The rhythmic clatter of plastic keys filled the dimly lit room, echoing through the tense silence. Shoemaker's fingers moved with desperate precision over the keyboard, his focus locked on the monitor in front of him. Each keystroke carried the weight of his anxiety as he raced against the clock to conceal the night's chaos.
"Why can't I ever say no to a pretty face?" he muttered under his breath, his voice edged with frustration. He raked a hand through his disheveled hair, the caffeine coursing through his system only amplifying his jittery movements.
His fingers stumbled on the keys, and an error message flashed on the screen. "Damn it!" Shoemaker hissed, shaking his hands as if to banish the clumsiness from his trembling fingers. The stress of it all—caffeine, lack of sleep, and the looming threat of discovery—was becoming unbearable.
Finally, the screen flickered, and a small notification confirmed his latest alteration. "There we go," he murmured, his lips curling into a brief smirk. "And now, there was a power failure in Test A," he added mockingly, as if narrating his own triumph.
He leaned back slightly, staring at the screen in satisfaction as he edited Subject 0173's existence into oblivion, replacing it with the deceased 0165's profile. The once-darkened status of 0165 glowed a vivid green. Shoemaker tapped a celebratory drumroll on the desk with his fingers, smirking. "And now you're 0165," he muttered, reveling in his handiwork.
But there was no time to gloat. Clicking furiously, Shoemaker opened the surveillance footage. The feeds were a mosaic of chaos—300 separate angles capturing every corner of the artificial environment. Each clip was a potential landmine, and Shoemaker had to carefully remove any trace of wrongdoing.
His bloodshot eyes darted across the screen, scanning and splicing, deleting incriminating moments frame by frame. Exhaustion weighed on him, his muscles screaming for rest. He stretched briefly, but the reprieve only made the ache in his back more pronounced.
The largest screen displayed the live feed of Subject 0173. The mutant lay sprawled on the artificial snow, his chest heaving faintly, leaving a twin trail of blood behind him. His lifeless gaze was fixed on the false arctic sky as the system emitted a faint beep, signaling his stillness. The camera shifted to 0168.
Shoemaker froze. A hiss came from the speakers, and the feed revealed the grotesque transformation of the once-human subject. The mutated leopard-like figure crouched over the mangled corpse of a dall sheep. Its keratin-plated armor glistened under the artificial lights, the once-fluffy creature now a nightmarish mix of bone and steel-like spikes.
"Jesus," Shoemaker muttered, his hand covering his mouth in morbid fascination.
0168's muzzle crunched down on the sheep's neck with a wet snap, severing its head in a single motion. Blood poured from the lifeless body, pooling on the rocky terrain. Shoemaker watched as the predator flipped the carcass over, tearing into the unarmored underbelly with razor-sharp claws. A low, guttural purr rumbled from 0168's chest as it slurped down the sheep's liver, crimson streaks staining its fur.
Across the gorge, the remaining herd cowered beneath their natural armor, forming a trembling dome of scales. But 0168 was relentless. With a single bound, he crossed the ravine, landing with predatory grace. His claws raked across the dome, sparks flying as he carved through their defenses. Blood sprayed in arcs, and the herd's futile attempts to escape only prolonged the inevitable.
Shoemaker chuckled darkly, rubbing his face. "You're just a beast, aren't you?" he muttered to the screen. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "If 0173 ever drags his sorry ass over there, it'll be game over. Why did I even bother keeping him alive?"
His mind drifted, conjuring a vivid image of 0173's decapitated head tumbling down the cliffs, shattering into a grotesque mosaic of gore and bone. The thought brought a grim smile to his face, but the sound of creaking wood snapped him out of his daydream.
Shoemaker flinched, his fingers freezing mid-gesture. He glanced at the door, but it was closed. Shaking his head, he turned back to the monitor. "Focus," he muttered to himself, clicking back into the files.
Unbeknownst to him, the door had opened slightly, and a figure stood in the shadows, watching silently. Their eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as Shoemaker murmured to himself, oblivious to their presence.