The first screams reached the streets by morning.
They were brief, scattered, almost dismissible—but enough to pierce the fragile veil of denial.
Kane Mercer observed from belowground, eyes fixed on the layered city grids. The AI fed him hundreds of feeds at once, highlighting every anomaly, every spike in vital signs, every pattern of unusual aggression.
A convenience store camera picked up a man attacking the clerk without provocation. Witnesses tried to intervene. Their punches bounced off with unnatural resistance. The man's movements were sharper, faster, impossibly strong. The clerk survived but was left bleeding and terrified.
The AI flagged him.
"Confirmed human mutation," it reported. "Probability of full adaptation: eighty-five percent."
Kane didn't flinch. He had expected this. The simulation had predicted it. And yet, the calm detachment he maintained was deliberate. Observing was better than intervening. Acting too early risked exposure. Acting at the right moment guaranteed perfection.
Aboveground, panic flickered briefly in pockets. Social media posts described attacks, but authorities dismissed them as isolated incidents. "Psychological episodes," the news claimed. "No evidence of contagion."
Kane allowed himself a slight smile.
"They're still pretending," he murmured.
He turned to the city map. Yellow and red indicators flickered across multiple sectors. One area in particular—District Seven—was now a cluster of chaotic data points. The AI highlighted the anomaly: elevated aggression, abnormal strength, erratic animal behavior. The pattern was emerging. The first fractures in the facade of normality.
"Deploy silent observation drones," Kane ordered.
"Yes," the AI replied. "Drones online. Visual and audio data transmitted directly to command interface."
Belowground, the base had already shifted into subtle readiness mode. Construction droids paused non-essential tasks and began reinforcing corridors, laying modular barricades, and producing more combat androids. Humanoid caretakers monitored the child, their attention unwavering. Kane didn't even glance at them. The AI's subroutines ensured nothing would threaten her, not even by accident.
A park feed came alive. Mutated deer and feral dogs moved in calculated packs, circling each other, testing their strength. A cyclist screamed as a dog lunged. The AI analyzed the encounter in real time: the animal adapted mid-motion, improving its strategy within seconds.
"Early environmental mutation response exceeds initial models," the AI noted.
Kane didn't comment. Observation was all that was required.
Elsewhere, another anomaly appeared. A city bus swerved violently, crashing into a lamp post. Witnesses were trapped inside. One passenger began thrashing violently, tearing seats and metal supports apart. Others screamed and scrambled, trying to escape. Authorities arrived minutes later—but it was too late.
The AI fed the data directly into Kane's mind: all positions, exit routes, casualty estimates, structural integrity, and potential threats.
He allowed himself to acknowledge it silently. The virus was no longer quiet.
The public denial that had sustained the city for weeks now began to crack. Rumors spread. Videos circulated online. Even those who had ignored early anomalies could no longer pretend nothing was happening. Fear began its quiet, insidious climb.
Kane, however, remained untouched by panic.
"Begin partial city lockdown simulations," he instructed.
"Yes," the AI replied. "No visible activation. Monitoring only."
Combat androids moved in sealed underground sectors, preparing for potential engagement. They were not yet aboveground. They would not be deployed until Kane deemed it necessary. Every system was in place, every contingency calculated.
The child stirred in her chamber. Her caretakers adjusted their positions, maintaining constant proximity. Kane observed the data silently. The AI had programmed their responses to anticipate every threat. In theory, nothing could reach her—not even by accident.
A news clip appeared on one of Kane's screens. A reporter covered an animal attack in a residential neighborhood. The footage was grainy, incomplete, and carefully edited by authorities. Still, the impact was visible. The city's collective denial faltered. Fear began to ripple.
"They're starting to understand," Kane said.
"Yes," the AI confirmed. "Probability of widespread recognition exceeds fifty percent in the next twenty-four hours."
He didn't react.
Preparation, observation, and patience were his tools. The city would collapse—but on his terms. When the time came, he would act with precision. Every human, every mutated animal, every environmental factor was already accounted for.
Kane turned from the screens and walked toward the command platform's edge, looking over the humming machinery beneath him. Construction droids moved silently, combat units prepared in standby formations, caretaker androids monitored the child with flawless attention.
The first fractures were now visible aboveground. Humanity was beginning to stumble.
And Kane Mercer, beneath it all, waited for the moment the city would break completely.
Because when it did, there would be no chaos he couldn't control.
No variable he hadn't anticipated.
No survivor he didn't already account for.