THE MONSTER

Earlier that day

Myra finished braiding her hair just as the imposing figure of the general arrived at the salon. The urgency in his demeanor was palpable, and Myra steeled herself for the imminent challenges. A swift car ride to the private terminal, a hurried boarding onto a jet—every step of the journey spoke of urgency.

Seated in the jet, the general finally broke the silence. "Are you afraid of blood?" he inquired, his eyes probing for a response.

Myra, her gaze unwavering, replied, "So long as it's not my own, I'm not afraid."

The general's nod signaled approval, and the atmosphere in the jet remained tense as it soared through the skies.

The landing was abrupt, marking their arrival at a secluded medical center. The acrid scent of blood hit Myra as soon as she stepped off the jet. The sprawling facility was a tableau of suffering—men, women, children, and even infants, all bearing the scars of devastating wounds.