I took down the glasses and put a hand over my face. My head was chaos. I tried to remember the last Putrid attack in this city dubbed as a safe-heaven, with Gavin’s visual and described condition flashing back and forth, my fear freezing my hand and feet, my worry resting on my back and shoulder, slouching me, slowly choking.

I took a deep, sudden, and loud breath with my mouth and fixed my posture. My hand still covered my face, feeling the muscles pulsating as my emotion keep mixing, rising, falling, appearing, and gone at the same time.

Another breath, and I could hear my heartbeat. Another breath, softer, my heartbeat rose up in protest, and my head feels like it’s being hammered. Another and another breath ‘till I could feel cold sweat on my back, hand, and feet, clenched my fist to try and dispel the cold. Next, I breathed nasally, slowly. I could control my expression. I lowered my hand and stared straight at the woman.

“What will the operation do?” my voice wasn’t trembling nor cracked.

“Surgical operation will remove the parasite.” The adult man answered the older woman stepped aside. “Another operation is to wake him up and let him... develop immunity and control over the Putrid body.”

“Let him? Wake him up? If he can regain consciousness—“

“He can’t.” He took a step near the panel. “We’ve tried waking him up before...”

The empty glass suddenly showed a rectangle tab. In it, something was played; the room where Gavin’s currently recuperating, with those goo sticking all over the place.

That adult man was beside his bed with Reagan, a sturdy-bodied boy with light pink scar rounding his neck—currently standing beside the sofa, on the glass’s opposite wall—and the bob-haired girl that has been standing beside one of the people in front of the panel all this time.

It took several seconds before the Putrid body on the video suddenly moved violently. The large lump on Gavin’s chest stretched out swift to the three people around the bed, cut down by their quick hand reflexes—holding a knife?—and followed by a groaning.

Gavin’s groan.

Followed by a scream.

The goo’s stretch stuck all over that place tightened; looked almost like holding on two moving objects moving in the opposite direction.

Gavin’s scream still pierced, now mixed with some words by the three. I couldn’t hear what they were saying ‘till Gavin stopped screaming to grunt intermittently in a loud voice. I still couldn’t make out what the three was trying to say to my little brother, but it wasn’t working. He thrashed around and the ‘threads’ thinned, the lump on his chest growing in size.

Gavin’s voice became just an intermittent cry.

Yet it still resounds with his pain.

The next few seconds after, the man moved to the bed’s head and did something; injection, probably, since Gavin’s voice stopped.

“We tried to direct him to control the Putrid’s body before, but he couldn’t hear us at all.” The adult man explained right after the video stopped and disappeared from the glass.

“What makes you think I can direct it?” I wanted to ask if he’s in pain even when sleeping. My logic, however, was controlling my mouth.

“He... when his voice became weaker, he only said one word: ‘Nee’. Reagan said that’s what he called you.”

Leftover habit from living in Japan. “And if I can’t?”

“We have no choice but to do surgery on him.”

“No. What would happen if he can’t control that shit goo?” my eyes stared straight to him. “He might recognize my voice, but is it enough for him to understand my speech? How do I direct him to control that shitty lump in the first place? What if he’s not completely conscious after all? What if my presence only brought security to him, lulling him into a deeper sleep?”

“So you suggest we do the surgery?” he speaks with a slightly raised chin, a streak of irritation on his eyes.

The only reason I stayed silent for ten seconds was just to process the audacity of this man. He turned his gaze away, as if in disdain.

My voice exploded: “I’m asking you, soldier!!!”

I waited, still staring straight, until he lowered his chin, posture suddenly straightened.

But no reply.

“Are you nuts?!” my voice shrilled. “You don’t even fucking know the risk!! Has your balls gone into your head, shithead?! You wanted me to do something with unknown risk?! You fucking tried shit! You’re dealing with something unknown and got the audacity to be confident about it!”

Behind, Reagan suddenly voiced out, “Ma’am—“

“Shut up!” I whipped around. “Did your training include this kind of situation?! Did any of your training prepare you for this?!”

He pursed his lips in silence.

I suddenly snorted a laugh. “What, then, do you motherfuckers relying only on your faith to my brother? Think he’s strong enough to handle it even unconscious? When you fucker goes on a mission, you went with just one plan because you believe nothing will happen, is that it? Psh! No wonder now my brother’s lying there,” a finger I jabbed to the glass, “and all of you are just standing here very fine, thinking to do experiment on him!”

Nobody responded, like the fuck-ups they are. What fucking military? No goddamn wonder they’re hiding underground.

I tried to control my breathing, slowing down my heartbeat, dug my nails deep into the palm to prevent any other form of lashing out.

Does any of you think this is a story? I wanted to ask, my chest undulating again. Do you all fucking think Gavin is some sort of main character having a peril before a power-up?

No, don’t think, Sadina.

Just breath.

I took a deep breath while raising my head, one hand brushing my face upwards. I had no stray strand; my hair was put up in a tight bun. “Any precaution to take before I step in?”

Everyone’s looking like too much of an idiot so I explained impatiently, “I want to get into the room, do I have to use a mask, gloves, something?” some Putrid body were acidic enough to create a one-kilometer deep crater in the middle of somewhere a few years ago before superheroes popping out left and right. One known Putrid exudes a strong poisonous gas without antidote that blocked off New York since five years ago, making the city their effective base since then.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Nothing.” The man finally answered. “If you want to do—“

“I’m going to look at him.” I cut him right when his eyes showed hope and the atmosphere around lightened. “I’m just looking. And thinking. I rather have him disabled and needing special care than who-knows-what with your fuck shits.” I had already strode swiftly to the door, passing him by, touching the flat surface. Almost asked if there’s anything to do to get it open, but with a push, it opened.

“Ma’am, you need—“

“Peace and quiet.”

“No! It’s not safe—“

I stopped and turned around. The man was one step out of the door frame. “I need peace and quiet. Shut the fuck up and get out.”

He took another step. “It’s not safe—“

“Get out!!!”

He hardened his expressions.

I scoffed and continue walking.

Gavin’s bed and those goo weren’t far. After three steps I’m already in an arm’s length with the farthest goo part from Gavin’s bed, and its thread stopped ‘breathing’. I passed them by, watching the lump on the floor slowly wriggling, as I circled the bed.

The lump on Gavin’s chest suddenly stretched out.

I don’t know what sound I made, but it’s loud, guttural, and the echoes made me realized: screamo. Fuck, I hadn’t been singing nor listening to metal since eighteen.

And the thread-out shrunk away from me in a curve form, like a coward. I couldn’t help my frown, my scoff of disdain, my new anger that Gavin was done in by this kind of thing.

My steps continued, not needing a far distance. I’m on Gavin’s left bedside, staring at his calm sleeping face. He didn’t wake up even after that scream—the goo stretched faster.

My hand slapped it away in reflex and next my mouth roared “Fuck off!!!”

All the threads in my vision trembled and shrunk.

I have no more mood to feel melancholy or anger towards my idiotic little brother. My gaze moved to the adult man standing in considerate distance, in shock. As my mind insulted him I spoke, “Get me a chair.”

For the next hour, I was just sitting, thinking, feeling Gavin’s pulse through his hand. His breathing was slow and heavy. With every rise and fall of his (naked) chest, I keep remembering everything he’d told me about his new school, that time when Reagan came to the house, and all the time he couldn’t get home for ‘school work’.

At first, the man tried to kept company at a certain distance. After about ten minutes God blessed him with tact; he left me alone. Or maybe because I was crying, since not ten minutes after he returned to brought me a pack of tissue, then left me alone again. I’d also noticed, after I made a pretty mess out of my face, that the atmosphere felt a little bit emptier. The people inside the panel room probably went somewhere else.

The Putrid goo recovered its previous volume but didn’t try to stretch anymore. Sometimes when I stared at it with burning hatred it tightened. This thing was truly too cowardly. I could imagine the original Putrid—one that had a working logic, not this mindless, instinct-based organism—being as cowardly as their body. They must’ve fought with underhanded and cowardly tricks. Gavin was most vulnerable to coercion. Probably, after some pity-inducing pleading, the Putrid betrayed Gavin’s good intentions and attacked.

Gavin’s a naive fool. That the military training didn’t beat that out of him shows how incompetent they are.

Yet I know how important these all was to him. He was always excited on the notion of ‘protecting’.

I once advised him against this school. He’s not eloquent, so the only thing he could do to convince me was endless begging, both with words and action. Every time he faced me the first thing he says would be asking permission. Then he would do every housework, even my portion, almost not letting me wash my own underwear since he’d already taken them before I could even conjure the will to laundry.

It took me only four days to cave in. In reality, I’d planned to give in after his third ‘Can I please go into Granite Bay Academy?’ on the first day. Seeing him doing every housework, however, awakened my desire to sloth. The third day was when I realized he’d been washing my underwear (furthermore, he’d done research on their various material) since I suddenly got fresh ones. The fourth day, I told him to not touch my private things, and the lunch he’d packed was particularly salty. I thought that letting your daily needs in the hands of others was truly disconcerting.

Remembering this made me chuckle to myself.

He wouldn’t take being disabled well.

Since we ran out from Japan, the death of our mother, and my all-out work to feed and provide him with a house outside social service, the boy has been almost obsessed to be strong, capable, tough, and independent. He wouldn’t take it well at all if I became a full-time caretaker.

This school, their training, his physical ability were the starting path for the person he wanted to be.

I couldn’t get my thought to weight out the risk and benefit of different options. All I could remember was Gavin’s determination to be successful, strong, and invulnerable; so he could give me a comfortable and secure life. I consider myself already obtained them, but this silly boy wanted to give more.

Back then, he hated himself for being too young to help me with anything. Now he was free from age restriction, optimist for the future, with all his plans relying on him being able-bodied...

My gaze was set on the lump. They’re breathing much easier than Gavin. Seemingly realizing my line of sight, some of the threads thinned, the lump even shook.

I turned my head away, my hand reaching out to Gavin’s face. “Gavin, can you hear me?”

No response. Not even a flicker of the eyelids.

But I keep talking. “There are people out there placing faith in you being awake and controlling these parasites. One man is particularly annoying. He thinks he’s some hotshot, able to act all highty and mighty. It’s not his brother who’s lying here with a parasite, of course he wouldn’t feel my fear and panic. What right does he have to act all disdainful?

“He’s even so useless. Can’t even answer my question. Looking down on me one sec and suddenly he became a fucking idiot. He kept silent like it’s gonna help anything. It’s not his brother who’s suffering, of-fucking-course he act like that. He thinks I don’t have a brain, can’t even imagine the worst possibility?

“If you can’t control this shit,” I stare over the lump, “you’re probably going to be taken over and became a new Putrid.”

Of course, nobody responded.

“If this plan full of holes failed through, they could just shoot you dead. if we use surgery to save you, you’re still gone from here all the same. But what is all that? None of the fuckers outside lose a great deal. But they surely will obtain the highest benefit if you can control this lump, despite you being a normal human. A breakthrough, new experiment for them.” I sneered. “If a Putrid parasite can actually be resisted through willpower alone, the numerous cases of contaminated humans by the Putrids shouldn’t be so high, and those contaminated that cry and beg to be killed as their parasite devour human flesh shouldn’t be contaminated. They are all dickheads.”

Then for the next thirty minutes, I kept laying my head down near his pillow.

I won’t believe that this room had no surveillance. Whether somebody was on the panel room or not, my words would still be recorded. Letting them know how much I loathe them won’t do Gavin any good, but without these last bit of anger inside me, I could think.

After my long deliberation, I pressed a finger to press on Gavin’s aorta. His pulsation’s all normal; the parasite hadn’t touched anything near his heart. I’ll assume the base had something to slow down the parasite’s spreading. For over an hour, the most abnormal thing that happened to his heartbeat was a sudden rush spike, a little restrain on his breath, and the goo stretched tight like a rubber.

My other hand reached out near his heart, pressing it down, no matter how close my pinky was to the goo. It didn’t move, still stretched tight. My finger moved, feeling his diaphragm muscle; it grew little micro-bump—blood vessels’ size—lines. I pressed it down while holding my breath, closing my eyes, focusing my whole sense on my fingers. Then I massaged it with great force, one-way stroke to the lump, nails scraping its sides.

I had a micro-second wonder; does this room has body monitoring? Some kind that monitor the parasite and body condition? Was it only reserved for Gavin? Is my body’s condition monitored too?

But I put my worries away as I felt the bump smoothen out almost imperceptibly, and I felt prickly little things on my hand’s back, starting from under my nails and permeating to other areas like micro-threads.

It had yet to reach my thumb’s knuckles before it retreated like a breeze.

After my hands felt out the edges of the Putrid’s lump, I took back my hand and opened my eyes, staring at Gavin’s pale face. His breathing has gotten weaker. My other hand was still on his aorta, feeling his slow pulse.

“Gavin,” I whispered, brittle. “Feel your body. Perceive your intruder. Seize them. I’m here to help, you can do it.”

“Gavin, feel your body. Perceive your intruder. Seize them. I’m here to help, you can do it. I’m here.”

“Gavin....”

Pathetic isn’t it, I ended up relying on this fallible plan?

Leaving the parasite clinging wouldn’t be any good. The woman calling me said it would get dangerous after half a day; whatever they’re using to suppress the spreading couldn’t last long. taking it out, no matter the method, would still leave Gavin disabled. Human body parts that have been contaminated/taken over by Putrid body never can recover.

Consequently, if Gavin succeeds, he wouldn’t be human any longer.