For Isabel.

  Two scientists in lab coats walked side by side, nodding as their colleagues greeted them in passing. Their destination was a heavily fortified door—unmarked, with no label or number. Each side of the door was equipped with a handprint scanner. The scientists placed their palms on the locks simultaneously, triggering a loud chime as the door slid open vertically. Beyond the threshold, they saw him.

  "This your first time seeing him?" asked the older scientist, glancing at his clipboard as he addressed his partner.

  "Yeah... Varryance Preez, right? I've heard his name all over the cafeteria. Honestly, he just looks like a normal guy."

  Inside the stark, white room, a single patient floated in a large, liquid-filled containment tank. Chains mounted the tank to the walls, while tubes snaked from the patient's nose and mouth, feeding him oxygen and nutrients through an intricate network of external machinery.

  The patient's eyes fluttered open, vision blurry through the viscous liquid. Electrodes were strapped to his head and chest, transmitting data to monitors that tracked his heart rate, brain activity, and even his dreams.

  The older scientist stepped closer, clipboard in hand. "Vitals check. Hunger?"

  "Normal. A little hungry," his partner replied, studying the monitors.

  "Thirst?"

  "Needs water."

  "Breath?"

  "Normal."

  "Heart rate?"

  "Fifty beats per minute."

  "Dreams?"

  "None."

  The older scientist paused, his tone lowering as he asked, "And the neuro parasite?"

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  The younger man shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the patient. "Inactive... thank God. This whole thing makes me uneasy. What's his deal, anyway? Why is he so important?"

  "Well," the older man began, scanning his notes, "he's hosting the parasite, but he's not being controlled by it. According to this, his risk of manipulation is only two out of ten. That's... unheard of."

  The younger scientist stared at the patient, unease growing in his expression. "Is two out of ten good or bad?"

  "Twenty percent isn't great, but it's far lower than the usual range. After the Flash, most hosts have an 80% chance of manipulation because of how advanced the parasite is. But this guy? Something about him is... different." The older man crossed the room to retrieve a machine while his partner watched the patient, visibly unsettled.

  The machine in hand, the older scientist instructed, "Hook this up to the drain port. We need to clear his system."

  The younger scientist nodded and connected a pipe to the back of the containment unit, linking it to a large hole at the base. He grimaced as the procedure began, the machine's grotesque suction noises filling the room.

  "God, this is disgusting. The parasite thing's creepy enough, but this? Ugh."

  The older scientist smirked faintly. "It's our job. If he can survive with that thing inside him, maybe we can find a way to survive it too."

  The younger man hesitated, then asked, "But if he can survive, doesn't that mean he's the cure?"

  The older man sighed. "Not exactly. The neuro parasite isn't some biological pathogen you can cure by extracting antibodies. It's his brain—something about how it interacts with the parasite is unique. Why else would we be monitoring his neural activity and dreams?"

  The machine finished its task, and the younger scientist disconnected it, returning it to its place in the corner. As he passed the tank, he caught the patient's gaze. Despite everything, there was something eerily calm in those eyes.

  "It's crazy how long you've lasted," the younger man murmured. "Maybe you really are the key to fixing this screwed-up world."

  His partner joined him, tapping his clipboard. "Alright. He'll need water now and food tomorrow. Grab the blue pump and set it up."

  The younger man followed the instructions, attaching the water machine to one of the designated ports at the front of the tank. The pipes hissed softly as water began flowing into the patient's mouth.

  The room's sterile quiet was suddenly shattered by a blaring announcement: "Attention! The facility is now on high alert. Lockdown is in effect. Any intruders will be executed on sight!" The message repeated, accompanied by an ear-splitting alarm. The fortified door slammed shut, the lights shifting to an ominous red.

  The two scientists froze, exchanging nervous glances as the sound of distant footsteps echoed through the halls.