From the observatory, a dimly lit room cluttered with screens, wires, and forgotten coffee cups, the researchers were monitoring the movements of their creations—not just the infamous Type-1 and Type-2, but the countless other twisted beings, all of them products of the grotesque bio-fusion experiments.
The atmosphere was tense yet routine. Fingers tapped keyboards. Eyes flicked from screen to screen.
Suddenly, the main monitor flickered and glitched.
"Huh? Did the monitor just glitch?" one of the researcher said , leaning forward.
"I saw it too—it did," another replied.
"What? No way. That must be your mistake."
"No, sir. It actually glitched!"
Before anyone could debate further, one of the researchers seated closest to the screen abruptly stood up. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as it toppled behind him.
"Sir! The monitor's frozen!"
"Wha—"
BOOM.
A violent explosion rattled the entire facility. Lights dimmed and almost every device powered down in an instant, replaced by the sound of cracking metal and bursting pipes.
"What's happe—"
BANG.
"Agh—!"
"Help n—"
"N—!"
Screams erupted through the facility, cut short as more explosions echoed one after another.
Meanwhile, deep below, Rime stood frozen in her underground office. She was two floors above the chamber that contained the test subjects, yet the tremors felt dangerously close. Her fingers gripped a communication device that had just died in her hand. No static, no buzz—just silence.
Sweat soaked her pale face. Her lips trembled, and in her eyes, terror gleamed like glass shards.
Another tremor struck—stronger this time.
She cursed under her breath, hurling the dead device aside. Without hesitation, she grabbed a special-issue firearm, one only issued in case a subject broke containment. The weapon trembled in her hands as she turned to her storage unit, frantically searching.
The third tremor hit.
Rime's pace quickened. Her breaths came shallow and rapid.
Then—just before the fourth shock—her face flickered with relief. She'd found it: her last resort. But before she could move, cracks spiderwebbed across the walls, creeping toward her like the fingers of death.
She whispered:
"Hu—"
"DAMN IT! DAMN IT!"
"DAMN IT!"
"DAMN IT!"
"DAMN IT!"
Her voice cracked into hysterics.
"WHY?! What went wrong?! Why is this happening to me?!"
She sprinted across the shaking room to an armored escape capsule embedded in the far wall. But the door wouldn't budge. It had been warped by the earlier blast—locked by sheer force. She screamed in frustration.
This was her only chance.
With trembling arms, she climbed halfway inside and began forcing the jammed mechanism. It wouldn't move. Her face turned ghostly pale as panic overtook her. She could hear the structure above groaning. The entire facility was on the verge of collapse.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She screamed louder, shoving and punching at the mechanism, desperate to survive.
And then—
The ceiling gave way.
A massive force from above slammed the lid shut, mid-motion. The armored door sealed, locking her in place.
Only half of her body made it inside.
The other half—crushed between titanium and steel—was reduced to a gruesome paste.
Rime was gone.
---
THE TIME "IT" AWAKENED ITS POWER
Far below, on the lowest level—Floor 4—two reinforced containment rooms faced one another. Inside, silent and waiting, were the subjects of Project Necromancer.
In one chamber lay a Type-1. This grotesque fusion of beast, cordyceps fungus, and the unkillable tardigrade twitched in stillness, as if dreaming. In the other, a Type-2: a modified human, its DNA grafted with that of ants, designed to command the Type-1s like a puppeteer.
Type-1 was meant to be mindless. A bio-weapon. No memory. No thought. Just primal destruction.
But something stirred.
Inside its overgrown skull, beneath the layers of fungus and muscle, a ripple emerged. It wasn't thought. It wasn't memory. It was will. Instinct sharpened into something more. Maybe a command buried deep in its DNA. Maybe something older than anything the lab had ever tampered with.
Its breathing slowed. Then deepened.
The lights in the lab dimmed again. Systems groaned. Sparks danced across exposed wiring. And then—the hound's eyes lit up.
Glowing red.
And in that moment, all hell broke loose.
Without understanding how, the creature extended its will outward—not only to its fellow Type-1s, but toward the Type-2s as well.
Nearby containment pods began to tremble. Beasts blinked. Eyes turned red. They heard a pulse—not with ears, but through the very meat of their minds.
And they obeyed.
The hound's influence surged beyond metal and glass. It touched minds it didn't recognize, powers it didn't understand. But it felt them.
One of those minds belonged to Subject 12.
A failed fusion of man and volcanic minerals. Built for heat resistance—but unstable. Dangerous. A walking bomb.
The hound sent a single instinctual command: explode.
BOOM.
The first explosion tore through Floor 4. Containment breached. Backup alarms triggered.
Type-2s screamed. Their mental control shattered. Even the controller—designed to dominate—was now under control.
BOOM. BOOM.
Two more blasts shredded through the lab. Other monsters woke. Half-mad. Unified by one will: escape.
BOOM.
Floor 3's elevator cracked and burned. Fire raced through the shaft.
Red emergency lights blinked—then died.
BOOM.
Floor 2 crumbled partially, the labs reduced to rubble.
BOOM.
The final blast tore up through Floor 1. The main elevator melted. Its armored gates bent and split.
Smoke filled the corridor.
In that smoke, they emerged—figures crawling, running, limping. Shadows among fire and ruin.
They escaped.
Only they escaped.
Everyone else either regretted it... or never had the time to.
---