Creed: World’s Strongest
“You’ve been researching for years with nothing to show for it. Why not try something else?”
Samia’s tone was sharp, but there was a thread of concern beneath it as she leaned against the doorframe. The room smelled faintly of sterilizing agents, and the rhythmic clicking of keys filled the silence.
Dr. Elias didn’t respond immediately. Dressed in his lab coat, he stared at the screen with unwavering focus, his fingers flying over the keyboard. When he finally turned to her, a slow, almost unsettling smile spread across his face. For a moment, he looked like any other scientist lost in his work—until he blinked.
The motion was unnatural, his eyelids sliding horizontally across his eyes like a lizard’s.
“Samia,” he said, his voice calm but electric with excitement, “I’ve figured it out. This time, it will work.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he was already on his feet, moving past her with an urgency that demanded she follow. They made their way through the sterile corridors of the facility, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a cold glow on the walls.
The reinforced chamber was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. Thick steel doors hissed as they opened, and the hum of machinery grew louder as they stepped inside. In the center of the room stood a massive contraption—a web of wires, tubes, and blinking monitors surrounding a sleek, cylindrical core.
“What is it this time?” Samia asked, her arms crossed tightly against her chest.
Dr. Elias didn’t answer. Instead, he moved with practiced precision, attaching cables and adjusting dials. The air felt heavier here, charged with the anticipation of something monumental—or catastrophic.
“Get your goggles,” he said at last, stepping behind the protective glass. He tapped the side of his goggles, the lenses catching the faint blue glow of the machine.
Samia hesitated. She had seen him fail before. Years of promises and miscalculations had made her wary, but there was something different in his demeanor this time—something unsettlingly confident. Reluctantly, she turned and jogged back to the lab to retrieve her goggles.
The first explosion hit when she was halfway down the hall.
The floor bucked beneath her, and she stumbled, her heart leaping into her throat. A deep, resonating boom echoed through the building, followed by a blaring alarm.
“Dr. Elias!” she shouted, spinning around. Smoke and dust billowed toward her, and the acrid scent of burning wires filled the air. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, cutting off her path back to the reinforced chamber.
And then she saw it.
Through the swirling haze, a glowing orb hovered in the wreckage, pulsating with a light that seemed alive. It started small, no bigger than her fist, but it was growing—expanding with an eerie, deliberate rhythm. The hum it emitted was low and bone-deep, vibrating through the air and into her chest.
“No, no, no,” she muttered, backing away. Every instinct screamed at her to run.
She turned and bolted for the exit, her shoes skidding on the slick floor as she raced against the inevitable. She had barely reached the stairwell when a second explosion ripped through the building.
The force of it threw her forward, and she hit the ground hard. Her vision blurred as heat and light engulfed her. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the structure groan as it gave way entirely.
Then, everything went black.
