The laboratory was silent except for the faint hum of machinery and the rhythmic drip of liquid from a glass pipette. Yazmina stood at the workstation, gloved hands steady as she measured the precise amount of refined Poppy gas extract into a vial.

The formula was nearly perfected. Nearly.

She had spent countless nights refining the compound, distilling it down to its purest, most potent form. The original gas had unpredictable effects—hallucinations, erratic mutations, irreversible cognitive shifts. But Yazmina wasn’t interested in chaos. She was interested in control.

And now, it was time for the next step.

She turned her attention to the small syringe beside her.

Inside, a deep crimson liquid glowed faintly under the fluorescent light.

The scorpion’s blood.

She had extracted it carefully, making sure not to lose a single drop. Its properties were unlike anything she had ever seen—resilient, reactive, and alive in a way that defied biological explanation. It pulsed when exposed to stimuli, adapted to its surroundings. It was something new.

Something dangerous.

Yazmina removed her glove and flexed her fingers. A small scalpel lay nearby, its edge sharp and clean. She didn’t hesitate. A swift, precise cut across the tip of her finger, deep enough to draw blood but not enough to cause lasting damage.

She watched as a single droplet welled up, dark and rich.

Then, without breaking her focus, she pressed her bleeding finger to the syringe containing the scorpion’s blood.

The reaction was immediate.

The two fluids merged seamlessly, the color shifting, deepening into something richer, something unnatural.

Her pulse remained steady.

She reached for the refined Poppy gas extract.

The moment she added it, the liquid inside the syringe darkened further, a ripple passing through it as if it were alive.

Yazmina exhaled softly.

This was it.

The missing link.

She had taken three powerful, volatile elements—her blood, the scorpion’s, and the Poppy gas—and merged them into one.

But now came the real question.

What would happen when she introduced it into a living host?

She smirked slightly, rolling the syringe between her fingers, watching as the liquid inside shifted and pulsed.

There was only one way to find out.

And she had never been afraid of pushing boundaries.

Never.

But for now, she had to be careful.

This compound wasn’t stable. She could feel it. The way the liquid reacted to motion, the way it seemed to shift at the slightest change in pressure—this wasn’t something that could be left exposed for too long.

If it interacted with open air for more than a few minutes, the entire sample could be compromised. And that was a risk she wasn’t willing to take.

Her dormitory was out of the question. It wasn’t sealed well enough. Too many variables, too much exposure to outside contaminants. No—this needed to be kept somewhere controlled. Somewhere secure.

Here.

The lab was the perfect place.

Yazmina carefully sealed the vial, making sure there was no chance of accidental exposure. She moved swiftly, scanning the room for the best possible hiding spot.

The refrigeration unit was too obvious. If anyone else accessed it, they would start asking questions.

The ventilation shafts? No—too risky. A slight air leak could destabilize the compound.

Then her gaze landed on the locked storage compartment beneath her workstation.

It was temperature-controlled, sealed from outside contamination. Most importantly, it was coded to her clearance level.

Perfect.

She knelt, inputting the security sequence before pulling open the compartment. Inside, various samples and research notes were already stored, neatly arranged in their designated slots.

Carefully, she slid the vial into an empty case at the farthest corner, making sure it was secure before closing the compartment and locking it again.

She straightened, exhaling slowly.

No one would find it here.

Not until she was ready.

And when that time came—

She would be the first to know what true power looked like.

---

A red light blinked steadily in the corner of the dimly lit containment chamber. The reinforced walls hummed with the energy of containment fields, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant and metal.

Dr. Harley Sawyer stood before the recording device, his expression unreadable as he adjusted the microphone.

He pressed the button. A soft click echoed in the chamber.

"Log code 24459 in relation to Experiment 1006, The Prototype." His voice was smooth, clinical. "Stubborn as he is and always silent with each passing session, I am still uncovering data nonetheless. Today’s discovery—"

A burst of static cut through the recording. Distorted sounds filled the chamber—warped, unnatural, crawling over one another like voices trapped between frequencies.

Sawyer’s fingers hesitated over the device.

Then he exhaled sharply, pressing the button to end the recording. "End of log."

He lowered the recorder onto the nearby workstation, eyes flicking up to the massive, restrained form lurking in the darkness.

"Ready to talk now, are we?"

The Prototype’s head twitched. The darkness barely concealed its grotesque form, the elongated limbs twitching unnaturally. Its voice crackled through the room, shifting between multiple tones—man, woman, child, machine.

"ᵢ ₚₒₛₛₑₛ ₐ qᵤₑₛₜᵢₒₙ"

Sawyer raised a brow. "Go ahead."

The Prototype’s head tilted at an unnatural angle, its voice distorting with each shift.

"Dₒ yₒᵤ fₑₑₗ ₐₙyₜₕᵢₙg?"

Sawyer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This question is referring to what, exactly?"

The Prototype’s voice fractured.

"Yₒᵤ bₑₐₜ ᵤₛ."

"ₜₑₐᵣ ₒᵤᵣ fₗₑₛₕ."

"Dₒ yₒᵤ fₑₑₗ ᵢₜ?"

The voices warped—merging, colliding—shifting from a child’s whisper to a deep, mechanical resonance.

Sawyer’s lips curled into a slow, humorless smile.

"There is a secret inside you, 1006. Valuable beyond all measure." His voice remained calm, measured, but there was something cold lurking beneath his tone. "I cut and prod and burn, and then I get caught in each session. So speak or don’t, fight or give in. Regardless, I learn something new about you every day."

He let out a low chuckle.

"And that excites me."

Silence.

Then—

"ₜₕₐₙₖ yₒᵤ!"

Sawyer’s expression shifted, just slightly. "You thank me?"

"ₐbₛₒₗᵤₜₑₗy."

The Prototype’s head tilted again, its voice smooth, eerily precise.

"ᵢ ₗₑₐᵣₙ ₛₒₘₑₜₕᵢₙg ₙₑw ₐbₒᵤₜ yₒᵤ ₑᵥₑᵣy dₐy."

Sawyer stiffened.

It had copied him.

Perfectly.

A slow, unnerving grin spread across his face.

"Fascinating."

----

The message came unexpectedly.

Harley Sawyer stood in the dimly lit chamber, still staring at Experiment 1006, his mind spinning with the implications of their interaction. The Prototype had mimicked him perfectly. Every syllable, every inflection—flawless.

Truly Fascinating.

He reached for his recorder again when the intercom crackled to life.

"Dr. Sawyer, you are required in the central conference hall. Effective immediately."

Sawyer paused, frowning. The voice was clipped, formal. But there was something… off about it.

He clicked his recorder off and turned toward the exit.

Whatever this was, it had better not waste his time.