The door to Lab 5J thudded shut behind us.
Not slammed.
Just sealed—
a soft, firm sound that echoed in the dark room like a heartbeat strengthening from faint to steady.
Outside, the subject's muffled breathing continued, ragged and uneven.
Protective.
Watching.
Guarding.
And farther down the hall, the heavier footsteps—
the ones that belonged to something much less human—
paced and sniffed the air before retreating into the shadows.
But the subject didn't move away from the door.
It stayed there.
A shaky guardian made of bone and metal and suffering.
Rowan wiped his face with trembling fingers.
"Elle… what did they do to them…?"
His tears dropped onto the back of my hand.
Chandler put a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't look outside. Not yet."
Rowan nodded, swallowing hard, pressing his forehead against my arm.
Horace positioned himself between me and the door, standing like a silent shield.
Lucian adjusted his glasses and looked around the lab.
"We need to understand what this floor was used for," he murmured.
"And fast."
Chandler scanned the room.
Dim lights flickered weakly overhead.
Metal tables lined the walls.
Shelves overflowed with old binders, dusty hard drives, and cracked data chips.
Horace lifted a portable lamp from a desk and switched it on.
Soft white light washed over everything.
The lab finally took shape.
And it was worse than we expected.
THE ROOM OF RECORDS
Lucian went straight to the metal shelf labeled:
SUBJECT RESEARCH LOG – All Cohorts
Rowan stiffened.
"Does that mean—"
"Yes," Lucian said quietly.
"Elliot's files should be somewhere in here."
Rowan swallowed thickly.
Chandler stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"How do we know which ones are his?"
Horace answered without hesitation.
"Look for his initials first."
Lucian nodded and began searching.
Rowan helped—fumbling, hands shaking too hard to hold the binders properly.
I reached for his wrist.
"Rowan… breathe."
He inhaled shakily.
"…I'm trying…"
Chandler took the binders from him gently.
"You look. I'll hold."
Rowan choked back another sob and nodded.
Lucian scanned file after file, tossing aside anything irrelevant.
"Subject 11… Subject 19… Subject 4B… No—No— This is all wrong—where's—"
Then—
He froze.
His breath halted.
Slowly, Lucian pulled a slim binder from the shelf.
Black.
Dented.
Dusty.
The label was peeling.
But still readable:
SUBJECT 07 – EARLY PHASE LOGS
E. J. FONZE
Rowan's knees gave out.
He collapsed to the floor, hands covering his mouth.
Chandler immediately knelt beside him, bracing him.
Horace stepped closer to me, hand brushing my back—gentle, steady.
Lucian held the file out toward me.
"Elleanore…
this is his first record."
My fingers trembled as I touched it.
Not because of the dust.
Because of the weight.
The weight of my brother's existence—
pressed between pages in a binder left to rot on a forbidden floor.
I opened it.
The first page made Rowan cry harder.
Elliot's Evaluation Sheet
NAME: Elliot Jan Fonze
Status: Omega
Age: 14
Initial Assessment:
Promising. Instinctively compliant, high threshold tolerance. Responds well to field stimulus.
Rowan whispered:
"He… he was only fourteen…"
Chandler's jaw tightened hard.
Horace's fingers curled into fists beside me.
Lucian leaned forward, scanning faster.
"Skip ahead. Look for anything referencing resonance."
I flipped pages.
Rowan squeezed my sleeve, peeking.
Chandler's arm stayed firm against his back.
Then—
A page marked with red.
[Phase 1 Incident Report]
Day 32 — Unscheduled Collapse
Description:
Subject experienced sudden instinct override during a low-level resonance pulse.
Symptoms included involuntary tremors, shortness of breath, heightened pheromone output, and dissociation.
Rowan's voice broke:
"Dissociation…? At that age…?"
Lucian read aloud:
"Cause unclear. Increase stimulant dosage in next session. Reevaluate capacity."
Chandler swore.
"They saw him collapse and thought the solution was MORE drugs?!"
Horace whispered:
"This is inhumane."
I turned the page.
The next entry—
Lucian inhaled sharply.
"Oh stars."
Rowan sounded like he was choking.
[Day 33 – Stimulus Trial]
Outcome:
Subject reacted to stimulant with instinct spike.
Entered panic state.
Attempted escape from testing chamber.
Action Taken:
Subject restrained.
Instinct suppression mask applied.
My hand trembled over the page.
A suppression mask.
Like the one the subject outside wore.
Rowan flung an arm over his mouth, trying to smother his sob.
Chandler gently pulled him against his chest.
"Don't look, Rowan—"
"No—" Rowan choked.
"I have to—"
Horace murmured:
"Elleanore… you don't have to read more."
But I shook my head.
"I do."
Because I had to know.
I had to understand.
I turned the page again.
THE FIRST COLLAPSE
Rowan tensed hard.
Chandler tightened his hold.
Lucian leaned over my shoulder.
Horace stayed close, steadying me with silent presence.
The next page was stamped:
LEVEL 2 INCIDENT
CONFIDENTIAL
It detailed:
Day 34 – Collapse
Subject displayed erratic pheromone spikes and mental dissociation.
Attempted to break containment.
Subject exhibited unusual resonance interference pattern.
Lucian froze.
"…there it is."
Horace frowned.
"What?"
Lucian tapped the phrase.
"Unusual resonance interference.
He disrupted the machine's frequency."
Chandler's eyes widened.
"That's the same thing Elle did."
Horace stiffened.
Rowan sobbed into Chandler's shoulder.
Lucian nodded slowly, voice quiet.
"Elliot's collapse wasn't physical.
It was neurological and pheromonal combined—
the exact precursor to a catastrophic resonance event."
I whispered:
"What caused it?"
Lucian scanned the next lines.
Then stopped.
His breath hitched.
"It says—"
Rowan looked up desperately through tears.
"What?"
Lucian spoke very softly.
"Cause of collapse: Subject reacted strongly to sibling pheromone absence."
I blinked.
"Absence…?"
Horace frowned.
"What does that mean? She wasn't here—how could he react to something missing—?"
Lucian answered.
"Elleanore.
He smelled that you weren't with him anymore."
I froze.
Chandler stared, speechless.
Rowan's eyes filled with tears again.
Lucian continued:
"Elliot collapsed because of separation trauma.
He bonded to you as his stability anchor—
not as an Omega mate, but as a twin.
Your pheromonal patterns were his baseline."
Rowan whispered:
"He couldn't handle losing her…"
Chandler clenched his fists painfully.
Horace looked at me with something like heartbreak.
Lucian closed the binder softly.
"That was his first collapse."
I felt like the world was cracking open.
"He broke because I wasn't here," I whispered.
Lucian's voice softened.
"No.
He broke because they took him before he was ready.
Because they pushed him.
Because they isolated him."
Rowan sobbed harder.
Horace touched my shoulder gently.
"You are not responsible for what they did to him."
Chandler nodded, voice rough.
"He didn't break because of you.
He broke because they tore him away from you."
I looked at the binder in my hands.
At Elliot's early handwriting.
His resilience.
His terror.
And I realized something sharp and painful:
They didn't break him by accident.
They broke him by design.
Lucian turned toward the door.
"We need to move.
This floor was just stage one."
Chandler stood.
Rowan wiped his eyes and stood too, trembling but forcing himself upright.
Horace helped me to my feet.
My voice came out as a whisper.
"Then let's go deeper."
Because if this was only the beginning—
I wasn't leaving without the rest.
The One Who Stands Guard
The moment Lucian cracked the lab door open,
a shape leaned into view—
the same subject who had stood vigil the entire time.
Its trembling form was bathed in weak emergency light,
mask cracked,
breathing raw and uneven.
It hadn't moved from the doorway.
Not once.
Rowan stiffened behind me.
Chandler placed an arm out instinctively, blocking him.
Horace stepped in front of me with one smooth motion.
But Lucian whispered:
"…Wait."
The subject reacted instantly to sound.
Its head twitched sharply—
not toward Lucian.
Toward me.
The cracked eye-slit of its mask flickered a faint, bluish glow.
I exhaled, shaking.
Rowan clutched my sleeve.
"Elle… you don't have to go near it—please—"
Chandler looked between me and the subject, expression dark and conflicted.
Horace set a steadying hand on my back.
Lucian stepped forward slightly, pulling his tablet up.
"I think…
it's stabilizing."
Chandler snorted softly.
"It doesn't look stable."
"No," Lucian murmured,
"I mean its behavior."
He pointed to the floor.
It had left marks.
Backward footprints.
Not pacing.
Not circling.
Retreating.
Every time it heard something violent down the hall,
it had stepped closer to the lab door—
guarding it.
Guarding us.
Guarding—
the match it was conditioned to protect.
Me.
Lucian lowered his voice.
"Elleanore…
you need to see this."
WHAT THEY DID TO THE SUBJECTS
Lucian displayed a screen with grainy video snippets labeled:
Subject Conditioning – Phase A – 07
The clips were horrific.
A faceless figure strapped to a metal chair.
Caliban's voice directing technicians.
Pheromone dispersal gas flooding the room.
A hormonal deprivation sequence.
Subject writhing, restrained.
Written notes scrolled under the footage:
→ Condition Omega-response imprint
→ Teach subject to identify target pheromone profile
→ Reward approach toward target match
→ Punish approach toward non-targets
→ Repeat until reflex is irreversible
I felt sick.
Horace swore under his breath.
Rowan covered his mouth, curling inward.
Chandler braced a hand against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.
Lucian exhaled tightly.
"It wasn't trained to attack."
He swallowed.
"It was trained to follow. To respond. To protect the anchor."
Rowan whispered shakily:
"Like a… dog…"
Chandler's voice cracked with anger.
"No.
Like a prisoner."
Horace clenched his fists.
"They reduced a person to an instinctive mechanism."
Lucian nodded.
"And it reacts to you because your pheromones match Elliot's far more closely than any other human on campus."
I swallowed hard.
"So it thinks I'm… him."
"Yes," Lucian said quietly.
Rowan whimpered, burying his head in Chandler's shoulder.
Horace brushed my arm gently.
I stepped closer to the subject.
One slow step.
Two.
Its breath hitched, mask twitching.
But it didn't move away.
It didn't reach toward me.
It simply… swayed.
Shaking.
Waiting.
Lucian whispered:
"It's seeking reassurance.
Anchor stabilization behavior."
Rowan's voice cracked.
"Elle… it's starving for something…"
Chandler looked at me gravely.
"That thing was trained to follow your brother until the day it died."
My heart clenched painfully.
Horace stepped beside me, his hand firm at my shoulder.
"You don't owe it anything," he murmured.
But something about the subject's trembling stance—
the way its knees bowed slightly inward,
the way its shoulders curled,
the way its glowing eye-dots flickered—
It didn't feel threatening.
It felt…
lost.
Abandoned.
Used.
Like Elliot might be somewhere below,
just as broken.
And this was the warning.
A preview of what they could do.
I took another step—
Rowan gasped, reaching for me.
Chandler grabbed his hand, keeping him still.
Lucian hovered beside me, ready to pull me back.
Horace positioned himself half a step in front of me still, shielding while letting me approach.
And finally—
I stood within arm's reach.
The subject froze entirely.
As if afraid to move.
As if one wrong gesture would send me running.
I whispered:
"…You protected us."
The subject shuddered.
A tiny, human sound escaped the mask:
"…Elle…"
Rowan dropped to his knees sobbing.
Chandler squeezed Rowan's shoulder tightly.
Lucian whispered:
"It's trying to say your name."
Horace's hand tightened on me gently.
My throat closed.
I lifted my hand.
Only halfway.
The subject twitched—
not forward,
but downward.
It lowered itself.
Slowly.
Painfully.
A kneel.
Then a bowed head.
The cracked mask tapped the floor.
A gesture of submission.
Of recognition.
Of memory that wasn't quite memory.
Rowan shook violently.
"Elleanore—
It's kneeling—
It—it thinks you're—"
I touched the top of my chest, over my heart.
"It thinks I'm Elliot."
The subject shivered.
Then raised one trembling hand—
and gently tapped its own mask,
over the etched number:
07
Lucian inhaled sharply.
"It's identifying itself.
It wants you to know who it is."
Rowan stared, wide-eyed, tear-streaked.
"Is… is it one of Elliot's… friends…? His cohort…?"
Lucian shook his head slowly.
"No.
This subject was never listed."
His voice caught.
"This one… wasn't registered as a name."
Horace clenched his jaw.
"They erased who they were."
Chandler muttered:
"I'll kill Caliban myself."
The subject shifted.
Its cracked mask looked up at me—
and something in those faint blue flickers felt heartbreakingly human.
I knelt too.
Horace jerked forward.
"Elleanore—!"
But I held up a hand.
"It's okay."
I knelt slowly, carefully—
matching its height,
matching its movement,
matching its vulnerability.
Rowan cried.
Chandler watched, shaken but alert.
Lucian held his breath.
Horace knelt beside me without hesitation.
The subject's fingers twitched—
not grabbing,
not reaching.
Just lifting.
A small, broken gesture.
Slowly, gently—
I touched its knuckles.
The subject stiffened.
Then—
collapsed into a shaking breath.
"…Elle…"
No.
Not quite.
Not Elliot.
It was trying to say my name.
"El…lea…"
My heart broke.
Rowan sobbed violently against Chandler.
Lucian felt his voice catch.
Horace whispered:
"It sees you."
The subject bowed its head lower, mask trembling against the floor.
Then—
it tapped its own chest plate—
a faint, barely carved signature:
07-A
Lucian froze.
"Oh no."
Chandler frowned.
"What? What does that mean?!"
Lucian's voice trembled.
"It means this one was an advance prototype."
Rowan choked.
"Elleanore…
It was designed to replace Elliot if he failed."
The room spun.
The subject jerked, turning suddenly toward the far side of the hallway.
A sharp metallic hiss passed through its mask.
Lucian tensed.
"Something's coming again—"
Chandler braced.
Rowan grabbed my arm.
Horace lifted me to my feet.
But the subject—
It didn't move toward me again.
It stepped into the hall.
Blocking the danger.
Its final gesture before moving?
It tapped its mask again—
not at the number this time.
But where a name should have been.
"Elle…"
A plea.
A memory.
A question.
And then—
it stepped into the darkness to meet whatever hunted it.