Surveillance Room: Shoemaker's Morning
Startled and dazed, Shoemaker jolted upright from the tattered leather couch he'd been slumped on, heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. The sharp, monotonous blare of the facility's morning announcements echoed through the surveillance room, each word punctuated by the crackle of static.
"Ding dong. Ding. It is now 8:00 a.m. The facility has now resumed its daily research. Day shift personnel are to relieve the graveyard shift by 9:30 a.m. I repeat, it is now 8:00 a.m…"
He rubbed the grit from his eyes with a groggy groan, blinking away the bleariness. His lips curled into a tired sneer. "Every damn morning, right on the dot," he muttered, scanning the disaster of a room. Clothes were scattered like debris from a blown-up closet, food wrappers and crumpled papers blanketed the floor, and his tipped-over chair lay in the center of it all like the aftermath of a battle.
Because it had been a battle.
He yawned, stretching his arms overhead, bones cracking with satisfying relief. His gaze shifted, scanning for his clothes. His black, ripped pants were half-hidden beneath the tipped chair, his wrinkled shirt draped haphazardly over the console's edge. But his focus wasn't on the mess. No, his eyes searched for her.
The faint sound of movement drew his attention. A grin tugged at his lips as he spotted a familiar figure bent over beneath the console. The sleek curve of her hips was unmistakable, her black skirt hugging her figure so tightly it might as well have been a second skin. Her red hair, wild and untamed, spilled over her shoulders like a curtain of flames as she rummaged under the desk.
Lucia Voss.
She wasn't a doctor — not officially. She was one of the research technicians, but she carried herself like she owned the place. Smart, quick with her words, and always wearing that look like she was ten moves ahead of everyone else. She'd sauntered into the surveillance room just after midnight, claiming she "needed to double-check the cameras," but Shoemaker knew better. She didn't come to work. Not really.
"Hey, you done yet?" Shoemaker called, his voice laced with lazy amusement.
"Ugh, no," Lucia groaned, her voice muffled by the desk. She shifted slightly, causing her skirt to ride up just a bit higher. "I can't find my panties."
Shoemaker snorted as he stepped over the tipped chair and reached for his shirt, eyes flicking back to her every few seconds. "Tragic," he said, feigning sympathy as he pulled the wrinkled fabric over his head. His gaze dropped to her swaying hips, and his grin widened. "Careful down there, though. You mess up the tower, it's both our asses on the line."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, dismissing him with a flick of her hand. Her legs shifted, giving him a better view as she arched her back. "Ah—got it!"
She slid out from under the console with catlike grace, red lace pinched delicately between two fingers. Her eyes locked on his, sharp as a scalpel, and a wicked smile curled her lips. She sauntered toward him with the ease of someone who knew she had already won.
Shoemaker tensed, his heart picking up speed, and he knew she noticed. She always noticed. Her hips swayed in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her green eyes never leaving his. When she reached him, she leaned in close, her breath warm against his neck.
"Hold on to these for me, will you?" she whispered, tucking the lace into the waistband of his pants. Her fingers lingered longer than they needed to, and her eyes stayed locked on his as she pulled away.
He didn't move. He didn't breathe. His eyes tracked her every step as she strutted toward the door, her grin as sharp as a knife. His fingers hovered near his waist, feeling the faint texture of lace hidden beneath his shirt.
She reached the door, pausing just long enough to glance over her shoulder.
"See you tonight," she purred, and with a final sway of her hips, she was gone.
For a moment, Shoemaker just stood there, frozen in place, heart thudding like he'd run a mile. Slowly, his lips curled into a wide, cocky grin. Hell yeah.
"Day's already looking good," he muttered, grabbing his lab coat from the back of the chair. He slung it over his shoulder and strode toward the door like a man who had conquered the world. His grin was permanent now, an unshakable confidence that followed him into the hall.
The cameras on the ceiling tracked him, red dots following his every move. He didn't care. He walked with the swagger of a king, hands tucked in his pockets, humming a little tune under his breath. White-coated researchers filled the hall, heads down, focused on clipboards and tablets. None of them mattered. Not today.
Not after a win like that.
---
The Predator Awakes
The cold air carried the scent of fresh prey. It tickled his nostrils, sharp and metallic, tinged with the sweetness of blood. His eyes flicked open slowly, glowing faintly in the dim shadows of the rock wall. Clawed fingers gripped the jagged stone, his body suspended high above the ground.
There. Below him.
The human.
It knelt beside his first kill, inspecting the body with cautious eyes. His eyes narrowed, his pupils sharpening to slits. His claws flexed, scraping against the stone with a metallic shrkkk.
A soft purr vibrated from his chest, low and primal. His gaze locked on the human's throat. The warmth of it. The pulse. He could already taste it on his tongue.
Perfect.
He inched lower. Each shift of his claws against the rock sent tremors of excitement up his arms. His breath came shallow, his heart steady. Prey never looked up. Prey never knew.
But this one did.
The human paused. He froze, his head tilting slowly, cautiously, until his eyes met the predator's gaze.
Time stopped.
The predator's muscles tensed. The human's eyes weren't filled with fear. No. This one was different. This one saw.
Something stirred deep in the predator's mind.
A word clawed its way to the surface, unbidden.
"...Hue...M'na..." he rasped, his voice gravelly and unused, as if it had been pulled from a forgotten part of himself.
The human's eyes widened, his breathing sharp and shallow. His hand moved. Slowly at first, then faster.
The black object in his hand.
The predator tilted his head, curious, watching the human's hands fumble. What was it? What—
MOVE!
His instincts screamed, and he threw his body sideways.
BAM!
The sound cracked like thunder. The rock where his hand had been shattered into dust, chunks of stone raining down.
His eyes widened with rage. His lips curled back, revealing sharp fangs. He let out a guttural snarl, his claws releasing their grip as gravity pulled him down. He twisted midair, landing on all fours with a thud. The snow crunched beneath him.
Prey hurt me.
His glowing eyes locked onto the human. His claws flexed, each metallic scrape sharpening them further.
The human bolted.
The predator moved, each stride fueled by rage. Claws dug into stone, propelling him higher. His gaze never wavered. He followed every stumble, every flash of the black object in the human's hand.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Flashes of light. Pain erupted in his ear. He staggered, snarling as blood trickled down his cheek. His ears rang, blocking all sound but his own ragged breaths.
He dropped to all fours, his heart pounding. The warmth on his hands made him pause. He stared down at the red-stained snow under his claws.
Blood. Not his.
His breath came slow. His claws hovered over the stain. His eyes squinted as something shifted inside him.
A flicker. A face. A girl with red hair and green eyes, her smile sharp as a knife. Her fingers trailing down his cheek.
Lucia.
He blinked, eyes wide, lips parting with a low, trembling breath. His claws dug into the snow, leaving grooves in the earth.
What... what am I doing?
But the hunger snapped him back. The warmth of the human's blood called to him. His lips curled, his eyes sharp again.
His claws flexed, and his breath fogged in the cold air.
There was only one truth left in him now.
Prey runs. Predator chases.