The lab door creaked open, stale air rushing out like it had been holding its breath for years. Kael stepped in slowly, the door shutting behind him with a soft thud that felt way too final.
"This place fucking stinks," Kael exclaimed, holding his nose in disgust. "Did someone die in here?"
The place was dim, lit only by a few flickering overhead lights. Dust floated in the air like ghosts. The lab was cold—not the kind of cold you feel on your skin, but the kind that settles in your bones. Like the room itself remembered everything that had happened here and wasn't ready to let go.
Kael looked around.
Monitors still ran, screens blinking with unread data. A few machines hummed quietly, like they didn't know their master was dead. The walls were lined with shelves—books, vials, sealed containers, and folders stacked like they were waiting for someone to come back and finish what they'd started.
He walked over to the main desk. It was cluttered but organized in a way only a scientist could understand: papers with scribbled equations, diagrams of alien anatomy, and a half-eaten protein bar that looked like it had been abandoned mid-thought.
"He always loved his protein bars," Kael muttered, staring at the thing.
He dropped the box on the desk and sat down slowly. The chair creaked under him.
He pulled out the notebook again, flipping through the pages. His father's handwriting was everywhere—sharp, fast, chaotic. Notes about Xenophyte behavior, mutation patterns, and compatibility charts. Some pages were just rants. Angry, desperate rants about the government, about containment, about betrayal.
"I never knew he felt this way," Kael thought. "Before he left, he said the government was making a difference. Looks like he was lying through his teeth."
Kael stopped at one page.
It was different. Neater. More personal.
"If anyone finds this, it means I'm gone. Probably locked away or dead. Either way, I failed. But not completely. The chip holds everything. Not just data—truth. What they did. What I did. What Kael needs to know."
Kael stared at the words. His name. Written by the man he hadn't spoken to in four years. The man who missed his mother's funeral. The man who vanished without a word.
He clenched his jaw and picked up the data chip.
There was a terminal nearby. He slid the chip into the port. The screen blinked, then loaded a single file.
Kael clicked it.
A video began to play. His father appeared on-screen—younger, tired, eyes hollow but burning with something fierce.
"Hello, Kael," he said, voice steady and sure. "It's your father. Today, I've decided to record a final video for you, my son. I want to tell you everything I've been—even if you don't believe me."
Kael stared at his father—the face he hadn't seen in four years. He didn't have any words.
He watched the video in silence, listening to every word. Until the last line:
"Goodbye, son."
Then he switched it off.
"So he was put on house arrest," Kael thought. "That means he couldn't leave... and they were scared he'd spill the secrets of the Xenophytes to the other life forms."
"But he's truly a bastard," Kael snarled. "He could've called. Could've sent a message. But no—he only cared about his precious work. I even sent him a letter when I got accepted into Xeno Force. No reply. I'm starting to think it was nepotism that got me the role."
He took a deep breath. He wasn't just angry at his dad. He was angry at himself. How could he not be? He was a lost cause in academics and totally inept in combat. He'd die in a heartbeat if they threw him into a mission.
But there was something else he found in the video —his father had said that there was a gift meant for him. Something he wanted to give as a way to say sorry for disappearing, and for failing as
Commander Nyre didn't know about the notebook or video. Even if he saw it, he wouldn't think it mattered. But Kael had read enough to know his father was working on something secret—something even the government didn't know about. And he'd left it here… for him.
Kael stood and began looking around. Rows of sealed tubes and beakers surrounded him. He searched methodically, putting everything back in its place.
He moved quickly now—scanning labels, opening drawers that hadn't been touched in years. Then, midway down the third row, his hand paused over a rusted drawer with no tag.
He opened it slowly.
Inside were jars—neatly stacked, organized… and then one stood out.
A sealed black jar.
Kael's heart thumped.
He reached in, hand trembling, and lifted it.
Inside the jar sat something… wrong.
Black, slick, almost fluid—but holding its shape like it had muscle memory. Veins of glowing red danced just beneath the surface, pulsing faintly like a warning light waiting to go off.
The glass fogged near the top, like the thing inside gave off heat—or breath.
He didn't need a manual. He knew what it was.
The thing he'd seen in textbooks. In combat briefings. The breakthrough that changed everything.
A Xenophyte.
And a bloody red-and-black one at that.
This was it. The thing his father had created. The secret was buried in the margins of his notebook. Never shown in the video—only written about once.
"So this is a Xenophyte," Kael whispered, staring at the twitching organism. "This is what my father created for me."
He smiled for a moment—then his face hardened.
"Doesn't mean I fucking forgive him," he scoffed. "I'll think of it as a guilt gift."
He sat down again. Thinking.
He knew the truth. The Force wasn't going to give him a Xenophyte. He was too weak. Too dull. They'd discharge him the moment he failed another exam.
This… this was his only chance.
He grinned. "Well, here goes nothing," he muttered, inhaling sharply.
Kael's hands trembled as he twisted the jar's seal. A hiss of escaping pressure sliced through the silence like a warning.
The glass was cold.
The parasite inside… wasn't.
A second passed. Maybe two.
Then everything shattered.
The thing exploded upward—so fast, so violently—it didn't give him time to scream. It struck his face like a bullet, forcing its way into his mouth with a wet, unnatural surge.
Kael staggered backward, clawing at his throat, choking, gagging, body convulsing in panic. He collapsed to the floor as the world narrowed to burning chaos inside his chest.
Pain tore through him, no longer contained—like fire stitching through his nerves, one agonizing thread at a time.
Red veins exploded across his skin, racing up his neck and down his arms, crawling like wildfire beneath the surface. They didn't spread.
They bloomed.
Bright crimson etched in fractal patterns—sharp, jagged—like they weren't just breaking through, but writing something into him.
His eyes rolled back—then snapped wide open.
His irises had turned pitch black. No color. Just void.
But from the center of that void, his pupils flared bright red, glowing like embers feeding on oxygen.
He tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
Every muscle locked. His spine arched, fingers curled unnaturally, body caught somewhere between dying… and becoming something else.
And all he could think was—
"My dad is trying to fucking kill me!"