Pamela stood still for a moment in the dimly lit room, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The steel door loomed before her, its surface cold and solid. She stepped closer and wrapped her hand around the knob, twisting. The handle refused to budge. "It's locked," she muttered under her breath.
Her eyes lowered to her wrist. The Midnight Rose coiled snugly around her skin, its thorned vines forming the living bracelet that pulsed faintly with life. Pamela brushed her fingers against it gently. "Can you help me open this door?"
The bracelet shivered against her skin as if responding. One thorn elongated, extending outward like a living lockpick. Pamela's eyes widened as it slid neatly into the keyhole beneath the handle. There was resistance at first, the groan of metal grinding against itself. Then, with a loud crack, the lock snapped. The thorn retracted quickly, curling back into the bracelet.
Pamela blinked at the door, a breath of astonishment leaving her lips. "Huh. That's convenient." She pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor beyond.
The hallway stretched long and narrow, lined with pale fluorescent lights that overhead. The air smelled damp and sterile, a strange mix of soil and disinfectant. Pamela's footsteps echoed softly against the floor as she walked, her nerves raw with tension.
Then she froze. A wet, dragging sound reached her ears—like bare feet walking across concrete. Her eyes looked forward. Figures emerged at the far end of the hallway, moving slowly, unsteadily towards her. Pamela's heart lurched.
The creatures shambled into view. Their bodies were grotesque imitations of humanity, half-rotted flesh entwined with thick, pulsing plant vines. Each wore a massive glass dome over its head, filled with bubbling green fluid that distorted their features. Through the glass, she could see their faces—twisted, half-plant, half-human, eyes glazed in permanent agony.
One turned toward her, its body moving unnaturally as it moved. It lurched forward, each step wet and uneven. Pamela recoiled, horror rushing through her veins. "What the hell are you?"
The creature gave no answer, only a low, guttural groan as it reached toward her. Another stepped behind it, then another, all shambling in her direction. Pamela staggered back, her voice breaking. "Oh my God. The professor… he turned them into plant zombies."
Her breath quickened. Yet beneath the panic, she felt something else—a pulse in the air, a sickly tug in her mind. Through her strange new bond with plants, she could feel them. Their hostility radiated toward her, fogged and muffled, their wills bent and chained by the professor. Her stomach twisted as she whispered, "These things are acting like security… guarding this hall."
The first creature came closer, its body dripping fluid across the floor. Pamela's pulse hammered in her ears. "What do I do?" she whispered, her hands trembling.
The answer came not in words, but in sensation. A sudden surge of instinct flowed up her arm, a living command from the Midnight Rose. Her left arm lifted as though guided by another will. The bracelet unfurled, vines unraveling in a rapid motion until they stretched outward in a sinuous whip lined with razor thorns.
Pamela gasped, but her body didn't resist. The whip lashed forward, striking the creature with a sharp crack. The vines coiled tight around its waist, the thorns sinking deep into the plant-flesh. The monster let out a warped groan, its limbs thrashing as the whip tightened further.
Pamela felt it then—the pull. The whip pulsed, draining energy from the creature's twisted body. A rush of vitality surged into her veins, hot and intoxicating. Her body trembled as warmth filled her chest, her vision sharpening, her thoughts clearing as newfound strength took root inside her.
Her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the flood of energy. When she opened them again, they glowed faintly green in the fluorescent light. As the plant creature stood in front of her held in place by her whip.
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