We were moved to a large room deeper underground that had been converted into a dormitory. Rows of cots, blankets, and makeshift partitions filled the space. The air was warmer here, heavy with the smell of unwashed bodies and food.

A doctor in a white coat came by with a nurse. They checked our vitals, bandaged cuts, and made notes. As she wrapped a boy’s scraped elbow, the nurse’s hand glowed faintly. The scratch closed before my eyes. The boy blinked and said, “Cool.”

The nurse noticed me staring. “It just started a few hours ago,” she said. “Some of us can do… things. Healing. Strength. We don’t understand it yet.”

Later, in the mess line, I saw a soldier lift a pallet of canned food with one hand, muscles bulging under his sleeves. When he set it down, his arm twitched violently and he staggered, grabbing a table for support. His face had gone pale.

A woman next to me whispered, “My neighbor can see through walls now. She can find people trapped under rubble. But every time she does it, she gets a migraine.”

The government had set up a small stage at the far end of the room. Around midday, a man in a dark suit climbed up with a microphone. His voice echoed off the concrete.

“We are under attack,” he said, not bothering to soften it. “The first wave of beasts has struck cities and towns worldwide. Our scientists are working to understand these creatures and why some of us are exhibiting… new abilities. For now, use whatever skills you have to survive. Do not attempt to leave the facility unless instructed.”

He paused as someone handed him a slip of paper. He read it, then looked back at us. “Reports indicate a second wave is imminent. It may be bigger than the first. Stay calm. Follow orders. We will get through this.”

Fear rippled through the crowd like a chill.

That night, lying on a cot beside my brother, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft breathing and occasional muffled sobs around me. My mind buzzed. Images of the wave of monsters played on repeat. When I finally drifted off, my dream was vivid and sharp, like the dreams where I know I’m dreaming. But instead of emptying into some fantastical scene, it opened onto the concrete dormitory. I stood up in the dream and walked through walls as if they were mist. I could see the energy lines in the concrete, the vibrations in the air, the faint glimmer of veins under people’s skin. I felt as if I were both my body and above it, aware of everything around me. A surge of euphoria followed, then a spike of nausea that woke me up gasping. My heart hammered. Sweat drenched my shirt. I rolled over and found my brother staring at me.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Bad dream,” I said. I didn’t tell him that even awake, I could still see faint lines of light dancing on the walls.