P.A.E.S.C.H — Episode 3: “Beautiful Monsters”

ARCHIVE CORRIDOR — RESEARCH BLOCK A

Dajinn moves deeper through the compound, flashlight steady in one hand, pistol in the other. The halls feel heavier here.. like the air itself is thicker, full of dust, decay, and something else he can almost taste on the back of his tongue.

On a desk, he finds a stack of scattered documents.
Most are ruined, but a few pages remain legible.

He kneels and starts reading.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS — SPECIAL INFECTED CLASSIFICATION

“Not all special infected present extreme deformities.”
“Some appear beautiful almost statuesque. This does not indicate safety.”
“Treat all infected as sapient until proven otherwise.”
“Intelligence varies. Muscle mass does not.”

Another page-:

“Some variants form emotional bonds. Some form packs. Alpha-types exist.”
“Witches demonstrate territorial intelligence and reactive violence.”
“Mediators exhibit problem-solving, mimicry, and rarely speech.”

Dajinn stops reading after that.
The flashlight shakes a little in his hand.

He already knew the infected were dangerous.
But intelligent? Organized? Beautiful?

That part sits wrong in his stomach.

He folds the papers and pockets them.

LOW-LIGHT HALLWAY — QUIET ZONE

He moves forward slowly, listening for every creak and scrape.
The hallway is long, lined with busted lights and fallen ceiling panels.

Something ahead catches his eye.

A figure stands hunched over a corpse completely still, like it froze mid-motion.
A tall infected. Shoulders broad. Limbs long. Motionless.

Dajinn’s breath hitchs.

A special infected.

Not twitching.
Not sniffing.
Not reacting.

Almost like it’s in stasis.

He starts to step back

A piece of ceiling debris shifts behind him.

The sound is tiny. Barely more than a tap.

But the infected snaps upright instantly.

Dajinn fires.

The shot grazes it too fast to land solid but now it’s charging toward him on all fours like a sprinting wolf.

Dajinn runs backward, stumbling, raising his gun again-

But he stops dead in his tracks.

Because something else just stepped out behind it.

THE WITCH

A woman tall, pale, more beautiful than anything he expected from an infected.
But her arms end in elongated black claws, each as long as her forearm.
Her legs are thick with muscle; her posture predatory yet eerily calm.

Her eyes glow faintly.

A Witch.

She locks onto Dajinn, body low, claws dragging lines into the ground.
One jump and she could split him open like paper.

Dajinn goes cold.

He staggers back, raising his weapon toward both of them.

A pistol isn’t going to save him here and he knows it.

His whole body shakes.
For one horrible second, he thinks this is it.

Then-
the Witch steps aside.

Not aggressively.
Deliberately.

Because something else is standing behind her.

THE MEDIATOR

A young-looking infected, lean but muscular, with branching patterns across his skin like faint veins of glowing coral. His eyes track Dajinn with deliberate focus.

Different from the Witch.
Different from the specials he’s seen.

This one… thinks.

The Mediator raises one hand slowly.. palm open, non-threatening.

Dajinn keeps the pistol up, breathing fast, backing further into the hallway until his shoulders hit the wall.

The Mediator takes a single step forward.

“Don’t,” Dajinn snaps, voice cracking. “Come any closer.”

The infected stops.
Tilts its head.

Then speaks.

The voice is rough, warbled, like vocal cords that haven’t been used in years but unmistakably human.

“You… scared.”

Dajinn freezes in place.

He’s heard plenty of things since waking up in this hellhole.
Screeches. Footsteps. Growls.

But nothing like that.

The Mediator gestures to the Witch, then back at him.

“We… no hurt.”

Dajinn swallows hard, pistol still shaking in his hands.

The Witch watches him with unreadable eyes.
Her breathing is slow. Controlled.
Her claws still glint under the flashlight beam.

One wrong move, one flinch, and she could rip him open.

Dajinn’s voice barely escapes his throat.
“You… you can talk?”

The Mediator nods once.

“We see you. Long time… seeing.”
A pause.
“You not like others.”

Dajinn can’t breathe.
He doesn’t lower the weapon, but his arms drop slightly from exhaustion and fear.

The Mediator takes a careful step closer.

“Come.”
Another pause.
“Danger… coming.”

A distant roar shakes the air massive, deep, violent enough to vibrate the walls.
Something big. Something close.

The Witch turns toward the sound, claws flexing.

Dajinn’s heart pounds so loud he feels it in his teeth.

He has a choice:

Run.
Stay.
Shoot.
Or trust something that shouldn’t be able to speak.

The Mediator extends his hand again..
not as a threat..

As an offer.

END OF EPISODE 3