"Don't move. Not a muscle," Vera hissed, her voice barely a vibration against my ear.
She had me pinned against the damp concrete wall of the ventilation shaft. The space was so tight I could feel the heat radiating off her body, the smell of ozone and cheap gunpowder clinging to her tactical gear. Her rifle was leveled at the gap in the grating, but her shoulder was pressed hard into my chest, keeping me anchored.
I didn't breathe. I couldn't. Not because of her, but because my lungs were still adjusting to the new graft—the sonar sacs pulsing in my neck. Every time they flared, I could 'see' the room below. Not with light, but with ripples of pressure.
Below us, three Farm Enforcers were sweeping the corridor. Their heavy boots made the metal floor groan.
"They're circling back," I rasped. My voice sounded like grinding gravel, a byproduct of the vocal cords I'd stolen from a scream-beast two deaths ago.
"Shut up," she whispered, her grip tightening on my arm. "I can't hear the rhythm if you're rattling like a broken radiator."
I glared at her. The power dynamic was clear: she had the gun, she had the map, and she was the only thing keeping me from being tossed back into a dissection tank. But I had the eyes.
"Left side. Behind the pillar," I breathed, leaning closer until my snout almost brushed her jaw. "The one in the middle is twitchy. He’s got a thermal scanner. If you poke your head out now, you're a glowing target."
Vera paused, her finger hovering over the trigger. She didn't look at me, but I saw her pulse jump in her neck. "How do you know that?"
"I can feel the heat," I said. "And the way he's breathing. He's scared. Scared men make mistakes."
"You're a freak of nature, you know that?" she muttered, though she didn't pull away. In fact, she leaned back into me, using my bulk as a shield.
"You're the one hiding in a vent with a monster, Quinn. Who's the freak?"
"Quiet!"
She shifted, her thigh brushing against mine in the cramped space. The friction was electric, a sharp contrast to the cold slime coating my skin. For a second, the mission vanished. There was just the sound of her erratic breathing and the oppressive weight of the dark.
Then the Enforcer below shouted. "Check the vents! I smell something rotten!"
"Run," I whispered.
"What?"
I didn't give her a choice. I slammed my shoulder into her, launching us both through the grating in one violent explosion of metal and noise.
We hit the floor hard. I rolled, my claws digging into the plating, and came up in a crouch. The Enforcers didn't even have time to scream.
"Contact!" the lead guard yelled, raising his rifle.
I didn't wait for the shot. I blurred.
To Vera, I must have looked like a smudge of shadow. To me, the world was a map of vibrations. I hit the first guard in the throat, my claws shearing through his armor like it was wet cardboard. He didn't even make a sound—just a wet gurgle as I ripped his windpipe out.
*Squelch.*
I felt the rush of it. The familiar, addictive hunger. I didn't eat him—not yet—but the kill triggered the evolution instinct. My muscles coiled tighter, my vision sharpening.
"Jace! Left!" Vera screamed.
I spun, catching a burst of plasma fire in my shoulder. It burned, a searing white-hot needle of pain, but I didn't flinch. I lunged, pinning the second guard against the wall. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs—fast, terrified, delicious.
I leaned in, my maw inches from his face. "Who sent you?"
"Go to hell, beast!" he spat.
I didn't argue. I tore his arm off at the shoulder.
"Stop it!" Vera's voice cracked. She was standing over the third guard, her rifle pressed into his temple. "Jace, stop! We need him alive!"
I looked at her, blood dripping from my claws, my eyes glowing a predatory gold in the dim light. I felt a surge of something dark—not just hunger, but a need to show her exactly what I had become.
"He's useless," I growled, stepping toward her. "He's just meat."
"He's a lead!" she snapped, stepping between me and the prisoner. She didn't flinch, even though I towered over her, smelling of copper and death. "If you kill everyone, we have nothing to trade for the exit codes. Back off."
I stopped. The air between us was thick, charged with a tension that had nothing to do with the guards. She was trembling, but her eyes were fierce, refusing to yield. She was the only person in this hellhole who looked at me and didn't just see a monster to be harvested.
"You're bossy for someone who's halfway to a debt-slave," I mocked, my voice dropping an octave. I stepped closer, invading her space until she had to tilt her head back to look at me.
"And you're arrogant for something that was literally a pile of stitches a week ago," she retorted, but she didn't move back. Her gaze dropped to my chest, to the jagged scars where the grafts met my original skin.
For a heartbeat, her expression softened. Not pity—something else. Curiosity. Or maybe something more dangerous.
"Let's just get the codes and get out of here," she whispered, her voice losing its edge.
"Fine. But I'm eating the arm," I said, glancing at the severed limb on the floor.
"Gross. Just... do it quickly."
I tore into the flesh, the system pinging in my mind: *Trait acquired: Basic Combat Reflexes. Integrating...*
As the power surged through me, I felt a sudden shift in the room. A click. A heavy, mechanical thud that echoed through the floorboards.
"What was that?" Vera asked, her hand going back to her rifle.
I froze. The sonar in my neck flared. The floor beneath us wasn't solid. It was a pressure plate.
"Vera, move!" I lunged for her, my arm wrapping around her waist to yank her back.
Too late.
With a deafening roar of grinding gears, the entire center of the corridor collapsed. Not a fall, but a slide. A massive trapdoor had swung open, dragging us down into a dark, yawning abyss.
We plummeted, screaming, sliding down a steep, metal chute that smelled of ancient chemicals and rotting meat. I held onto her with everything I had, her body pressed tight against mine, the air rushing past us in a blur of cold wind.
We hit the bottom with a bone-jarring crash, landing in a pool of shallow, brackish water.
I groaned, shaking my head. The impact had knocked the wind out of me, but I immediately shifted to protect her, shielding her body with my own.
Silence returned, heavy and suffocating.
Slowly, Vera pushed herself up. She was drenched, her hair plastered to her face, her gear ruined. She looked up at me, and for the first time, there was no rifle between us. No guards. No mission.
She reached out, her fingers trembling as she touched the side of my face, brushing away a smear of blood.
I didn't pull away. I couldn't.
In the dim, flickering light of the underground lab, her eyes searched mine. She didn't see the gold of the beast. She didn't see the monster.
"Jace?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "Your eyes... they're not animal. You're... you're still in there, aren't you? You're a man."
Before I could answer, a red emergency light began to pulse from the ceiling, and a voice boomed over the intercom, cold and clinical.
"Specimen 07 has returned to the Primary Lab. Begin re-calibration protocol immediately."