I command the ants to form a line—like an army. Without hesitation, they move in perfect unison, as if my thoughts are their own. No training. No guidance. Just instant obedience.
Angela and Lisa stand motionless, their breaths shallow as they watch the ants obey my silent command.
The line they form isn't just orderly—it's mechanical, like soldiers drilled for years, their tiny legs moving in perfect, unsettling sync. Angela's fingers twitch at her sides, her voice barely a whisper.
"Ants don't do this. They don't—they can't—move like this." Her words hang in the air, thick with disbelief. Lisa doesn't even speak.
She just stares, her eyes darting between the ants and me, her mind clearly racing to make sense of what she's seeing. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head, the questions piling up behind her lips.
