Black Hand Organisation, Secret Underground Lab Facility, Ross Ice Shelf, Antarctica
The cold, sterile light of the lab cast an eerie glow on the rows of glass pods lining the walls, each containing a struggling figure locked in a gruesome metamorphosis. Benjamin paced in front of one such pod, his brow knitted in frustration, watching as flesh and blood sluggishly adhered to the glass like remnants of some half-formed creature.
"It worked with Daniel," he muttered, the frustration boiling over as he slammed his hand against the lab table beside him.
"Why won't it work with the others? I did everything the same. I followed the exact procedure. Why the hell can't they just complete the transformation?"
The room fell silent save for the low hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors tracking the failing vitals of the subjects in their pods.
