Had it mutated?

The crows outside squawked, their calls sharp and discordant. The sounds from Tom's house were unmistakable—his neighbors hadn't misheard. The scurrying of cockroaches left trails on the floor, the squeaks of mice echoed from the walls, retreating from the old, decaying house that looked abandoned, unwanted, and suffocating under its own silence.

Flies buzzed in every room, both occupied and empty. The stench in the lounge was overpowering, sickly sweet, drawing the insects in like moths to a flame. The windows, tightly shut, created an airborne haven for the creatures, making the house a floating paradise for the winged vermin.

Tom stirred in the living room, coming out of a haze. He blinked at the clock, disbelief creeping over him. He'd slept for hours, yet there was still time. Only two minutes left. He hadn't missed it.

His heart quickened. He would finally witness it—see his family transform. His dream, the one he thought had died with them, would be reborn. The tragedy that had shattered everything so many years ago when a drunk had robbed his family, mistaking them for wealthy targets, still haunted him.

Back then, as a mere driver from an affluent family, Tom had begged his employer to help. He had pleaded for their lives. But when they sent the videos of his family's torture, his employer dismissed them coldly. The mole on Mia's foot—the one Tom had adored—was called ugly. "None of my descendants have such marks," his employer had sneered. "I don't know whose children those are, but they're not mine. Call their real parents."

Tom's breath quickened again. One minute left.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. When he opened them again, he saw the image that had tormented him for years: bullet holes in his girls' feet, their bodies mutilated in ways no one should ever have to endure.

"Grrrr…" The low growl snapped Tom's focus back. His hands fumbled around, searching for the keys. They were locked up tight, the chain secured by a metal rod he'd installed himself for this very moment. But where were the keys?

He felt the fabric of his white socks tear as something sharp jabbed into his foot. Cursing under his breath, he continued his frantic search, flipping over papers in a briefcase and throwing them to the floor in his haste.

"Where the hell are they?" He muttered, eyes wide with panic. Time was slipping away.

Another growl echoed, this time clearer, closer. Then, the sound he'd been waiting for—the jingle of keys.

"Mia, baby… Why are you being naughty? And Shelly, you should've taught them better. Look at these kids…" His voice wavered, trying to sound stern, but inside, his heart swelled with excitement.

The keys dangled from Mia's mouth, and Tom couldn't help but smile, despite the urgency. "Hand them over, sweetheart."

Mia's gaze never shifted. She snarled and shook her head, holding the keys tight between her teeth.

After a moment, frustration overtook him. He grabbed a hunk of rotting steak from the kitchen and made his way back to the lounge. "Look what Daddy's got for you. A special treat for anyone on their best behavior."

The three figures in the corner didn't move at first, their forms statuesque, but then they lunged, snarling and drooling as they tore toward the meat. Their twisted bodies, stiff and unnatural, belied the primal hunger in their eyes.

"No!" Tom barked. "Behave. No fighting. Give me the keys." His voice rang with a strange, strained authority, but his hands shook.

Mia, the little girl, suddenly tossed the keys to the corner of the room. Tom exhaled, relieved.

With a tender smile, he placed the meat on the floor, watching them devour it with ferocity. It was a wild scene, the girls tearing into the raw flesh with abandon, smeared in blood and gore. Tom stood over them, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and twisted affection. They were perfect in their primal form, his girls—unique, untamed.

As the frenzy slowed, their growls faded, replaced by an eerie silence. Their eyes darkened, bloodshot, almost lifeless.

Tom checked the clock. 00:30. The delay had set them back. But he was too close now. "Time's up," he muttered.

He moved to the chain, thick as his arm, and knelt to unlock it. The clicking sound echoed as one by one, the locks fell away. After a heavy thud, the final chain clattered to the floor. Tom exhaled a deep, relieved breath. "Finally. You're free now."

But when the girls approached him, something felt wrong. They came to him—hungry, wild—but their eyes were empty.

Tom froze, waiting for the moment they would remember him. His girls. His family.

The first bite sent him reeling, his shoulder torn open. He gasped, but the pain was nothing compared to the shock of their assault. "What are you doing? Why are you…?" His voice cracked with disbelief.

The girls didn't stop. They didn't recognize him. They tore into his flesh with abandon, their jaws sinking deeper, gnawing at his body like they had never known him.

"Enough!" Tom screamed, but his voice was drowned by their frenzied feeding.

Tom staggered to his feet, barely able to hold his ground, the shock of the moment sinking in. His body was already giving way, blood soaking into the floor.

They weren't stopping.

Tom's heart raced, the room spinning as he realized something was horribly wrong. The second bite was supposed to restore their memories. They should remember him. They should stop.

But they didn't.

Fear surged through him. His knees buckled as he scrambled for the stairs, the girls following in a mindless frenzy. He reached the top, breath coming in ragged gasps, his mind racing.

Why hadn't it worked? What had gone wrong? Was it the time? The virus—had it mutated?

He had to find out.