CHAPTER 231: Brothers in Arms

CHAPTER 231: Brothers in Arms

The old central building of Enid Corp, located in Berlin, had become a shadow of what it once was.

After the death of Enid Drakewood, the shares began to plummet within days. Investors withdrew their capital, partners broke contracts, and internal investigations came to light. Without leadership, without direction, and with too many compromising secrets, the company entered an irreversible decline. In less than three months, the stock value was reduced to ridiculous figures.

The little that remained of the shares was absorbed by Virus Corp, a powerful Chinese company specializing in advanced genetics and experimental biotechnology. The acquisition was silent and quick. Officially, it was a strategic purchase of patents and scientific assets. Unofficially, it was an orderly looting.

However, the main building was never reused.

It currently appears as closed due to structural risk and legal review, but in practice it is abandoned. The upper windows remain covered with dust and some with boards. The Enid Corp logo is still on the facade, rusted and partially detached.

There is only one security guard who watches the perimeter twenty-four hours a day. A man hired by Virus Corp to prevent intrusions, looting, or curious onlookers. He does not patrol the interior. He is not authorized to enter beyond the lobby.

Inside, time seems to have stopped.

Offices with scattered papers. Laboratories with equipment still connected. Containment chambers turned off. Classified documentation gathering dust.

And in some restricted sectors… bodies still remain.

Corpses that were never officially registered. Remains of experiments that no one wanted to claim. No one removed them. No one cleaned those rooms.

Virus Corp only took what was valuable.

The rest stayed there.

Like a corporate mausoleum.

Like an uncomfortable reminder of everything Enid Drakewood tried to build.

The early morning was dense and silent around the old Enid Corp building. A low mist covered the asphalt of the parking lot, and the only point of light came from the small security booth next to the main gate.

The guard was sitting in his folding chair, with a lukewarm coffee between his hands and a radio resting on the table. He distractedly watched a screen where several cameras showed empty hallways and closed doors.

Then he heard something.

A wet sound.

A crunch.

Like small bones breaking.

He frowned.

—These idiots again… —he murmured, convinced it would be young people trying to record videos in the abandoned building.

He took the flashlight and went outside.

The air was cold. The wind slightly moved some garbage bags near the side containers. The man advanced slowly, illuminating the ground, the walls, the shadows.

The sound repeated.

Closer.

More unpleasant.

He went around the containers and pointed the flashlight toward a dark corner.

And he saw it.

A hunched body, sitting on the ground, covered in irregular protuberances that deformed its silhouette. Tumors protruded beneath the skin in different parts of the torso and neck. In some areas, thick tufts of dark hair grew that followed no natural pattern.

Between its hands it held something small.

A rat.

It was devouring it alive.

The guard stepped back, startled.

—What the hell…?

The creature stopped.

Its back tensed.

Very slowly, it turned its head.

The flashlight illuminated its face.

It was worse than the man had imagined.

The jaw seemed poorly fitted. One eye protruded slightly more than the other. The skin was marked by scars and inflamed areas. The retracted lips revealed irregular teeth stained with fresh blood.

But the most disturbing thing was the expression.

There was consciousness in that gaze.

The creature opened its mouth.

And it only said one word.

—Fenix.

The voice was raspy. Forced. As if every syllable hurt.

That monster had once been Marcus Blackwood.

Now, in the rumors that circulated among the few who knew something, he was known as The Prowler.

The guard tried to react. His hand sought the radio. He opened his mouth to scream.

He had no time.

Marcus lunged with unnatural speed. The blow knocked him down against the asphalt. The flashlight rolled several meters, spinning on itself until it ended up pointing toward the sky.

The man tried to inhale air to call for help.

But a deformed hand covered his mouth.

The teeth descended.

There was no scream.

Only the wet and repetitive sound of something tearing in the darkness.

Minutes later, the parking lot fell silent again.

The flashlight was still on, illuminating the mist.

And, next to the containers, there was nothing left that could respond when someone asked about the night guard.

Marcus pulled away from the lifeless body and wiped his mouth with the back of his deformed hand. His eyes, uneven and sunken, looked one last time at the closed building.

—Fenix… —he murmured again, as if the name were an open wound.

Then he went into the side alley, advancing among shadows, slightly dragging a leg that did not seem to fit entirely with the rest of his anatomy. His silhouette faded into the darkness until it disappeared completely.

The parking lot fell silent.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then, the guard's body began to convulse.

First it was a slight spasm in the fingers. Then a sudden arching of the back. His bones creaked with a dry and progressive sound. The skin began to tense, as if something from within were trying to break through.

The veins stood out grotesquely.

The chest expanded with a violent blow, and an irregular breath escaped from his throat. The muscles began to grow uncontrollably, but not in a clean or defined way. Beneath the skin, protuberances similar to Marcus's sprouted, tumors that deformed the natural structure of the body.