Chapter 1: The Beginning of The End

John Wright stirred, eyes fluttering open. His cheek was pressed against the cold surface of a desk in LS 211, one of the older classrooms tucked deep within La Salle Hall at De La Salle University. A dull ache pulsed at his temples; he must have fallen asleep while studying. The classroom was empty, its silence unnerving. Only the fading light of the late afternoon sun spilled in through the tall windows, painting long shadows across the rows of chairs and desks.

John sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes as the fog of sleep lifted. His notes were scattered across the desk, pages creased and slightly damp where his forehead had rested. He reached for his bag, beginning to collect his things, when a loud scream echoed from outside the classroom.

He stepped out of the classroom and made his way toward the railing lining the hallway. Below, the ground floor and the open quadrangle outside La Salle Hall stretched out in a patchwork of concrete, trees, and fading light. 

Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the quadrangle for the source of the noise. The trees swayed gently, casting dancing shapes across the concrete. No movement. No figures. Just empty benches, scattered leaves, and that persistent hum of something not quite natural. 

Then, from across the corridor, a door opened with a sharp metallic clack. John glanced up just in time to see one of the doors of Medrano Hall swing outward. Students began to step into their hallway, faces turned toward where the noise came from, clearly having heard the same thing.

One by one, they moved to the railings, leaning over in unison, eyes scanning the quadrangle below. Their expressions mirrored John's own confused and uneasy look as if all of them were waiting for something to emerge from the opposite building.

A pair of students burst into view from behind the archway near the quadrangle walkway, racing across the open space below. A guy in a green jacket, his face drenched in sweat, was pulling a girl by the wrist. 

"Run!" the guy shouted, voice cracking. "There's something down there! They're attacking people"

"People are going crazy!" the girl screamed behind him. "We saw them biting people!"

Her voice reached the floor above, hanging in the air like a bad joke no one knew how to react to.

From across the corridor, a tall guy in a dark polo shirt, one of the students who'd just stepped out of Medrano Hall crossed his arms and let out a snort.

"Seriously?" the guy said, loud enough for the hallway to hear. "This has to be some kind of stunt. Maybe a film shoot for one of those College of Liberal Arts orgs." 

He lingered for a moment, glancing around as if expecting a camera crew to pop out with a punchline.

When nothing came, he shook his head and turned back toward the study hall, muttering something under his breath. A few of his friends chuckled nervously and followed him inside, clearly more eager to get back to their air-conditioned room than to entertain what sounded like a bad attempt at a viral prank.

John later glanced back at LS 211, the classroom he had just come from. 

With a low sigh, he turned and followed the others.

The Medrano study hall just a few doors down was already starting to fill up again. The tall guy in the dark polo was leaning against a desk near an air conditioning unit, still cracking half-jokes with his friends, though with noticeably less enthusiasm than before. A few students had their phones out, scrolling, refreshing, and checking for any announcements, news, or anything that could explain what just happened.

People started to shift in their seats. A girl in a white hoodie stood up abruptly, muttering something about needing to go check on a friend in Yuchengco. Two other students from the far corner packed up quietly and left without saying a word. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway outside, and then… silence again.

John watched as more students followed, one by one, the crowd thinning as unease gave way to a quiet instinct: leave now, while you still can. But not everyone left.

The group by the AC unit, led by the tall guy in the polo, stayed where they were less talkative now, but still holding their ground. As well as a separate group of ROTC cadets had settled near the door, distinct from the tall guy's circle. John recognized the patches on their sleeves and the way they carried themselves alert. 

John glanced toward the door. It was still closed. But for the first time, he wished someone would walk through it. Anyone.