-"This is..."- Dr. Walsh's voice choked, caught in the barbed wire of confusion as she tried to make sense of the seemingly senseless data displayed on the screen. As the information clustered into solid conclusions, her face drained of its usual scientific composure. -"It wasn't wrong."-
Ava's knuckles bled white against the cool metal table, an unconscious clutch at reality. -"What do you mean?"-
-"Genetically speaking, it's mostly human. But..."- Dr. Walsh began, her gaze flitting to the glass dish under the microscope like a moth drawn to a flame. -"There's something about its DNA. I can't quite put my finger on it... On paper, that thing is human."-
Ava tries to pierce the gloom, the words brittle against the heavy atmosphere. -"Doesn't look very human to me."-
Dr. Walsh turned to face her, a ghost of a smile flickering on her lips, mirroring the fading hope. She sat behind the computer and ran her hands through her hair with a sigh. The fluorescent lights, usually a comforting beacon, now felt like accusatory fingers jabbing at her. -"Exactly. But what is it that makes it different?"-
-"I'm sure we'll crack it eventually, Doc. I think we're safe here."- Ava, sensing the undertow of despair, retreated. She shrugged off her lab coat and draped it over a metallic bench. Her voice sought to reassure, but the doubt hung heavy in the sterile air. -"I'll get us something to eat."-
As the student traded the bright lights of the lab for the cozier ambiance of the office, Dr. Walsh slumped in her chair. Known facts and pessimistic speculations swirled in her mind, her gaze adrift.
- - -
Ava poked around the wasteland of the office fridge, the chilly air prickling her nose, where she discovered several unfinished bottles of different liquids. She shoved aside a moldy container, finally reaching the prize at the back: a dusty plastic box.
Triumph gleamed in her eyes as she cracked it open. -"Doc's secret snack stash!"- she whispered, anticipation painting her face a rosy hue.
But instead of the savory or sweet treasures she'd envisioned, neat rows of beige bricks stared back. Energy bars; dry, tasteless blocks laid in an organized fashion unique to Dr. Walsh.
The air seemed to deflate along with her smile. -"Ew,"- she grimaced, the excitement evaporating faster than a drop of water on hot steel.
With a sigh, she resigned herself to lugging the plastic box back to the lab. But as she straightened, a glint of rebellion caught her eye. A single drawer stood ajar, a jarring discord in the regimented line of cabinets. It gaped wide like an accusing mouth, its contents spilling out like secrets begging to be told.
Leaving the 'snacks' forgotten on the floor, Ava approached, curiosity a siren song tugging her in. Files erupted from the abyss as she reached in, fingers brushing against the paper like whispers from the past. One folder, nestled near the bottom, snagged her attention.
It wasn't fancy, just another one of those standard lab reports churned out by typewriter. Dr. Walsh's name, stark and familiar, jumped out; but followed by another, one she didn't recognize. "Dr. Charles C. Fox," the paper revealed.
Ava froze. She'd never heard the doctor mention a collaborator, not since they descended into the bunker's cold embrace. Researchers came and went, sure, shadows scurrying past her through cramped corridors. But there was no one called 'Dr. Fox'. She clutched the folder, a whisper of mystery against the office's stark silence. Her eyes, ablaze with questions, sought answers in the sterile haven waiting just beyond.