The attack at Silver Rock High School sent shockwaves through the small town of Silver Rock, Nevada. Within hours, the gruesome footage of Ethan extracting the glowing core from the mutated raccoon had spread across social media, igniting fear and speculation. The town’s quiet streets buzzed with whispers of monsters, conspiracies, and impending doom.

At the Silver Rock Community Center, parents, teachers, and officials packed into a modest hall for the emergency meeting. The room buzzed with tension, voices raised in anger and fear as parents demanded answers.

“My son came home covered in blood!” one mother shouted, clutching her visibly shaken child. “What are you doing to keep our kids safe?”

A grizzled farmer stood, his voice booming. “This ain’t just the school’s problem anymore. My livestock’s been torn apart by glowing-eyed coyotes. What’re you people doing about that?”

Principal McCall gripped the podium, her face pale. “We’ve increased security at the school—armed guards, metal detectors—but we’re working with the authorities to investigate—”

“Investigate?” a man interrupted, slamming his fist on the table. “My niece said she saw that thing rip through metal like paper! Guards aren’t gonna stop something like that!”

The room erupted into chaos. Shouts echoed off the walls as parents and officials argued, some calling for immediate action, others dismissing the concerns as hysteria.

From the back of the room, Ethan watched silently, his jaw clenched. Dakota stood beside him, arms crossed, his presence enough to keep most people at a distance.

Finally, a voice called out, “Ethan Graves! You were there. You fought that thing. What do you know?”

The room fell silent as Ethan stood. He walked to the front, his movements deliberate, his bloodied baton still tucked in his bag—a quiet reminder of the truth he carried. His gaze swept over the crowd, and for a moment, no one spoke.

“A mutated animal attacked the school,” Ethan said, his voice calm but sharp. “I stopped it. That’s all.”

“What do you mean ‘mutated’?” someone asked, their tone skeptical.

Without a word, Ethan pulled out his phone and played the infamous video of the glowing core pulsing in his bloodied hands. Gasps rippled through the room.

“This,” Ethan said, pausing the video, “is what’s causing it. And it’s spreading. You can argue about it all you want, but that won’t stop it.”

A man in the crowd stood, pointing an accusatory finger. “How do we know you’re not making this worse? You’ve been in the middle of all of this!”

Ethan turned to him, his voice cutting like a blade. “Because while you’re sitting here arguing, I’m out there keeping people alive.”

The room fell silent again, but this time the tension shifted. Ethan’s words hung heavy, and even the loudest critics found themselves with nothing to say.

Silver Rock High School became a fortress overnight. Armed guards patrolled the halls, and students passed through metal detectors every morning. Teachers were trained in emergency protocols, and evacuation drills became a weekly occurrence.

But to Ethan, it all felt like a desperate illusion. The measures wouldn’t hold against what was coming.

“It’s all for show,” Ethan muttered during lunch, watching the guards with their holstered pistols. “They’re not ready.”

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“They’re scared,” Mason said, cringing as he adjusted the bandage on his arm. “But scared people do stupid things.”

“They’ll find out soon enough,” Ethan replied, his eyes scanning the room. “And we’ll be the ones cleaning up their mess.”

While the town argued and the school played defense, Ethan’s group worked tirelessly. Their preparations became more brutal, their resolve hardening with every passing day.

The group’s base, nicknamed The Forge, was now unrecognizable. Mason’s engineering skills turned the once-cluttered garage into a fortress. Reinforced metal plates lined the walls, and the motion detectors Mason rigged now triggered alarms, floodlights, and a blast of compressed air to disorient intruders.

Ethan tested the system, throwing rocks at the perimeter. The alarm screamed, the lights flared, and Mason grinned. “Nothing’s sneaking up on us now.”

“We’ll see,” Ethan said, already thinking of ways to make it deadlier.

Dakota worked tirelessly to upgrade their weapons. His crowbar now had serrated edges welded onto its sides, while Kyle’s bat bristled with sharpened steel spikes. Mason rigged a flail using a chain and scrap metal, its brutal design made for ripping through flesh.

Ethan experimented with glowing cores, creating makeshift grenades that emitted heat and shrapnel. During a test, one grenade exploded with a fiery flash, leaving a charred crater in the dirt.

“Effective,” Dakota said, inspecting the crater. “But dangerous.”

“That’s the point,” Ethan replied, his tone cold.

Ethan pushed the group harder than ever. They sparred daily, practicing against multiple attackers, simulating swarm scenarios. The sessions were brutal, leaving them bruised and bloodied but sharper with every drill.

During one session, Ethan fought Dakota in front of the group. The clash was fierce, their weapons colliding with deafening thwacks. Dakota swung his crowbar low, aiming for Ethan’s legs, but Ethan leapt over the strike, bringing his baton down on Dakota’s shoulder.

“Nice try,” Ethan said, smirking.

Dakota grunted, spinning to counter. The crowbar grazed Ethan’s ribs, drawing blood. “Still standing,” Dakota growled, grinning.

Ethan wiped the blood with a smirk. “Not for long.”

The Silver Rock Harvest Festival was supposed to bring the town together, a brief escape from the fear that now gripped everyone. Booths lined the square, lit by strings of warm lights. Families laughed, children ran between games, and the scent of roasted corn filled the air.

But Ethan’s nerves were on edge. He stood at the edge of the square with Dakota, Mason, and Kyle, scanning the crowd.

“This feels wrong,” Ethan muttered, his fingers twitching near his baton.

“You always say that,” Kyle said, though his grip on his duffel bag tightened.

Then it came—a piercing screech that silenced the crowd.

From the rooftops, a massive hawk with glowing orange eyes launched into the air. Its wings spread wide, its talons gleaming in the festival lights. Before anyone could react, it dove into the crowd, its talons tearing through a vendor’s chest in a spray of blood. Screams erupted as the hawk turned, ripping into another victim with savage precision.

From the shadows, glowing-eyed creatures emerged—raccoons, coyotes, and even a massive feral dog. Their movements were jerky, unnatural, but their intent was clear.

Ethan drew his baton. “Kyle, get the hawk. Mason, explosives. Dakota, with me!”

The square descended into chaos. The hawk screeched again, swooping low as Kyle fired his crossbow. The bolt struck its wing, sending it crashing into a booth. It thrashed, its claws tearing apart the wood, but Kyle leapt forward, driving a spiked bat into its chest. Blood sprayed across his face as the hawk’s screeches turned to wet gurgles.

Ethan and Dakota charged into the fray. A coyote lunged at Ethan, its glowing eyes blazing. He sidestepped and drove his baton into its ribs, the sharp crack of bone echoing as the creature howled. Dakota swung his crowbar into another coyote’s skull, splitting it open in a burst of blood and brain matter.

Mason hurled an explosive into a pack of raccoons. The blast tore through their bodies, limbs flying in every direction. The ground was slick with blood, the air heavy with the stench of burning flesh.

A massive feral dog charged at Ethan, its jaws snapping. He ducked under its leap and swung upward, smashing its jaw with enough force to send teeth flying. The dog staggered, but Dakota finished it with a brutal swing, caving in its skull.

By the time the last creature fell, the square was a battlefield. Blood and gore covered the cobblestones, bodies of both victims and creatures scattered across the ground.

The survivors huddled near the edges of the square, their faces pale and eyes wide with terror. Ethan stood in the center, blood dripping from his baton. He held up a glowing core extracted from the hawk, its eerie light casting shadows across the carnage.

“This is what’s out there,” Ethan said, his voice cold. “And it’s not going to stop.”

Dakota stepped beside him, his crowbar still dripping with blood. “If we’re not ready, we’ll end up like them.”

The group turned and left the square, leaving the town to process the reality they could no longer ignore.

Time Until Cataclysm: 176 Days