"Why are you lying to yourself, Larel? Are you afraid of the truth?!"
The voice echoed in my head, sharp as a poisoned needle.
I lay behind a tree, trying to shield myself, though I could barely feel safe. My muscles jerked in uncontrollable spasms, and my breath—hyperventilated and erratic—was a constant betrayal. If it hadn't been for the injection and the suit, I would've succumbed to vertigo, perhaps even vomited, but the herbs and compounds in the filter kept me conscious… though they couldn't silence the chaos in my mind.
I couldn't remember how I got to this point. Only the fragmented image of López shouting at us lingered in my memory before everything became a swirling blur. The crunch of footsteps cracked the air—a subtle but devastating echo that sent shockwaves of alarm through every corner of my body. I could swear they belonged to something immense, something beyond logic, though it might've been the drugs… or my mind playing tricks. I felt the rough bark of the tree behind me, heard the brushing of an invisible monster stalking close, and my hood was the only thing upholding the illusion that I could still hide.
Suddenly, Duarte appeared, throwing himself toward me with a mix of urgency and panic, checking my body in the process.
"Are you okay?" he asked, though his voice barely rose above the chaotic roar of gunfire. "How the hell did we get to this point?! Larel, get up… we have to run, damn it, Larel!"
I tried to respond, but my voice was as fragmented as my thoughts.
"I think so… I don't know. I can't… I can't breathe, I feel like I'm choking… This is all so confusing. We were there and now we're here, and…"
The air felt dense, filled with a metallic stench that didn't exist. Voices whispered my name from the unmoving trees. My words broke off, shattering like a cracked mirror, as the real world blurred and shadows danced with familiar faces that vanished when I tried to focus on them.
"Calm down, Larel!" Duarte yelled, struggling to hold me up. "You can't take the suit off—listen to me! Not now, not with those damn things so close. We have to find Vidal and the others. Just… hang on a little longer."
But Duarte's words were a distant echo. My mind, lost in delirium, painted scenes I swore were real—vivid as fragmented memories of my past. I searched for comfort in the days of my youth, only to find a void: all my childhood memories faded before me, as if they had never existed, as if I'd never been a child at all.
Gunshots echoed from the scientist's position—a desperate plea for help. Without thinking, we ran toward him, trying to regroup before it was too late. But the enemy reached us first; a shadowed face emerged from the trees, lifting an M97 shotgun. The dry, brutal sound of the blast hit me like a shockwave. I saw the surprise freeze on Vidal's face for a fraction of a second before the scientist's head… shattered into a red explosion.
Suddenly, Vidal burst onto the scene, firing with a skill that made it clear this wasn't his first time holding a rifle. With a precise shot from his M1 Garand, he took down one of the enemies, pushing me to the ground in the process. Duarte rushed toward us in desperation, but we soon became separated again—this time, I was running with Vidal, while Duarte took a different route in an attempt to survive.
The forest, already a maze of traps, claimed its toll. Vidal fell into a bear trap that nearly shattered his leg; had it not been for his graphene boots and suit, he wouldn't have come out unscathed. As for me, I was caught in a hanging snare trap. The impact slammed my head hard, but the mask cushioned the blow enough to save my life. Before we could react, the enemy caught up with us, leaving us defenseless and at their mercy.
My vision blurred as I saw the monster advancing with the intent to kill Vidal… my companion, my brother. In those seconds, Vidal looked into my eyes, and I felt my world collapse. Then, without thinking, my hands moved on instinct: I drew the Mauser C96 and, remembering Binet's words, fired twice. Both shots hit the enemy's chest, but he remained standing, refusing to fall. My desperation grew as he continued his attempt to kill Vidal. Just when I thought all was lost, Duarte appeared out of nowhere and pounced on him. With a rock in hand, he struck again and again until the enemy's head was completely crushed. I had never seen such ferocity in Duarte, and for a moment, I wondered if it was pure adrenaline or something far darker.
As I tried to catch my breath, memories came flooding back—taking me to the moments before the attack. We had arrived at the entrance to Dark Hollow, our formation alert, covering the cardinal points in preparation for any threat. Our steps were swift and sure, interrupted only by Taveras's investigations, always backed by Vidal and the scientist. We had no idea of the ambush awaiting us.
Though the suits looked similar at a glance, each was customized for the wearer's unique specialty. Vidal and Taveras carried Petri dishes carefully stored alongside survival kits in their backpacks. Vidal's helmet lenses were designed to offer unparalleled depth and ultraviolet vision—perfect for his work. Taveras, on the other hand, carried test tubes filled with chemicals capable of breaking down almost any material, optimizing the rapid study of fungi, along with his inseparable book of mushrooms. I couldn't help but think Taveras looked more like a mystical healer than a doctor, while Vidal radiated the chaotic aura of a mad scientist.
On our way, we spotted the old bridge—a reminder that we were halfway to our destination.
"In glorious times," Regino narrated in a voice steeped in legend, "it was said that a spring of miraculous waters descended from Pico Duarte. Its waters flowed down the mountain and out of the forest, connecting to the city of Santos, where it became a sacred site for great warriors."
"Could this have anything to do with the rot we've found?" Taveras asked, intrigued.
"Unfortunately… no. These streams have been dry longer than King Desmond III himself," Regino replied with irony, but also resignation.
With no other option, we moved quickly, aware that nightfall would make us more vulnerable. Crossing the bridge felt like stepping into a world frozen in time: the trees, locked in a perpetual autumn, clung stubbornly to their last leaves, refusing to let go of their fading vitality. Those that had succumbed to the rot were coated in white threads, as if the disease had entangled their insides, ravenously feeding on what remained.
Taveras, mesmerized by the mystery of the illness, explored with fascinated eyes. His mind was caught in the details of his research, oblivious to all else.
"Taveras," Vidal called sternly. "I get the importance of your research, but you can't lose yourself in your world. Our mission isn't just to find a cure; we need to focus on the forest ranger's cabin now."
"Sorry, Vidal," Taveras replied, though his gaze still scanned the sickened landscape. "But look around you. This place is full of valuable information. If we study it closely, we might uncover the truth. I just need a little more time… a few more observations and we'll find the answer we're looking for."
Taveras's words filled the team with renewed energy, and I couldn't help but feel just as excited, thinking that the comrades we left behind hadn't been lost in vain.
It didn't take long to find the cabin, hidden a few meters at the base of Pico Duarte. To our surprise, the structure was intact, as if patiently waiting for our arrival. However, Binet, frowning, voiced his suspicions to López: the path had been eerily calm—so peaceful it was impossible not to be wary. How could a place known for its dangers feel like a simple stroll?
"Binet will give the orders from now on. Pay attention to every detail if we want to make it back alive," López declared firmly.
"It's just a hunch, but we haven't seen a single animal so far," Binet noted, his voice grave and uncertain. "It makes me think someone's been guiding us here… For what purpose? I don't know. But before we go in, we need to clear every corner around the cabin. Only then can we feel relatively safe."
"Makes sense. Everyone talks about the lurking dangers in this forest, and suddenly, everything's so… quiet. It's not a good sign," Taveras added, reinforcing the unease.
Silently and in pairs, we spread out to inspect a ten-meter perimeter around the cabin. It was Vidal who stumbled upon the scene first: the remains of animals and fearsome beasts, torn apart and completely drained of blood. The sight was as disturbing as it was bewildering. Alarmed, he collected a sample, carefully storing it in a Petri dish for later analysis.
Meanwhile, Taveras discovered fresh footprints on the ground—a find that deeply unsettled him, since the entire forest was dry, except for thin traces of moisture snaking along the old riverbed. With extreme caution, he returned to warn the group that we had been watched all along; enemy eyes had hidden along the river's path, an area we had overlooked in our search.
But his warning came too late.