Jason’s face. Nineteen.

  Teeth clenched. Jaw tight. A grimace of real strain.

  A bead of sweat slides down his temple, slicing his skin like a cold blade.

  The barbell rises from the bench press.

  Slow.

  His arms tremble. Muscles stretched to their limit.

  It’s not just weight—it’s a personal challenge against something that doesn’t have a name.

  It lowers. Brushes his chest.

  Jason inhales in sharp pulls, like the air weighs more than the iron.

  He pushes.

  Not elegant. Not clean.

  Controlled rage.

  Detail.

  The wrist.

  Black smartwatch. Almost new. Screen lit.

  The graph goes insane.

  72… 88… 120… 210…

  Then—

  zero.

  Flat line.

  Screen flickers.

  Jason freezes mid-breath.

  Looks.

  One second.

  He shakes his wrist.

  Beep. Beep.

  SENSOR ERROR.

  His jaw tightens.

  “Fucking useless piece of shit…”

  He pulls the smartwatch off and throws it onto the bench.

  Tok. Plastic against iron.

  “Third one already…”

  He goes again.

  Like the problem isn’t the watch.

  Like the problem is that his body is doing things numbers can’t contain.

  Heavy dumbbell. The bicep swells, veins rising.

  It climbs centimeter by centimeter.

  Again.

  At the pull-up bar. Thick chain around his waist. Five plates swinging beneath him, clinking.

  Last rep.

  A growl vibrates in his throat. He swallows it. Still goes up.

  Then deadlift.

  The bar is loaded absurdly heavy. Jason lifts it.

  One suspended second, like the entire garage is holding its breath.

  He drops it.

  BOOM.

  The floor vibrates.

  On the bench, the dead smartwatch turns on by itself.

  White screen.

  A single spike.

  Black.

  Jason doesn’t look at it.

  But something passes through his eyes.

  A shadow.

  A suspicion he refuses to shape into words.

  He breathes deep, hands on his knees.

  Straightens up.

  A tired half-smile.

  “Solid one today.”

  He clenches his fist. The forearm is hard, defined.

  He studies it like a weapon he built himself.

  A sentence crosses his mind.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Dormant code.

  That’s what they told him.

  That’s what he repeats.

  So there’s only one thing left.

  Iron. Reps. Pain.

  Cold chair. Feet barely touching the floor.

  Jason looks at the fist resting on his knees.

  The doctor scrolls through a digital file.

  “The basic genetic analysis is complete. The code belongs to the crustacean family.”

  His mother stiffens.

  “…Crustaceans?”

  “Specifically: shrimp.”

  The word is small.

  But heavy.

  Jason doesn’t react.

  It’s like someone just decided something for him.

  The doctor continues.

  “To identify the exact species, we would need a more advanced test at a specialized center.”

  Pause.

  “It costs more. But I doubt it would change much.”

  The father stays silent. Does invisible math.

  Then, low:

  “If it’s a shrimp… let’s not waste money.”

  The mother looks at Jason.

  Opens her mouth.

  Wants to say something.

  Nothing comes out.

  Her eyes drop before the words do.

  Jason lowers his gaze.

  His fingers close slowly.

  The fist stays tight even after no one is looking anymore.

  THE EVOLUTION

  At first it felt like a hoax.

  Viral videos. Comments. Laughter.

  Then the footage came.

  A man lifting an overturned car.

  A girl recorded at impossible speed.

  A child twisting, claws and fangs where they shouldn’t exist. Screams. Blood.

  Three cases.

  Then more.

  Stacked headlines. Scientists. Politicians. Hysterical debates.

  A double helix on a screen.

  One section lighting up.

  Fragments of animal code embedded in human DNA.

  Dormant for centuries.

  When they begin to activate…

  the world changes.

  Not in a spectacular way.

  In an inevitable one.

  Jason watches the TV from a distance.

  He already knows one thing.

  It won’t happen to him.

  Jason walks alone. Backpack over his shoulder. Eyes down.

  Four boys slide in from the side.

  They’re laughing before they speak.

  “Oh look…”

  Close-up: Jason’s face.

  He heard.

  He doesn’t stop.

  “There’s Shrimp Boy Raden!”

  Laughter explodes around him—too loud, too easy.

  “HAHAHAHA!”

  They surround him.

  Jason stops.

  A violent shove hits him out of nowhere.

  He drops to the ground.

  Jason doesn’t cry.

  He stares at the pavement like he’s learned how.

  One of the bullies bends toward him, fake pity dripping like spit.

  “Aww…”

  A nasty smile.

  “You gonna cry, Shrimp Boy?”

  Jason stands up slowly.

  Head down.

  Fists clenched.

  He stops in front of the one who pushed him. Looks at him.

  Silence.

  Another laughs nervously, waiting for the show.

  “Oh oh… look at him…”

  Then louder, theatrical:

  “He’s mad! Help!”

  Laughter.

  And inside Jason, something stops staying still.

  CRACK.

  Jason’s fist slams into the bully’s face.

  The sound is dry. Full.

  The bully hits the ground. Eye and cheek swelling fast. Blood from his nose.

  His expression is disbelief—like he can’t process what just happened.

  One second of silence.

  Then he growls and gets back up.

  “Asshole!”

  The other three rush him.

  Jason moves first.

  A sharp kick to the stomach. One folds in half, air ripped from his body.

  Side punch.

  A spray of blood and spit.

  Jason gets hit from behind.

  A kick. A punch.

  He staggers.

  Holds.

  Strikes again.

  Breathing hard, but he doesn’t stop.

  He’s still standing.

  Bruises forming across his face.

  But he doesn’t back down.

  A teacher shouts in the distance.

  The bullies step back, panting.

  One yells, voice cracked:

  “You’re fucking crazy!”

  Another backs away, trying to close it without admitting fear:

  “Just leave him… he’s a loser.”

  They walk off.

  Jason stays alone.

  He slowly collapses to the ground.

  Silent tears.

  No sobbing.

  He clenches his teeth until it hurts.