The hum of the observation deck's machinery buzzed in the background, a steady, artificial drone.

Yazmina hadn't moved.

The Prototype had settled back into eerie stillness, its towering form once again slumped against the farthest wall of its chamber. Yet the weight of its gaze-intangible yet suffocating-still lingered against her skin like an unshakable specter.

It knew she was there.

It knew her.

And she had stared right back.

The air between them stretched, thick with something unreadable. A challenge? A question? Yazmina didn't know.

Then-Harley's voice cut through the tension, dry and edged with amusement.

"I assume you're not just here to admire my work?"

Yazmina tilted her head slightly, finally breaking her stare from the chamber below.

She turned to face him, her expression composed. "And if I was?"

Harley let out a quiet scoff, dragging a hand through his hair before crossing his arms. He looked exhausted, but there was still an undeniable sharpness in his gaze, an arrogance that never dulled.

"Then I'd be flattered," he mused. "But I doubt you're that sentimental."

Yazmina's lips curled into a faint smirk. "You'd be right."

---

The underground laboratory was suffocating in its sterility—cold, clinical, and humming with unseen power beneath its walls. The air carried the faint, bitter scent of chemicals, a mixture of antiseptic and something deeper. Something floral.

Poppy gas.

Yazmina walked with purpose, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. She wasn’t particularly fond of being summoned, but Doctor Crane had insisted. And when Crane insisted, it was usually something worth seeing.

The heavy steel doors slid open as she approached. Inside, the lab was dimly lit, the overhead fluorescents casting a pale, sterile glow over the equipment. Crane stood at the center of it all, hunched over a reinforced containment unit.

“Doctor De la Vega,” he greeted without looking up. “You’re just in time.”

Yazmina crossed her arms.

“For what, exactly?”

Crane finally turned, his thin lips curling into a smirk. “An experiment, of course.”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the containment unit. The thick glass was reinforced with metal plating, the security far beyond what was used for standard subjects.

Yazmina’s gaze flickered to the air vents surrounding it—no doubt designed for immediate lockdown.

Something dangerous was inside.

She stepped closer.

The interior was dark, but she could make out movement—a slow, deliberate shift in the shadows. Then, the dim light reflected off something smooth, something segmented.

Not human.

A massive, chitinous body pressed against the reinforced glass, its glossy black exoskeleton catching the light. It moved again, revealing long, serrated pincers and a venomous, curved stinger poised high.

A scorpion.

But not just any scorpion.

A perfect predator.

Yazmina knew Playtime Co. didn’t waste time with ordinary creatures. If it was here, it was something more.

Something deadly.

She lifted a brow. “You called me here to watch you play with a bug?”

Crane let out a short laugh. “This is far more than a simple insect, I assure you.” He turned back to the controls, fingers moving over the interface. “We’ve been testing the effects of poppy gas on different organisms. Most display the expected symptoms—hallucinations, confusion, eventual submission.”

Yazmina glanced at the creature inside. “And this one?”

Crane’s smirk deepened. “Resistant.”

That caught her attention.

Crane tapped a button, and a faint mist began to fill the chamber—thin, red-tinged vapor curling into the enclosure. The scorpion remained still for a moment, then its body twitched. A slow, eerie movement.

Then, it turned its head.

And looked directly at her.

Yazmina’s fingers twitched at her sides.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Crane murmured. “Even with prolonged exposure, it doesn’t weaken. Doesn’t submit. If anything, it becomes more aggressive.”

The scorpion’s tail shifted, tapping lightly against the glass. The sound was sharp. Purposeful.

Yazmina’s gaze never wavered.

Crane leaned in slightly. “Imagine what we could do with that.”

The scorpion moved again, its massive pincers tightening, its body lowering into something akin to readiness.

Yazmina watched as the scorpion’s sleek, segmented body moved with a slow, eerie precision.

It wasn’t thrashing.

It wasn’t panicking.

It was calculating.

Her sharp gaze flickered to the control panel, where the red mist thickened inside the chamber, curling like living veins through the sterile air.

Crane was right.

The poppy gas was doing nothing to it.

Instead, the creature was studying her.

Testing her.

“You seem awfully quiet, De la Vega.” Crane’s voice carried an edge of amusement. “I expected at least a little intrigue.”

Yazmina didn’t look at him. “What do you expect me to say?”

“That you’re impressed.” He gestured to the monstrous thing behind the glass. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. A biological entity resistant to poppy gas. It won’t succumb. Won’t sleep. Won’t submit.”

The scorpion shifted again, its glossy black exoskeleton clicking faintly as its pincers flexed. Its tail, long and curved like a serrated blade, tapped against the glass in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Crane smirked, his fingers gliding over the interface again. A mechanical whir sounded as a new nozzle extended from the ceiling of the chamber.

“Of course,” he mused, tilting his head, “we had to be sure. The first few doses were subtle. But now…”

Yazmina finally looked at him.

Crane’s smile widened. “Now, we flood it.”

The hiss of pressurized gas filled the room as the chamber became saturated in thick, crimson fog. The scorpion’s body stiffened, its legs splaying slightly as if bracing itself against the invisible weight pressing in.

The tapping stopped.

Then, something changed.

The scorpion’s tail, once held high, lowered. Its body remained still, its jagged pincers relaxing.

Submission?

No.

Yazmina’s pulse remained steady, but she wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the shift in the air.

She knew what she was looking at.

It wasn’t surrender.

It was patience.

The scorpion was waiting.

Crane leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something close to obsession. “Finally,” he murmured. “Let’s see how long it lasts.”

Yazmina exhaled softly, her gaze never leaving the creature.

Neither of them blinked.

Neither of them looked away.

And in that moment, she knew.

This wasn’t just an experiment.

It was the beginning of something far worse.

The scorpion remained motionless, its tail lowered, its stance deceptively docile.

Crane grinned. “See that? Even the strongest things bend when faced with the right pressure.”

Yazmina didn’t respond.

Her gaze stayed locked onto the scorpion, reading every minute detail—the barely perceptible twitch in its front leg, the subtle tension still lingering in its joints.

It was playing along.

The realization settled cold in her chest.

This thing was intelligent.

Crane, caught in his own self-satisfaction, saw only what he wanted to see. To him, the creature’s stillness was proof of their success. Another triumph. Another step forward.

But Yazmina?

She saw what no one else would notice.

This wasn’t submission. This was a trap.

It was waiting. Calculating.

It knew it was being watched.

And it knew how to pretend.

Crane exhaled, straightening with an air of finality. “Let’s keep the gas pumping for another hour. We need to be absolutely certain it’s fully receptive before the next phase.”

Yazmina only nodded.

He glanced at her, perhaps expecting praise. When he got none, he scoffed. “You’re impossible to impress, you know that?”

She allowed the smallest smirk. “I just prefer results over assumptions.”

Crane chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to his monitors. “Then you’ll love what’s coming next.”

But Yazmina wasn’t listening.

Her attention remained on the scorpion.

It wasn’t struggling.

It wasn’t resisting.

It was waiting.

And so was she.

She wouldn’t say a word. Not yet.

Not until Crane left.

Because when he did—

She would study it herself.