The Multi-Limbed Dilemma

Chapter 7: Four Arms, One Backpack

The morning light felt like an interrogation lamp. Diego stared at his reflection in the hallway mirror, his back arched into an uncomfortable, unnatural curve. He had spent the entire night curled into a ball on his floor, listening to the phantom silence of a house that felt like a tomb. Now, he had to return to the fray.

"Just keep your arms inside the ride," he muttered, his voice barely audible. He shoved his hands into his pockets, letting his hoodie hang loose, praying the fabric wouldn't snag on the hidden, shifting limbs beneath.

“If you walk with that coward’s hunch, you will only draw more eyes,” the voice of Kali whispered in the back of his mind.

"Shut up," Diego snapped, stepping out into the school corridor.

The hallway was a gauntlet of shoulder-to-shoulder bodies, a sea of backpacks and loud, indifferent laughter. Diego clung to the lockers, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every brush of a sleeve against his back felt like a spark touching dry tinder. The limbs were restless, hungry for space.

"Hey, watch it!" a voice barked.

Diego flinched, slamming his back against a locker. A student pushed past him, unbothered.

"I’m sorry," Diego mumbled, his gaze fixed on the dirty linoleum.

He tried to weave through the crowd, but the school was a claustrophobic maze. He felt the arms pulsing against his spine, pushing out, demanding the freedom he couldn't give them.

"Look who it is," a loud, grating voice boomed ahead. "The ghost of hallway B."

Diego stopped. Standing in his path was Marcus, a guy whose neck was roughly the size of Diego’s entire torso. Marcus leaned against a wall, flanked by two of his usual lackeys, his eyes alight with the specific, cruel boredom that only high school bullies possessed.

"Hey, Marcus," Diego said, his throat tightening. "I’m just trying to get to class."

"Are you?" Marcus took a step forward, his shadow looming over Diego. "You’ve been acting weird, man. Really weird. What’s in the bag? Drugs? Or are you just hiding from the fact that everyone thinks you’re a total loser?"

"I don't have anything. Move, please."

"Or what?" Marcus poked a thick finger into Diego’s chest. "You gonna tell on me? Gonna hide behind your 'medical issues' again?"

"Marcus, don't," Diego said, his posture stiffening. "I’m serious. Just walk away."

Marcus laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "Or what? You're shaking, Pratama. You look like you're about to cry."

He shoved Diego, a hard, two-handed push to the shoulders. Diego stumbled, his feet sliding on the slick floor. The impact rippled through his back. The limbs reacted before his brain could even form a thought.

"Hey! Back off!" one of the lackeys shouted.

“They are mocking you, Diego,” Kali’s voice purred in his head. “They are testing the barrier. Break it.”

"I said move!" Marcus shoved him again, harder this time, pinning Diego against the lockers.

Diego felt the surge—a violent, icy jolt of energy that turned the air in the hallway cold. He didn't want to fight, but the limbs weren't listening to him anymore. They were acting on a directive he had tried so hard to bury.

In a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to track, the rear-left arm shot out from beneath the collar of his hoodie. It didn't punch; it hooked behind Marcus’s ankle with terrifying precision.

Marcus let out a startled shout as his feet were swept out from under him. As he began to tip backward, the rear-right arm emerged, planting a palm against Marcus’s chest and delivering a firm, precise shove that sent the bully flying backward into his own friends.

"Whoa!" the lackeys scrambled, tripping over each other as Marcus crashed into them in a heap of tangled limbs and shocked shouting.

The hallway went dead silent. Dozens of heads turned. Students stopped walking, their mouths hanging open in confusion.

Diego stood there, his back flat against the lockers, his primary hands still buried deep in his hoodie pockets. He looked just as confused as everyone else.

"Did you... did you just trip him?" a girl near the lockers whispered, her eyes wide with bewilderment.

"I didn't touch him!" Diego shouted, his voice cracking. "He slipped! It was his own fault!"

Marcus scrambled to his feet, his face turning a furious, blotchy red. "You little creep! You pushed me!"

"I didn't move an inch!" Diego gestured with his chin at his pockets. "My hands are in my pockets, Marcus! How could I push you?"

The crowd murmured. It was impossible. Diego hadn't raised a hand. He had barely moved.

"You're lying!" Marcus lunged, his face contorted with rage.

But as he swung a fist, the air seemed to vibrate. Diego felt a sharp, electric sting in his back, and the arm lashed out again, a whip-like motion that caught Marcus by the shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him face-first into the wall with a hollow thwack.

The entire hallway gasped. This time, there was no hiding the motion. For a fraction of a second, the sleeve of Diego’s hoodie had torn open, revealing a pale, slender hand that had shoved Marcus aside as if he weighed nothing more than a balloon.

"What is that?" someone screamed.

"He's got something on his back!"

Diego’s heart stopped. The secret was out. The gym bag he had used to strap the arms down was torn, and the white, bioluminescent shimmer of the skin was plain for everyone to see.

"No, no, no," Diego scrambled away, his back hitting a locker.

Marcus pulled himself off the wall, his nose bleeding, his eyes darting to the space behind Diego. He looked terrified now, the bullying forgotten in the face of something truly alien.

"What are you?" Marcus whispered, backing away.

"I’m leaving," Diego stammered. He turned and bolted down the hall, pushing through the crowd.

"Diego, wait!"

He heard Nadiya’s voice, but he didn't look back. He couldn't. He ran past the classrooms, past the confused teachers peering out of their doorways, and headed straight for the stairwell.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

The voice belonged to Mr. Henderson. The man was coming from the opposite end of the hall, his face grim.

Diego didn't stop. He scrambled down the stairs, his breath coming in ragged, freezing gasps. His limbs were retreating, coiling back against his spine, but the damage was done. The entire school had seen.

He reached the ground floor and ducked into a secluded bathroom near the auditorium, locking the door behind him. He collapsed into the corner, pulling his hoodie up over his face, burying his head in his knees.

“You were sloppy,” Kali whispered. “But you were effective.”

"I’m dead," Diego sobbed, the tears burning his eyes. "I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead."

A sharp knock echoed against the metal stall door.

"Diego Pratama," the voice was cold, professional, and terrifyingly calm. It was Principal Halloway. "Open this door immediately. We need to have a conversation about what just happened in the hallway."

Diego stared at the stall lock, watching it jiggle. He felt the arms pulsing against his back, vibrating with a hungry, waiting energy.

"I can't," Diego whispered, mostly to himself. "I can't go out there."

"Diego," the principal said, his tone dropping into a forced, patient command. "You are not in trouble for the fight. But we have seen... anomalies. We need you to come to my office. Now."

Diego didn't move. He knew what "anomalies" meant. He knew this wasn't just a bullying incident anymore. He was a variable in a world that didn't know how to solve for him.

He leaned his head back against the cold tile, waiting for the inevitable. The hallway outside was silent, but he could hear the distant, muffled whispers of the entire school. He wasn't a student anymore. He was a specimen.

"I'm opening the door," Halloway warned.

Diego closed his eyes, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his knees. He could feel the four nodes on his back, shifting, waking up, anticipating the confrontation.

"Let them come," Kali’s voice echoed in his mind. "Show them why you were chosen."

Diego stood up, his body trembling, and reached for the lock. The nightmare was no longer hiding in the shadows of his hoodie. It was ready to be seen.