The blaring news report, detailing the resurgence of the devastating Lila Virus, echoed through the hospital room. Timotheus's heart pounded as he frantically searched for his son. "Cally!" he cried, his voice raw with panic.

Trestan, his seventeen-year-old son, appeared, breathless. "Dad, we need to leave. Now."

Timotheus, confused and desperate, argued, "What are you talking about? Your sister needs medication!"

But Cally's small, weakening voice cut through the chaos. "Daddy... Kuya... S-so itchy... It's hot..." Her tiny hands were turning purple, a horrifying sign. Timotheus reached for her, but Trestan pulled him back, shaking his head.

Then, silence. Cally's struggle ceased. Timotheus's world crumbled. He lashed out, throwing anything within reach, his grief a physical weight.

"Dad, we need to... leave," Trestan insisted, pulling his father away from the tragic scene.

They sped through the chaotic streets of San Lorenzo, the radio broadcasting grim updates: the Lila Virus, LiVi-20, was now a global pandemic, spreading with terrifying speed. "We've been observing this virus for almost two years," Trestan confessed, a chilling revelation. "We're finding an effective cure, but there's a missing piece."

Before Timotheus could fully process his son's words, a horrific crash. Their car was T-boned. Pain, then darkness. He heard Trestan's desperate cries: "Dad... Dad..."

He woke, drenched in sweat, in a dimly lit, unfamiliar room reeking of stale cigarettes. He stumbled to a sink, splashing water on his face. As he wiped it away, he looked into the mirror, and his breath hitched. The face staring back wasn't his. It was Ferran's. "W-What? Ferran!? What the heck!? No!"