The sound was like a watermelon hitting concrete.
Adrian flinched as the man's body erupted in a violent, grotesque explosion—his blood misting through the air like a fine spray, coating the walls, the ceiling, the broken furniture. It was everywhere. He could feel it on his lips, taste the copper sting in his throat.
Then silence.
Adrian's ears rang. His breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered to his feet, trembling. His hand left a red smear on the wall when he tried to steady himself.
The living room—once warm and familiar—was now a warzone. The couch was soaked. Blood dripped from the light fixture above. Bits of bone and flesh clung to the framed family pictures along the mantel. One photo had fallen—Adrian as a child, maybe six years old, hugging his parents at the beach. Now cracked, the image was streaked with red, his childhood drenched in death.
He stumbled backward and nearly tripped over his mother's body.
"Oh god…" he whispered, voice cracking. He couldn't breathe.
Outside, the faint wail of sirens began to echo, growing louder by the second.
His head snapped up.
His father stood in the center of the carnage. Arms out, cradling the black spider-like parasite like a child. Its glow had faded, and the once-twitching legs now hung limp. His father's face was streaked with tears.
"...Dad?"
His voice barely made it out.
Then—a flash of red.
Like someone hit a reset switch on reality.
The blood disappeared.
The broken furniture was gone.
The city sounds and sirens vanished.
Adrian staggered again—blinking. Darkness. Stillness.
A second passed. Then two.
He looked around and realized: they weren't in the living room anymore.
Old dusty couches. A stone fireplace. A crooked wooden clock.He turned slowly, eyes wide.
"...This is the cabin," he muttered aloud. "The vacation cabin. From when I was a kid. But—how?"
His father stood near the fireplace, still holding the creature.
"I'm sorry, Adrian. We hoped this day wouldn't come—not this soon."
Adrian's mouth opened, but no words came.
"We don't have much time," his father said. "So listen carefully."
He looked directly at Adrian, and something in his gaze made the room feel colder.
"We are Parasites. Your mother and I."
A sharp, heavy pause.
Adrian blinked. His jaw moved. Nothing came out.
"We infected your parents before you were born," his father continued. "We made sure you'd live a normal life. We loved you. Raised you. You're our child in every way that matters."
Adrian's voice finally came. Rough. Raw.
"...You infected them you mean you killed them?"
His father's expression faltered. "No. Not like that. We… we were them. But we never hurt them. We became them. It's hard to explain. But you were born from us, not them."
Adrian staggered again. The words were like thunder in his chest.
"That's why they came after us," his father said. "Why they came after you. You're not just a human, Adrian. You're something new."
Adrian shook his head, fists clenched, heart breaking in too many places to count.
"What happens now?" he asked, barely able to get the words out.
His father looked down—and that's when Adrian noticed the blood pooling at his feet.
Three dark holes in his lower abdomen. The shirt soaked red. He'd been shot and said nothing.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Your mother… she used the last of her strength to bring us here. And I'm not going to last long either."
Adrian moved forward, suddenly frantic. "No. No, don't say that—"
"There's no time," his father said softly, falling to his knees, still holding the parasite—now completely still. "But you'll survive. You have to."
Tears blurred Adrian's vision.
"What the hell am I supposed to do now?!" he shouted. "You just die and leave me like this?!"
His father's smile was small and sad.
"Trust your instinct," he said.
And then he slumped over, breath leaving him in a slow, final exhale.
The parasite's glow died with him.
Adrian was alone.