For two days, I ignored every summons. Every curt message Knight sent, every increasingly irritated order demanding I return to Lab 3. I avoided the lab, the med bay, even the usual meal rotations. Every time I passed the crew, I felt their eyes on me—some wary, some expectant. They knew it was coming, too. The accelerant test wasn’t a secret, even if its true purpose was.

The inhibitor had been a success—at least on the clone animals it was tested on. They were alive and stable, their bodies adjusting to the controlled mutations Knight had induced. Some even exhibited improved regenerative healing, though none came close to what I could do. But it was undeniable progress—progress the captains saw as justification to give Knight the green light to continue her work.

They didn’t understand.

They thought they were overseeing a scientific breakthrough, something that could revolutionize survival in deep space. They saw potential, not horror.

And I couldn’t warn any of them.

Not unless I wanted Lion to kill them all.

He would, without hesitation. Not out of anger, not even out of malice—just duty. The captains were important, but not as important as the mission. Not as important as me. And if he thought I was compromising the integrity of the project, if he even suspected I was turning them against Knight—he’d do what was necessary.

Because he still answered to my father.

And my father’s vision left no room for disobedience.

By the second evening, the messages stopped.

Instead, a new one came through—

----------------------------------------

From: Dr. Emilia Knight

To: Sol Voss

Subject: Final Warning

You’re done sulking. Get down to Lab 3—now. If I have to send Lion after you, I promise you’ll regret it. You can throw your little tantrum all you want, but you are not special, and you are not above this. I made you stronger than this—stop acting pathetic.

You are my daughter, and my genetics would never produce something this weak. A fucking alcoholic, depending on outside substances just to keep yourself together. Coward. You can’t hide forever.

— Knight

----------------------------------------

I stared at the words on my datapad—the threat heavy even through the sterile digital text. A quiet rage curled in my gut—

----------------------------------------

From: Sol Voss

To: Dr. Emilia Knight

Subject: Re: Final Warning

Fuck off, Emilia. Suck my clit, you insufferable, lab-coat-wearing parasitic whore. Don’t talk to me like I owe you a goddamn thing. You’re not my mother—you’re just a glorified test tube with a superiority complex. You think pushing me out of your cunt makes you a Voss? Please. Who’s the real Voss here? Shouldn’t you be on your knees for my family’s legacy, bitch? That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?

— Sol

----------------------------------------

I sent it. The cunt didn’t deserve anything else.

The words lingered on the screen for a moment before vanishing into the system. My fingers tightened around the device as something colder than anger settled in my chest. My childhood felt closer than it should have—the clinical sterility of it, the way orders were given, not spoken. The way he had trained me, tested me, used me.

I tossed the datapad onto the bed, watching as it slid to a stop against the sheets. The small screen dimmed, leaving only my reflection in the black glass—hollow-eyed, pale, something restless shifting beneath my skin.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face.

The thought of being dragged to Lab 3, escorted like an unruly child, made my skin crawl. I needed time. I needed space to think—to figure out if I could even go through with this.

The pad’s faint glow pulsed once before fading completely, swallowed by the dim cabin light. The silence stretched. The space between choices felt thinner than ever.

I needed to not be alone.

Finding Reid wasn’t hard. He had his usual spots—engineering, the maintenance tunnels, or the observation deck where he liked to sit and pretend he wasn’t avoiding real responsibilities. I found him in the latter, leaned back against the cool glass of the viewport, a flask already in hand.

He glanced up when I approached, one brow lifting. "Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite test subject." He patted the floor next to him. "What’s the occasion? You finally decide to embrace your inner science experiment?"

"The opposite lately," I muttered vaguely. I couldn’t tell Reid anything that would make him step in—or try to.

I dropped down beside him, stretching my legs out. The hunger wasn’t bad yet, but my body felt heavier than usual, the extra weight settling deep in my bones. I gestured at the flask. "Got any left, or did you already drink yourself into another bad decision?"

Reid snorted, passing it over. "I’m about to make one. But you’re lucky I like you, Princess. After last time, I should’ve put you on probation."

I took a swig, the burn hitting my throat like a freight train. Awful. Exactly what I needed.

Reid snorted, passing it over. "You’re lucky I like you, Princess. After last time, I should’ve put you on probation."

I took a swig, the burn hitting my throat like a freight train. Awful. Exactly what I needed.

“You don’t get to ban me,” I muttered. “I outrank you.”

“Yeah? Try pulling rank when you’re flat on your ass after two shots of my special reserve.”

I made a vague, dismissive gesture, already taking another sip. “Then I’ll just bring Lion and make it his problem.”

Reid winced dramatically. “You are a terrible drinking buddy.”

For a while, we just sat there, staring out at the void. Jericho had just exited warp, drifting in high orbit over a frozen, impact-scarred moon. Below us, the gas giant it circled stretched massive and golden, wrapped in streaks of red and white. Beyond it, twin stars burned—one a massive blue giant, the other a dying red dwarf, locked in a slow gravitational waltz. Jericho was running deep scans, plotting the next jump, refueling from the gas giant’s upper atmosphere.

It was beautiful. Almost unreal.

Reid tapped his knuckles against the glass. "Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?"

I huffed. "Yeah. Just a bit."

He let out a long exhale. "Sometimes I think I could just stay out here forever. Just float. No orders, no politics, no Lab 3 bullshit." He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. "Just me, a good ship, and this."

I watched him for a moment. Then held the flask out.

He took it with a smirk. "See? You get it."

The night blurred from there—talking, arguing about stupid shit, making fun of Garin’s ridiculous posture and how he managed to always look like he was judging someone. At some point, I knew I started rambling about the test, about how Knight was forcing me into something I wasn’t ready for. I must’ve sounded like an idiot because Reid got quieter, letting me talk, not interrupting.

At some point, I remembered his hand on my shoulder, steady and real. “You’ll be fine, Princess. You always are.”

I wasn’t sure if I said something back.

The rest was a haze.

And then—

The dreams always started the same way.

Hands that weren’t quite my own reached out, clawed and trembling. My skin peeled back, bones cracking, the sound of my screams drowned by the sickening wetness of tearing flesh. Through it all, there was a voice—soft, coaxing, and painfully familiar.

You’re so close now, my little phoenix. Closer than you’ve ever been.

Then the other voice, deeper and primal, laced with hunger.

You can’t hide from me. I am you. You are me.

I woke with a sharp inhale, heart pounding, throat dry. The whispers dissolved into the steady hum of Jericho’s life support systems, but the weight of them clung to me. My body felt heavier than it had any right to be, like I’d been sinking into the mattress all night.

I pushed myself upright, limbs sluggish, the dull ache in my muscles a reminder of what I was now. The med scanner beside me blinked softly.

400 pounds.

I stared at the number for a long moment.

I used to weigh less than a hundred.

The thought came unbidden, sharp in its contrast. I remembered the way my bones had jutted out before, my frame delicate, weightless. Now, my body was something else entirely—denser, compacted, refined by the virus into something unnatural. I didn’t look heavy. I looked lean, small even. But every step, every movement carried an unseen weight, a presence that settled into my bones.

I turned to the mirror, studying my reflection under the dim glow of the cabin lights. My face was sharper, my features more defined than they used to be. My mismatched eyes—red and blue—burned faintly, the virus pulsing just beneath the surface of my skin. I ran my fingers over my arms, tracing the faintly glowing veins. I could feel the tension coiled beneath, the strength lurking in every fiber of me.

The nightmares had been bad before, but this—this was the worst in weeks.

I could still feel it, the phantom sensation of my own flesh splitting apart, the sharp sting of bone tearing through skin. My pulse thrummed in my ears, my breath shallow. I had felt the hunger clawing at the edges of my mind in that dream, felt the thing inside me waking up.

The inhibitor was wearing off. I knew it the moment I opened my eyes.

I gripped the sink, bracing against the cold metal.

Three days.

That’s how long I had managed to avoid Lab 3, to ignore Knight and pretend like I had a choice in any of this. I had told her to fuck off. I had pushed her messages aside, let the weight of it sit untouched in my mind. But it didn’t change anything.

The accelerant was coming.

And when it did, whatever fragile control I had left would be gone.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my fingers to my temples.

The hunger will come back.

The same hunger that had driven me to devour everything in sight before I was put into cryo. The same hunger that had made me this heavy, that had forced me to consume everything Knight put in front of me. Engineered nutrient bars, protein compounds, cloned biomass—every bite had been measured, calculated, necessary. The extra weight wasn’t a mistake. It was preparation. Insurance.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

I could feel it already, deep in my core. The virus had been burning through it faster than before, optimizing, adapting, preparing.

I wasn’t ready.

But that didn’t matter.

The sharp knock at the door sent a jolt through my already tense nerves.

Three knocks. Deliberate. Heavy.

I didn’t need to check. I already knew who it was.

I closed my eyes for a second, forcing the tension in my shoulders to ease, forcing the anxiety to settle beneath the surface where it belonged. Then, I moved.

The door hissed open.

Lion stood in the corridor, golden armor gleaming under the sterile light. He didn’t need his warhammer—not for me. He never did. His presence alone was a wall of unshakable authority.

Behind him, Eagle and Wolf moved in perfect sync, lowering to one knee in a motion so precise it barely seemed human. A silent acknowledgment—not to me, but to the bloodline I carried. The moment passed as quickly as it came, the two rising without hesitation, falling into step at Lion’s flanks.

A formality. A reminder.

I wasn’t their commander. Not really. I never had been.

Eagle’s gold-trimmed armor caught the light, feather-like engravings glinting against the black plating. Her helmet was smooth, aerodynamic, visor a blank sheet of gold. Cold. Measuring.

Wolf, in contrast, radiated aggression. His silver-gray armor was jagged, a synthetic fur mantle shifting as he moved. Twin daggers were strapped to his thighs, his fingers twitching toward the hilts as if waiting for an excuse. His crimson visor gave nothing away, but I knew the way he looked at me. He had trained me once—before I was anything more than a human girl trying to keep up.

He never let me win. Not once.

Pain is the best teacher, he had told me. You never forget a lesson when it scars.

I wondered if he still thought I was someone who could be taught. Or if I had already become something else entirely.

They weren’t here as an escort.

They were here as containment.

The Royal Guard—my father’s greatest weapons. Cybernetics, genetic enhancements, and experimental tech so dangerous only he and those standing before me truly knew the extent of it. They weren’t just soldiers. They were the last line. The unbreakable wall between humanity and whatever horrors the void had waiting.

And if the void ever needed horrors of its own, well… that’s what they had become.

They were supposed to follow my command. Supposed to protect me. But their true loyalty had never been mine. It belonged to him.

To Julian Voss.

Or at least… to what was left of him.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

A ghost in my head. A monster in the dark.

And if it ever came down to a choice between me and him…

I already knew who they would obey.

I inhaled slowly, forcing the tension from my shoulders, but my throat felt tight. “Does it have to be today?” My voice was quieter than I meant it to be.

Lion tilted his head slightly, watching me. “Jericho waits for no one,” he said simply, stepping forward, leaving no room for argument. “You’ve carried your father’s work this far. Today, we’ll see if his vision holds.”

His vision.

The words made my stomach twist.

Is that all I am? My father’s dream, reshaped into something I barely recognize?

I swallowed hard. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

Then, slowly, I stepped forward.

Eagle and Wolf fell in beside me, their movements precise, synchronized—like cogs in a machine.

As I passed the threshold, the door hissed behind me.

A surge of instinct hit me, reckless and desperate. I turned back, hand darting for the panel—if I could lock it, if I could just seal myself inside—

Cold metal barely shifted before Lion’s hand caught the edge. Effortless. Final.

His golden visor burned down at me, unreadable. I didn’t fight. I didn’t have to. That one gesture told me everything.

It had never been my choice.

The door sealed shut, and I kept walking.

Lab 3 wasn’t far, but the silence stretched the distance. The Guard never spoke unless necessary, and I had nothing to say to them. Their boots struck the floor in perfect unison, each step landing in sync with my own, a rhythm I couldn’t break. The ship hummed low around us, its systems alive, humming through the walls, through the vents, through the blinking red eye of a drone watching from the ceiling.

Jericho’s always watching.

I kept my breathing steady, my expression blank as the terror dug deeper into my heart.

Ahead, the reinforced doors of Lab 3 loomed, cold and unyielding. Lion stopped just before them, turning slightly. His gaze locked onto me with something unreadable—respect, caution, expectation. Then, without a word, he reached to his belt and pulled out something I hadn’t expected to see again.

My father’s journal.

Fuck.

A slow dread curled in my stomach, spreading like ice through my veins.

"You’ve learned too much," Lion said, his tone measured but firm. "Too soon."

I forced my face into something unreadable, but my fingers twitched at my sides, itching to snatch the book from his grasp. The leather cover was worn, pages dog-eared where I had spent only minutes poring over my father’s notes—just minutes before Lion had found me, before he’d ripped me away and thrown me into cryo. I had barely had time to rifle through it, my hands frantic as I searched for anything—anything—that could tell me what Chimera was. But the pages blurred together, scrawled formulas and half-mad theories bleeding into each other, and then it was too late.

Yet, here it is again.

"I had a right to it." My voice came out steadier than I felt.

Lion tilted his head, considering me. "In time, yes. But understanding comes with guidance, and your father meant for you to have both." He studied me for a long moment before adding, "That’s why we’re here."

The words landed heavier than I expected. Guidance. As if they were my keepers, as if I were some fragile, unfinished experiment that needed supervision. I bit back a bitter laugh.

Maybe I am.

"You think you can guide me?" I scoffed, crossing my arms.

"Not just me." Lion lifted the book slightly. "All of us. Until the King is whole again. Then, we take the stars. And for that, you are worth the effort, Princess."

A chill coiled in my spine, deeper than the sterile cold of the lab.

Whole again.

They didn’t see him as a failure. Not as a shattered remnant of Julian Voss, the man. No—he was something unfinished. Something waiting to be restored.

And then, as if summoned by my horror, the whisper slithered through my mind—deep, warm, proud.

Ah, Lion… my sword. Your hammer. He knows how to forge humanity into the weapon we need.

I forced my expression to stay neutral, even as a shudder crawled beneath my skin. My father had never spoken of me like that before. Always urging, always pushing. But this?

This was reverence.

"You actually believe that, don’t you?" My voice came out quieter than I intended. "That I’m worth all of this—because of my blood? Because of some dead man’s dream to carve humanity across the stars?"

Lion didn’t hesitate. "Your blood is still his. His will is still in you. That makes you worthy of patience." He glanced at Eagle and Wolf, then back to me. "You are a Voss. That earns you respect. It always will."

Respect. As if that meant anything when my body wasn’t even mine anymore.

"But respect and trust," he continued, stepping closer, "are not the same."

Without another word, he turned and handed the book to Knight, who had been waiting by the entrance.

She smirked, flipping through the pages without a second thought, not even looking at me. "Finally," she muttered. Then, with a pointed look at Lion, she added, "You can’t just hoard things that don’t belong to you."

It belonged to my father. The words burned in my throat, but I didn’t say them. Not yet.

Knight tucked the book under her arm as she moved toward the lab. "And now it belongs to me."

You fucking bitch.

The rage curled tight in my gut, twisting like a living thing. I swallowed it down, forcing my body to move before they decided I needed "help." I stepped past Lion into the sterile, too-bright lab.

The test chamber was already prepped—reinforced walls, medical monitoring screens, the hum of containment fields active and waiting. At the center, the examination chair stood like an execution seat, its restraints gleaming under the lights.

Lion gestured toward it. "Sit down."

I did. The restraints clicked into place.

Knight adjusted the syringe in her hand, the thick red accelerant inside gleaming. "This is just the first dose," she said, voice clinical, detached. "A primer. Nothing extreme."

She said it like I had a choice.

I exhaled slowly, bracing myself.

"First, you will need this."

Wolf's armored hand clamped around my jaw, fingers digging into my cheeks, forcing my mouth open. The pressure was bruising, my teeth aching from the force. I tried to twist away, but Eagle was already pinning my legs, her grip as unshakable as iron.

Knight didn’t hesitate.

The test tube slammed past my lips, glass scraping against my teeth, forcing my throat open.

"This will keep you alive as we push the limits of the accelerant."

My gag reflex kicked immediately, my throat convulsing against the slick, oversized tube. The moment it lodged deep enough, I felt it—thick, sludge-like biomass pouring into my mouth. It was warm, heavy, coating my tongue and forcing its way down.

I choked, my body instinctively thrashing, but Wolf only tightened his grip, his free hand grinding against my temple to keep me still.

"Swallow, Sol." Knight’s voice was barely amused, but I could hear the sharp edge of curiosity beneath it. Like she was watching something crawl under a microscope.

I barely had time to gasp for air between cycles—between the thick, force-fed pulses of biomass flooding my throat. Each time the tube paused, I sucked in a desperate breath, only for the next wave to come, forcing my body to keep up, to take more, to endure.

Ashly, standing at the monitor, wouldn’t look at me.

Garin, on the other hand, smirked.

"You're pathetic when you're like this," he muttered, voice edged with amusement.

The tube pulsed, more biomass flooding into me. My stomach convulsed at the sheer force of it. My body felt too full, too fast, like it was being overridden, forced to absorb more than it could handle.

Then the first needle sank into my skin.

The accelerant hit immediately.

Fire erupted in my veins, a searing, ravenous burn that clawed through my muscles. My back arched violently, the restraints groaning as my body reacted, muscles tensing, coiling.

The hunger—the virus—woke all at once, screaming through every cell. It tore through the biomass, devouring it at a terrifying rate, converting everything into raw, unstoppable energy.

My body snapped forward, but the restraints held. My legs kicked, my arms jerked, but I was trapped. I could barely breathe past the tube forcing more and more down my throat.

Knight adjusted the dosage.

The pain amplified.

Hair exploded from my scalp, strands snapping outwards in a cascading wave, curling past my back, down my legs, growing in thick, silken strands at an unstoppable rate.

My nails split, reforming into something longer, sharper, the tips curving into lethal, midnight black claws. My feet twitched violently, bones shifting, stretching, the shoes bursting apart as my toes elongated, nails hardening into hooked talons.

The chair beneath me groaned, metal protesting under my shifting weight.

The hunger was all-consuming.

I couldn’t think—only feel.

"Vitals spiking," Ashly muttered from the console, voice strained. "She’s metabolizing too fast—"

"She’ll survive," Knight cut her off smoothly. "That’s the point."

The second needle sank into my arm.

I screamed, or I tried to. The sound came out muffled, buried under the biomass still forcing itself down my throat. My muscles contracted violently, my weight fluctuating as my body burned through reserves at a terrifying rate.

Knight stepped forward, blade in hand.

"Let’s see how well she recovers."

The cold press of metal against my wrist was the only warning I got.

Then—

She cut my hand off.

White-hot agony tore through my arm, my nerves screaming as my hand separated from my body, severed flesh and bone exposing itself in a gruesome, instantaneous burst of pain.

Blood splattered across the floor.

I convulsed, the restraints straining, my back arching as I fought against them, muscles bulging, steel groaning under my raw strength.

I felt it.

The moment my hand hit the cold ground, the hunger reacted, like it had been waiting for this.

My body didn’t hesitate.

The wound closed instantly, flesh knitting together in a violent, explosive burst of regeneration.

Bone, tendon, muscle—all of it surged back, rebuilding, reshaping, reforming.

It took seconds.

The pain was unbearable.

I screamed again, my head slamming back against the chair as my newly formed fingers twitched, fresh, raw, perfect.

Knight hummed in approval.

"Faster than before."

The blade came down again.

The other hand.

The pain was just as brutal.

I felt it detach, felt the nerve endings rupture, the blood vessels tear open.

And then—back again.

The growth was even faster this time, a blinding explosion of regenerative force, my new fingers curling into claws before I had even registered the loss.

The hunger was starving for more.

The whisper slithered through the agony, deep and coiled with satisfaction.

Yes. Again. More. You feel it, don’t you? The power in your bones, the fire in your flesh. You are not meant to stop. You are meant to consume, to grow, to become.

A violent shudder racked my body, the whisper latching onto my pain, feeding from it, urging it forward.

You’re still holding back, my little phoenix. But not for long.

Knight’s gaze flicked to my face.

Then she reached for my eye.

I jerked violently, but Wolf and Eagle held me down.

My chest heaved, breaths ragged, mind fracturing under the sheer onslaught of pain.

Knight’s fingers pressed into the socket, her grip twisting.

I shrieked, the sound raw, broken, my body thrashing so violently I felt something in the chair bend.

And then—

A wet pop.

Agony seared through my skull as my left eye was torn free, the nerve snapping like a frayed wire. My vision doubled—then fractured, one side collapsing into a void of blackness.

For a fraction of a second, I saw it.

My severed eye, strands of red muscle and nerve still twitching, dangling from Knight’s fingers like some grotesque experiment. Flickering, failing signals sent fragmented images—of me.

A ruined face. A gaping, bloodied socket.

A snarl, raw and animalistic, my fangs clenched around the invasive tube, breath hissing past it as pain wracked through me.

Then—nothing.

The world dimmed, my body shuddering violently as hot blood streaked down my cheek.

Knight turned the eye in her fingers, studying it with detached fascination. "This one was nice," she murmured, watching how the red iris gleamed under the sterile lab lights.

I felt it before I saw it.

A fresh, raw agony—new nerves igniting, optic fibers spinning into existence. The searing heat of flesh knitting itself back together. The process was faster now, sharper, my body adapting, overcompensating. Making itself stronger.

The darkness shattered.

Light flooded back in.

Knight leaned in, grinning. "There it is," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Your new one is coming in nicely."

I forced myself to breathe, fingers twitching against the restraints. I turned my head just enough to glare at her.

She smirked. Then, with deliberate care, she held up my severed eye between two fingers.

It twitched. Still warm. Still mine.

Then—she dropped it into a waiting jar.

The liquid hissed as the glass clicked shut, preserving it in cold stasis.

"Your new one is even redder than the last," Knight murmured, amused.

The whisper curled in the back of my mind, sliding through the pain, deep and knowing.

Yes… better. Stronger. You’re closer now, my little phoenix.

A shudder crawled down my spine, even as the burning ache of regeneration pulsed beneath my skin. Knight only watched, intrigued, her smirk widening.

The moment the words left her mouth, Ashly broke.

A sharp inhale, a strangled noise in the back of her throat—her hands trembled violently over the console. I barely had time to register it before she lurched back, her shoulder slamming against the table.

Her skin had gone deathly pale. She turned away so fast she nearly tripped, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with barely contained horror.

Then she ran. A blur of motion, a choked sob, and then the heavy sound of retching just outside the lab.

She didn’t come back. It didn’t matter.

I was somewhere else—buried in the agony, drowning in the hunger, my mind split between the pain of being torn apart and the terrifying ease of growing back.

Knight barely acknowledged Ashly’s absence.

She only smiled down at her datapad, adjusting the next dose.

The test went on. For what felt like hours.

Knight and Garin took turns—slicing, severing, observing, and then watching me regenerate. Over. And over. And over again.

At some point, Lion spoke. His voice cut through the sterile hum of the lab, calm but firm. “Is this necessary?”

Knight didn’t even look up. “Pain is progress,” she murmured, making a note as she adjusted another setting. “You should know that more than anyone, Lion.”

Whatever she meant by that, it was enough. He said nothing else.

And so the test continued, the madwoman left to her work.

They measured everything—timed each regrowth with military precision, adjusting the dosage of the accelerant, pushing the limits of my body until my bones ached from the relentless cycle of destruction and rebirth.

Each time, my body reacted faster. More efficiently.

They noted how my muscle fibers tightened between regenerations, growing denser each time. How my skin became smoother, stronger, less susceptible to injury. How my new eye burned even brighter than before, my iris shifting into an even deeper, richer red.

Knight laughed as she documented the changes.

"Perfect. It's evolving in real time."

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. I was too far gone—somewhere between agony and nothingness, my mind fraying under the sheer weight of it. I was screaming less. My body adapting to the pain. A disturbing part of me—some deep, twisted thing—knew this was exactly what Knight wanted.

Then, suddenly—voices from outside the lab. Raised. Angry.

I barely processed them. My mind was too fogged with pain, with the constant cycle of my own body tearing apart and rebuilding itself.

But I felt it.

The shift.

The moment Lion left the room. He must have gone to meet them.

Warren.

Reid.

I caught fragments of their voices—angry, sharp, demanding answers.

"What the fuck are you doing to her?"

Reid’s voice. Furious.

I tried to lift my head—tried to focus—but the restraints held firm. My vision blurred, the lights too bright, the hunger still simmering beneath my skin.

Knight ignored them.

The test continued.

By the time the final dose was administered, I was barely conscious.

I couldn’t fight anymore.

Couldn’t even process the pain.

Only knew one thing—

It didn’t end until Knight chose to end it.

The last thing I felt was the sting of the inhibitor sinking into my veins.

A cold flood.

A sudden, sharp stillness.

The hunger dulled.

The burning stopped.

The feeding tube was finally ripped from my throat, dragging bile and blood with it. My body convulsed, lungs seizing as I gagged violently. The sudden emptiness in my throat left behind a raw, gaping void, the taste of biomass thick and sour, clinging to my tongue like rot.

I choked, sucking in air that felt like knives. Every breath scraped against my ravaged throat, my body rejecting the sensation of breathing for myself again.

My limbs twitched, spasming weakly against the restraints. The pain was everywhere—buried deep in my bones, nestled in my flesh, pulsing beneath my skin like a smoldering fire waiting to be fed again.

I was so tired.

So fucking tired.

But beneath the exhaustion, beneath the weight of everything they’d taken, everything they’d torn apart and rebuilt—one thought burned hotter than the rest.

I’ll fucking kill you.

The words never reached my lips. My throat was too raw, my body too ruined, but the rage was there, coiled like a serpent in my chest, waiting.

I meant it.

And then—

Darkness.

----------------------------------------

I woke to the sound of voices.

Distant. Muffled. Like they were speaking through water.

Yates.

Reid.

Warren.

Vega.

I knew them. Knew their voices. But they felt… far away.

The room was dimly lit, the sterile glow of my quarters almost comforting after the nightmare of Lab 3. The hum of Jericho’s systems pulsed softly through the walls, steady and rhythmic.

I was back in my bed.

No restraints.

No test tubes.

But my body—

My body still remembered.

A phantom ache curled in my hands, my skull, my limbs—the ghost of wounds that weren’t there anymore but still lingered beneath my skin. A dull, empty throb where my eye had been torn out. The sharp sting of flesh splitting open. The echo of pain that had already become too familiar.

I couldn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, breath shallow.

The worst pain of my life— and it wasn’t over.

More tests. More pain. More of me being a lab rat for humanity.

Knight. Garin. The whole damn ship, watching, studying, waiting to see what I would become.

I swallowed, my throat raw, the aftertaste of blood and biomass thick on my tongue. My stomach twisted at the memory of it, at the way they had forced it down, at the way my body had absorbed every ounce like it had been starving for it.

I should be angry. I should be terrified. I should be something.

But I wasn’t.

I was too tired to care. Too tired to fight.

I just wanted to sleep… but the voices.

They were still talking.

Low. Tense. Deciding my fate like I wasn’t even here.

I should listen. I should care.

But my body felt too heavy, my thoughts thick and sluggish, slipping between the cracks of sleep and wakefulness.

Their words blurred, fading in and out.

"She doesn’t deserve this, Warren."

Yates. Steady. Certain.

A pause. Then another voice, rougher, uncertain. Warren.

"If we wake them, we’re admitting we can’t control the situation."

"We can’t."

Reid. Sharp. Angry.

"Not like this. Not with her being treated like—like that."

The words should have mattered. Should have meant something.

Then—

A sharp, piercing alarm ripped through the quiet.

Jericho’s voice followed, smooth but urgent. “Contact detected. Proximity alert. Unidentified vessel approaching.”

The voices around me changed—no longer tense whispers, but clipped orders, frantic movement. Chairs scraping back, boots striking the floor.

"Get to stations!" Warren’s voice, firm, all hesitation gone. "Now."

More alarms. The hum of systems shifting, Jericho rerouting power.

Reid cursed. Vega was already giving orders.

The ship was moving, coming alive around me.

Something was coming.

I should have cared. Should have been afraid.

But sleep had me now, dragging me under, drowning me before I could hold onto anything at all.