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I was an abomination. A thing cobbled together from genetic scraps. The Rodinian DNA that formed my base template gave me the form, the instincts, but not the soul. Not the right.

Yet I had been there, witnessing their unity. And that meant something had changed. Something fundamental in my genetic makeup had shifted during my long suspension.

I moved through the laboratory, gathering supplies. Clothing first—a simple utility jumpsuit that hung from a hook near the decontamination chamber. Then weapons—a plasma knife from a forgotten workstation, a disruptor pistol from an emergency security locker with a broken lock.

My tail flicked with agitation as I worked. The dream still burned in my mind, impossible to dismiss. Why had I been included? Why now, after all this time?

The answer came as I passed a blank wall that slid open at my approach. Hidden, even in this hidden place. A secondary lab, smaller than the main facility. More specialized.

More terrible.

The scent hit me first—sharp and metallic beneath the dust. Old blood. My blood, spilled during countless procedures. The walls were lined with display screens, most dark now, but a few still weakly glowing. They showed genetic maps, splicing projections, neural pathway analyses.

And at the center of the room: a second containment unit. Empty, but prepped. Waiting.

Not for me.

For her.

The data still displayed on the active screens told the story. The scientists had been creating me for a purpose beyond mere destruction. They had engineered me to be a lure. A genetic beacon for Rodinian fate-mates.

I was designed to find her. To bring her back to this place. To use the sacred mating bond of the Rodinians as a weapon.

Because a human with compatible genetic markers—compatible with me—would be the perfect vessel for the next phase of their experiments. A breeding program. A new generation of weapons, born rather than built.

My stomach twisted with revulsion. The dream made sense now. It had never been meant for me to share, but my spliced Rodinian DNA had connected me to their unity as an observer. A witness. A warning.

I knew what I had to do.

I had to find her before anyone else realized what was happening. Before anyone tracking the old frequencies detected the unity broadcast and came to investigate. The scientists who had created me might be gone, but there would be others—governments, cartels, private military contractors—who would kill to acquire their research. To acquire me.

And to acquire her.

I gathered the remaining supplies quickly now, purpose driving my movements. Food packs. Water purification tablets. A med-kit with regenerative patches. I found a tattered scientific journal, its pages filled with handwritten notes about genetic stability in cross-species bonding. I stuffed it into my pack. Knowledge was power, and I needed every advantage.

As I worked, I tried not to think about what it would mean to see them together. To stand before Zehn—a pure Rodinian Reaper—and the woman who was his by cosmic right. Would he see me for what I was? A twisted reflection, a corruption of his proud lineage?

Would she look at me with fear? With disgust?

It shouldn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Their safety—her safety—was more important than my own confused feelings.

I checked the facility’s external sensors, scanning for signs of activity beyond the reinforced walls. The jungle surrounding the black site teemed with life, but nothing humanoid. Nothing sentient. Not yet.

But the site had begun broadcasting the moment I awoke. A low-level ping, designed to alert the original operators that their asset had become active. It was only a matter of time before someone intercepted it. Before they came.

I had to reach Everly first. Had to warn them both.

Before leaving, I accessed the main terminal one last time, initiating a cascading system failure. Lights flickered as power diverted to the self-destruct sequence. It wasn’t enough to destroy the facility completely—the designers had been too thorough for that—but it would buy time. Would bury the worst of the evidence.

The terminal counted down. Twenty minutes until detonation.

I shouldered my makeshift pack and headed for the emergency exit tunnel. The door protested, grinding against years of disuse, but yielded to my enhanced strength. Beyond lay darkness—a long, narrow passage that would lead me to the surface, away from the immediate blast radius.

As I stepped into the tunnel, I allowed myself one final thought about the dream. About the connection I had felt, however uninvited, to both of them. About the way their passion had called to something buried deep within my engineered soul.

I wanted that. Wanted to be part of it.

But what I wanted didn’t matter. Only her safety mattered now. Only protecting them both from what would come hunting.

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