It was an average day in smallville everyone was in class. In the classroom, teachers start their lessons, and students settle into their seats, some taking notes while others doodle or stare out the window. Between classes, there's the usual rush in the halls as students move from one subject to the next, grabbing books or catching up with friends.

Then, in the middle of a lesson—maybe it's just after lunch, maybe during a quiet math class—the ordinary day shatters. There’s an unfamiliar sound, muffled at first, but unmistakable once it repeats—a loud bang, like a door slamming or a heavy object dropping. Some students exchange confused glances, and a teacher might pause, listening.

Suddenly, more bangs echo down the hallway, closer this time. The teacher’s face changes from confusion to fear. A voice comes over the intercom, shaking with urgency: “Lockdown. This is not a drill.”

Panic starts to spread. The teacher moves quickly to lock the door, switch off the lights, and motion for everyone to stay quiet. Students scramble to hide under desks, behind cabinets, or huddle together in the corner of the room. Fear is thick in the air—people trying to breathe quietly, trembling, texting loved ones, whispering prayers. Time seems to stretch out, every sound amplified—the faintest footsteps, the slightest movement.