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6 /KHAAZ

I came backto consciousness drowning. At least, that’s what my body believed—lungs burning, muscles spasming against the thick, viscous liquid that filled the containment chamber. My claws scraped against the transparent walls, leaving faint scratches in their wake as my mind struggled to separate reality from the dream that had awakened me. Their dream. The dream of union that wasn’t meant for me to witness, yet had pulled me from my artificial slumber like a hook through water.

The respirator mask clung to my face, forcing oxygen-rich fluid into my lungs with mechanical precision. My body remembered its function even as my mind rebelled against it. How long had I been suspended? Months? Years? The chronometers on my containment unit had long since failed, their displays cracked and dark.

I blinked, pushing against the haze of sedatives still coursing through my system. The laboratory around me was bathed in the dim blue glow of emergency lighting—the main power had failed, leaving only the essential systems running on backup generators. Dust coated the abandoned consoles. Silence pressed against the walls like a physical force.

But I wasn’t truly awake because of system failures or power fluctuations.

It was the dream.

I had seen them. Felt them. Their passion had burned through the chemical cocktail designed to keep me docile, scorching away the artificial sleep like morning sun on fog. The memory of it lingered, sharp and vivid—their bodies entwined, her soft curves against his powerful frame, the sounds they made as they claimed each other.

And I had only been able to watch.

A voyeur to their unity. An intruder in a sacred moment.

The pain of it twisted in my chest, sharp and unfamiliar. I had no right to such feelings. Creatures like me weren’t designed for emotional attachments. We were weapons, nothing more.

My containment unit gave a low, warning beep as my vitals spiked. The suspension fluid began to drain, a programmed response to my increased heart rate and neural activity. The liquid level dropped past my shoulders, my chest, my waist. As the fluid receded, gravity reclaimed me, my muscles protesting as they took on my full weight for the first time in...however long I’d been here.

The respirator detached with a wet, sucking sound, leaving me gasping as my lungs expelled the oxygenated fluid. I coughed violently, the liquid splattering against the bottom of the chamber, my throat raw with the effort. Each breath burned as air replaced fluid. My claws dug into the soft material beneath me as I fought for control.

When the last of the suspension fluid had drained, the containment door slid open with a soft hiss. I stumbled out, my legs unsteady, my tail lashing for balance as I collapsed onto the cold metal floor. The chill against my bare skin was shocking after the regulated temperature of the suspension.

The scars that mapped my body caught the blue emergency lights, silvery against my darker fur. Unlike Zehn’s golden pelt, mine was charcoal gray, striped with black—one of many modifications made to the original Rodinian template. My claws were longer, sharper. My muscle density greater. My senses more acute.

A perfect hunter. A flawless killer.

Subject Khaaz. Asset K-7. The culmination of genetic manipulation spanning twelve species.

I pushed myself upright, shaking off the lingering weakness. The room swam before me, my vision adjusting to the dim light. The laboratory was vast, filled with equipment I recognized all too well—genetic sequencers, molecular assemblers, neural mapping arrays. The tools that had created me. Had shaped me from disparate genetic fragments into something new. Something dangerous.

My earliest memories were of pain. Of being dissected and reassembled. Of scientists in sterile suits observing from behind protective barriers as they tested my reflexes, my strength, my killing efficiency. They spoke of me as a breakthrough, a triumph of bioengineering. Never as a living being.

I had been their perfect weapon, right up until I wasn’t.

Until they realized I could think for myself.

I stumbled toward the nearest terminal, leaving wet footprints across the dusty floor. The console activated at my touch, though the display flickered weakly, starved for power. I navigated through the system with practiced ease, searching for data on how much time had passed since the facility had been abandoned.

The timestamp on the last system entry made my blood run cold.

Fifteen years.

I had been suspended, forgotten, for fifteen years.

The facility evacuation log showed a hasty departure—not planned, but forced. Something had gone wrong. The details were fragmented, corrupted by time and system degradation. But the outcome was clear: the scientists had fled, leaving their work—leaving me—behind.

But not completely abandoned. The automated security systems still ran on minimal power. The defensive protocols remained active. And my containment unit had maintained its function until...until the dream had broken through.

The dream that wasn’t mine.

I closed my eyes, the images flooding back with painful clarity. Zehn and the human female—Everly. Her name had echoed in their shared consciousness. I had felt Zehn’s possessive claim, had experienced the echo of his pleasure as he’d taken her. And I had felt her surrender, her acceptance, her joy.

It was beautiful. Terrifying. Overwhelming.

And I had no place in it.

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