Almost no one survived the terrible physical crisis brought on by "El Despertar". For the unfortunate, deformed survivors, the Bondel Foundation shelters were the only salvation. A safe haven, far from the clandestine executions of their government. In the eyes of the Aztlantecas, they were the most merciful solution for monstrosities like little Jim Sainz, his mother, and neighbors. These shelters were tasked with containing, reeducating, and, if possible, reintegrating the most useful members of this unpredictable group. All to prevent another global nightmare, like the one caused by the first of them, the catastrophe dubbed "The Absolute Zero".

— ¡You viper, fight me! —Someone threatened Jim, nine months after making that deal with the devil. Mr. Bondel had kept his end of the bargain, ensuring the protection of all the children in his neighborhood. Those who had, or might have suffered, the supernatural illness. Avoiding the deathly sentence the city police would impose upon them.— Yes, hit him! — His former neighbors, most of them his same age, cried out when they saw his punishment. — Damn traitor! — They called him from the moment he was admitted, claiming that his mother had been the witch who had infected them all.

— Get up, you dumb ass! — The boy who was beating him continued, a blond guy with large, powerful limbs and bear claws, which he used to brutally beat him. — It's your fault, that we all are here! — He said as he gathered him in a suffocating hug.

— Suck his guts out, Mike! — The crowd insisted. While the battered, skinny kid with broken glasses and tousled black hair, tried to wriggle free with knee strikes. The effort left him breathless. — He's gonna throw up, he's gonna throw up! — The kids shouted as Jim turned purple.

The crunching of his ribs woke a boy who, lying under a nearby tree, was waiting for the moment to speak to the poor lynched man. But the cruel laughter reminded him of some robbers who had attacked him months earlier, awakening the young metalhead's fury.

— Come on, traitor, apologize —. The bear ordered Jim, feeling his body crack. Until a scream came from behind him.

— Beware of the UFO! — They warned him from afar.

— The what? — He turned around, looking for the daredevil, only to have a drum cymbal fly like a frisbee, straight into his crotch.

— Oucht, right in the balls! — All the children mocked him, due to the low blow.

— Al-Nasr, what the hell are you doing here? — The self-defense master shouted at his intervention.

Asim Alberto Al-Nasr Cortés, the most feared student at the Shelter, the bird of bad luck. Along with Santiago Sainz, they were the most rejected in a place full of plague victims. Jim, for selling out his people, and he, for being the most dangerous person at the Shelter. That, and his irreverent big mouth.

— What do you mean, 'What am I doing here'? What are you doing? — Replied the Arab defender, a dark-haired man with long, copper-colored eyes, standing in front of the muscular teacher. — Or , do you want your boss's pet to get killed? — He explained, recalling the privileged way in which Jim had arrived at the shelter, which made him an easy target for such abuse.

— Hey. Open your eyes, you dumb kid —. The coach scolded, pointing at the beaten boy. — No one is getting killed here.

Just like when he'd been hit by Bondel's limo, Jim started to heal. Like a wooden puppet, he adjusted his ribs in a succession of bone-cracking sounds. In the end, after being recovered, all that remained was a nervous rattling noise in the scales on his wrists. That sound was typical of the skill he had gained with his Despertar.

Like Jim, all the victims received something in return for surviving the fatal disorder. Each of the inmates possessed animal features, various mutations acquired during the violent spasm they had endured: bear like arms, bull horns, the obsidian-colored scales on Jim's weak claws, and those black feathers that crowned the head of their metalhead savior, forming Al-Nasr's striking mane.

— This freako, this Chimera right here is the best punching bag in the whole shelter —. The instructor added cruelly, just as the bell rang, calling Jim by the worst nickname normal people used for those mutated by the plague. — Look carefully before you act, kids. Don't be like this fool —, he told the class, after smacking the intruding crow, as if nothing had happened.

Process: https://youtube.com/shorts/_yhhZZVFRho?si=BlRqPv7H4-U1zxBV

The Bondel Foundation not only sought to protect these "Hybrids" from the deadly violence of society. They wanted to prepare them to prolong the Third Industrial Revolution: a superhuman workforce educated to generate prosperity for themselves and all people. Their goal was to educate scientists, artists, athletes, and, above all, soldiers to serve the Great World Council, which, like his foundation and shelters, Jean Paul Bondel led with great success, reflected in a decade of peace and technological growth in the world.

The certificate issued by the Foundation was the dream of all Hybrids: a license to be free, to be themselves within the population, despite the stigmas of the Awakening. Of course, as long as they were good and had a use for the society Bondel forged.

— Chimera? You are the Chimera, you ass! — Al-Nasr raised his middle finger as the teacher left, just before the bear approached to claim him.

— So, you're going to side with this filthy little viper, Nasr? — He said, still in a high-pitched tone, resentful of his private parts.

— Easy, Mike, easy —. Another inmate with curly hair and bull horns interrupted his rant. — Remember, this sucker is dangerous —, he whispered, imitating a bomb with his hand.

— Don't be a coward, you cow! — The bear pushed away his friend, to ask the crow once again. — All right, stupid bird. But next time, I'm not going to hold back —, he threatened him, as he walked away awkwardly, like a cowboy. Leaving a scaly hand to grab Nasr's shoulder immediately.

— Thanks, but... Cough, cough! Why did you do that? —Jim said, confused by the first bit of support he'd received since entering the shelter, as he handed the drum disc back to his owner.

— Oh, F- me! — The crow startled, denying the greeting with a backward jump. — Sorry, sorry, bro. But don't do that to me again — , he was still thinking about his murderous doll-like contortion.

— I'm sorry —. The reptile withdrew his hand, hiding between trembles, to leave him alone.

— No, wait. Don't go, bro —. The crow reacted, recovering his spirit of solidarity. — Look, the only way these knuckle heads will leave you alone is... —, he proposed, hesitating for a moment about the consequences of his words. To place his hand on the snake boy's shoulder. — It's by joining me. I take care of you and you take care of me —. He offered his hand to the little snake, who looked at him incredulously. — I've never liked when people pick on the most naive ones —, he added, giving the four-eyed weakling a confident pat on the back. He almost made him fall to the ground. Then, after a few awkward moments, he asked his true intentions: — Hey, they say you're a genius at school. Right? I need help. I mean, it's the least you can do for me: Nazz. Your savior —. He introduced himself with the sudden and brazen request.

— Sure, sure. Whatever you ask, "Nazz" — Jim agreed, understanding that it wasn't simple charity that brought them together. — Please, you tell me, Ji... —. He said before a sudden chill assailed him, making him stagger weakly and fall.

— Wow, easy, bro! — The crow attended to him, while lifting him up.

— Give me a minute —. Feeling dizzy, Jim asked to be taken to less threatening territory, his lair. The lab they'd set up for him to continue his mother's research. — When I heal this quickly, I get a high fever. My immune system fails me —, he explained with a nervous laugh, clutching his new ally's shoulder.

During the transfer, the viper realized that meeting him was no coincidence. The long-haired boy was desperately looking for a tutor, but the other children had rejected him. They were too afraid of him. They knew that those who didn't complete their assignments, or were troublemakers like "Nazz," wouldn't be allowed to leave. They will not receive his certificate. And the raven was about to lose his freedom, forever.

— The old hag gave me this assignment. What do you think? — He explained. — It was just a joke, I don't get why they're making such a big deal.

Usually, Nazz was behind all the teachers' misfortunes. This time, the elderly history teacher, a 63-year-old German woman about to retire, despite working with several generations of the foundation, never really understood them. Although she had good intentions, she didn't know how to talk to the children of the marginalized group.

— Oh, yes. At the end of the Great War, it was our beloved Mr. Bondel who brought peace. He even allowed you poor Chimeras to join society —. Miss Reutlinger said passionately in one of the weekly lessons. — Even after what that horrible terrorist called "Zero" did. Mr. Jean Paul opened his doors to you. So we have to take good care of you; it's our responsibility to raise you as normal human beings.

Comments like that were what hurt the most in their speeches. But no one dared say anything. They didn't want to miss their families because of such insubordination. But then there was Nazz, with no family and nowhere to go. So one morning she decided to exact justice, heating the teacher's chair to red hot, causing the old lady to jump wildly as she brushed against it.

— Oh, she looked so funny! — He recalled, laughing.

Since no one had ratted him out, due to his bad reputation, the principal allowed him to settle the offense: a two-hundred-page essay on the history of "el Despertar", Miss Reutlinger's specialty. This was a trap. He only had two days, no access to the educational AI, not the slightest idea about the topic or how to write an essay. He was alone, and that's why he went to Jim, the traitorous brainiac. The only one who hadn't said no.

—Like an old sharpei. Jumping and jumping! Rubbing its tail. Squealing and squealing! — He mocked, imitating her.

Soon, the vengeful crow began to unnerve his new guardian.

That story, rather than being funny, instilled resentment and a desire for revenge.

Then there were the rumors. Even though they all had small pieces of animals embedded in their bodies, only a few possessed strange abilities. Like Jim and his miraculous recovery. They said Nazz also had one, a curse. And with it, she had killed two people.

— Oi! — The brainiac interrupted him fearfully, a slave to his curiosity, taking advantage of the lightness of his laughter as an introduction. — Is it true that you killed them? — Despite the fact that the audacity came out barely as a whisper, Nazz stopped, maintaining a sepulchral silence.

 This made Jim think that maybe the prison-like facade of the place had a reason to exist. — Sorry, forgive me. I shouldn't have said it —, he immediately reconsidered, retracting it. He really was very rusty in his social skills. — No. How can I be like this? Despite everything, he helped me. I don't think... There must be a reason, right? — The little snake thought quickly, nervous to see Nazz static. — Yesss, surely those bratsss exaggerated everything —, his thoughts hissed in his head. — Yes, like me. I'm a monster to others. They must make up things about him too —. He thought one last time, trying to break the silence and correct what he'd said: — Forget it, I'm an idiot. Let's get on with it —, he intoned as he stood up to look for his laptop, interrupted by Nazz, who pushed him back into place with a shove.

— Look, bro, I'm going to tell you right now. It's better if everyone believes I did that thing! — He said agitatedly, only to retreat with a sigh, appalled by his own reaction. 

Process: https://youtube.com/shorts/EQnQ_2AoipQ?is=4mDxH6VIfWbIg5D1