KIRA'S POV
The creature was looking at me again.
I pressed my face closer to the observation glass, my breath fogging the surface. Subject Zero didn't have eyes—not real ones anyway—but I felt its attention like cold fingers on my neck. The black liquid thing pulsed inside its containment tank, shifting shapes every few seconds. Sphere. Cube. Something with too many angles to be real.
"You're beautiful," I whispered. "Terrifying, but beautiful."
My tablet buzzed. Atlas's name flashed on the screen with a message: Kira, it's 2 AM. Even scientists need sleep.
I smiled and typed back with one hand while adjusting the scanner with the other. Ten more minutes. I promise. Love you.
You said that an hour ago, he wrote back. I'm timing you. Ten minutes or I'm coming down there.
You wouldn't dare interrupt SCIENCE, I teased.
Try me, Dr. Chen.
I grinned at my tablet. Atlas Vance—military commander, decorated war hero, afraid of absolutely nothing—except maybe my nerdy rants about alien biology. We'd been engaged for three months, and he still couldn't understand why I'd rather spend time with specimens than him.
But tomorrow would make him understand. Tomorrow, Captain Cross would approve my proposal. Human-alien cellular integration. Colonists who could breathe alien air, survive harsh climates, adapt to new worlds. I'd spent two years on this research. Subject Zero was the key to everything.
The scanner beeped. New data flooded my screen. My heart jumped.
"Oh my God," I breathed. "You're not just shapeshifting. You're... you're rewriting your own DNA in real-time."
Subject Zero rippled like it heard me. Ridiculous. It was just an organism. No consciousness. No awareness. Just beautiful, perfect evolution in its purest form.
I leaned closer, reading the data. The patterns were incredible. If I could just extract a sample, isolate the adaptive proteins—
The containment tank beeped.
One beep. Soft. Almost polite.
I looked up. The temperature gauge was climbing. 20 degrees Celsius. 25. 30.
"That's weird," I muttered, checking the controls. Everything showed normal. But the numbers kept rising. 35. 40. 45.
Subject Zero began moving faster inside the tank, slamming against the glass in rhythm. Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Hey, calm down," I said, trying to sound soothing. "It's okay. Let me just—"
The beeping got louder. More urgent. The tank's pressure alarm joined in. Red lights started flashing across every screen.
My hands shook as I pulled up the emergency protocols. This wasn't supposed to happen. The containment system had seventeen backup safeties. Captain Cross had personally assured me it was impossible to breach.
50 degrees. 55. 60.
Subject Zero wasn't just moving anymore. It was throwing itself against the glass with terrible force. Cracks spider-webbed across the surface.
"No, no, no," I whispered, slamming my hand on the emergency lockdown button.
Nothing happened.
I hit it again. And again. The system was dead.
The cracks spread wider. Subject Zero pressed against the glass like it was testing the weak points. Like it was thinking.
My tablet buzzed. Atlas again: Time's up. Coming to get you.
"Don't," I whispered to the screen, but my fingers were frozen. I couldn't look away from the tank.
70 degrees. 75. 80.
The glass began to glow red-hot.
I should run. Every instinct screamed at me to run. But my legs wouldn't move. Two years of research. Two years of careful study. This was my life's work. My chance to save humanity.
"Please don't break," I begged. "Please, please, please—"
The glass exploded.
I threw my arms up, but not fast enough. Hot glass shards sliced across my face and hands. I screamed and stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet. My head cracked against the floor. Stars burst across my vision.
Through the pain and blurry tears, I saw Subject Zero pour out of the tank like oil. But it wasn't shapeless anymore. It formed arms. Legs. Something like a head. It stood up on two limbs, eight feet tall, and turned toward me.
"Yuki!" I screamed for my research partner. "Yuki, help!"
The thing took a step closer. Another. Its body rippled and shifted with each movement, like it couldn't decide what shape to be.
I scrambled backward on my hands, leaving bloody handprints on the white floor. My back hit the wall. Nowhere left to go.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. Stupid thing to say to an alien organism. But I was sorry. Sorry I'd studied it. Sorry I'd wanted to use it. Sorry I'd been so arrogant to think I could control something I didn't understand.
Subject Zero leaned down. This close, I could see tiny patterns swirling under its black surface. Like galaxies. Like DNA strands. Like something both ancient and newborn.
It reached out one liquid-black arm. Not to hurt me. Almost... gently.
"What do you want?" I whispered.
It touched my face where the glass had cut me. Its substance was cold. So cold it burned.
And then it smiled. No mouth. No features. But I felt it smile.
The laboratory door burst open. "Kira!" Yuki's voice, high and terrified.
"Run!" I screamed at her. "Get Atlas! Get security! RUN!"
Yuki's footsteps echoed away down the corridor.
Subject Zero tilted its head, still touching my bleeding face. Its cold substance began spreading. Across my cheek. My jaw. My neck.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but feel the wrongness of it seeping into my skin like ice water in my veins.
"Please," I whispered. "Please don't—"
It forced its way into my mouth. My nose. My eyes. I gagged and choked and clawed at my own face, but it was already inside me. Pouring down my throat. Filling my lungs. Rewriting me.
The last thought I had as Dr. Kira Chen was: Atlas is going to find me like this.
Then the thing that was Subject Zero started changing me from the inside out, and I couldn't think anymore.
I could only scream.
But the sound that came out of my mouth wasn't human.
Not even close.