The world was still whole when the first ones awakened.
No burning cities. No screaming broadcasts. No flesh-hungry mobs. Just whispers—faint, ignored—of people doing the impossible. A man in Tokyo lifted a truck to save his daughter. A woman in Brazil healed from six bullets and walked away. A teenager in Norway vanished into thin air when soldiers came for him.
They called it reawakening.
A genetic fluke, the news said. Leftover code from some prehistoric ancestor. Governments scrambled to deny it, then secretly hunted the ones who showed signs. Others saw it as divine. Evolution. A curse. No one agreed on the cause. But something had shifted.
And Yota felt it too.
He was just a mechanic's son in the outer zone of Virex—a quiet loner who kept his head down, scraped by, and trusted no one. But then came the Incident.
Three men tried to rob the shop. They didn't come for money. They came for the young woman hiding in the back—another one showing signs.
Yota told them to leave.
They laughed.
And then something inside him snapped.
The moment one of them laid a hand on her, his body reacted like a loaded weapon. The sound of bones breaking wasn't just theirs—it was the air around them. He moved too fast, hit too hard. The world blurred around him. By the time he stopped, one man wasn't breathing, the others were crawling, and the walls of the garage were cracked.
He stood there, panting, fists clenched, hands soaked in blood—and he knew:
This was not adrenaline.
This was something else.
The woman whispered one word as she looked at him, eyes wide in awe and fear:
"Reawakened."
Now, Yota avoids cameras. Authorities are asking questions. And across the world, more people are waking up different. Stronger. Faster. Unnatural.
No one knows why.
But deep in the shadows of abandoned labs, and in boardrooms lit by dying satellites, they are preparing for what comes next—
and it's not a miracle.