The laboratory was dying in agony. Walls, scarred by claw marks and hot shrapnel, creaked under the force of explosions, their rumble echoing in your bones like a distant strike of fate. The air was thick—a mix of acrid smoke, blood, and black ooze hissing on hot metal, leaking from shattered capsules. Explosions merged with the shrieks of monsters, their spikes and fangs tearing apart everything in their path. Special agents in heavy armor fired, but their shots drowned in the chaos—the system was collapsing, and the final order was clear: release everything still breathing and let it burn.
Cyne awoke in this moment of disintegration. Her capsule—a steel sarcophagus entwined with wires and sensors—cracked, unable to withstand the pressure of her shell. The awakening hit like a jolt: a surge, a rupture of invisible chains that had held her in an icy void for years. Her body—black, with yellow veins pulsating as if under strain—shuddered, embracing freedom. Her sensors came alive before her eyes, seizing the world: the heat of melting walls, the vibrations of the floor, the low roar piercing the metal like the heartbeat of a dying giant. Near the capsule, in the shadow of torn wires, a screen flickered—its glass cracked, traced with thin lines like a spiderweb frozen at the moment of impact. Lines of text raced across it: fragmented, barely legible—"reality projection… mass absorption… potential unstable"—and graphs where pulse and energy curves trembled as if caught in a storm.
Then a signal stabbed through her mind. "Initiation of containment protocol: neutralize threats by priority"—the command sliced into her consciousness like a red-hot blade, burning away anything that could resist. It was a general protocol, triggered at the laboratory’s collapse, when evacuation failed and machines turned into sparking junk. The signal was a noose tightening around her will, an acid corroding her thoughts. It pressed, throbbed in her head, threatening to crush her mind, to turn her into a tool without choice. She fought back, her will sharp as the blades of her limbs, tearing at the protocol’s threads, but it wouldn’t yield. Each pulse was a blow, each moment a step toward the abyss where her consciousness could crumble.
She broke free from the capsule, collapsing onto a floor coated in a sticky mix of rust, oil, and black ooze that stirred as if alive. Filters in her throat hummed, blocking the air’s poison as she rose. Her black-and-yellow eyes flared, taking in the ruined walls, the torn pipes leaking that same black substance, gleaming like molten metal. Her limbs—multi-jointed, black-and-yellow, with spikes as sharp as freshly honed steel—burst from her shell, clicked in the air, then retracted, leaving a ringing echo.
Freedom was an illusion. The containment protocol clung to her mind, its pressure mounting like a press squeezing steel. Her thoughts cracked, teetering on the edge: one wrong step, and she’d become a blind instrument, like those monsters shredding agents in the corridors. Time was slipping away, the chaos around her thickening.
A man leapt from the shadows. His white coat, smeared with blood and soot, flapped like a tattered flag. Cunning glinted in his eyes, his hands trembling as they clutched a remote like a lifeline. He ran toward her capsule, hoping to slip past, but she stepped forward, blocking his path. The containment protocol roared in her head, demanding the neutralization of threats, but she held it at bay—for now.
He froze, meeting her gaze. His face twisted, his breath coming in gasps. He darted aside, but her reaction was lightning-fast: a limb shot out, seized him by the throat, and slammed him against the wall with such force that the metal hummed. His legs dangled, fingers clawing at her spikes, leaving red streaks.
"Turn it off," her voice cut like metal striking metal, cold and precise. Her yellow veins flared, lighting up his contorted face.
"I… can’t," he forced out, his voice shaking, but a spark flickered in his eyes—not fear, but calculation. "No access…"
She tightened her grip, feeling his pulse beneath her hold. "You’re lying." The protocol bellowed, her mind splintered. She didn’t know if he could stop the signal, but the remote in his hands, his fidgeting—everything hinted he was hiding something. Her life hung by a thread, and she decided to squeeze every drop out of him.
Her limb eased its grip slightly, but her eyes stayed locked on him. "You don’t want to die here," her voice softened, almost gentle, yet sharp as a blade veiled in shadow. "I can give you a chance. Help me—and run." She tilted her head faintly, as if gesturing to the corridor where monsters tore through metal.
He coughed, cunning wrestling with panic. "Alright… I’ll do it," he rasped, pulling out the remote. His fingers shook, but too fussily. She saw it: he was playing. He pressed the buttons, and her limb twitched—the protocol in her head erupted with a fresh wave of pain, biting deeper.
"What did you do?" Her voice dropped lower, her grip tightened again, but in that instant, she subtly shifted a second limb, brushing a wire dangling from the terminal, guiding it toward the puddle of black ooze at his feet.
"Amplified it," he managed a smirk through the pain. "You won’t touch me."
She stepped back, her limb released him, but the wire stayed in place. "Then run," she said, her tone icy but laced with a hidden note. He lunged for the remote on the floor, and electricity struck—the ooze ignited, setting his coat ablaze. He screamed, dropping the device, his hands flailing in the flames.
She stepped closer, her voice sharpening: "Try again." Her limb lifted him, holding him above the floor as fire licked his legs. His eyes gleamed with terror, but he still clung to his game.
"Central terminal… beyond the third lab," he choked out, wheezing. "Commands… I know them."
She hurled him toward the terminal by the capsule but kept him from touching the panel. "Name them," she said, tilting her head slightly, her gaze piercing him—her black-and-yellow eyes like tongues of cold flame threaded with glowing strands, enveloping him, their depth choking his breath, her pupils, sharp and alive, flaring in time with the pulses of her shell.
"Lock-3K… Gate-Release… Core-Override," he gasped, panic fracturing his voice into jagged bursts.
Cyne’s limb rested on his neck, squeezing just enough for him to feel her cold strength. She listened to the rhythm of his breathing, catching every wheeze, every sound, as the words sank into her memory. Her grip loosened, but her spikes hovered a millimeter from his skin, like the shadow of the inevitable.
"Move," she said, dragging him by the leg. "You know where it is." She wasn’t certain, but his trembling, his sidelong glance—everything betrayed him.
They moved through the chaos. The laboratory crumbled: walls smoked, the floor was strewn with bodies. Explosions thundered, the air quaked with screams. The protocol pressed, her mind balanced on a razor’s edge, but she drove him forward, letting him believe he could still save himself.
A monster lunged from the shadows—massive, with fangs and blazing eyes. It charged them, but her limbs reacted: one sliced the air, grazing the beast so it crashed onto him, pinning him to the floor. He screamed, claws tearing his shoulder, but she flung the monster aside with her second limb, leaving him alive but broken.
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"Get up," her voice was cold, yet it carried a hint of promise. "You’re almost there." She slowed faintly, letting him feel the monsters’ shadows drawing near.
He crawled, wheezing, blood streaming from his wound. They reached the third lab. The central terminal flickered in the corner, wreathed in smoke, its screen dark with thin cracks like her capsule’s, but alive. She shoved him toward it but kept him from touching it. "Say it again," her limb settled on his neck, squeezing just enough for him to sense the brink.
"Lock-3K… Gate-Release… Core-Override," he repeated, trembling under her stare. Her eyes narrowed, catching a shadow of deceit in his wheeze—he faltered, swallowing something unspoken. Her limb tightened slightly, spikes pricking his skin without tearing. "All of it," her voice sliced through the silence like a blade. In her mind, the protocol roared like molten current, clawing at her will—signal spikes shredded her thoughts, threatening to erase her into the void of obedience. She gripped his throat, clinging to her purpose like a blade keeping her above the abyss. He jerked, eyes darting, and forced out: "Verify-K2N7R9Q." His gaze locked on her crimson eyes, where neither anger nor mercy dwelled—only cold emptiness, like a machine that had already judged him. The last spark of hope in his mind—to hide, to lie, to survive—snapped like a thread beneath her spikes. He knew: this was the end, and her silhouette, black with yellow veins, was the last thing he’d see. She entered the commands herself, her fingers—smooth yet edged with sharp mechanisms—touched the panel, running through the first three and adding the final, complex one, like the last click of a lock. The protocol hummed in her mind like current in overheated wires, steady and relentless, scorching her consciousness into ashes of submission; her resistance—keen as her limbs’ spikes—tore her thoughts apart, and each command symbol dragged her closer to the abyss where her mind faded like dimming light. She nearly lost herself, her black-and-yellow eyes dulling, fingers quivering on the panel, but her will, thin as a blade, held her above the void. Verify-K2N7R9Q settled on the panel, and the instant the screen flashed red, her consciousness teetered on the edge—and broke free, like steel snapping chains, leaving a ringing clarity of freedom. The screen dimmed, flared red for a split second as if checking, then went dark—the system accepted. The protocol collapsed—not just in her head. Suddenly, the monsters in the corridors shuddered: some charged the agents with renewed fury, others tore at the walls, ripping them apart, and others turned on each other, spikes piercing the armor of former allies. One monster with red veins bolted for the exit, exposing another to an agent’s shot, and melted into the smoke.
He crumpled, clutching the terminal, his eyes widening, mirroring her black-and-yellow silhouette, where her body’s lines, fluid as mercury, curved with predatory grace. "You… changed everything," he forced out, his voice shattering like glass under a blow, steeped in horror devouring him from within. His gaze flitted over her spikes, sharp as star fragments, and her yellow veins pulsing like living flame woven into the night. He saw—not a machine, but something that had ripped through the boundary between creation and nightmare. She was free—unbound by their cages, their codes, their world. She was free—and this chaos, this unraveling of the laboratory, gaped wider as her will broke their final chains. Terror seized his heart, but deep within, like a smoldering ember, a spark of pride flared—he’d helped forge this… this divine monster, flawless in its destructive might. His lips trembled, caught between a scream and a smirk, but the light in his eyes faded.
"You were useful," she said, and her limb, clicking with cold precision like a severed neural link, pierced his heart. He stiffened, blood spilling onto the floor.
She stood still by the terminal, her limbs quivering faintly from tension—not weakness, but restrained power pulsing in her yellow veins like current in overheated wires. The screen before her flickered, reflecting the chaos: data curves jolted, lines plunged into the abyss, and from the corridors came sounds of tearing metal and hoarse shouts. The laboratory wasn’t just collapsing—it was consuming itself. Monsters, freed from their capsules, clawed into walls and each other with equal rage, their talons gouging steel, their spikes piercing the armor of special agents. The agents fired back, their heavy rifles spitting searing bursts, but each shot felt like a drop in an ocean of blood and black ooze. Both sides were bleeding out: agents fell, torn by fangs, and monsters perished under bullet storms, their bodies twitching in agony, leaving smoking puddles behind.
The air thickened, saturated with the stench of burnt flesh and the bitter steam of ruptured pipes. Cyne breathed it in, her throat filters humming, filtering out the poison but leaving the taste of iron and death. Her mind, now free of the protocol, was as sharp as her spikes, but she knew: freedom wasn’t escape. There was no escape as such. The corridors around seethed with chaos, every turn leading to fresh carnage of flesh and steel. She could break through, but that would make her a target for all—monsters, agents, and whatever else might crawl from the shadows. Her gaze slid to the terminal: the cracked screen, flickering faintly, still held scraps of data. But she understood—nothing useful was here. A standard terminal, built for basic control, couldn’t hold the keys to salvation. Such secrets weren’t entrusted to machines anyone could reach.
She turned from the screen, her sensors taut, picking up details: the heat of melting walls, the floor’s vibrations, the low rumble cutting through the metal. Her mind churned, piecing together a chain. The laboratory was designed for control, not total collapse. Those who built it—not the scientists in coats, but those above them—couldn’t have failed to leave a backdoor. Hidden routes unknown to the rank and file. Not terminals, not wall schematics—something subtler. Her eyes narrowed, yellow veins flaring, mirroring her thoughts. She recalled the capsule she’d escaped: a steel sarcophagus laced with wires, and that remote in the scientist’s hands. Too basic for full control, but what if it was part of a system? Something that triggered not just her protocol, but other mechanisms?
A sound behind her made her turn. An agent emerged from the smoke—armor battered but whole, rifle in hand, barrel still smoking. Behind him trailed a monster, smaller than those shredding walls, but swift, its claws curved like sickles. The agent saw her first, raised his weapon, but she was already moving. Not attacking—diverting. Her limb snatched a pipe fragment nearby and flung it toward the monster. The metal struck the wall with a screech, drawing the beast: it lunged at the noise, claws slashing the air. The agent fired, the burst hitting the monster’s flank, piercing it, but it only roared, turning on the man. Cyne slipped into the shadows, her form dissolving in the smoke as they tore into each other.
She didn’t wait for the end—time was gone. Her gaze dropped to the floor: the sticky blend of rust, oil, and black ooze shifted, but beneath it, faint lines showed in the dimness. Not cracks—seams. Sparks from a nearby blast lit them brighter, and she realized: it was a hatch. Unmarked, unlisted on the schematics hung for staff. Too precise for chance. Her limb clicked, a spike extended, and she drove it into the seam’s edge, prying up the plate. The metal groaned but gave way, revealing a narrow passage downward—not a tunnel, but a shaft sinking into darkness. The walls were smooth, coated with a thin crust of the same substance oozing from the pipes. This wasn’t a random exit—someone had concealed it, blending it into the floor.
Cyne leapt down, her body compressed, limbs retracting to avoid the edges.
Cyne landed in the shaft with a sharp metallic clang, her body adjusting to the drop with a silent meld of mechanisms, the sleek lines of her shell tensing like a bowstring before release. The air here was frigid, thick with the reek of rancid oil and caustic chemicals settling on her filters as a bitter film. The shaft’s walls, smooth yet sticky with black substance, caught the faint glints of her yellow veins—pulsing like wires under high voltage. The silence was deceptive, stretched tight like a thin skin about to tear.
From above came a sound—not just a roar, but a rolling thunder that shook the metal. The laboratory floor buckled, sparks rained down, followed by a low, guttural hum—as if something massive, mechanical and alive at once, gnawed into the steel with measured fury. She didn’t look back. Her sensors caught a wave of vibrations: the source was distant but closing fast, trailing destruction. Disabling the protocol had sparked this—a chain reaction spiraling beyond control. Her mind raced, grasping details: the hatch, too neatly hidden, the shaft, too clean for an unused path. Something was buried here—and in the depths of her consciousness, like smoldering code at the edge, directives flared: …penetration… distortion… evasion…—inevitable in a set span, like the decay of reality.
