The night hung heavy over Amsterdam. Black, radioactive clouds choked the city. Ambulance sirens cut through the silence like rusty knives. Hospitals overflowed; corridors cramped with the sick.
Dr. Daisy screamed:
"Hurry! This man is losing too much blood!"
Sweat slicked her mask, hands trembling—but she pressed on. Behind her, the screams never stopped.
Suddenly… the bed shuddered. The dying boy's eyes snapped open. They glowed like molten embers.
His body lifted from the bed. Machines around him exploded in a shower of sparks. Nurses screamed and bolted. Daisy froze, heart hammering. Then she lifted a hand:
"Calm down… you're not alone."
He screamed—a sound that ripped through the hall. Daisy clamped her hands over her ears and ducked under the bed. Windows shattered. Glass exploded outward.
Then, silence. The boy collapsed onto the bed, lifeless.
Daisy gasped, trying to find a pulse. Nothing.
Footsteps pounded in the corridors. Slowly, she rose and peeked outside. Carnage. Blood. Chaos. Mutants tore through doctors and patients alike. Humans screamed, twisted, and fell.
Fear gripped Daisy. Her pulse raced. Breath came fast. She ran blindly, turning a corner—only to face a mutant devouring a corpse. It snarled and fixed its glowing eyes on her.
A supply closet. She slipped inside, slammed the door, and crouched in the corner, clutching her head, trembling.
Outside, the streets boiled.
Thousands of masked protesters filled the squares before the hospital, encircled by the army. They shouted:
"No more mutants!"
"Bring back a clean city!"
Soldiers formed a steel ring. Tear gas turned the air into smoke.
A journalist broadcast live:
"Fear grips the city… Amsterdam could be the next face of ruin…"
Before he could finish, hospital windows exploded. Infected surged out, followed by mutants and half-transformed humans.
Soldiers fired. The infected crashed into them, spilling into the crowds. Chaos erupted—screams, gunfire, explosions.
Daisy, still in the supply room, finally noticed silence. Slowly, she stepped into the corridor. Quiet. Eerie.
She raced toward the stairs and began descending. Before she could reach the exit, soldiers' flashlights pinned her.
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"Get on the ground!"
"Hands above your head!"
They grabbed her, pulling her along. The city outside was a warzone—smoldering ruins, fires, tanks, helicopters, alarms. A loudspeaker boomed:
"All civilians must remain indoors!"
Bodies of humans and mutants littered the streets. Blood mingled with wreckage.
She was brought before a massive military vehicle. Detainees were scanned with handheld "bio-scanners." Green meant clear. Red meant infected.
One by one, people were sorted. Then it was Daisy's turn.
"Next!"
Her steps slowed, her pulse loud in her ears. The scanner glowed red. Blaring. "INFECTED! INFECTED!"
"What?!" she gasped.
Two soldiers seized her arms and dragged her inside the vehicle, jammed with the other infected.
The vehicle rumbled toward an unknown destination.
Above, a helicopter was suddenly hit by a glowing purple sphere—it crashed in a fireball. Moments later, another helicopter went down.
The driver grabbed the radio:
"We're under attack! Repeat! We're under attack!"
Suddenly, a man appeared in the middle of the road, bound in chains from afar. Someone dropped from the sky onto a nearby vehicle—a hammer in hand, clad in a green-and-black semi-military suit.
A black-orange flash streaked past another vehicle, striking a wheel. It flipped.
Daisy's vehicle honked, the driver yelling through the loudspeaker:
"Get out of the way immediately!"
The man spread his arms. The driver slammed the accelerator. The truck hit him—and it was like crashing into a wall of solid stone. The driver died instantly. His assistant was mangled.
Inside, Daisy and the infected were thrown against each other. Explosions, screams, chaos outside—then the vehicle crashed.
Silence.
The back doors opened. Three men and a woman stood there.
Daisy, trembling, whispered:
"Who… are you?"
---
Inside the wrecked military vehicle, silence hung like a sheet of burning metal. Black smoke poured from the shattered engine. The stench of fuel mixed with blood thickened the air.
Then—screech!—the rear doors groaned open.
Outside stood three men and a woman, faces tight, eyes sharp.
Daisy lifted her head, dazed and trembling.
— "Who are you…?"
Simon smirked, trying to slice through the tension with a hint of sarcasm.
— "We're… superheroes ... I think"
His sister Hana snapped her head toward him.
— "What?!"
Mousta growled from behind him, frustration in every breath.
— "I told you to stop with that crap, kid!"
A firm voice cut through them all. Commander Khaled.
— "Enough."
He stepped closer, locking eyes with Daisy.
— "We're like you… poisoned by the toxic radiation."
The words hit like a gunshot. The wounded inside froze. Daisy's breath caught in her throat. Like her? What did that mean?
Khaled's team sprang into motion, pulling survivors from the twisted wreck. In the distance, the whir of an aircraft engine grew louder—prepping for takeoff.
Mousta shouted near the plane:
— "Move it! Reinforcements are coming!"
Khaled pressed his communicator.
— "Almy, buy us some time."
Her voice crackled through, strained but steady:
— "Army's ten minutes out, coming from the south."
Daisy's pulse raced. Every second felt heavier. As she stumbled toward the aircraft, a flicker in the wreckage caught her eye. Someone was still alive.
She turned—there, half-buried under debris—the vehicle's assistant. Blood covered his body, his breathing ragged and shallow.
A sharp pain stabbed her chest. I can't just leave him.
She ran back.
Simon yelled after her:
— "Hey! Where the hell are you going?!"
No response. She knelt beside the dying man, hands trembling as she pressed them into his blood-soaked chest. She searched desperately for the wound, panic clawing at her.
Simon came up behind her, voice low now.
— "I don't think he's gonna make it…"
Mousta's shout tore through the chaos:
— "What are you doing?! Get back here!"
Khaled strode forward, every step sharp, controlled. He placed a hand on Daisy's shoulder.
— "I know it's hard… but we're out of time."
She looked up at him, eyes glistening.
— "Why can't we take him? We can't just let him die!"
His tone went cold, almost mechanical.
— "He'll die on the way."
Mousta's voice echoed from the aircraft:
— "Five minutes left!"
Khaled straightened, voice like a blade:
— "If you stay, you die with him."
He turned, motioning for Simon to pull back.
In the cockpit, Hana's headset buzzed with Almy's voice:
— "A large force is moving toward you. Hurry!"
Daisy froze. Her mind spiraled. Leave him? Let him die?
Her heartbeat thundered. Guilt burned like acid in her veins.
Then—something changed.
Her hands moved on their own, rising over the man's body. Her eyes ignited in a deep green glow.
Energy surged from her palms—bright, fierce—like lightning tearing through the dark. The air itself trembled around her.
The soldier convulsed. His wounds began to close. The bleeding stopped. His chest heaved again, stronger this time.
Mousta, from afar, stared wide-eyed:
— "What the…?!"
Simon grinned slightly.
— "Guess we've got ourselves a healer."
Even Khaled, stoic as stone, couldn't hide his awe.
— "Her power… it's different."
Daisy looked down at her shaking hands, fear mirrored in her own reflection. She didn't understand. Not yet.
But there was no time to think.
The aircraft's engines roared, lights from the army's convoy glowing closer, brighter—seconds away.
Then the night exploded.
The aircraft lifted off, engines screaming through the storm as the reinforcements arrived—too late. Sirens wailed over the empty crash site.
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