The whiskey burned on the way down, settling in my chest like a weak shield against the whispers. I swirled the amber liquid in the glass, staring into its depths. The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the datapad on the table beside me. Jericho’s hum was a constant presence, the ship alive in its silence, but I was anything but.
The hunger was quieter now, manageable in the way a predator might sleep after a kill. But it wasn’t gone. It never would be. Even now, hours after the last feeding, I could feel it stirring, restless, like a beast pacing inside me.
I hated it. The cloned chicken had been warm when I’d taken it, its feathers soft and smooth until I’d gripped too tightly, the struggle ending almost as quickly as it began. The virus demanded it that way—raw, fresh, alive. Cooking destroyed the DNA and biomass it needed, and anything less than that left the hunger unsatisfied. I tore into it with shaking hands, the feathers sticking to my lips, blood running down my chin.
It should’ve made me gag. And at first, it did. The tang of blood, the crunch of bone, the slick warmth of the flesh—it should have repulsed me. But the virus, that ravenous thing inside me, overrode everything else. Every bite carried a primal satisfaction, a relief that cut through the gnawing pain of hunger.
And when it was over? Shame.
Its screams lingered, replaying in my mind. The way it had flailed, helpless in my grip. The taste of its life still clung to my tongue, metallic and rich, its warmth lingering long after I’d licked my fingers clean. The hunger had been sated, for now, but the guilt never faded.
A knock at the door broke the quiet, sharp and sudden against the heavy stillness. I flinched, pulling myself from the thoughts that spiraled endlessly in my mind. Reid’s voice carried through the door before I could answer, light and familiar.
“Open up, Princess. I come bearing gifts.”
I sighed, setting the glass down and brushing the hair from my face. “What kind of gifts?” I called back, trying to shake off the weight that sat heavy on my chest.
“Beer,” he replied with mock indignation. “What else?”
The door slid open, and there he was, his smirk firmly in place, a six pack in hand. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his confidence as easy as always.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, setting one of the bottles on the table and twisting the cap off the other. “You always look like you’re plotting some mad science crap in this room.”
I raised an eyebrow, trying to force the fog from my mind. “If I were, you’d be the first test subject.”
“Oh, I’d make a terrible lab rat,” he shot back, dragging a chair over and plopping down across from me. His new cybernetic arm caught the low light as he lifted the bottle to his lips. “Too good-looking. You’d hate to ruin perfection.”
I snorted, despite myself, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“Damn right,” he said, his grin softening as he studied me. “How’re you holding up?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Reid knew enough to tread carefully—enough about the virus, the hunger, the changes I didn’t fully understand. I’d confided in him during one of his countless drop-ins, moments when he’d shown up unannounced just to hang out. At first, I’d only shared fragments of the truth, hesitant to say too much. But Reid had a way of easing past the walls I didn’t even realize I’d built. Over time, I’d opened up, piece by piece.
I hadn’t told him everything—not about my father, or the whispers, or how the virus gnawed at the edges of my sanity—but he knew enough. He knew about the hunger, how it felt like a primal beast pacing inside me, never truly satisfied. I’d told him about the cloned animals, about how the virus demanded their biomass raw, their DNA untainted by heat or sterilization. I’d even described the shame that followed, the horror of tearing into something alive with my bare hands.
Reid had listened, his usual humor subdued, his green eyes shadowed with something I could only read as discomfort. I expected him to pull away, to treat me like the monster I was starting to believe I’d become. But instead, he’d cracked a joke, one that wasn’t funny but still made me laugh, and told me, “You’re still Sol, no matter how weird this shit gets.”
Classic Reid, sitting there in his Hawaiian shirt and mirrored sunglasses, his blond hair sticking out in every direction like he’d just woken up from the world’s longest nap. He had a knack for deflecting tension with humor, for making everything feel a little less like the end of the world. Even when I told him things that should’ve sent him running, he stayed. Maybe he was disturbed by what I’d said, but he never let it show for long.
Now, as he sat across from me, sipping his beer and studying me with that easy grin, I wondered if he’d ever realized how much I needed that. How much I needed someone who didn’t see me as just an experiment or a burden, but as Sol—broken and strange and trying her best to hold herself together.
He didn’t push, didn’t pry, but his questions always reminded me I wasn’t as invisible as I sometimes wanted to be.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, my voice too steady to be convincing. His raised eyebrow and unimpressed expression made me sigh. “Mostly fine. The feeding helps. For a while.”
His gaze flicked to the empty plate on the table, where faint traces of grease and feathers still clung to the edges. He didn’t ask what I’d eaten. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
“Still weird for you?” he asked softly, his usual teasing tone absent.
I nodded, my fingers tightening around the glass. “Every time. It… it feels wrong. But it’s the only thing that works.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, Sol, I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on with you—hell, I don’t think you do half the time—but you’re still here. That counts for something.”
“Does it?” I murmured, my voice barely audible. The weight of the chicken’s final moments sat heavy in my stomach, more real than the satisfaction the virus had given me. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just… surviving.”
He shrugged, his movements casual but his eyes serious. “That’s enough for now. One day at a time, Princess. And hey, if you need a break from Knight’s little science hellscape, you know where to find me.”
I glanced at him, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. “What, so you can distract me with bad beer and worse jokes?”
“Exactly,” he said, his grin returning. “I’m a man of many talents, Sol. Keeping you sane is just one of them.”
I let out a quiet laugh, the sound unfamiliar but welcome. Reid grinned, tipping his sunglasses down just enough to show a flicker of mischief in his green eyes. He launched into some ridiculous story about a malfunctioning drone in hydroponics, complete with exaggerated gestures and sound effects that made no sense.
For a little while longer, I let myself sit in his presence, soaking in the warmth of his easy humor. The tension in my chest loosened, like a tightly coiled spring finally easing, as we talked about nothing important. It wasn’t peace—not really—but it was close enough. Reid had a way of doing that, of making the ship’s suffocating weight feel lighter, even if only for a moment.
The drinks helped, too—the familiar burn tracing a path down my throat, dulling the sharper edges of my thoughts. The room softened around the edges, the hum of the ship fading into the background. Reid gave me a mock salute as he stood to leave, his prosthetic hand gleaming under the dim light.
“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he quipped, pausing at the doorway. “Or, you know, whatever creepy thing lives in your nightmares these days.”
“Thanks for that,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. But the corners of my mouth tugged into a reluctant smile, and I didn’t try to fight it.
He winked and disappeared into the hallway, his footsteps fading into the hum of Jericho’s engines.
The room felt quieter, emptier after he left. For now, it was just me, the lingering warmth of his presence, and the drink in my hand. The nightmares would come, as they always did, clawing at the edges of my sleep. But for now, I let myself sit a little longer, savoring the fleeting calm.
It wasn’t peace—not really—but it was close enough. And for tonight, that was all I could ask for.
The dream wrapped around me like a second skin, suffocating and inescapable. It started in a place that should’ve been familiar—my father’s lab. The hum of machines buzzed softly in the background, their lights casting faint, sterile halos against the walls. I was seated on the familiar stool beside his workbench, legs dangling just above the floor, like I was a child again. But something was off. The air felt heavier, the colors muted, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
My father stood over me, his white lab coat pristine, his face unreadable behind those thin, wire-rimmed glasses he always wore. His hands moved with precision, adjusting dials and scribbling notes, never sparing me more than a glance. That was normal—too normal. But when he finally looked at me, his expression was hollow, his eyes flat, like the man I remembered wasn’t entirely there.
“Did you eat?” His voice was calm, clinical, and yet it scraped against my nerves like nails on glass.
I blinked at him, confused. “Eat? What do you mean?”
He turned, holding up a tray I hadn’t noticed before. On it was a small, trembling shape—a rabbit, its fur matted with sweat, its tiny chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. My stomach churned at the sight, but the hunger stirred, sharp and insistent, crawling under my skin.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. “You need it, Sol. The DNA, the biomass. That’s what you’re made for.”
I recoiled, shaking my head. “No. I don’t need that. I’m fine.”
His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “You’re lying. To me. To yourself.” He set the tray down, stepping closer, his presence looming. “Don’t deny what you are.”
“I’m not—” The words caught in my throat as I glanced down. My hands were changing, the nails elongating into claws, the skin taking on an unnatural sheen. Panic surged through me, and I looked back at my father. His face hadn’t changed, but something in his yellow eyes gleamed, cold and knowing.
“You’re perfect,” my father said, his yellow eyes faintly aglow in the dim light of the lab. But something was wrong. His voice was fractured, layered, as if two people were speaking in unison. One voice was his—cold and clinical. The other was deeper, raw, laced with something almost… pained. “My masterpiece.”
“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m not—”
My reflection in the glass panel beside the workbench caught my eye. At first, it was just me—small, pale, my white hair faintly catching the glow of the lab lights. But then the image twisted. My skin darkened, ridged and unnatural. My jaw stretched, elongating as sharp teeth glinted, catching the faint light. My mouth opened in a silent scream, and the monster in the glass snarled back, its mismatched eyes—one crimson, one blue—burning into mine.
I stumbled backward, heart pounding. “What the fuck. That’s not me. It’s not—”
The mirror shattered, the sound deafening. When I turned, Wilks was there.
Or what was left of him.
His body was warped and burned, hunched over, his limbs too long and slick with a grotesque sheen. His face was barely recognizable, stretched and broken, red eyes glowing faintly from deep-set sockets. He moved like something from a nightmare, his steps slack and jerky, yet impossibly fast.
“You’re like me,” he hissed, his voice wet and guttural, a sound that made my stomach lurch. “We’re the same, useful monsters.”
“I’m not a monster!” I screamed, but the hunger roared, drowning out my voice. It surged through me, clawing, demanding, insatiable.
Wilks lunged, and I didn’t flinch—I lashed out. My claws tore through flesh, warm blood splattering across my face. The hunger roared louder, exultant, as I ripped into him, my teeth sinking into the raw meat of his shoulder. The taste filled my senses, rich and intoxicating, and for a moment, the horror of it faded beneath the satisfaction. I was consuming him, and I couldn’t stop.
His laughter broke through the haze, twisted and mocking. “You’ll see,” he rasped. “You’ll become his next tool.”
I stumbled back, the taste of blood sharp in my mouth, my hands slick with it. The room spun, the walls blurring as Wilks’s form twisted and dissolved into the shadows. The mirror reformed, and the monster in the glass was me. Entirely me.
I gasped, jerking upright in bed, the sheets damp with sweat and tangled around my legs. My breath came in ragged bursts, my chest heaving as the phantom taste lingered on my tongue.
It wasn’t real.
But it could be.
I dragged my hand over my face, fingers brushing against my cheekbone, my mismatched eyes catching faint reflections in the screen of my datapad. Blue. Red. They stared back at me, mocking the memory of the dream.
My throat tightened as I forced my breathing to slow. It was just a nightmare, I told myself, a sick manifestation of everything I was terrified of becoming. But that didn’t make it easier to shake.
A familiar hum crackled to life, the voice smooth and detached, yet unmistakable. “Sol,” Jericho’s voice buzzed softly through the room’s speakers. “I detected elevated heart rate, irregular breathing, and physical agitation. Are you well?”
I groaned, running a hand through my damp hair. “I’m fine, Jericho. Just a nightmare.”
“Understood,” it replied, though there was no comfort in its tone. Jericho was not programmed for comfort. “Lion is aware of your distress. Do you require a medical evaluation?”
Of course, Lion knew. Of course, he was watching. He always was.
“No,” I said sharply, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The cool floor against my feet grounded me, but it did nothing to ease the knot in my chest. “Just drop it.”
Jericho didn’t respond, but its hum lingered, a low, pulsing rhythm that felt almost alive—a constant reminder that privacy on this ship was an illusion. It wasn’t the first time I’d sensed its attention, that quiet, unspoken presence that seemed to watch from the shadows, making my skin crawl.
The soft chime of a notification startled me, pulling my attention to the datapad blinking faintly on the desk. I reached for it, my hand still trembling, and swiped the screen to life. Another message from Vega. Of course.
I let out a quiet sigh, sinking back into the mattress. Jericho’s voice might’ve gone silent, but its watchful eye—and Lion’s—never truly left. It was just another reminder that I wasn’t allowed even the sanctity of my nightmares.
The subject line was as clipped and precise as her tone always was:
“Rotation Schedule Update: Immediate Action Required.”
I opened it with a swipe, the glowing text reflecting in my tired eyes.
----------------------------------------
FROM: Lt. Evelyn Vega
TO: Sol Voss
SUBJECT: Rotation Schedule Update: Immediate Action Required
Sol,
Following the council’s latest deliberation, a decision has been made regarding the ship’s current operational strategy. After six months of running at maximum speed to put distance between Jericho and the Hemlock’s last known location, we have reached a point where slowing to standard operational speed is both necessary and prudent.
While the mystery surrounding the Hemlock remains unresolved, with no new breakthroughs regarding the plasma scorch marks or their origin, the council has decided that maintaining vigilance is essential, but further strain on resources is unsustainable. The plasma damage observed on the Hemlock’s engine remains a matter of concern, but without additional evidence of an immediate threat, we must balance caution with pragmatism.
As a result, Team D will now take over ship operations, allowing all members of Teams A, B, and C to return to cryo for the next three months. Dr. Knight will return to cryo with Team B, while you will be scheduled to reawaken with Team A at the conclusion of this rotation.
During this period, the automated drones will continue testing and refining the Phoenix serums. Both the inhibitor and accelerant show potential, but further time is needed for synthesis and validation. Your physiological feedback and expertise will remain critical once testing resumes during your next wake cycle.
Please use the remaining time of 48 hours to prepare for cryo and to ensure any unfinished tasks are handed off to the next rotation. The council emphasizes the importance of rest and recovery, particularly given the extraordinary demands placed upon you during this past year.
Attached: [Rotation Schedule Overview]
Lt. Evelyn Vega
----------------------------------------
The words on the screen blurred slightly as I stared at them, the tight knot in my chest growing heavier with every sentence. They were sending me back to cryo. Again. Just when we were starting to make progress, when the Phoenix tests were finally beginning to make sense. Three months wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but to me, it felt like an eternity. The drones could do a lot, but they weren’t me—or Knight.
I clenched my fists, the datapad trembling slightly in my grip. The rational part of me understood. The ship’s resources were stretched thin, and I was part of the problem. I ate more than three people combined. Every cloned animal I consumed wasn’t just another drop in the supply chain—it was a glaring reminder of the strain I placed on Jericho. But understanding didn’t make it sting any less.
The hunger stirred at the back of my mind, restless and persistent, as if sensing my agitation. I hated that it was always there, like a shadow I could never shake. My father’s voice echoed in my mind, unbidden: “You’re perfect. My masterpiece.”
Perfect. Right. A perfect burden.
I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, the datapad still glowing in my hands. For a moment, I let myself stew in the frustration, the disappointment. It wasn’t fair. None of this was. But fair didn’t matter out here—not on Jericho.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the message reply window and began typing, my fingers flying over the screen with barely controlled anger.
----------------------------------------
Subject: Re: Rotation Schedule Update: Immediate Action Required
Lt. Vega,
I understand the council’s decision, but I can’t go back into cryo right now. Not when we’re so close to real progress with the Phoenix tests. The drones can handle the basics, but they don’t have the insight or adaptability that Knight and I bring to the table. If we just had a little more time, we could push these prototypes further, maybe even get them ready for initial trials.
I know I consume more resources than most, but I’m willing to make adjustments—cut back, ration more tightly, whatever it takes. Sending me to cryo now feels like halting the momentum we’ve worked so hard to build.
Please reconsider.
-Sol
----------------------------------------
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, the knot in my chest tightening as the message disappeared from the screen. It was bold, maybe too bold, but I couldn’t just sit back and let them sideline me without trying.
The reply came quicker than I expected. Vega’s name flashed on the screen, her message carrying the same no-nonsense authority she always had.
----------------------------------------
Subject: Re: Rotation Schedule Update: Immediate Action Required
Sol,
Your commitment to the Phoenix project is commendable, but this is not a matter of negotiation. The council’s decision is final, and it is not without reason.
Your physiological condition requires a caloric and nutritional intake that far exceeds the average crew member’s consumption. To put it plainly: you are eating us out of house and home. The cloning labs and hydroponics bay cannot keep pace with your current needs while simultaneously preparing for the next rotation’s requirements. We are operating under tight constraints, and every resource must be optimized for long-term sustainability.
You will return to cryo with Team A as scheduled, and Knight will follow with Team B. Use the remaining time to ensure a smooth handoff of tasks to the drones and prepare for cryo. Knight has already informed us of your progress with the two serums you have created, but she has also stated that it will take several months for them to synthesize fully. In her words, this leaves you and her to “twiddle your thumbs” in the meantime.
When you wake in three months, you’ll have the resources and support needed to continue your work without straining the ship’s systems. During this time, the cloning facilities and hydroponics bay will replenish our food supplies, allowing us to support not only you but the rest of the crew as well. With much of the crew awake for extended periods, we are running dangerously low, and these three months are critical to rebuilding our reserves.
This decision is not up for debate. Prepare to return to cryo within the next 48 hours.
-Lt. Evelyn Vega
----------------------------------------
The message sat on the screen, its blunt practicality a final nail in the coffin of my hopes. I reread the words, letting them settle over me like a weighted blanket. "Twiddle your thumbs." Knight must have thought that was clever.
I stared at the glowing screen, my chest tightening with frustration. I wanted to argue, to demand they let me stay awake, to keep fighting for the project that felt like the only thing giving my existence purpose. But even as the anger rose, I knew it was pointless. Vega’s logic was unassailable, her tone making it clear that she wouldn’t entertain any objections.
Three months. I’d be asleep, frozen while the world moved on. Again.
My jaw clenched as I resisted the urge to throw the datapad across the room. Instead, I placed it down carefully, my hand lingering on the edge of the device as if letting go would make the message more real.
"Fine," I muttered to no one in particular, the word bitter on my tongue. "Three months."
The hunger stirred faintly, a quiet, restless presence that I couldn’t quite ignore. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus. If I couldn’t stop this decision, I could at least make sure the work we’d started wouldn’t lose momentum.
I pushed myself to my feet, the datapad still glowing softly on the desk behind me. The room felt too small, the walls pressing in as the reality of the situation settled in my chest. Three months.
For now, all I could do was prepare.
The lab was unnervingly quiet, the faint hum of Jericho’s systems the only sound accompanying the soft glow of the monitors. Drones hovered above the workstations, completing tasks with inhuman precision, while Knight stood at the main console, her almond-shaped eyes fixed on the data streaming across the screen. Her expression, as always, was unreadable—cold, detached, entirely focused.
I sat on a stool near the far end of the lab, absently tapping my fingers against the counter. The hunger was quiet for now, subdued after my last feeding, but it still lingered beneath the surface like an itch I couldn’t scratch. The cloned chicken had helped, but the relief was always temporary, a fleeting reprieve from the endless demands of the virus.
Knight broke the silence, her voice cutting through the stillness. “The suppressor serum shows the most promise. If we can stabilize the dosage and isolate the reaction pathways, we might finally have a way to tailor the virus.” Her gaze flicked to the vials, lingering a moment too long. “It’s the only way to adapt the virus without…” She hesitated, the clinical edge in her tone faltering for just a moment. “Without repeating past mistakes.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Something about the way she avoided my gaze set my nerves on edge, but before I could press her, she turned back to the console, her expression unreadable.
“To tailor it to other people… just how many people have you and my father given Phoenix to, other than Wilks and the crew of the Hemlock?” I asked, my voice tight, the question barely hiding the accusation underneath.
Knight didn’t look up, her fingers continuing their fluid motions across the holographic display. “Far more than you could count,” she said, her tone calm in a way that made my skin crawl. After a pause, she added, almost too casually, “And some that can never be replaced.”
Her words hit like a gut punch, the weight of them settling in my chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, but she didn’t respond. Her silence was answer enough, and it said more than I wanted to hear.
“The suppressor,” she continued after a moment, as if steering the conversation back to safer ground, “reduces the virus’s regenerative effects and dampens the hunger. It’s not a cure, but it’s a step toward making the virus survivable for others—if we can refine it.”
Her tone was calm, clinical, but there was something else beneath it, a tightness she was trying to mask. I could tell she knew more than she was letting on, something bigger than just tailoring the virus to others. The way she avoided looking at me only deepened my suspicion.
“And the accelerant?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. I already knew what she was going to say, but I needed to hear it again.
Knight’s lips curved in a faint, almost bitter smile. “A curiosity,” she said. “It amplifies everything—the regeneration, the hunger, the physical changes. Useful in theory, but too unstable to be practical. It’s not meant for survivability, not really.”
“Then why even bother with it?” I pressed, leaning forward.
Knight hesitated, just for a moment, before answering. “Because it helps us understand limits. The suppressor and accelerant are opposites. Together, they show us what’s possible—and what isn’t.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to the accelerant vial on the table, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer, like she was talking to herself as much as to me. “Your father believed the accelerant could help... bridge gaps. Push boundaries no one thought could be crossed. He had theories about what the human mind could endure under its influence. The accelerant wasn’t about healing—it was about transformation.”
She caught herself then, straightening as if she’d said too much. “But it’s all theoretical. Nothing more. It’s far too unstable to use.”
Stolen story; please report.
Her attempt to brush it off didn’t land. I stared at her, the pieces clicking into place in the back of my mind. Transformation. Survival. The virus wasn’t just about regeneration or hunger—it was something much bigger, something Knight clearly didn’t want me to fully understand yet.
“You’re hiding something,” I said quietly, watching her closely. “This isn’t just about adapting the virus, is it?”
Knight’s gaze stayed locked on the display, her movements more deliberate now. “You’re reading too much into it,” she said, her voice smooth but just a little too rehearsed. “Focus on the suppressor. That’s where the real work is.”
She was lying, or at least withholding the truth. But whatever it was, I knew pushing her further wouldn’t get me anywhere. Not yet. Knight wasn’t the type to let anything slip unless she wanted to.
I nodded, though her explanation did little to ease the unease that settled in my chest. I glanced at the vials lined up on the table, their contents faintly glowing under the sterile light. Months of work distilled into fragile glass containers, each one holding the potential to reshape my future—or destroy it.
“We’re close, Knight,” I said softly. “You know we are. If we just had more time—”
“You don’t,” she interrupted, turning her sharp gaze on me. “The council has made their decision, and it’s the right one. The suppressor will take months to synthesize fully, and we can’t test it without you. There’s nothing more to be done right now.”
I clenched my fists, the tension in my body matching the frustration in my voice. “We’ve come so far. You can’t expect me to just... stop.”
Knight sighed, her tone as clinical as ever. “You’re not stopping. You’re pausing. Three months in cryo will allow the drones to do their work and give the cloning facilities time to replenish our food supply. Or did you think you could keep eating enough for three people without consequences?”
Her words hit like a slap, and I looked away, my jaw tightening. She wasn’t wrong. The council had made that painfully clear—my rations, my existence, were a strain on the ship. Even with the cloning facilities, the resources required to sustain me were unsustainable in the long term. It was logical. Necessary. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept.
“What about the other projects?” I blurted. “Wyvern, Leviathan, Hydra—they’re just sitting there, collecting dust. Why can’t we work on those while we wait for the suppressor to synthesize?”
Knight paused, her fingers hovering over the holographic display. She didn’t look at me right away, her silver eyes focused on the streaming data. Finally, she sighed, as though I’d asked a question with an obvious answer.
“Because you’re not ready,” she said simply, her tone even, almost dismissive.
“Not ready?” I repeated, heat rising in my chest. “I have captain-level clearance, Knight. I know what I’m doing.”
Her lips twitched in that almost-smile again, and this time, she turned to face me. “You have captain-level clearance,” she said slowly, as if explaining to a child, “because Lion trusts you. Not because you’re ready. And not because anyone here thinks you’re capable of handling the truth.”
I bristled, the irritation bubbling over. “What use is that clearance if everyone still bosses me around? What’s the point if I’m not allowed to do anything with it?”
Knight laughed—a sharp, short sound that grated against my nerves. “Oh, Sol,” she said, shaking her head, “you really don’t get it, do you? That clearance is the only leash we have on you. Lion might trust you, but trust is dangerous, especially for someone like you.”
Her words stung more than I cared to admit, but I pushed past the anger. “You keep saying Lion trusts me because of my father. What exactly did my father tell Lion? What orders did he leave?”
Knight’s laughter came again, this time softer, tinged with something I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sure you’d love to know,” she said, turning back to the console. “But that’s not something you’re ready for either.”
The weight of her words settled heavily on my shoulders, and I forced myself to look back at the vials. The suppressor was our only real hope, but it was fragile—like everything else in this lab, in this ship, in my life.
“Now,” Knight continued, her tone firm again, “rest up. We’re short on time as it is, and the drones need their final orders. So do me a favor, Sol, and leave.”
Her dismissal cut deeper than it should have. I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died on my tongue. Instead, I turned on my heel and left, the door hissing shut behind me with a finality that felt suffocating.
The whispers surged as I walked, feeding off my frustration. You’re wasting time, little Phoenix, they hissed. They’re hiding everything from you. They don’t trust you. They’ll never trust you.
My chest tightened, the weight of their words pressing down on me. Knight’s laughter echoed in my ears, her cryptic warnings twisting into something more sinister. I thought of the other projects, the locked doors, the way everyone spoke about my father’s legacy as if it were a burden too heavy to share.
The hunger stirred faintly, a restless reminder of the thing inside me that no one—not even Knight—fully understood. I clenched my fists, the tension in my body coiling tighter with every step. Three months in cryo. Three months frozen while the world moved on, while they made decisions I wasn’t part of, while they kept secrets I was never meant to uncover.
No. Not this time.
The lab’s hum faded behind me as I stormed out, but the whispers only grew louder. They fed off my frustration, my anger, my desperation, pushing me closer to the edge. And for the first time, I didn’t push them away.
You’re out of time.
The whispers. Always there, always prodding, but now they were different. Urgent. Directed. The virus wasn’t just a part of me—it had a will, a presence that gnawed at the edges of my thoughts. I gripped the railing of the walkway, the cool metal grounding me for a moment as I fought to steady my breath.
Lab 3 showed you what you are. Now find the rest. Find my book. Find the truth.
The book. My father’s notebook. The one brimming with theories I could finally begin to unravel… if anyone could truly understand his genius—or his madness, it had to be me. His shorthand was a language I had grown up learning to decipher, a secret code I cracked while perched at his side, back when I was still just his daughter and not this... thing. I understood how he thought, how he twisted his ideas into meticulous, maddening detail. Every word in that notebook was a piece of him—of his vision, his obsession, his legacy.
Even with captain-level clearance, Jericho’s systems remained frustratingly out of reach, vital details sealed behind layers of encryption or withheld entirely under Lion’s watchful eye. Whatever answers I sought weren’t hidden there—they wouldn’t be. They’d be in the book, tucked away in my father’s quarters, waiting for me.
The thought clung to me like a shadow as I stepped into my quarters, the door hissing shut behind me. My gaze landed on the bottle of secret moonshine Reid had left me, its makeshift label peeling at the edges. “Voss Reserve: For When Shit Gets Real.”
Reid’s creation was strictly against the captains’ rules—alcohol wasn’t exactly on the approved resource list—but when had that ever stopped him? He’d made it anyway, in secret, because that’s just who he was: reckless, resourceful, and entirely unapologetic. Booze was tightly regulated on Jericho, limited to a few weak beers or whatever private stash the captains had squirreled away—like the bottle of whiskey I’d stolen from Warren a few months back.
I smirked at the thought, glancing at the peeling label on the moonshine. This, at least, felt like a proper rebellion.
I snorted, muttering under my breath, “Fuck it. Might as well get rid of the evidence anyway.”
Kicking off my boots with a careless shove, I stripped out of my pressure suit, letting the heavy material fall into a heap on the floor. The weight of everything—the whispers clawing at the edges of my thoughts, the gnawing hunger that never really left, the unrelenting pressure of existing—felt like it was dragging me down.
I found my robe, soft and oversized, and slipped it over my shoulders, tying it loosely around my waist. Underneath, I wore only my underwear, the absence of constriction offering a strange sense of freedom. No armor. No pretense. Just me, stripped bare and raw.
The bottle was cool in my hand as I twisted off the cap, the sharp scent of Reid’s concoction hitting me like a punch. I took a long swig, the burn rushing down my throat and settling heavily in my chest. For a moment, it dulled the edges of the whispers, the constant buzz in my head quieting just enough for me to breathe.
I collapsed onto the bed, the moonshine in one hand and the other dragging through my tangled platinum hair. My mismatched eyes caught their faint reflection in the blank screen of my datapad—blue and red, glowing softly in the dim light of the room. They stared back at me, accusing, questioning.
You’re wasting time, Sol. The whispers crawled back in, relentless. Find the book. Find the truth.
“Shut up,” I growled, taking another drink. The liquid burned less this time, settling into a warm haze that crept through my veins. I set the bottle on the nightstand, leaning back against the headboard. The whispers didn’t listen—they never did. If anything, the alcohol seemed to embolden them.
You’re the Phoenix. Act like it. Prove it. Before they take everything away.
I tried to watch old Earth shows to forget, their flickering images a desperate attempt to drown out the whispers. It didn’t work. The voices clawed at the edges of my thoughts, demanding action.
Lion will know what you’re planning. He’ll find my book and take away any hope you have of finding the truth before he allows it.
“Fuck off,” I muttered, slumping deeper into the bed, pulling the thin sheet tighter around my body. But the voice persisted, mocking me.
Jericho is listening, even now. It hears your words if not mine. It knows what you’re planning, what you’re thinking, my little Phoenix—the perfect princess locked away in her tower, waiting for a knight who will never come.
I grabbed the bottle of moonshine Reid had left me and took another long swig, the burn doing little to quiet the rising tension in my chest. The virus simmered under my skin, restless, relentless. I tried reading, flipping through an old novel on my datapad, but the words blurred, meaningless under the growing weight of the whispers.
The first knock came from Reid. He arrived with another bottle and a plan to celebrate my last day awake. His voice carried through the door, warm and teasing. “C’mon, Princess, open up. Don’t make me drink this alone.”
I opened the door just long enough to take the bottle from his hands. “Fuck off, Reid,” I said, slamming it shut again before he could reply.
It hurt. Everything hurt. But it was easier this way.
Twelve hours later, Vega came by, her sharp, no-nonsense tone cutting through the growing fog in my head. She knocked twice before speaking. “Sol, I know you’re in there. We need to talk. Don’t make me override the lock.”
I didn’t answer. The silence dragged until I heard her sigh, her footsteps retreating down the corridor. Knight came next, her voice clinical and detached, but with an edge of curiosity I couldn’t ignore.
“Sol, you’re only making this harder on yourself. The work will continue, whether you like it or not.”
I leaned against the door, letting the cool metal press against my forehead as I murmured, “Eat shit, Knight.” She left soon after.
By the time Lion sent a drone to my quarters, the whispers had reached a fever pitch. His voice, calm and commanding, emanated from the machine. “Highness, this behavior is unproductive. You are drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. Open the door.”
The anger burned hot as I stared at the drone’s glowing lens through the camera. Its silent, unblinking gaze gnawed at me, a constant reminder of the surveillance I couldn’t escape. My mismatched eyes narrowed, frustration surging like a live wire.
“You’re supposed to listen to me, you golden prick,” I muttered, venom dripping from every word. Destroy it, the whispers urged, coiling tighter around my thoughts. Show them your strength. Take control.
I pushed off the bed, the haze of alcohol dulling the edges of my pain but sharpening my anger. My robe hung loose on my shoulders, the pale fabric still clean but soon to change. The floor was cold under my bare feet as I crossed the room, each step fueled by the fire simmering in my chest.
The door hissed open just long enough for me to strike. My hand lashed out in a blur, claws barely forming as I drove my fist into the drone. The frame crumpled like paper under the force, sparks flickering before the light died completely. It hit the floor with a satisfying crunch.
Pain flared as my knuckles split, the skin tearing from the impact. Blood dripped onto my robe, staining it in deep crimson streaks, but I didn’t care. The virus surged, stitching me back together before the sting had a chance to linger. The whispers roared in triumph, their voices a chaotic chorus in my head.
Good. You’re the Phoenix. Burn brighter.
I stared down at the shattered remains of the drone, my chest heaving, the smell of scorched circuits thick in the air. For a moment, I thought I saw something in the shadows beyond the door—a flicker of yellow eyes, unblinking and aware.
Then the door slid shut, leaving me alone with my anger and the faint echo of what I’d done.
“I know you can hear me,” I said to the empty room, my voice low and rough. “You follow a fucking ghost, Lion. I don’t trust you. I don’t think I ever can.”
Alone again. But not at peace.
I glanced at my hand, the faint shimmer of healing tissue disappearing as the pain subsided. My bones had shattered on impact, but they were whole again now, as if nothing had happened. I flexed my fingers, testing their strength. The drone’s shields hadn’t flared—not because they couldn’t have, but because Lion didn’t want to hurt me. He didn’t want to fight me. He wanted to control me.
The thought sent another ripple of anger through me, hot and bitter.
The room tilted slightly as I stood, some indeterminate time later. Hours had passed, maybe more. My back ached from leaning against the door for so long, and my legs felt shaky, though I stayed upright. The virus wouldn’t let me collapse, no matter how much I drank. The moonshine coursed through my system, strong enough to leave me buzzing but not enough to dull the sharp edge of my thoughts. It felt deliberate, like the virus was letting me stay in this maddening state—too drunk to think clearly, but too sober to stop.
The final hours before cryo were slipping away, and I was locked in my quarters, pacing like a caged animal. The bottle dangled from my fingers, half-empty but still potent.
The whispers surged, louder now, wrapping around my mind like chains. The book. My father’s voice mingled with theirs, insistent and low. You’re wasting your potential. They’ll find out soon enough. Jericho’s watching. Lion’s watching. You’re out of time, little Phoenix.
I paced faster, the bottle sloshing as I took another swig. The burn hit my throat, but it didn’t stop me. It didn’t slow me down. My steps were uneven, erratic, my robe hanging loose on my shoulders as I moved. I tightened the belt with one hand, trying to shake off the feeling that the walls were closing in.
“What the hell am I supposed to do, huh?” I spat, gesturing wildly at the empty air. “Just sit here? Go back to cryo and pretend I’m not—”
The words caught in my throat, the sentence unfinished. My grip on the bottle tightened, my knuckles white as I slammed it down on the desk. The sound echoed in the silence, sharp and final.
My gaze flicked toward the door. The thought came unbidden, clearer than anything else had been all night.
Find it. Prove them wrong. Show them why you’re the Phoenix.
My father’s quarters were sealed, but I knew how to get in. The whispers told me it was mine by right—my inheritance, waiting for me. If the book was there—and it had to be—it would hold the answers I needed. No more waiting. No more lies. No more letting them decide what I could and couldn’t know.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, pushing the chair aside as I stood. My robe clung loosely to my frame, offering little protection from the cool air as I stepped toward the door. My bare feet were silent against the floor, the chill biting at my skin, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
The corridor stretched ahead of me, dimly lit, the hum of Jericho’s engines vibrating beneath my feet. The ship was alive, aware, always watching. But I didn’t care. Let it watch. Let it see why my father had chosen me.
The door to his quarters loomed ahead, its panel glowing faintly. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I swiped my clearance. Unsurprisingly, the red light flashed, denying me entry.
I didn’t hesitate. My fingers elongated, claws extending as my muscles thickened, bones shifting with an audible crack. The virus surged, its heat flooding my system, fueling me with a primal, relentless energy. I jammed my clawed hands into the seam of the door, gripping the cold, unyielding metal as the hydraulics hissed in protest, the servos groaning in defiance.
Pain tore through my arms as my muscles strained against the resistance, fibers shredding under the immense pressure only to knit themselves back together moments later. The virus worked tirelessly, pulling resources from the rest of my body to reinforce my arms—muscles grew denser, bones thickened, every cell pushed beyond its natural limit. My body was consuming itself to fuel this unnatural strength, leaving a gnawing emptiness in its wake.
The hunger roared to life, sharp and insistent, a beast unleashed within me. It demanded more—more energy, more biomass, more everything—to sustain the impossible strain I was putting on my body. Blood slicked my hands, dripping onto the floor as the cycle of tearing and healing repeated, each regeneration making me stronger, harder, more unrelenting. My teeth clenched as I pulled, the heat of the virus burning through every nerve, driving me forward.
The servos screamed as the metal began to give, groaning under the relentless pressure. With a final, guttural cry, I tore the door apart. The panels ripped free with a screech of tortured steel, the shattered edges cutting into my palms. I didn’t care. I didn’t stop. The stale air of the room hit me like a wall, heavy and stagnant, untouched for years.
The whispers surged, their approval sharp and insistent in my mind. Good girl, my father’s voice murmured, dark and resonant, carrying the weight of his authority. Now claim what’s yours. Show them why the Voss name is humanity’s salvation.
I stepped inside, my body trembling from the strain of its transformation. The hunger still gnawed at my core, relentless and demanding, but it wasn’t the worst of it. The room pressed in around me, shadows stretching across the walls like they were alive, watching. The air was heavy, laced with a faint metallic tang and the sweetness of disuse. It was too still, too perfect, untouched like an artifact waiting to be unearthed.
You’ve wasted enough time, my father’s voice hissed, sharper now, cutting through the fog in my mind. The other whispers grew bolder, feeding off his tone, their fragmented voices rising like a tide. Finish it Princess of humanity! Take what is rightfully yours oh, Queen of the Stars!
I forced myself forward, the room’s silence wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud. Everything here felt preserved, sterile, as though frozen in time. But I knew better. This room wasn’t dead. It was waiting—for me.
I had only taken a few steps when faint, mechanical whirs broke the stillness. Three drones floated into the room, their polished surfaces gleaming in the low light, their glowing eyes fixed on me. Lion’s voice followed, calm and measured, though the undercurrent of urgency was unmistakable.
“Highness,” Lion’s voice resonated as the drones floated into the room, their lenses glowing faintly. “You need to stop. You don’t understand what you’re doing. This is not the way.”
The hum of the ship deepened, vibrating through the walls like a warning. It wasn’t just a machine—it felt aware, its presence pressing against me like an unseen force. “Jericho protects its own,” Lion continued, his tone measured but firm. “Your father trusted us to complete his work.”
I froze, my heart pounding as my claws flexed instinctively. Elongating further, the reinforced bone glinted faintly under the dim light. A dull ache throbbed in my hands as my canines sharpened further, my body reshaping itself to meet the demands of the hunger roaring inside me. The shredded skin of my palms stitched itself back together with unsettling speed, the virus greedily pulling resources from the rest of my body. I could feel the drain, the gnawing emptiness left behind as my body sacrificed itself for strength.
The hunger screamed louder, clawing at my thoughts, but my voice came out cold and steady. “Follow my command, Lion, or shut the fuck up.”
The drones didn’t move back. One floated closer, its shield shimmering faintly as Lion’s voice buzzed through its speaker. “Your father trusted us, Highness. He trusted me. He was the greatest mind humanity has ever known. You must honor his plan.”
I clenched my fists, trembling with rage. “My father,” I hissed, “is the reason I’m in this mess. And if you think I’ll trust a ghost or his goddamn machine, you’re delusional.”
Lion’s voice softened, almost pleading. “This is not what he intended. You are jeopardizing everything—”
Something inside me snapped. The hunger roared, the whispers screaming Do it. Destroy. Take control. With a guttural cry, I lunged at the closest drone, my claws slashing through its polished casing with a screech of metal. Sparks erupted as the drone sputtered, its glowing eye flickering before it crashed to the floor, lifeless.
Pain shot through my arm, the force of the impact splintering bone and tearing muscle, but I didn’t stop. The virus surged, knitting the damage back together even as I turned to the second drone. My breath came in ragged gasps, each one feeding the fire burning in my chest.
“Highness, stop this!” Lion’s voice rose in desperation, but I was past listening.
I grabbed the second drone midair, its servos whining in protest as my claws dug into its frame. With a furious snarl, I slammed it into the wall, the impact shaking the room. It crumpled like tin, wires snapping and sparks flying as it hit the floor in a twisted heap.
The last drone hovered just out of reach, its shield shimmering to life in a protective barrier. Blood dripped from my hands, pooling at my feet as I turned to face it. My body trembled, the strain of regeneration clawing at my reserves, but I couldn’t stop. The hunger wouldn’t let me.
Lion’s voice crackled through the remaining drone, his tone sharp and commanding. “Enough! You’re destroying yourself! This is madness, Highness!”
I grabbed a nearby stool and hurled it at the shielded drone with all my strength. The stool disintegrated on impact, the barrier absorbing the force without so much as a flicker. My mismatched eyes locked onto the floating machine, and I grabbed a metal table next, dragging it across the room with a screech of steel.
The whispers surged, their voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus. Destroy it. Prove your strength. Show them why you’re the Phoenix.
“Shut up!” I screamed, my voice raw as I swung the table at the drone. The shield flared, sending a burst of heat and energy rippling through the room. The force sent me staggering back, the table clattering to the floor.
Lion’s voice softened, almost mournful. “Your father wouldn’t want this, Sol. You’re his legacy. Please, stop.”
I stumbled, my body trembling with exhaustion as my ruined arm struggled to heal. Blood smeared the floor beneath me, but the whispers didn’t quiet. They screamed louder, insistent, as the faint flicker of yellow eyes caught my attention from the shadows.
I froze, my breath hitching as the growl echoed through the room—low, guttural, and too deep to be human. Slowly, I turned toward the corner, where those yellow eyes burned through the darkness, watching me.
They burned like embers, unblinking, piercing me. The shadows shifted slightly, revealing a hunched, grotesque shape just beyond the reach of the light. My chest tightened as every instinct screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t look away.
The whispers surged in my mind, louder now, their tones blending into something guttural and fragmented. Finish it, they hissed. Phoenix must rise. For him. For you. Finish what he started.
The yellow eyes bore into me, glowing with an intensity that felt alive—too alive. The creature’s presence was suffocating, a tangible weight pressing against my chest. The whispers shifted, their chaotic murmur blending into a rhythmic, almost melodic cadence, taunting me with every beat.
Lion’s drone hovered closer, its lens flickering with recognition. “Oh Majesty,” Lion’s voice echoed softly through the small chamber, calm and reverent, as though addressing a deity. “To see you again…”
The words barely registered before the monster lashed out. Its claws shot forward, impossibly fast, piercing the shield of the drone as though it were paper. Sparks exploded, the protective field shattering with a hollow crackle. The drone’s frame crumpled under the force, wires and circuits exposed, its flickering lens going dark as it tumbled to the floor in a lifeless heap.
The creature didn’t look at its handiwork. Instead, its yellow eyes turned back to me, locking onto mine with unrelenting intensity. The weight of its gaze pressed against me like a vice, suffocating, inescapable. My breath hitched as it tilted its head, those glowing orbs searing into my soul as if daring me to move, to run, to resist.
He’s watching. He knows. Finish it, Sol. Be the key. Be his masterpiece.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. My voice trembled, betraying the fear I tried to suppress. “You’re not real. You’re just the virus. A hallucination.”
But the whispers didn’t stop. They grew sharper, more insistent, until they were all I could hear.
Not a dream. Not a nightmare. He sees you. He needs you.... I need you.
I gritted my teeth, fighting against the rising panic. “Shut up,” I muttered, the words half to myself. “Just shut the hell up!”
The growl came again, deeper this time, vibrating through the floor. My breath caught as the shadows shifted once more, the thing stepping closer. Its shape was monstrous—hunched and grotesque—but its movements were disturbingly deliberate. It tilted its head, its gaze locked onto mine with an eerie familiarity.
Then, the whispers converged into a single, broken voice—halting and distorted, but undeniably my familiar. “Finish… Phoenix, my dear,” it rasped, the words dragging across the air like nails on glass. “I… need it. To complete… my transcendence. For humanity.”
My heart stopped. My legs felt like lead, the room spinning as the voice echoed in my head. “You can’t be fucking real,” I whispered, trembling under the weight of disbelief.
The creature didn’t move closer, but its yellow eyes burned brighter, daring me to look away. The voice came again, softer yet fractured, pieced together from something broken beyond repair.
“Humanity… needs me. Needs… us. You… are my hope.”
“Bullshit,” I hissed, my voice cracking. The sound of boots echoed faintly in the corridor. Time was slipping away.
I turned to the vault, the keypad’s glow steady in the dim light. My fingers trembled as I keyed in the code. The lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open, revealing the book.
Its black leather cover was worn, cracked at the edges. I cradled it to my chest, flipping through familiar shorthand—precise and calculated. But as I reached the latter entries, the writing shifted: jagged, smeared, almost feral. The dates leapt out at me—impossibly recent.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I whispered, my stomach twisting. “This can’t be right…”
A low growl sliced through the air, freezing the breath in my lungs. Slowly, I raised my head. From the shadows, two piercing yellow eyes stared back at me.
He is real, the whispers hissed, wrapping around my thoughts. I am real.
But the eyes didn’t waver. The creature stepped into the faint light—massive, hunched, its grotesque form a mockery of humanity. My chest tightened as I stumbled back, clutching the book like a shield.
“What… the fuck are you?” My voice wavered.
It exhaled, its breaths wet and rasping. Then, in a voice fractured beyond recognition, it growled, “Finish… it. My… dear.”
My stomach churned. The tone was warped, but I knew it. “My father would never be a monster like you,” I spat, desperation sharpening my words. Deep down, though, I couldn’t deny the truth. That voice—it was him.
Finish Phoenix, the whispers urged. You see it now. You see what he became.
The creature took a step closer, its claws glinting in the faint light. “Complete… Phoenix,” it rasped. “For… humanity. For… me.”
Tears blurred my vision. “Father?” My voice cracked, the word barely escaping my lips. “They told me you were dead.”
Its head tilted—a disturbingly human gesture. “Not dead,” it rasped. “Here. With… you.”
“Fuck,” I choked out, shaking my head. “You’re not him. You’re a monster. A mistake.”
The creature let out a mournful sound, its yellow eyes flickering with something I couldn’t name. “We… tried,” it rasped. “We… failed. Chimera… incomplete.”
The whispers hissed triumphantly. Chimera. Look in the book. Find the proof.
Boots thundered even closer now down the corridor. The creature’s head snapped toward the sound. With a snarl, it launched itself upward, disappearing into the ductwork with a metallic clang.
The door burst open, Holt charging in with two guards. Their eyes swept the room—shattered panels, shadows, disarray—but they didn’t see the vent, didn’t sense what had been here.
“Sol!” Holt’s sharp voice cut through the chaos—the first time I’d heard it since he left med bay. His gaze locked on me, blood-smeared and clutching the book. “What the hell happened?”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” I said, backing away.
Holt’s jaw tightened. “Fine, Hand over the book. Now.”
“No.” I hugged the book tighter, edging toward the bathroom. “You don’t understand. He’s alive. He’s—” My voice broke. “He’s in the vents.”
“Enough,” one of the guards from team B growled, raising his weapon. “Drop it.”
I bolted, sealing the captain's room's private bathroom door behind me. My breath came in shallow, panicked gasps as I slid to the floor, gripping the book like a lifeline. The sterile, pristine tiles under me felt cold against my skin, a sharp contrast to the fiery chaos raging in my mind.
My hand lashed out without thinking, smashing the control panel beside the door. Sparks flew as the screen shattered under the force, the soft hum of the locking mechanism turning into a harsh, final click. The door was sealed, the flickering lights of the broken panel a testament to my desperation.
I sat there for a moment, trembling, my fingers tracing the worn leather cover of the book. Every breath felt like a fight, the weight of what I’d just uncovered crushing down on me. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of the damaged controls and the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
My hands trembled as I flipped through the pages, my breath shallow and uneven. The first entries were familiar—projects I’d heard whispered about in shadowed corners of his lab: Leviathan. Hydra. Wyvern. Each name carried weight, monstrous successes or catastrophic failures my father had buried beneath layers of secrecy.
But as I turned the pages, the handwriting changed. The meticulous script I knew so well unraveled into something frenzied, chaotic. Words bled into the margins, ink smeared and jagged, as if written by a hand that shook with desperation. At the center of the chaos, one word burned itself into my mind, scrawled in bold, jagged strokes:
Chimera.
My heart lurched. Beneath it, a phrase etched in uneven lettering gripped me like a vice: Neural Fusion. Total Integration. Incomplete Transformation.
The truth hit me with the weight of a collapsing star. My father hadn’t just died. He hadn’t simply been the victim of a lab accident or some tragic mishap. That was the lie—one crafted with precision, bolstered by Dr. Knight and carried out with Lion’s silent complicity.
He’d tried to merge with Jericho, to become something greater than human. To transcend the fragile limitations of flesh and forge a bridge between the organic and the digital. Phoenix was supposed to ensure the process, stabilizing his body and mind, regenerating his cells fast enough to endure the strain of neural fusion.
But it hadn’t worked.
The virus—his virus—had failed him. Unlike me, his body hadn’t adapted to Phoenix’s potential. Instead of empowering him, it had turned on him, twisting his form and scattering his mind. Part of him—fractured, incomplete—had uploaded into Jericho’s systems, a hidden echo lurking in the deep code. Another part—the grotesque remnants of his body—stalked the ship’s shadows, bound by hunger and rage, a living nightmare.
He wasn’t gone. He was here.
Knight had helped him fake his death. The carefully orchestrated story of a cryo pod failure was just another piece of the puzzle—a ruse to hide the truth of his failed experiment. Lion must have known, his unwavering loyalty binding him to the secret, carrying out orders from a man who no longer existed in any recognizable form.
I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling the wave of nausea and grief that rose in my throat. The book slipped from my lap, its pages fanning open on the cold tiles, revealing more jagged notes. My eyes caught on a single passage, the words smeared as if scrawled in a frenzy:
Phoenix is incomplete. Neural integrity unstable. Survival requires stabilization. Perfect host: Sol.
A chill coursed through me. He hadn’t just been experimenting on himself—he’d been experimenting for me. For the virus to stabilize, for the process to succeed, it needed the genetic adaptation Phoenix had given me. I was the key.
“Damn you,” I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks. “You lied to everyone. You used us. You used me.”
The whispers surged, dark and insidious, coiling in my mind. Finish it. You’re so close. It’s what he wanted. It’s what you’re meant for.
I shook my head, but the pieces were clicking into place, each revelation heavier than the last. Knight had hidden the truth, enabling him to continue his work in secret. Lion had enforced his will, guarding his monstrous legacy even as it consumed the ship. And now, my father—what was left of him—waited, trapped in limbo, needing Phoenix complete to finish what he’d started.
I clenched the book so tightly that my knuckles turned white, the words swimming on the page. He hadn’t just died. He’d tried to rewrite the laws of life and death—and failed.
But I was still here.
And that made me the final piece of his unfinished puzzle.
A deafening crash jolted me from my spiraling thoughts. The main door outside buckled under the weight of impact. Holt’s voice thundered through, raw and desperate. “Sol, open up! Now!”
I clutched the book tighter, its leather cover cutting into my hands. The whispers surged, their triumphant chorus growing louder: Finish Phoenix. For him. For humanity.
The door groaned and splintered, giving way with a metallic shriek. Lion’s massive figure stepped through the wreckage, his golden armor gleaming like a monolith against the chaos. He filled the space with an oppressive presence, every movement deliberate, every sound calculated.
“Leave us,” Lion commanded, his deep voice resonating like a judgment passed. The guards who had followed Holt hesitated, their weapons raised, but the sheer authority in Lion’s tone brooked no argument. One by one, they retreated, Holt lingering the longest, the door hissing shut behind them.
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. Lion turned to face me, his visor gleaming like molten gold, a silent reminder of who—or what—controlled this moment.
“You’ve found the truth, Highness,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm.
I glared up at him, anger and despair churning in my chest. “You knew,” I spat, my voice trembling with fury. “You helped him. Why?”
Lion tilted his helmeted head, a faint hum accompanying the motion. “Your father’s vision is the future,” he said simply. “And you are its key.”
“No!” My voice cracked, the word escaping like a knife drawn across my throat. “He’s gone! He’s not my father anymore—he’s this!” My hand gestured wildly toward the vent, where the monster had disappeared.
Lion didn’t flinch. “He is a Voss,” he said, his tone unshakable. “And he is your father. His work must continue.”
Tears blurred my vision, hot and bitter. “You’re wrong,” I whispered, my voice breaking under the weight of my desperation. “He’s using you. He’s using me.”
Lion stepped closer, his massive form casting a long shadow across the pristine floor. “You have a duty, Highness. To him. To humanity. Finish Phoenix.”
I scrambled back, clutching the book as if it could protect me from the inevitability of his words. “You don’t know what he’ll become!” I shouted, my voice rising in a mixture of rage and terror. “You don’t know the monster he already is!”
Lion paused, his voice softening to something almost reverent. “He’s waiting,” he said, quieter now. “For you.”
Before I could respond, his massive gauntlet closed around my arm. His strength was immovable, a force I couldn’t hope to resist. I thrashed, my breath coming in panicked gasps, but it was like struggling against the tide.
“You’ll understand when you wake,” Lion said, dragging me from the bathroom with an ease that mocked my resistance.
“No!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “You can’t do this! You don’t understand!”
The cryo pod loomed ahead, its sterile light casting an eerie glow that made the polished surfaces of Lion’s armor gleam even brighter. The pod hissed open, its cold interior a silent promise of confinement. With mechanical precision, Lion placed me inside, securing the straps that pinned me in place. The chill of the pod’s systems seeped into my skin, an unrelenting freeze that stole my breath.
“Lion, please!” I begged, my voice cracking with desperation. “You can’t let this happen! You don’t know what he’ll become—what he already is!”
Lion stepped back, his massive frame filling my narrowing field of vision. His visor burned bright, unyielding. “Your father’s vision is the future, Highness,” he said, his tone solemn. “And so are you.”
Through the glass of the pod, I could only watch as the world began to blur. Lion stood as a silent sentinel, his golden form radiating power. And just beyond him, in the shadows, the faint glint of yellow eyes shimmered—watching. Waiting.
The cold crept in, and the darkness followed.