Evolution: Harbinger of Chaos

By the end of the week, Daniel could walk short distances unaided, though his legs trembled with each step as every movement felt like dragging himself through a mire of exhaustion and alienation.

Among the hospital staff that had watched his struggle for days on end, some of the nurses celebrated his progress, their quiet murmurs reaching his ears.

"He's recovering..."

"Thank goodness, I was starting to feel concerned for him."

Daniel didn't care for their words or their stares. Their praise felt hollow, meaningless. All that mattered was leaving this place.

As he stood near the window of his room, his gaze locked on the world beyond, his determination hardened like tempered steel.

[I will leave soon.] "I will leave soon," he whispered, the dual voices blending into a low, guttural promise that reverberated through the sterile air.

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Turning, he saw a nurse step inside, her professional smile wavering slightly under his intense gaze.

"Daniel," she began, her voice polite but cautious, "Some investigators are here to speak with you. They'd like to ask a few questions about the accident."

Daniel's expression hardened. The accident. He had expected this, but the memory of how his earlier recounting had been dismissed still lingered, a raw wound on his psyche.

"Should I let them in?" the nurse pressed after a moment's silence.

Daniel hesitated, considering. He didn't trust anyone here to believe him, and the thought of reliving those moments filled him with dread. But if they were police, they might know something—something important.

He gave a small, reluctant nod.

The nurse hesitated, then stepped back out, leaving the door ajar. Moments later, two men walked in, their presence distinct and purposeful.

The first was a man in his late forties, his short brown hair streaked with grey at the temples. He carried himself with an air of quiet authority, his tailored suit adding to his professional demeanor.

"Good afternoon, Daniel," he said warmly. "I'm Detective Theodore Harlow, and this is my partner, Detective Jackson Miller."

The second man—Detective Jackson followed, his tall, muscular frame exuding quiet strength. His dark skin gleamed faintly under the fluorescent lights, and his watchful eyes seemed to miss nothing.

Theodore gestured toward the chairs near Daniel's bed. "May we sit?"

Daniel didn't respond immediately, his mistrust palpable. After a long pause, he nodded stiffly.

Both men settled into their seats, Theodore leaning slightly forward in an attempt to foster ease.

"First of all, we're glad you're awake and recovering," Theodore began. "My daughter actually attends your school—Schulerin Academy, right?"

Daniel's brow furrowed. Schulerin. The name alone brought flashes of indistinct faces and disdainful stares.

"She's a strawberry blonde," Theodore continued conversationally. "Pretty spirited. A little aggressive sometimes, but a good kid."

Daniel blinked, his face blank. He searched his memory for anyone fitting that description, but it was useless. His prosopagnosia reduced faces to a blur, their features indistinguishable unless paired with something specific he had memorized.

"I don't… know her," he said quietly.

Theodore's smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. "That's alright. It's a big school."

Detective Jackson, who had remained silent thus far, gave Theodore a glance, and they seemed to share an unspoken agreement. Their postures shifted subtly, their tones turning more serious.

"We'd like to talk about the accident," Jackson said, his deep voice steady and direct. "We'd like to hear your side of the story—what you remember."

Daniel tensed, his gaze dropping to the blanket on his lap, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric. Memories of that day surged forward unbidden: the monstrous reindeer, the suffocating fog, the blood.

His fists clenched tighter, the dual voices whispering in unison, the tones laced with bitterness:

[They won't believe me.] "They won't believe me."

He hesitated, his heart pounding. The dismissal he'd faced before—Miss Dahlia's feigned smile, Doctor Aksel's placating words—it all replayed in his mind, fueling his reluctance.

"I…" he began, then stopped, his throat tight. For a moment, he considered staying silent, but his need for answers gnawed at him.

Theodore leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. "Take your time, son. Whatever you can tell us might help."

Daniel bit his lip, an internal battle raging. He didn't want to speak, didn't want to see their doubt...

However, he exhaled shakily and began.

"It all happened so fast. T–the driver suddenly stopped the bus, and..."

Daniel's retelling was halting and disjointed, his words tumbling over each other as he described the reindeer's attack and the surreal events that followed. He spoke of the reindeer—in particular—a lot, its unnatural size and aggression, the fight, the overwhelming pain.

Theodore and Jackson listened intently, their expressions carefully neutral. But Daniel caught the subtle exchange of glances between them, the silent communication that screamed doubt.

When Daniel finished, the room was thick with tension.

Theodore leaned back slightly, rubbing his chin. "That's… quite the account," he said carefully.

Jackson frowned, his arms crossed. "You're certain about these details? That you fell out the bus, that the… reindeer attacked you?"

"Yes," Daniel replied firmly, his voice carrying a rare edge.

The two detectives exchanged a long look, their whispered conversation too low for anyone else to hear—anyone without Daniel's heightened senses.

"We've heard strange things before, but this…" Theodore murmured.

"It aligns with the evidence, doesn't it?" Jackson countered.

"Maybe, but his story… It's too surreal. Too—"

"Unbelievable?"

Their skepticism stung, but Daniel pushed down the frustration boiling in his chest.

"Do you remember anything else?" Jackson probed.

Daniel shook his head, his eyes dropping to his lap.

The two detectives exchanged another look, then stood.

"Thank you for your time, Daniel," Theodore said. "Focus on getting better, alright?"

"W–wait," Daniel called, stopping them mid-step.

Theodore turned back, eyebrows raised.

"What… what state was I in when you found me?" Daniel asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Theodore hesitated, his eyes flicking to Jackson.

Jackson gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

Theodore sighed. "Daniel, the doctors said your body is still recovering. It's better not to overwhelm yourself with these details right now."

Daniel's eyes narrowed. He could hear the rehearsed cadence in Theodore's voice, the avoidance.

"Alright," he said quietly, his tone laced with suspicion.

As the detectives stepped out, Daniel closed his eyes, letting his heightened hearing focus. Their conversation drifted back to him, each word crystal clear despite the distance.

"Like you said, the evidence fits his story," Theodore muttered outside.

"But it's still insane," Jackson replied. "He fought it? That… thing? It's too much."

"But the state it was in…"

"Exactly. There's something we're missing here."

Daniel's fists clenched, his determination solidifying into something unyielding.

[They're hiding something.] "They're hiding something," the voices echoed.

As the door clicked shut, Daniel stared out the window, his resolve to leave the hospital—to find the truth himself—unshaken.