don't give a damn about what happens here."

"That's 'cause you don't know how bad it was. I saw him myself. His eyes turned gray, bulging like they were about to pop out. His skin was ice cold. Creeped the hell out of me." The guy's voice dropped to a nervous whisper. "I heard the cops won't even allow cremation. They're sending the body for an autopsy to the labs in Cronus. His parents fainted when they saw him—went totally hysterical after."

My feet stopped dead in their tracks.

Mike.

The name rang in my head like an echo until it hit me—I knew who they were talking about.

Mike was the guy who'd gotten bitten by a rat that day. I remembered it vividly… his right hand, covered in blood, mangled and raw.

My heart kicked into overdrive, pounding against my ribs like it was trying to break free.

Spotty's symptoms had been exactly the same. Cold, stiff body. Gray, bulging eyes.

No. This wasn't a coincidence.

A jolt of fear shot through me, making my skin prickle. I didn't stick around to hear the rest. I turned and bolted toward the martial arts academy, my mind racing faster than my feet.

I'd walked this road to Whale Mountain more times than I could count—I could've done it blindfolded. But today, everything felt different. Too quiet. No birds. No insects. Just an oppressive silence pressing down on me.

The sun blazed overhead, but the sweat dripping from my forehead felt cold as it hit the ground, vanishing into the dust without a trace.

I picked up my pace, sprinting toward the mountaintop, my heart pounding with something I couldn't quite name—fear, maybe, or the instinct that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

The martial arts academy was buzzing like usual, laughter spilling from the open windows, students shouting over each other.

I leaned against the doorframe, gasping for breath, trying to shake off the panic. Slowly, my heart settled, the tightness in my chest loosening. I took a deep breath, stepped inside—

And froze.

A sharp, electric jolt of danger shot through me. My instincts screamed—MOVE.

Out of nowhere, a flash of red light exploded from the corner of the room, streaking toward me like a blazing ball of fire. I barely had time to react.

My body moved on its own. I bent backward in an impossible arch, my spine folding until it felt like I'd snap. Then I flipped, landing softly on my feet just as the red light grazed past, missing me by mere inches.

The attacker didn't follow up, just stood there, sneering like it was all some kind of joke. "Not bad for a little bum-bum. You're sure quick as hell."

I flicked my eyes toward him, then dropped my gaze, saying nothing.