They burst from the restaurant and ran. Three meters out, hands erupted from the earth, gripping their legs with bone-crushing force.
"What the—" Ben stumbled, looking down at pale fingers wrapped around his ankles.
The grip tightened. More hands pushed through the soil — dozens of them, emerging like grotesque growths.
"This isn't… this can't be…" Gwen struggled against impossibility. "Those hands… they're c-cold. Really cold."
Behind them, the restaurant door swung open. The customers they'd fled from stepped into the parking lot, moving with unnatural coordination. No longer silent — low moans drifted across the distance.
"Okay, very funny!" Ben's voice cracked as he tried to pull free. "Joke's over! This isn't… isn't funny anymore!"
But the restaurant patrons looked wrong. Their skin held the same pallor as the hands gripping his legs but less decayed, and their movements carried an odd, swaying rhythm. They still looked mostly human, but the wrongness Ben had sensed inside now became blazingly obvious under the moonlight. Hoods and coverings fell from their faces, revealing gaunt, lifeless features.
From the treeline beyond the gas station, more figures shambled into view. These were different — advanced decay evident even at a distance. Tattered clothing hung from frames that shouldn't be able to move, yet did. Their moaning grew louder, more insistent.
"Zombies?!" Gwen exclaimed, trying to process the impossibility. With precise karate chops, she freed her legs from the grasping hands. She winced, clearly hurt but forcing herself to think through the pain.
Ben tried mimicking her technique when a head burst from the ground and sank teeth into his leg.
His consciousness flickered as a voice accompanied by a screen filled his mind:
[CRITICAL: DNA MUTATION DETECTED.]
[Processing will reduce host intelligence by 95%, memory retention by 99.9%, learning capacity eliminated.]
[Pain receptors targeted for removal — WARNING: Pain serves critical survival function.]
[Additional contamination effects: Biological immortality via flesh consumption, standard termination methods remain effective.]
[Contaminated specimens exhibit progenitor-following behavior patterns through brain wave. No baseline data available for this genetic variant.]
[PROCESS GENETIC ALTERATION? Default response: NEGATIVE. Auto-rejection in 10… 9… 8…]
What the hell?
Gwen's kick freed him from the biting head, another strike breaking the hand-grip.
"You're bleeding, Ben. The bite—even if this thing exists, it doesn't mean you'll turn undead… I hope." She helped him stand, mind racing through possibilities while unconsciously loosening her grip on him.
[Mutation rejected.]
Ben's eyes regained their normal light.
Zombies poured from underground, circling them completely.
"Who can save us?!" Gwen glanced around in fear, looking beyond the undead for a way out. "I can help us fight through but…"
She still hadn't confirmed whether they were really zombies, or at least very similar to zombies, and she wouldn't risk infection from even a scratch.
"Maybe Grandpa…" Her face filled with apprehension, but she didn't waste another second pondering as she shouted, "Grandpa Max, save us!" her voice cutting through the night.
"I'd rather save myself, Gwen." Ben pulled free from her support. His leg throbbed but held his weight.
He pressed the watch button. The dial lifted.
"No! I followed you into the restaurant to avoid that! If you transform—"
"We live to see tomorrow." Ben's voice carried cold calculation as he turned the dial.
This thing just saved my life, this isn't just for transforming… Too bad I won't use it again after this.
He stopped on the familiar silhouette — the fire creature he'd named Heatblast. The only form he knew.
As his finger moved toward the dial, a zombie erupted beside him. Startled, Ben slammed down reflexively. A green flash engulfed the surroundings.
__________________
Transformation sequence — Duration: 0.00 seconds
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Green light consumed him. Ben's consciousness flickered as his body compressed inwards, shrinking rapidly from human height to gremlin proportions. His skin shifted from flesh tone to deep crimson red, the change spreading across his frame like an infection.
His fingertips tingled with hypersensitive awareness — suddenly every surface around him felt knowable, as if he could sense the molecular bonds holding objects together. Fragments of engineering instincts sparked to life: the urge to disassemble, to understand, to rebuild everything better than before. His mind buzzed with technical possibilities, seeing potential in every piece of machinery within his memory.
His clothes vanished, replaced by green-and-black garments that materialized with unnecessary theatrical flair. A ridiculous cape served no purpose, while fitted glasses perched over his transformed green eyes.
His pupils sharpened into precise vertical lines, granting him microscopic focus on details. His nose elongated into a more angular profile while his hands became smaller but infinitely more dexterous, fingers ending in clawed tips that could manipulate the tiniest components. A devil-like tail sprouted from his spine, providing balance as his body density shifted — lighter, more agile, built for quick technical work.
The watch vanished from his wrist, and the familiar symbol ( 〉〈 ) materialized prominently at the center of his belt.
The strangest part: nothing felt strange. It was like becoming another version of what he'd always been.
__________________
The light faded, leaving a small, clothed devil-like creature.
"Ben...?" Gwen instinctively stepped back, just enough to avoid getting too near the zombies, who had suddenly stopped moving. "So this is one of these ten monsters?"
"Yep." A sharp and devilish voice emerged, then he suddenly began to laugh. "What a bad situation. If only I could…"
At a deeper level than memory, in his instincts, he felt something — something this form wanted to do more than anything. Yet he couldn't access any concrete information.
He looked at the zombies encircling them, now frozen in place. "Well, I guess we are dead." He shrugged.
"Ben! You don't sound like yourself…"
What Gwen didn't notice was that the creature's eyes (Ben's) sharpened as he scanned the motionless zombies.
Someone is controlling them. Didn't the watch say something about a progenitor?
He then glanced toward a car parked near the restaurant. For some reason, something stirred inside him.
And the watch mentioned the zombies are being controlled by brainwaves… No, I don't have the knowledge to build something to track the signal… Wait, build? Why am I thinking about building...?
The desire surged as he leaped over the stationary zombies in his path to the vehicle, his useless cape fluttering during the jump.
The moment his hand touched the car, it suddenly became slightly clay-like under his touch while remaining solid to everything else. In that instant Ben understood — within seconds he had disassembled half of the car, leaving all the perfectly separated components on the ground.
"I understand — so I can do that." His eyes scanned the parts, ignoring the zombies who were beginning to stir again, only seconds away from catching him.
Within seconds, using his hands, he assembled the components into something new. A metal projectile gun built from engine parts.
He fired.
The first shot rang out with the harsh bark of a car engine turning over. The metal projectile found its mark in what had once been the restaurant's waitress — her name tag still read "Morgana" as she crumpled backwards, her shoulder and neck nearly blasted off, yet she still struggled to stand.
The red devil's eyes narrowed with scorn.
"Not accurate! I aimed for the head," he said, voice filled with genuine annoyance and nothing else. Within seconds, he disassembled and reassembled the metal gun as if it were a toy.
"Ben—" Gwen's eyes met his with terror.
"Move!"
Gwen narrowly dodged a bite. Metal fragments pierced the next zombie's skull, blood spattering on Gwen's clothes.
"Now, it's perfect!" The red devil giggled, then looked at Gwen, who had grown paler than usual, not that he cared much. "Follow me, I will clear a path for us."
More shots found their marks. More figures fell silent. His laughter grew richer, more genuine. Some wore wedding rings. Others dropped phones displaying "Daughter" or "Son" on cracked screens as the devices buzzed frantically with incoming calls.
As they made their way toward their motor home, called the Rust Bucket, dozens of undead lay sprawled on the ground, precise headshots from some kind of energy weapon marking each corpse.
A shot was fired, stopping at Ben's feet and scorching the ground.
"Ben?" An elderly figure revealed himself from behind the trees — it was Max, their grandfather, wielding some kind of futuristic weapon. He noticed the watch logo on Ben's belt. "It's you. Both of you go inside; we are leaving now."
Ben and Gwen exchanged glances at the advanced weapon in Max's hands. Another secret, but given everything else he'd been hiding, somehow it wasn't as shocking as it should have been. Max's precision and the weapon's origin remained unexplained, but the timing was impeccable.
"Okay." Ben leaped toward the door and pulled it open, followed by his grandfather. A green flash engulfed the interior as Ben slammed the dial, transforming back into human form. Then… nothing.
Ben and his grandfather leaned over the vehicle door.
"Gwen, what are you doing? Let's go," Ben yelled.
She stared at them with disgust, then shifted her gaze to the zombie on the ground.
"Ben… Grandpa… How do you know for sure their state is incurable?"
Ben met Gwen's eyes with frustration. "Incurable? As far as we know, they might have been dead a long time ago and brought back to life or whatever."
Meanwhile, he thought back to the restaurant — the food was still hot, untouched… but what if they had just taken a small quantity… like just a mouthful? Thinking about it, an odor had drifted from the kitchen that mingled with the place's heavy fragrance… a stench oddly similar to what the zombies were emitting: rottenness.
So that's why the culprit chose a restaurant — they just needed to infect the food!
It was recent… saying they were dead might be wrong.
A certain feeling grew in Ben as he thought back to the watch curing him… could it be possible...?
No. Ben stopped the thought as Gwen stepped inside. Max started the strange engine of the Rust Bucket.
It wasn't like I could have known… I cared less when transformed… maybe…
Ben stared at his watch. This time he couldn't force himself to look away.
The Rust Bucket suddenly stopped.
"So soon?" he muttered, standing to peer out the window. They hadn't moved far; the same landscape surrounded them.
Only one thing had changed: night now glowed crimson, the surrounding horizon filtered through crimson light.
"We are trapped in a force field." Max frowned.
"Ben, you shouldn't have transformed! The signal — whoever's after us just locked on," Gwen snapped.
"And you shouldn't have wasted precious seconds arguing!" Ben shot back, voice darker than usual. "Just shut up."
He turned toward his grandfather, who was about to speak. "BOTH OF YOU!"
"Both of you keep telling me what not to do. How could I plan for consequences I'd never seen?" He shoved the Rust Bucket door open. "Fine. I'll eliminate the zombie controller, then whoever raised this field. At least then I'll know I'm doing something good."
"Stop acting foolish!" Max shouted.
"Don't think that watch makes you invincible!" Gwen added.
"I'm not invincible — just feeling lucky." Ben twisted the dial at random.
If this form's wrong, I'll switch again. It's not as if there's a time limit… I think.
He slammed the dial down. Green light swallowed him.