Chapter 2: Sanatorium

Almost no one survived the terrible physical crisis brought on by "El Despertar". For the unfortunate, deformed survivors, the Bondel Foundation shelters were the only salvation. A safe haven, far from the clandestine executions of their government. In the eyes of the Aztlantecas, they were the most merciful solution for monstrosities like little Jim Sainz, his mother, and neighbors. These shelters were tasked with containing, reeducating, and, if possible, reintegrating the most useful members of this unpredictable group. All to prevent another global nightmare, like the one caused by the first of them, the catastrophe dubbed "The Absolute Zero".

— ¡You viper, fight! —Someone threatened Jim, nine months after making that deal with the devil. Mr. Bondel had kept his end of the bargain, ensuring the protection of all the children in his neighborhood. Those who had, or might have suffered, the supernatural illness. Avoiding the deathly sentence the city police would impose upon them.

— Yes, hit him! — His former neighbors, most of them his same age, cried out when they saw his punishment. — Damn traitor! — They called him from the moment he was admitted, claiming that his mother had been the witch who had infected them all.

— Get up, you dumb ass! — The boy who was beating him continued, a blond guy with large, powerful limbs and bear claws, which he used to brutally beat him. — It's your fault, that we all are here! — He said as he gathered him in a suffocating hug.

— Suck his guts out, Mike! — The crowd insisted. While the battered, skinny kid with broken glasses and tousled black hair, tried to wriggle free with knee strikes. The effort left him breathless. — He's gonna throw up, he's gonna throw up! — The kids shouted as Jim turned purple.

The crunching of his ribs woke a boy who, lying under a nearby tree, was waiting for the moment to speak to the poor lynched man. But the cruel laughter reminded him of some robbers who had attacked him months earlier, awakening the young metalhead's fury.

— Come on, traitor, apologize —. The bear ordered Jim, feeling his body crack. Until a scream came from behind him.

— Beware of the UFO! — They warned him from afar.

— The what? — He turned around, looking for the daredevil, only to have a drum cymbal fly like a frisbee, straight into his crotch.

— Oucht, right in the balls! — All the children mocked him, due to the low blow.

— Al-Nasr, what the hell are you doing here? — The self-defense master shouted at his intervention.

Asim Alberto Al-Nasr Cortés, the most feared student at the Shelter, the bird of bad luck. Along with Santiago Sainz, they were the most rejected in a place full of plague victims. Jim, for selling out his people, and he, for being the most dangerous person at the Shelter. That, and his irreverent big mouth.

— What do you mean, 'What am I doing here'? What are you doing? — Replied the Arab defender, a dark-haired man with long, copper-colored eyes, standing in front of the muscular teacher. — Or , do you want your boss's pet to get killed? — He explained, recalling the privileged way in which Jim had arrived at the shelter, which made him an easy target for such abuse.

— Hey. Open your eyes, you dumb kid —. The coach scolded, pointing at the beaten boy. — No one is getting killed here.

Just like when he'd been hit by Bondel's limo, Jim started to heal. Like a wooden puppet, he adjusted his ribs in a succession of bone-cracking sounds. In the end, after being recovered, all that remained was a nervous rattling noise in the scales on his wrists. That sound was typical of the skill he had gained with his Despertar.

Like Jim, all the victims received something in return for surviving the fatal disorder. Each of the inmates possessed animal features, various mutations acquired during the violent spasm they had endured: bear like arms, bull horns, the obsidian-colored scales on Jim's weak claws, and those black feathers that crowned the head of their metalhead savior, forming Al-Nasr's striking mane.

— This Chimera right here is the best punching bag in the whole shelter —. The instructor added cruelly, just as the bell rang, calling Jim by the worst nickname normal people used for those mutated by the plague. — Look carefully before you act, kids. Don't be like this fool —, he told the class, after smacking the intruding crow, as if nothing had happened.

The Bondel Foundation not only sought to protect these "Hybrids" from the deadly violence of society. They wanted to prepare them to prolong the Third Industrial Revolution: a superhuman workforce educated to generate prosperity for themselves and all people. Their goal was to educate scientists, artists, athletes, and, above all, soldiers to serve the Great World Council, which, like his foundation and shelters, Jean Paul Bondel led with great success, reflected in a decade of peace and technological growth in the world.