Three months had passed.
The fires had long died. The skies had cleared, peace was present. They called it 'The Calamity', the day when the disasters struck. A single day scorched into the collective soul of the world. Everyone remembered it. No one could forget.
The wounded had long since left the hospitals, healed in body. Food lines stretched for hours. The price of water had tripled. Even in the world’s most powerful cities, recovery was slow and uneven. The world was healing, construction was on it's way.
Still, the people endured. The governments swore it was a one-time event. The global economy was bleeding, and taxes soared to keep nations afloat. But no one protested. Everyone understood—they were lucky to even be alive.
At a global summit, world leaders met once again—virtually, as always. But this time, fewer screens were lit. Some leaders were missing, gone silent since the disaster. No explanations. No updates. Just... absence.
These meetings had become routine now, held every month to check on each country’s recovery and public stability. But today, the conversation felt thinner. Hollow. Everyone was doing their best to appear strong, but even through the screens, their tired eyes told the truth.
Eventually, the summit ended—quiet and unresolved.
* * *
Every morning outside, the rhythm of machines marked the new morning anthem—drilling, hammering, rebuilding. Cities were rising again, brick by broken brick. People returned to jobs, to schools, to routines that felt hollow.
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And then—eleven days later—a sudden meeting was called.
Something was wrong.
“What’s going on?” barked the French representative, narrowing his eyes. “You said The Calamity was over. What the hell is this?”
A researcher—one of the global science leads—unmuted his feed. His face was pale, voice tight with unease.
“It’s not another calamity,” he said. “It’s... people. They're attacking. We’ve received footage—vehicles moving without drivers, concrete splitting open, a girl walking through fire untouched. These events are spreading. Around the world, individuals are displaying... abilities.”
The screen went quiet.
This time, the enemy wasn’t nature. It was their own.
Immediate action was taken. Governments dispatched soldiers, special units, and law enforcement to identify and contain what they now called anomalies. Passive ones were detained. Aggressive ones—eliminated.
But it wasn’t so simple.
Some anomalies ran. Others fought back. The more the world hunted them, the more chaos followed. No matter how advanced the weapons, the powers unleashed by these anomalies turned cities into battlegrounds.
President Ohare sat alone in his office, the tick of his pen loud in the silence. Frustrated. Waiting.
Then his console lit up.
Henry Redmond.
Ohare stared at the name for a moment, then answered.
“Mr. President,” Henry said, voice crisp and measured. “The plan I mentioned three months ago is now ready. Would you like to hear it?”
Ohare exhaled, leaning forward. “You found a use for those strange materials, then?”
“I did,” Henry replied. “And I’ve built a solution. A device. I propose we deploy it globally. Distribution and deployment handled by my company—inSpire Corps. In return, all research and manufacturing details remain strictly confidential.”
Ohare's gaze sharpened. “What does this device do?”
“It detects them. The anomalies.”
There was a pause. Then a nod. “Proceed.”
—
The next day, the world was introduced to Entect.
A sleek, palm-sized scanner. Simple. Silent. Deadly effective.
Its first installation was at the White House. Then, one by one, every major security hub across the world followed. Manufactured by inSpire Corps, Entect was designed to detect anomalies with just a scan of the hand.
The moment it went live, things changed.
Anomalies—once hidden—were exposed the moment they put their palm on Enetect.
Some were caught.
Some were killed.
And some ran…
Hunted by the very world they once called home.
