The next morning started like any other, which was almost funny considering what I knew was coming.
I woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains, the kind of bright, clear morning that made everything feel normal and safe. The house was quiet except for the distant sound of someone moving around downstairs—probably Xu Zhenlan, already up with his coffee and his news.
I showered, dressed in comfortable clothes, and made my way down the stairs with the kind of casual ease that came from knowing exactly what was about to unfold.
When I reached the living room, Zhenlan was exactly where I expected him to be: sitting in his usual chair with a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, his attention split between the device and the television mounted on the wall.
The news was playing—some morning program with cheerful anchors discussing traffic and weather like the world wasn't about to change.
Zhou Chenghai was in the kitchen, I could hear him moving around, the clink of dishes and the sizzle of something cooking. The smell of eggs and toast drifted through the house, warm and familiar and completely at odds with what I knew was coming.
I grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry—salt and vinegar, my favorite—and settled onto the couch, pulling my phone out to queue up the short drama I'd been watching.
It was some historical romance thing with terrible CGI, worse acting, and a plot that made absolutely no sense. The female lead cried in every episode. The male lead brooded dramatically and said things that no actual human would ever say.
It was perfect and exactly what I needed right now.
I pressed play and bit into a chip, letting the salty tang fill my mouth as the opening credits rolled.
The news anchor's voice was a low murmur in the background, professional and controlled. I wasn't paying attention to the words. I didn't need to. I had no idea why my 'guardian' listened to the news as much as he did.
After all, if you paid even the slightest bit of attention to it, it was all doom and gloom anyway.
"—reports coming in from several hospitals across the region," the anchor was saying, her tone measured but with an edge of something I couldn't quite place. Concern, maybe. Or confusion. "Medical staff are describing patients exhibiting unusual levels of aggression. Authorities are investigating the cause, but officials are urging the public to remain calm—"
Zhenlan sipped his coffee, his gaze on the screen. He didn't look concerned so much as just mildly interested. Like the way someone might look at a story about a traffic accident in another city. Something unfortunate, but not relevant to him.
I bit into another chip and watched the female lead cry over some misunderstanding with the male lead. She was always crying. He was always misunderstanding. It was a formula, and it worked.
"—police responded to multiple incidents overnight," the anchor continued. "In one case, officers discharged their weapons after a suspect continued to advance despite being shot multiple times. The suspect was eventually subdued, but questions remain about what could cause such extreme behavior—"
Chenghai walked into the living room with a plate of toast and sat down in the armchair near the window. He glanced at the TV, then at Zhenlan. "Drug-related?"
Zhenlan shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Probably. Or some kind of mental health crisis. They'll sort it out."
"Seems like a lot of incidents for one night."
"Media loves to blow things out of proportion. Makes for better ratings."
I scrolled through my phone, half-watching the drama, half-listening to them talk. The male lead was being dramatic now, standing in the rain and shouting something about destiny. He was always dramatic. The rain was always perfectly timed.
On the TV, the anchor moved to the next story. "Videos circulating online show chaotic scenes in several major cities. Authorities are urging the public to remain calm and avoid sharing unverified footage, as misinformation can cause unnecessary panic—"
The screen cut to shaky phone footage—someone running through a street, screaming. The camera swung wildly, catching glimpses of people on the ground, others stumbling forward with jerky, unnatural movements. Their limbs moved wrong, like puppets with tangled strings. The footage was grainy, the audio distorted, but the fear in the person's voice was clear.
The footage cut off abruptly, replaced by the anchor's face again. She looked composed, but her smile was tight, her eyes a little too wide. "We want to remind viewers that these are isolated incidents. Law enforcement is actively investigating, and there is no cause for alarm at this time."
Isolated incidents.
I almost laughed.
There was nothing isolated about what was happening. It was spreading—had been spreading for days, probably weeks now—and the news was just now catching up. They'd keep calling it isolated until they couldn't anymore. Until the incidents were too frequent, too widespread, too impossible to ignore.
I'd seen this before. The careful language. The controlled tone. The way they danced around the truth because saying it out loud would cause the exact panic they were trying to prevent.
It wouldn't work. It never worked.
Chenghai frowned at the screen. "That didn't look isolated."
"It's always worse on camera," Zhenlan said, but his tone was less certain now. "Everything looks more dramatic when someone's screaming and running."
"Maybe."
I bit into another chip and turned my attention back to my phone. The female lead was running through a forest now, her hair flowing dramatically behind her despite the fact that she'd been running for what had to be miles. The male lead was chasing her, calling her name with increasing desperation. Of course he was. He fucked up and he knew it. Now he was looking for a second chance.
It seemed like everyone wanted a second chance to get back what they lost.
The news moved on to weather—sunny skies, mild temperatures, a perfect day—and then traffic, and then back to the "isolated incidents." More footage. More shaky cameras. More people stumbling and lunging and moving in ways that didn't look quite right.
The anchors kept calling it drug-related violence. Mental health crises. Isolated incidents.
They were very careful not to call it anything else.
I stretched out on the couch, propping my phone against a pillow so I could watch the drama without holding it. The chips were almost gone. I'd need to grab another bag soon, but I didn't want to move just yet. The couch was comfortable, the drama was getting to a good part, and there was something almost surreal about lying here in this quiet, safe house while the world outside started to unravel.
Zhenlan's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression shifting from mild interest to something closer to concern. He read whatever message had come through, then set the phone down with a little more force than necessary. "They're saying it's happening in the northern districts too."
Chenghai looked up from his toast. "How many incidents?"
"Enough that people are talking about it. Enough that it's not just the news anymore."
"Still think it's isolated?"