The Ghost of Progress

SolGen Facility had been my second home for three years, a place that had once pulsed with ambition and possibility. It wasn't just a place where I work—it was a vision, a collective dream to reshape the world. In SolGen, everything felt brighter, filled with the electric hum of progress.

I remember my first day, stepping into SolGen's sprawling facility in Cebu City. It was perched near the coastline, its sleek glass facade gleaming under the tropical sun. Inside, it was a labyrinth of innovation—open workspaces buzzing with chatter, labs that smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone, and the distant hum of servers processing petabytes of data.

The view from the rooftop terrace was breathtaking: the city stretched out in one direction with its iconic Sinulog-inspired murals and bustling streets, while the ocean expanded endlessly on the other. I'd often stand there during breaks, gazing at the floating solar panels scattered across the horizon like a constellation on water.

"Elias, are you even paying attention?"

Marisol's voice snapped me out of my reverie. She was leaning over my desk, arms crossed, her dark eyes narrowing in mock frustration. Marisol is a Doctor and an Engineer who headed the SolGen in partnership with Dr. Ethan Carter. She is also the lead Engineer in the biotech side—a sharp mind and sharper wit.

"Sorry," I said, flashing a sheepish smile. "Got lost in the numbers."

Marisol rolled her eyes. "Numbers, huh? You mean the view. Don't think I haven't noticed you sneaking up to the terrace every other hour."

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. "Can you blame me? It's not every day I get to work at a place like this. Floating solar panels, cutting-edge storage systems... We're literally building the future."

Marisol softened, her playful irritation fading. "Yeah, we are," she admitted, glancing toward the wide windows that framed the coastline. "And if the Salus project pans out, we might actually change lives on a whole new scale."

I nodded but felt a pang of unease. The Salus project had always felt... ambitious, even by SolGen's standards. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

One of my favorite days was when we took a team trip to inspect the floating solar plants. It was a clear morning, the sky a brilliant blue, the kind of weather Cebu seemed to effortlessly deliver.

We boarded a sleek catamaran from the port, the salty sea breeze instantly invigorating. As we approached the solar arrays, their scale became truly awe-inspiring. Hundreds of interconnected panels floated gracefully, their surfaces gleaming as they captured the sun's energy.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Mr. Villanueva, our project director, said, standing beside me on the deck.

"It's incredible," I replied, genuinely awed. "How stable are they during storms?"

Villanueva grinned, clearly enjoying the chance to talk shop. "We've designed them to withstand typhoons. Anchors, reinforced platforms, modular repairs... It's all about resilience. And paired with the battery systems, we're making renewable energy viable for the long haul."

As we disembarked onto one of the platforms, the team spread out, inspecting connections, testing outputs, and marveling at the sheer efficiency of it all.

I crouched near a junction box, running diagnostics on my tablet. Marisol walked over, nudging me with her elbow.

"Still think biotech is the only game in town?" she teased.

"Never did," I shot back, smirking. "But this—this is the future. Energy independence. Sustainability. If we get this right, we won't just change lives; we'll save them."

Later that week, I found myself in the battery energy storage facility—a cavernous, climate-controlled warehouse filled with rows upon rows of sleek, cobalt-blue battery modules. The faint hum of electricity filled the air, a steady reminder of the energy being stored and distributed in real time.

"Elias, can you come here for a sec?"

I turned to see Mateo, one of the senior technicians, gesturing toward a console. He looked frazzled, as usual, his hair sticking up in every direction like he'd just walked through a wind tunnel.

"What's up?" I asked, joining him at the control panel.

"Output variance," Mateo muttered, pointing to a blinking alert on the screen. "It's within acceptable limits, but I'm not convinced it's a fluke. Think you can take a look?"

I nodded, pulling up a chair and diving into the data logs. It didn't take long to identify the issue—a minor calibration error in one of the voltage regulators.

"There," I said, tapping the screen. "Should be stable now. But you might want to run a full diagnostic just in case."

Mateo sighed in relief. "Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver."

"Just doing my job," I replied, though I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.

Back then, SolGen had felt untouchable—a force for good, a beacon of hope in a world desperate for solutions. We weren't just scientists or engineers; we were dreamers, innovators, builders of a better tomorrow.

But even as I stood among my colleagues, basking in the glow of shared accomplishments, there had been whispers—small cracks in the facade that I was too naive to see. The Salus project had been one of those whispers, a shadow lurking on the periphery of our bright, shining world.

One afternoon, Marisol and I were having a rare moment of peace in the break room, sipping coffee that tasted faintly of cardboard but felt like a luxury amidst the chaos of deadlines. The hum of the vending machine filled the silence between our lighthearted conversation.

"So, Elias," Marisol said, stirring sugar into her mug, "if you had to choose between living on one of those floating solar farms or in the middle of the city, what's it going to be?"

"Floating farm, no contest," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "Less noise, more ocean views, and I wouldn't have to deal with rush hour traffic."

She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that momentarily eased the tension we both carried. "You'd miss the chaos of the city. Admit it."

Before I could argue, her phone buzzed on the table, breaking the moment. Marisol glanced at the screen, her smile fading as she read the caller ID. Her brows knitted together in confusion.

She answered the call then standing abruptly. "Come with me."

The urgency in her voice erased any trace of casual banter. I followed her down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the sterile halls. She led me to the security room, where dim monitors displayed a mosaic of live feeds from around the facility.

"Patch it through here," she instructed the security guard on duty, her voice tight.

On the main screen, the camera zoomed in on an older man standing near the facility's entrance. His face was a map of weathered lines, streaks of gray running through his unkempt hair. He looked disheveled, his lab coat askew, and his sunken eyes darted wildly as he shouted into the phone pressed against his ear.

The guard tried to block him, hands raised in a futile attempt to calm him down, but the man—Dr. Ethan—was undeterred.

"Don't synthesize Salus!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with desperation. "Marisol, believe me! You don't know what you're unleashing!"

Marisol froze, the phone still clutched to her ear. "Dr. Ethan," she said, her tone sharp, "what the hell are you talking about? This is what we've been working toward. This is the breakthrough we dreamed of!"

Dr. Ethan's head snapped toward the camera, his face a mask of anguish. "You think this is a dream? It's a nightmare! You're playing God with something we barely understand!"

His words hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the sterile beeping of the security console. I glanced at Marisol, her expression an unreadable mix of anger and doubt.

"Let him in," she ordered the guard.

The man hesitated. "But Dr. Marisol—"

"Now," she snapped.

The feed flickered as the security guard obeyed, the heavy metal doors creaking open. Dr. Ethan stumbled inside, his movements erratic, his words tumbling out like a dam had broken.

"You think Salus is a cure," he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. "It's a Pandora's box. The mutations—it's not just cellular regeneration. It's something else. Something we can't control."

Marisol crossed her arms, her jaw tight. "You're overreacting. The tests—"

"Are incomplete!" Dr. Ethan cut her off, slamming his palm on the console. "The projections are flawed. You're not seeing the whole picture!"

As I stood there, watching the two scientists argue, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. This wasn't just a debate over ethics or procedure. This was something far deeper, far darker.

If only I'd spoken up then. If only I'd demanded answers.

But instead, I remained silent, letting the moment slip away.

The memory dissipated like smoke, replaced by the cold reality of the present. The once-bustling halls of SolGen were now silent, the only remnants of its brilliance buried beneath the weight of its failure.

I blinked, my breath fogging the cracked screen of a long-dead monitor. SolGen wasn't a beacon anymore. It was a tomb. And I was one of its last, reluctant caretakers.

The air hung heavy, saturated with the stench of decay that seemed to seep into my very pores. Beneath it was the sharp tang of metal, the unmistakable smell of dried blood that clung stubbornly to the walls. The emergency lighting flickered intermittently, casting ghostly shadows that danced like specters on the walls, each flicker a stuttering heartbeat of a dying facility.

I pushed myself off the floor, my joints aching from the cold and stillness. My breaths came shallow, as though the weight of the silence pressed against my chest. Days had turned into weeks—maybe longer. Time had lost meaning here, in this mausoleum of steel and regret.

The outbreak had started so suddenly, like a dam bursting, flooding everything in its path. I could still hear the frantic calls over the intercom, the rising panic in the voices of security and staff as the facility's sterile order gave way to chaos.

Now, the once-vibrant halls of SolGen were graveyards. No hurried footsteps, no murmurs of conversation, no hum of machinery working tirelessly to reshape the world. Just the low, mechanical hum of the ventilation system, a haunting lullaby in the void.

I moved cautiously down the corridor, my shoes scuffing against the floor coated in a sticky residue I didn't dare inspect too closely. Each step felt like an invitation for something lurking in the shadows to find me.

The chaos had started within the core of the research facility. I remember the frantic broadcast over the security channels. "Containment breach—level four protocols in effect!" The words had sounded surreal, like a bad dream I'd hoped to wake from.

I keep reminding myself, that SolGen was used to be the pinnacle of human ambition. Biotech breakthroughs and renewable energy innovations had been our twin banners. Floating solar farms shimmered on the open seas, and battery energy storage systems powered cities once chained to fossil fuels. And in biotech, Salus had been our masterpiece—or so we thought.

I passed by a shattered observation window, the glass jagged and stained with brown streaks of dried blood. The lab beyond was unrecognizable. Desks overturned, equipment scattered, and the walls smeared with handprints, each one a silent testimony to desperation.

The last broadcast I'd caught on the crackling battery-powered radio replayed in my mind. The announcer's voice trembled, barely masking the terror behind the official statement. "They're calling them 'Sunods.' We don't know why they're attacking, but one thing is clear—'Susundan ka nila.' They will follow you."

The name stuck like a shard of glass. The Sunods I first encountered inside this facility were horrifying enough—grotesque parodies of humanity with relentless, mindless aggression. But the evolved ones? They were something else entirely. They didn't shuffle aimlessly like the creatures in horror films. These hunted with unnerving precision, their movements unnaturally fast, their coordination uncanny. A sickening mutation of what we once were, now turned into apex predators.

I turned a corner, and the harsh creak of a broken fluorescent bulb greeted me, swinging like a metronome of dread. Its pale light flickered on the smeared walls, catching the edges of a set of torn boots discarded in the hallway. My breath caught. Whoever had worn them was long gone—or worse.

A cold chill crept up my spine as the truth pressed down on me like a lead weight. The Sunods weren't some fluke of nature. They were ours. Something I had helped bring into existence. The thought curdled in my stomach as I leaned against the wall, trying to calm my racing pulse.

Then came the sound. A faint metallic clatter. My heart lurched.

Clang.

It was distant but sharp enough to cut through the oppressive silence. I froze, back against the wall, gripping the rusted pipe I had scavenged days ago. It was heavy in my hands, the metal cold and rough. I knew it could handle the shambling Sunods, but against the evolved ones? It would be like trying to stop a storm with a leaf.

The sound came again, louder, closer. My chest tightened. My gaze darted to the shadows at the end of the hall, where the flickering light barely reached. For a moment, something moved—a faint blur against the darkness.

"Not today," I muttered under my breath, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. My voice was low, hoarse from days of silence, but it carried a stubborn edge. "You're not taking me today."

Tightening my grip on the pipe, I pushed away from the wall and pressed forward, each step deliberate, my ears straining for any sign of pursuit. The Sunods were relentless, a dark testament to human ambition gone wrong. But I couldn't stop. Somewhere beyond the shadows, beyond the suffocating walls of this tomb, lay a greater horror. Something we hadn't accounted for.

And I wasn't about to find out what it was by standing still.