Fort Halden Research Facility – August 22nd, 1953 – 11:51 PM

The hall reeked of antiseptic and something far fouler—like rotting meat left out in the summer sun. Emergency lights pulsed crimson, painting the stainless steel walls with each panicked flash.

Dr. Samuel Reeves sprinted barefoot across the tile, his lab coat flapping behind him. He clutched the steel briefcase against his chest, the glass vial inside clinking with each desperate step.

Behind him came the snarling—wet, jagged, too close.

It rounded the corner. The thing that had once been Corporal Hensley charged on twisted legs, its skin stretched thin and grey, lips peeled back over teeth that were black at the roots.

A rifle cracked.

The creature’s skull exploded in a mist of bone and dark blood, sending it skidding lifeless across the floor.

“MOVE!” a voice barked.

Dr. Reeves turned to see a soldier in full combat gear stepping from the shadows, rifle still smoking. His eyes were sharp, scanning for more threats.

Reeves staggered toward him, panting. “It’s loose—containment’s broken—”

“Don’t talk, run.” The soldier grabbed him by the arm, shoving him toward the emergency exit. “We need to get you topside.”

They burst into the cool night air. Crickets chirped. The facility’s sirens still wailed faintly in the background, but here under the stars, it felt like another world.

The soldier clapped Reeves on the back. “You’re safe now, Doc. Let’s get you debriefed.”

Neither of them noticed the dark crescent bite mark under Samuel’s collar.

Fairhaven High School – August 23rd, 1953 – 9:18 AM

The auditorium swelled with the restless energy of a new school year. Rows of polished shoes tapped against the floor, the scent of hairspray and freshly pressed clothes hanging in the air.

Benedict Whitmore stood at the podium, senior jacket neatly draped over his shoulders. His blond hair gleamed under the stage lights, his blue eyes scanning the crowd with the easy charm that made teachers nod approvingly and girls blush. A faint spray of freckles dusted his tanned cheeks, making his smile seem even warmer.

“...and I promise you this,” Ben said, voice ringing out like it belonged on the radio. “Whether it’s on the football field, in the classroom, or representing Fairhaven High out in the world—we will make our mark this year.”

A wave of applause rolled through the room.

In the second row, Rosie Vance leaned forward to whisper. “If he starts selling snake oil, I’m buying it.”

Tommy Hayes chuckled from the other side. “Face it, Rosie, you’re just in it for the jacket.”

Ben gave a small bow before stepping aside for Principal Harper, who adjusted the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Whitmore. Now, before we close the assembly—”

A dull, muffled bang echoed from somewhere outside the building.

A few students turned their heads. Rosie frowned. “What was that?”