IMMUNES

On June 24, 2026, New York was suffocating.

The heat clung to everyone's skin like a damp hand. It rose from the asphalt in shimmering waves, seeped into subway stations, stores, and apartments without air conditioning, turning every breath into an effort. Above Manhattan, the sky was that dirty shade of white typical of days too muggy even for rain.

The city kept moving anyway.

Yellow cabs slammed on their brakes in traffic amid a chorus of furious honking.

Sweat-soaked delivery riders zigzagged between stationary cars.

Someone was arguing outside a convenience store.

Someone else was laughing into a phone while livestreaming.

Normal people.

Normal problems.

The last normal day.

⸻

Sophie lay sprawled across the couch in an oversized Nirvana tank top, her legs propped up on the armrest.

Fifteen years old.

Dark-blonde hair tied up in a messy bun.

She looked like trouble. Always.

She scrolled through TikTok without really watching.

Couples.

People dancing.

Stupid memes.

A dog dressed as a cowboy.

A guy jumping from rooftop to rooftop for views.

Under one of the videos, a livestream appeared, flooded with comments.

OH MY GOD

WHAT THE FUCK—

HE'S ON DRUGS

CALL THE POLICE

Sophie opened the livestream more out of boredom than interest.

The image shook as someone ran down the middle of a street, screaming. People were shoving each other, cars were stuck in traffic, and four police officers had their guns trained on a man covered from head to toe in blood.

The man kept coming.

Strange movements.

Too fast.

Jerky.

One of the officers shouted something the microphone couldn't pick up.

Then the video froze.

Connection lost.

“Fucking internet.”

Sophie closed the livestream.

⸻

On the living room rug, her little brother was trying to shove a cookie into the DVD player.

Sophie slowly lowered her phone.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The boy looked up at her.

“It's hungry.”

“The DVD player doesn't eat.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it's not alive.”

The boy looked at the DVD player.

Then at the cookie.

“Maybe it is.”

Sophie snorted.

“You've clearly got mental problems.”

From the hallway, their mother raised her voice.

“SOPHIE.”

“What?!”

“Don't call your brother stupid.”

She looked at the boy.

“Sorry. You're differently intelligent.”

Her little brother smiled, pleased with himself, without understanding the insult.

⸻

The television was playing the news at low volume.

Chaotic footage:

• ambulances• people running• police• videos recorded on phones

A red banner crawled across the bottom of the screen.

VIOLENT INCIDENTS ON THE RISE IN MULTIPLE CITIES

“…authorities are urging residents to avoid crowded areas until further notice…”

Sophie's father turned the volume down with the remote.

“Every summer they come up with a new emergency.”

He'd said it casually.

But he kept checking his phone.

Far too often.

⸻

Sophie noticed.

“What's going on?”

“Nothing.”

A quick answer.

Too quick.

He went back to staring at the screen.

Videos.

Messages.

News reports.

One showed a man standing in the middle of a street while police officers shouted at him.

The man appeared to be injured.

Covered in blood.

But he kept walking toward them.

The video ended before showing what happened next.

⸻

“Can I go out tonight?” Sophie asked.

Her father immediately looked up.

“With who?”

“Some friends.”

“Which friends?”

“Dad, you sound like a detective.”

“Which friends?”

“Normal friends.”

“So, terrible ones.”

Sophie gave a faint smile.

⸻

Her little brother climbed onto the couch beside their father.

“Can I watch cartoons?”

“In a minute.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it always works.”

The boy thought about it seriously.

Then nodded, convinced.

Sophie burst out laughing.

Their mother shook her head with a small smile as she cleared the table.

Perfectly ordinary little moments.

Destined to become unbearable memories.

⸻

A military helicopter flew past the window.

Low.

Too low.

The noise made the glass vibrate slightly.

Her father watched the helicopter without saying a word.

⸻

“Since when do military helicopters fly over Brooklyn?” their mother asked.

“I don't know.”

But he sounded like he was lying.

⸻

Sophie looked back at her phone.

TikTok was full of strange videos.

People biting.

Fights.

Police.

Ambulances.

People were talking about:

• a new drug• terrorist attacks• a flu virus• fake news

The internet seemed to have lost its mind.

⸻

Her phone vibrated.

MESSAGE:

“Going out later?”

It was one of her friends.

Sophie started typing a reply.

Then another video automatically appeared.

A girl was filming from a window while someone screamed in the street.

“Oh my God… oh my God…”

The camera shifted.

A man was beating someone on the ground.

He kept going.

And going.

And going.

Even after the person had stopped moving.

The livestream cut out.

⸻

Sophie sat motionless for a few seconds.

Then she locked her phone.

For the first time that day, she felt a strange tightness in her stomach.

Like the feeling before a thunderstorm.

⸻

Several miles away, Saint Vincent Hospital seemed on the verge of collapse.

Elena Morales hurried through the emergency department, clutching several patient charts to her chest.

Twenty-five years old.

Dark circles under her eyes.

Hair tied up in a messy bun.

Twelve hours into her shift.

The corridor was filled with screams.

Stretchers.

People crying.

Nurses running.

Sedated patients.

Something was wrong.

And no one could figure out what it was.

⸻

“We need security in room three!”

“Where's Dr. Levin?!”

“His fever keeps climbing!”

Elena passed two nurses struggling to restrain a disoriented man.

He was shaking violently.

Bloodshot eyes.

Sweat everywhere.

Dark veins along his neck.

“Substance use?” Elena asked.

“Negative.”

“Psychiatric history?”

“Nothing on record.”

The man kept muttering something under his breath.

Elena stepped closer.

“Sir? Can you hear me?”

The man slowly raised his head.

And a chill ran down her spine.

There was nothing human about that stare.

Empty.

Hungry.

Wrong.

⸻

A scream erupted from a nearby room.

Then the sound of shattering glass.

Someone started running down the corridor.

A woman stood crying against the wall, clutching her bloodied hand.

Elena examined the wound.

Bite marks.

They looked like human bite marks.

⸻

“Elena!”

A nurse appeared, breathless.

“We've got three more.”

“Same symptoms?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus…”

⸻

Two military helicopters flew past outside the hospital.

⸻

That evening, internet connections began slowing down across New York.

People carried on anyway:

• ordering food• going out to bars and clubs• posting stories• drinking• living

As though ignoring the problem could somehow stop it from being real.

⸻

Sophie sat on her bed with a fan blowing directly into her face, still scrolling through social media.

The videos had gotten worse.

Fights.

Blood.

People running.

Police.

Comments everywhere.

It's fake

New drug

My uncle works at a hospital and says—

It's happening in Chicago too

Did they shut down the subway?

The connection dropped again.

⸻

She could still hear her parents talking in the living room.

Her father sounded agitated now.

“They're shutting down some subway lines.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“Stop watching that bullshit online.”

“It's not just online. Everyone's talking about it.”

⸻

Sophie put her phone on the nightstand.

The tightness in her stomach had gotten worse.

⸻

Around midnight, the power went out.

Total darkness.

The fan stopped abruptly.

Silence.

The wrong kind of silence for New York.

⸻

Then a gunshot.

Distant.

Then another.

Shattering glass.

Screams.

⸻

Sophie's little brother appeared in the doorway, clutching his stuffed animal.

“Sophie…”

She slowly got out of bed.

Her heart had started beating faster.

⸻

Her father picked up his phone.

No signal.

“What the fuck…”

Their mother looked toward the window.

“Maybe we should—”

A distant explosion cut her off.

⸻

More gunshots.

Closer now.

Sirens.

People screaming in the street.

Not normal screams.

Desperate screams.

Animalistic.

⸻

Sophie walked down the hallway with her little brother following behind.

Every instinct in her body was telling her something was wrong.

Something enormous.

⸻

She went to the window.

Outside, the street was dimly lit by the headlights of cars stuck in traffic.

People running.

People screaming.

A taxi had rear-ended another car.

Then Sophie saw her.

A barefoot woman was running desperately down the middle of the street.

Crying.

Someone was chasing her.

A man.

No.

Not a man anymore.

He ran wrong.

Too fast.

Too twisted.

In unnatural, jerking movements.

He caught up with her and knocked her onto the asphalt.

The woman began screaming desperately.

The thing kept striking her.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Even after it had killed her.

Blood everywhere.

The screams spread along the entire street.

More people were running.

More things were chasing them.

Sirens.

Gunshots.

Chaos.

Her little brother gripped Sophie's shirt tightly.

She stood motionless in front of the window.

Watching that thing devour a person in the middle of the street.

And she understood, without yet knowing what was happening, that something had just begun.