Two point one seconds. Four deaths.

  She knew the answer. Didn't want to know it. But couldn't deny the evidence.

  She knelt beside Dr. Chen. Checked her neural interface. Same result. Fried. Melted slag.

  Moved to David Torres. Same. Jin Park. Same. Yuki Tanaka. Same.

  Every neural interface within twenty meters destroyed. Like standing next to electromagnetic pulse. Like being near black hole that consumed electricity instead of light.

  Through the shattered mirror, she could see into the examination theater beyond.

  Found more horror waiting.

  * * *

  Stella climbed through the broken mirror frame. Careful not to cut herself on remaining shards. Though honestly, with her chassis already sixty-one percent compromised, a few more cuts wouldn't matter much.

  The examination theater was worse than the observation room.

  The metal chair in the center told the story of where this had started. Heavy duty. Industrial. Restraints built into arms and legs. The kind of chair that was designed to hold someone against their will while things were done to them.

  The restraints were exploded.

  The metal warped outward. The locking mechanisms shattered. Someone had broken free with enough force to destroy steel.

  The chair itself was cracked down the middle. Fractured by something—weight, force, transformation—that had pushed it beyond structural limits.

  Blood everywhere. Like someone had been cut multiple times. Like someone had bled while restrained. Like someone had been—

  Stella's processors accessed Arthur's journal entry. The fragments of memory he'd recorded. The alley. The awakening. The sensation of being somewhere else before. Of pain. Of examination.

  Her optical systems tracked across the floor. Found the implements scattered around the chair. Surgical tools. Bone saw. Scalpels. Syringes. Sample containers. The instruments of methodical dissection.

  And blood on all of them. Fresh blood. Arthur's blood based on the timing.

  Something cold formed in Stella's chest. Not temperature. Not malfunction. Anger.

  She'd promised to protect him. Had failed. He'd been taken because she'd been damaged. Because she'd been too weak to stop Vector. Because she'd fallen and couldn't get up fast enough.

  And while she'd been repairing herself, Arthur had been here. Alone. Afraid. Being cut apart by people who saw him as experiment instead of person.

  Movement in her peripheral vision.

  Body in the corner. She'd missed it in her focus on the chair. Her sensors detected it now. No thermal signature. No neural activity. Dead. But positioned strangely. Not collapsed. Not fallen. Positioned deliberately like it had been examined and discarded.

  Stella approached.

  Found the doctor.

  He was in two pieces.

  Upper half: Human torso. Male, late forties, Asian features. White coat stained with blood and other fluids. His chest was chrome—heavy augmentation, medical grade. Arms still organic, still holding surgical instruments even in death—death grip, fingers locked around the implements by muscle spasm. Right hand gripping a bone saw. Left hand holding what looked like a sample extraction tool.

  His face was frozen in expression that might have been awe. Or terror. Or understanding. Or all three simultaneously. Eyes wide. Mouth open. Like he'd seen something impossible and hadn't had time to process it before—

  Lower half: Cybernetic spider chassis. Eight articulated legs splayed at unnatural angles. Some bent backward in ways that defied their design. Some crushed flat. Chrome cracked like eggshell. Hydraulic fluid leaking from damaged actuators. Servos exposed where armor plating had been torn away.

  Three feet of distance between upper and lower body.

  And connecting them: Cables. Data lines. Power conduits. Neural interface links. Still attached despite the separation. Stretched across the gap like technological umbilical cords. Covered in blood that was half-clotted, turning dark and tacky.

  The spider legs twitched occasionally. Residual power in the system. Automatic responses trying to execute without brain to command them. Faint. Dying. But unmistakable.

  Stella's processors reconstructed what had happened:

  Stella felt no pity.

  This man had hurt Arthur. Had cut him. Had studied him like he was nothing more than interesting specimen. Had tortured him for information, for data, for scientific curiosity.

  He'd earned his death.

  Stella turned away from the doctor's corpse. Looked at the examination theater. At the blood. At the evidence of where everything had gone wrong.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  From beyond the examination theater, deeper in the facility, that sound again:

  Closer than before.

  Moving.

  Hunting.

  Stella left the theater. Moved into the main corridor. Following the sound. Following the trail of bodies. Following whatever Arthur had become.

  * * *

  The bodies continued.

  More victims scattered along the route. Each one adding to the count. Each death evidence of transformation Arthur couldn't control.

  Thomas Chen

  Lisa Park

  James Rodriguez

  Stella reached the stairwell. Blood trail led up. Toward Sublevel 3. Toward the surface.

  She climbed the stairs.

  Found more bodies:

  Alpha Response Team.

  All dead now.

  Jackson

  Vasquez

  Thompson

  Lopez

  Four trained security personnel. Military-grade weapons. Tactical positioning. Dead in under two minutes based on shell casings, blood patterns, and body positioning.

  Stella reached Sublevel 3.

  Found chaos.

  * * *

  Sublevel 3 was supply depot and emergency staging area. Wide corridors. Good sight lines. Defensive positions.

  Perfect place for last stand.

  Six security personnel. Positioned at corridor chokepoint. They'd known something was coming. Had prepared. Had armed themselves with everything available.

  This was where they'd made their stand.

  This was where they'd failed.

  Five bodies. One man dying against a support pillar.

  Stella's sensors detected residual heat signatures. This fight had happened within the last five minutes. Bodies still warm. Blood still flowing.

  She was close. Very close.

  Found the bodies:

  Johnson

  Rivera

  Kim

  Peterson

  Mitchell

  None of them penetrated deep enough to matter. The creature had absorbed or deflected them all. Mitchell died watching his best effort fail. Creature grabbed his head. Twisted. Neck snapped with sound like breaking tree branch.

  And the final survivor:

  Marcus Chen.

  Security supervisor. ID: SEC-1847. His ID badge showed a photo—same last name as Dr. Sarah Chen from the observation room. The wedding ring on his finger confirmed it. Husband. Partners in work and life. Now one dead, one dying.

  He was still alive. Barely.

  Stella approached carefully. Her sensors showed: Heartbeat weak. Breathing shallow. Massive chest trauma. Minutes left at most.

  Marcus was propped against the support pillar. Blood pooling around him. His security uniform torn. Body armor punctured—four parallel gashes through composite plating that should have stopped anything short of armor-piercing rounds. And in his hand—still gripping it despite everything—a weapon unlike any Stella had seen.

  Heavy. Massive. More cannon than pistol. The barrel was thick. Industrial. And along its length, thermal venting ports glowed faintly orange—residual heat from recent firing. The weapon was easily twice the size of a standard sidearm. The kind of hardware that announced itself.

  Her tactical systems identified it immediately:

  Infernal Hand Cannon — Hellfire Industries Model VII

  Military-grade. High-caliber. Designed for soldiers with reinforced skeletal systems and recoil-dampening modifications. The kind of weapon that would shatter unaugmented bones just from recoil. The kind of weapon that fired superheated rounds at temperatures that could melt through armor plating.

  This was the weapon that required you to modify your body just to use it. That demanded chrome to pay its price.

  Marcus had the augmentations. His arms showed reinforced structure through torn uniform—titanium composite bones visible where flesh was torn away. His spine had recoil-dampening mods visible through damaged body armor. His neural stabilizer glowed faintly behind his ear. He'd been equipped specifically for this weapon.

  He'd still lost.

  Marcus's eyes focused on Stella with difficulty. Recognition that someone was there. Understanding that he was dying. That help was too late.

  He coughed. Blood. His augmented systems trying to keep him alive long enough to deliver warning. Trying and failing.

  "What happened?" Stella knelt beside him. Not to help—nothing could help now. Just to understand.

  Marcus tried to laugh. Failed. More blood. "We... tried to stop it. Six of us. Military-grade... weapons. Tactical... positioning. Everything... right."

  His eyes drifted. Focusing on nothing. Remembering.

  "Sarah's dead. Saw her... through cameras. Observation... room. She was just... watching. Just doing... her job. And it killed... everyone. My wife... my—"

  He stopped. Gathered strength. Looked at Stella with desperate intensity.

  "What did you face?" Stella asked.

  "Monster." Marcus's eyes widened. Remembering terror. "Seven feet. Four arms. Claws that... glowed. Fast. So fucking... fast. Walked through... our fire. Like we were... nothing."

  He looked at his Infernal Hand Cannon. At the weapon that had been his pride. His security. His guarantee of victory against any threat.

  "I hit it." His voice dropped to whisper. Horror in his eyes. "Three times. Center-mass. Superheated... rounds. Two thousand... degrees. Should've... melted through... anything."

  He coughed. More blood. Systems failing rapidly.

  "It absorbed them. Watched the... heat drain away. Rounds... cooled. Fell to... floor. Just metal. And then... its claws glowed... brighter. Like it... fed on... my weapon. Like I... made it... stronger."

  Marcus's breathing became labored. Wet. Rattling.

  "Can't stop it. Nothing... stops it. Just... runs. Get out. Tell... everyone. Tell them... Sarah's gone. Tell them... monster... tell them—"

  His voice stopped. His eyes focusing on something behind Stella.

  She didn't need to turn. Didn't need her sensors. She could hear it:

  The creature was here.

  Marcus tried to raise his weapon. Failed. No strength left. The Infernal Hand Cannon slipped from nerveless fingers. Clattered to floor with heavy metallic sound.

  He looked at Stella. Final warning in his dying eyes.

  "Run."

  Then his eyes went unfocused. His chest stopped moving. His head lolled to the side.

  Marcus Chen died. Last defender. Last witness.

  Last person between the creature and escape.

  Stella stood. Turned slowly.

  And saw what Arthur had become.

  * * *

  The creature stood twenty meters away.

  Seven feet tall even hunched over. Standing fully upright it would clear eight feet easily. Moving on all fours but clearly capable of bipedal movement. Currently balanced on legs and two arms, the other two arms held ready.

  Obsidian black carapace covered its body. Segmented like insect armor. Each plate overlapping the next. Creating flexible protection. Natural geometry—whether evolution or design, impossible to tell. The plates caught the emergency lighting. Reflected it. Made the creature seem to shimmer as it moved.

  Four arms. Two where human arms should be. Two additional emerging from beneath ribs. All ending in claws—scything talons that glowed with internal crimson light. Like heated metal. Like contained fire. Each claw was foot-long. Curved. Razor-sharp. The glow pulsed slightly. Like heartbeat. Like breathing. Like the weapon was alive.

  Wings. Tattered. Skeletal frames with translucent membrane stretched between. Not functional for flight—too damaged, too incomplete—but giving silhouette of something beyond natural. Something wrong. Something that belonged in nightmares or religious texts describing demons.

  The face: Smooth black mask. Featureless except for eyes.

  Four eyes. Arranged vertically on each side of its face. Multifaceted like insect compound eyes but glowing crimson. Burning with light that cast red shadows across the walls. With intelligence that tracked Stella's every movement. Studying. Learning. Deciding.

  And the sound. That clicking. Coming from mandibles hidden behind the smooth mask. Constant. Rhythmic. Like speech in language that didn't exist yet. Like communication from the other side of evolution.