The soft hum of overhead lights buzzed against the silence, barely cutting through the stillness of the room. Dr. Shoemaker leaned back in his chair, legs crossed with lazy indifference. His scuffed shoes rested on the edge of the control panel, grime smudging the once-gleaming surface.
With a sharp hiss of pressurized air, he popped open a can of cola. The sound echoed louder than it should have against the sterile, metal walls.
Sip.
Shoemaker exhaled as if he'd just tasted something divine. "This is gonna be a problem," he muttered, eyes half-lidded as he tilted his head back, letting the fluorescent ceiling lights wash over him. "So much for 'no powers allowed.' Kid made that titan his bitch."
From across the room, Dr. Samantha Porter glanced up from her console, her eyes narrowing with quiet irritation. "Maintenance is gonna love you in the morning," she quipped, flicking a glance at his dirty shoes on the console.
"Yeah, yeah," Shoemaker waved her off, taking another sip. "But seriously, how the hell are we supposed to keep your little project under wraps when he's out there wrecking half the goddamn testing room?" His words grew sharp, his irritation more pronounced. The can thudded against the armrest as he leaned forward, fingers tapping rapidly against the arm of his chair. "We've lost assets, Sam. Do you hear me? Assets. We can't cover that up."
He wasn't wrong.
But that didn't make him any less annoying.
"You're right," Samantha muttered, twirling a lock of hair around her finger with slow, deliberate precision. The tug of it kept her grounded, focused. Her gaze flickered to the main monitor displaying Room B. Multiple feeds scrolled by, each one following a different subject. Her eyes lingered on one. "Didn't think he'd be able to push it this far."
Her focus narrowed on one screen. Room B. There were other subjects in there, too.
"Don't we have other subjects in the field test right now?"
Shoemaker grunted, dropping his legs off the console with a dull thud. His fingers danced over the keys, pulling up the active roster. "Yeah, yeah. Five actives, thirteen failed. Most of the failed ones already went dark."
The main screen shifted. Red dots marked the locations of each subject. Two of the dots flashed with warning indicators. One blinked twice—then disappeared.
Offline.
The screen switched to a live feed. Room B.
A child lay crumpled in the snow-covered testing arena. His small frame convulsed, limbs snapping like cords pulled too tight. His back arched, his eyes wild with terror, fingers clawing at his chest like something inside him was trying to break free.
His shirt shredded apart as his ribs jutted forward unnaturally, pressing hard against his skin before twisting, reshaping, snapping back beneath the surface. His skin shifted in tone, darkening as thick, bulging veins crawled up his arms and neck like snakes writhing just beneath the surface.
His ears elongated, twisting upward to sharp, pointed tips.
His nails cracked and reformed into sickle-shaped talons.
His spine jerked forward, and he collapsed to all fours, his heels lifting as his legs bent unnaturally. The bones twisted, reshaping until his toes arched like a predator's paws.
The scream that tore from his throat was raw, visceral — too human at first, but it didn't stay that way.
The scream became a snarl.
Razor-sharp teeth jutted from his mouth, his canines growing longer, sharper, until his entire jaw restructured itself into a predator's maw. His pupils thinned, slitting like a cat's eyes as his irises glowed with an amber, animalistic light.
Shoemaker snorted. He tugged at his wrinkled collar, pulling it loose like he'd just won a bet. "Welp, make that fourteen failed experiments." He shot Samantha a crooked grin, sharp and rat-like. His teeth were too white, too perfect, like a mask hiding something feral. "Looks like 0173 just got himself a new friend to play with."
She didn't smile. She didn't even blink.
"Blame it on the others," she said flatly, her voice too calm to be natural. Her fingers drummed once against the console. "Was anyone besides 0173 introduced into Room A today?"
Shoemaker rolled his eyes like she'd asked him to do manual labor. "Yeah, all of them. They're dead now. Got eaten like the good snacks they were."
"Perfect." Her eyes stayed on the screen a second longer, watching as the boy—Subject 168—dragged his claws across the snow. "Corrupt the footage. Pin it on them. No one's going to miss a few dead subjects."
Her tablet beeped. Once. Twice. Three times.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"House call?" Shoemaker asked, his voice laced with amusement.
"No," she muttered, eyes narrowing on the screen. Her breath caught. "Test results."
Her fingers hovered over the screen, her eyes scanning rapidly. Her heart thudded in her chest. She stared harder, eyes darting from line to line, looking for an error. A mistake. Something to dismiss it all as wrong.
Her pulse quickened. Her hands grew still.
No.
Her face hardened. She slammed the tablet onto the console. The sharp clang echoed through the room, making Shoemaker jolt, eyes squinting with suspicion.
"Hey—" he barked, leaning forward, his gaze sharp on her. "What's wrong?"
She stepped back from the console, her hands curling into tight fists.
"There's something I need to do." Her voice was cold, sharp as a blade.
"What?" Shoemaker called, slowly sitting up, raising one hand as if to grab her from across the room. "About him?"
She didn't stop. Her feet moved with precision, not an ounce of hesitation in her stride. "You'll manage without me."
She stepped into the hallway. The automatic lock hissed behind her, cutting off Shoemaker's voice mid-protest.
The hallway lights had dimmed. Night mode. The sterile glow of emergency lights bathed the corridor in soft blue. Department names glowed faintly on every door she passed. The air was cool, silent, too still.
Her heels clicked in a sharp rhythm against the polished concrete. Tack. Tack. Tack.
Halfway down, something caught her eye. A flash of red hair darting around the corner ahead.
Samantha's eyes narrowed. Her steps slowed. Her breath came quieter. She stared down the hallway, every sense on high alert.
An eavesdropper.
Her body moved before her mind did. Her walk became a sprint, heels clapping hard against the floor. Tack. Tack. Tack. She rounded the corner just in time to see nothing but empty hallways and the glow of flickering nameplates.
Her gaze swept the corridor, slow and precise. She counted the doors. Memorized them. Her breath was steady, sharp, her eyes scanning for shadows too long or out of place.
Nothing.
How much did you hear?
Her jaw tightened. Her eyes lingered on the end of the hallway for a second too long before she turned away, quickening her pace.
Her lab wasn't far. She reached it, unlocking the door with a quick scan of her keycard.
Click.
The sterile white glow of the lab greeted her like an old friend. She spotted him immediately.
Fenrir.
The little black-and-white puppy pressed his paws against the front of his cage, his three tails wagging furiously. His amber eyes lit up the moment he saw her.
Fwip. Fwip. Fwip.
She crouched, letting him nuzzle her palm through the bars. "Good boy," she muttered, her voice softer now, almost human.
The fridge clicked behind her. She rose, crossed the room, and pulled open the door. Cold air washed over her as she retrieved a small vial of blood.
0173.
Her gaze lingered on it as she raised it to the light, swirling it slowly.
"Just who are you?" Her eyes never left the swirling red.
Her fingers pressed against the leaf-shaped birthmark on her hip. The same mark 0173 had.
"If I'm right," she muttered, eyes locked on the blood, "this changes everything."