The Source’s Awakening

Moments before chaos erupted, a scene of perfect domesticity unfolded in a private room at the Big Boss Restaurant. A lovely family of four –father and three children – sat around a table laden with food, their conversation a low hum of contentment punctuated by the clinking of silverware and occasional laughter. The soft lighting and plush surroundings created an atmosphere of peace, a stark contrast to the storm and the bizarre, violent events that were about to unfold. They were completely oblivious to the nightmare soon to descend.

"Daddy, you promised! I get my ice cream after dinner, remember?" A little girl, chubby and adorable with wide, round eyes, reminded her father, her voice a sweet, insistent plea. Mr. Williams, a police officer who lived in the same neighborhood as Elena, looked down at his daughter, a tender smile softening his usually stern features. He reached across the table and gently ruffled her hair. The warmth of his smile, the comfortable familiarity of their family dinner, was a haven of peace. "Don't worry, sweetheart," Mr. Williams reassured her, his voice a low rumble that held the comforting weight of his authority, yet was softened by affection. "You'll get your ice cream after dinner. Now be a good girl and eat your food, okay?" He winked, a small, private joke between father and daughter, a silent promise of the sweetness to come.

Edward, the second of three children, shot a look of exasperation at his younger sister. "All you ever think about is eating," he grumbled, the familiar sibling rivalry coloring his tone. "And you only got ten out of a hundred on your exam! Annoying!" His words, though sharp, were softened by the familiar rhythm of sibling banter – a small, predictable conflict in the otherwise peaceful setting of their family dinner.

Leo, the eldest son, glowered at Edward from across the table. The look was brief, but sharp, carrying the unspoken weight of older-brother authority. Edward shrank back in his chair, the playful annoyance draining from his face. He remained quiet for the rest of the evening, the reprimand hanging heavy in the air, a subtle shift in the family dynamic that went largely unnoticed amidst the impending storm that was about to break outside, a storm that would affect them all in ways none could have imagined.

Mr. Williams awoke with no memory of falling unconscious. The first thing his eyes registered were three bizarre, alien creatures standing before him, their forms utterly unlike anything he'd ever seen. He bolted for the door, the instinct to escape overriding all else. But his flight was abruptly stopped by his reflection. Staring back at him from the glass wasn't his own familiar face, but the head of a colossal black dragon, the kind he'd only ever seen in fantastical films. And as he moved, the monstrous reflection moved with him, mimicking his every action.

Slowly, ponderously, Mr. Williams turned his massive, reptilian form, his gaze settling on the three other creatures in the room. They, too, stared at one another, their animalistic features contorted in a horrifying display of shared fear and incomprehension. "Hheelloo," Mr. Williams managed, the word a strained, almost unrecognizable rasp. The three creatures turned, their various reptilian and cat like eyes on him with a curious intensity.

The ability to speak, to produce sound from his enormous maw, filled him with a sudden, overwhelming relief. He started with Michael—the dragon-like creature who was his spitting image—calling his name. The creature raised its four enormous wings, a gesture that seemed to confirm recognition. Mr. Williams breathed a shaky sigh, realizing he'd been holding his breath without even knowing it. Then, he tried calling out to his other children. The winged tiger-like beast with scales was Edward, his second son, and the adorable winged rabbit was Ross, his daughter.

Mr. Williams lumbered closer to his children. "Okay, come down," he rumbled, the words a low growl in his immense chest. "The situation… seems manageable," he added, the sentence strained, delivered with the effort of one still adjusting to his new, monstrous form. Together, they moved to the window, cautiously opening it to survey the scene outside. The sight that greeted them confirmed their fears—they were not alone in this transformation. Securing the door and ensuring the room was as safe as it could be, the family huddled together in a corner, their enormous bodies filling half the space. The clawing, the screams from beyond their door, were ignored, drowned out by a shared sense of dread and the urgent need to understand what had happened to them and their world.

Two hours later, accompanied by a splitting headache, the family slowly reverted to their human forms. After waiting another two hours, they cautiously peered out of the window. The restaurant was eerily silent, the only signs of life the numerous unconscious patrons scattered across the floor. Picking their way through the unconscious, blood-stained crowd with agonizing slowness, the family crept from the restaurant. Mr. Williams gunned the car through the eerily quiet streets toward home, but a roadblock forced them to abandon the vehicle and make a desperate, dangerous run for it on foot.

Reaching his home safely, Mr. Williams breathed a sigh of profound relief. His house remained untouched, exactly as he'd left it. He surveyed his family—himself, and his three children, two sons and a daughter—a bittersweet moment. The absence of his wife, lost during the difficult birth of their youngest, was a constant, quiet ache in his heart.

Meanwhile, Elena's eyes snapped open to the horrifying sight of herself lying in a pool of blood. The memory of the impossible loan, the global emergency alerts, the horrific scenes on the streets the blackout—it all crashed back in a terrifying wave. Panic seized her, and she scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding against her ribs. Her feet knocked against her laptop. She picked it up, momentarily distracted, failing to notice that its familiar pink casing had been transformed into a gleaming silver.

Ignoring the gruesome sight of her aunt's property manager sprawled in a pool of blood at her doorway, Elena fled to her room, a primal urge to escape overriding all other thoughts. She barricaded the door, wedging anything heavy she could find—furniture, books, anything—against it to create a makeshift barrier. She threw herself into her bedroom, placing the laptop on her bed without a second glance. A quick bath followed, and then, pulling a thick blanket around her, she collapsed onto her bed. Eyes squeezed shut, Elena prayed for this terrifying ordeal to be nothing more than a nightmare from which she would soon awaken.