A dull throb pulsed behind John's temples as his eyes fluttered open. The sterile white of the hospital ceiling sharpened into view, fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. The world smelled faintly of antiseptic and something metallic. As his vision cleared, two figures came into focus—Dr. Emily, seated on a low stool with an unreadable expression, and beside her, Ms. Julie, his ever-stern teacher, arms crossed and radiating disapproval.
"By the way, Dr. Emily, when will John get well?" Julie asked, her voice slicing through the stillness like a blade—sharp, impatient.
Dr. Emily didn't flinch. Her gaze remained steady, calm, almost amused. "It's difficult to say, Ms. Julie. He's regained consciousness, which is a good sign. But the head injury was severe. Predicting a full recovery at this point is uncertain." She paused, then added with a sly smile, "Though I did hear he has a rather large homework assignment—due tomorrow, wasn't it? Perhaps this little... setback bought him an extra day? You do want him to complete it, don't you?"
Julie's lips thinned. "Alright, John, I know you're awake. Stop pretending."
John winced, his head pounding as he turned to meet Dr. Emily's gaze, then slowly shifted to Julie. "Sorry, ma'am—"
"Silence," she snapped, lifting a hand to cut him off. "Do you realize the trouble you've caused? I had to explain everything to the principal! How did a simple fight end with you hospitalized? Do you think this reflects well on our school? Had you not reached in time, and in this state..." she trailed off, disgust flickering across her face. "Tarnished reputation. Now that you're 'fine,' go home, finish your homework, and return to school. Quickly."
She didn't wait for a reply. With a huff of frustration, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room.
John collapsed back onto the pillow, eyes closed. "I don't know what her problem is," he muttered.
Dr. Emily laughed softly, shaking her head. "I don't think she came to check on you, John. She just wanted to see if you were still breathing. Now that you are, her job's easier—just some paperwork to fill."
John exhaled. "What difference does it make if I'm alive or not?" He paused, half-smirking. "At least I bought myself a day. But how am I supposed to finish all that homework?"
"That's your problem, not mine," Dr. Emily replied, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Why don't you ask your sister? Isn't she a doctor?"
John bolted upright, alarmed. "Wait—how do you know my sister is a doctor?"
Dr. Emily calmly placed a hand over his mouth. "Relax. She told me herself. Asked me to take care of you. We've never met before because you're never sick enough to visit the hospital." Her smile faded slightly. "It shocked me to see you like this. You were unconscious for almost a full day, John. It's already noon."
John blinked. "Noon?"
"You don't have much time," she continued. "You can't roam around the city doing research for your project in half a day. Especially not when the forests are off-limits at night because of the mutant beasts."
"I know," John mumbled.
"But," she leaned forward, voice dropping, "I knew you wouldn't ask for help. So, I already informed her. She's prepared the project. You can pick it up from her lab. And yes—she never lets anyone in. But you have access, don't you?"
John's shoulders slumped. A strange heaviness settled over him. Guilt? Or something older—grief?
"What's wrong, John?" Dr. Emily asked, her tone softer now. "Still too proud to ask for help? Think of the reaction you'll get when you turn in that project. You've been mocked by your classmates, haven't you? Wouldn't it be satisfying to shock them? To make them eat their words?"
John stared at her.
Something in those words struck deep, echoing in the places he'd buried under embarrassment, frustration, and pain. Insulted. Mocked. He could still hear their laughter in the back of his mind. But now, something flared—hot and sharp.
"Revenge," he whispered.
Dr. Emily nodded. "That's more like it."
"Okay." John stood abruptly, throwing the covers aside. "Thank you, Dr. Emily. I—I didn't thank you properly before."
"Don't worry about it," she said, already reaching for the chart on his bed. "Go. Just don't pass out in the corridor."
John was already half-dressed, throwing on his hoodie and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Goodbye!" he called, rushing through the door.
Dr. Emily smiled to herself as she watched him vanish. "Strange boy," she murmured. "But maybe not hopeless."
John ran. His legs still ached, and the pounding in his skull hadn't fully faded, but adrenaline drove him forward.
He arrived at his sister's hospital ten minutes later, chest heaving.
At the reception, a young woman looked up in surprise. "John? You've come to meet your sister?"
He nodded, catching his breath.
"She hasn't arrived yet," the receptionist said, frowning as she tried to call. "The call isn't connecting. No idea why the network's so bad this morning. You can wait here if you want."
John shook his head. "It's okay. I'll just get the project from her lab."
The receptionist looked unsure. "She never lets anyone in there…"
"I have access," John muttered, already walking past her.
He reached the isolated corridor that led to the lab. The walls here felt colder. Quieter. He pulled out a sleek keycard with a glowing blue chip and swiped it across the scanner.
A beep. A green light.
The door slid open.
And he stopped.
Inside, the room was bathed in soft white light—but something was wrong. The silence was too deep. The air felt heavy, unnatural.
And there—on the floor near the back table—was a shattered glass vial. Papers scattered like they'd been thrown. Monitors flickering. One chair overturned.
John's breath caught.
His sister wasn't here.
But something else was.
And it was watching.