"Boss, how much for a double room?"

The dozing fat man jolted awake, peering over the counter.

"You two... little girls? No one accompanying you?"

Before him stood two brown-skinned girls, faces half-hidden by scarves, petite frames almost childlike. Though their features were obscured, their mature gestures betrayed them—temptresses in deceptively young bodies. No wonder they’d be mistaken for children.

"We’re not kids. Rent us the room now, or we’ll go next door. Your choice."

The girl slid two ID cards and a bank card across the counter. This was a cheap motel—no questions asked. Money talked. And sometimes, asking too many questions cost more than cash.

"No twin rooms left. Only one double bed. Take it or leave it."

"We’ll manage. We’re sisters."

"Good."

The fat man crouched behind the tall counter, rummaging briefly before standing with a keycard. "We lock at midnight. Don’t make it back? Gate’s closed. No exceptions." His beady eyes raked over their slender figures, a trace of adult hunger flickering in his gaze.

Layla and Lina felt it. They shot back icy glares—but whether he noticed was unclear.

"What brings you here? Enrollment season’s long over."

"Just looking for someone. If that’s all—" Layla flashed a sharp, knowing smile at the leering man.

Lina followed silently behind her sister, suitcase in hand, face unreadable as they climbed the stairs.

The fat man watched them vanish above, then grinned, sinking below the counter.

Beneath it sat rows of glass jars. Floating in formaldehyde were women’s severed heads, cleanly cut, perfectly preserved.

*Art*, he thought. *The finest art*.

Beside the jars lay a blood-crusted hammer, cleaver, syringe, and saw.

"My collection grows," he murmured, tongue sliding over his lips. The phantom scent of blood filled his nostrils.

---

"Teacher Zeming," Shalulu whispered, "what do you make of this?"

"Hmm... life’s unpredictable?" Zeming stood stiffly beside her, utterly lost.

"Teacher Lei," Leyn cut in, "we should neutralize the threat *now*."

*Easier said than done.*

Mid-lecture, an armored intruder had burst in, swinging a massive hammer. He’d assumed the crowded classroom would deter him—but—

"*Help us, you bastard!*"

"Teacher Zeming," Leyn sighed, "this isn’t exactly heroic."

Both women glared at him. Hiding behind two female teachers? Pathetic.

"I told you—I’m *not* a Supernatural Being!"

"Bullshit!" Shalulu snapped. *Why was this useless man even hired?*

"If I were lying, I’d be a ghost! I have *no* powers!"

The armored brute slammed his hammer down harder. Leyn and Shalulu’s boots sank into the floor under the pressure.

Zeming scanned the room. Students lay scattered, unnaturally asleep—breathing too slow, like static-choked signals.

"Where’d this guy even come from?"

"No idea! Why’s there no alarm?!"

Neither woman was strength-type. They were losing ground.

The armored man stepped back, hefting his hammer high—then drove it into the floor.

"*Jump!*"

Leyn moved faster than humanly possible, snatching up a bewildered Zeming. She and Shalulu leapt aside as the floor erupted—spikes of earth spearing upward like tidal waves. The blast radius was small. They landed unharmed.

"This... is an invasion," Zeming muttered.

No alarms. No shouts for help. Just sleeping students and silence. Something was deeply wrong.

*Enemy breach!*

The attack had severed all communications. These sleeping students proved it—a power that stole consciousness. Perfect for infiltration.

"Then we’re screwed. Can you call the police?" Shalulu eyed Zeming. *His only use so far.*

"Sure. Why can’t you?"

"Mine’s broken."

"Shattered."

Their smartphones were crushed fragments—likely from the intruder’s initial energy pulse.

"Yours might still work, but—"

"Flawless." Zeming pulled out his phone with a proud grin. An indestructible brick of a device.

"*That’s* a phone? It’s a walnut hammer!"

"A postmodern masterpiece," Leyn deadpanned.

"Don’t mock it! This thing’s a—"

A shadow flashed. A spandex-clad round-headed man snatched the phone and vanished, leaving only a blur.

"A speedster?!" Zeming hissed, staring at his empty palm. *I got careless.*

Two intruders. One threat.

*Who the hell are they?!*