A seed germinating, just beginning its journey to break through the soil.
It wasn't with a snap or a dramatic jolt—the functions of the Thanocardia returned from one second to the next.
Until that moment, the void had been clean. A controlled interval. The brief lapse during which the Thanocardia remained separated, suspended in its container, disconnected from the body it had learned to claim as its own. A narrow margin measured in seconds, during which Andy continued breathing thanks to residual impulses and a circulatory system that was no longer entirely human.
The biggest problem was that there no longer existed a "heart" that could simply limit itself to beating.
The Thanocardia didn't just invade the organ; somehow—in a way Jarek couldn't explain even with all of Dereck's medical knowledge—it completely replaced the heart and its adjacent connections.
Where once there had been a compact organ, now there was a living, branching network that had infiltrated between muscles, vessels, and nerves. It rebuilt the center. Hybrid tissues mimicked microscopic roots that extended, reinforcing arteries, embracing lungs, anchoring to the sternum. Every contraction of Andy's chest was now a shared choreography between two intruders that never should have appeared in the first place.
The assimilation process had already become irreversible at this point.
That was why ripping it out had never been an option to begin with. And trying to exploit the symbiosis to control the bastard—like he had done so many times with his two previous hosts—and force it out would only end with the woman's death. He couldn't simply reverse it, any more than someone can remove their own blood vessels because they don't like the color. At this stage, it wouldn't be wrong to say that Andy had become an excessively noisy vehicle.
Rebuilding a complex network of organs and nerves from scratch right after cutting them was an impossible feat for his current self, so he opted for his second choice before even considering the idea of eradicating all infected parts entirely and regrowing them.
After some experiments, Jarek discovered that it wasn't necessary to remain connected to the Thanocardia—at least for a brief moment each day. The first two hours after separation passed without visible signs of it waking, aside from an uncomfortable sensation in the chest.
But everything changed an hour later.
The circulatory system began redistributing resources on its own, activating secondary routes that only existed because the Thanocardia had created them. Tissues that shouldn't have reacted did.
Jarek didn't wait a second longer and dove back in. He reconnected his body with that of his roommate and sent it back into deep sleep before anything unfortunate could happen.
Three hours. Not a minute more, not a minute less. Those were the only moments of the day when he could detach and focus his efforts on an extremely slow—but so far mostly effective—method of elimination.
Since the parasite was too deeply integrated, Jarek worked cell by cell.
During those three hours, he isolated microscopic fragments of tissue: contractile fibers that belonged to no human catalog and foreign cell nuclei. He neutralized them patiently and, in their place, reintroduced the original material.
Cardiac tissue cultured from remnants the Thanocardia hadn't fully absorbed. Stem cells forced to remember who they were before learning new rules. Replacing each part took longer than he'd like to admit.
If he advanced too quickly, the wretched thing would wake up and calming it became an exhausting task.
If he stopped, the Thanocardia would expand again, reclaiming lost space like a selfish child trying to take back the toy its sibling stole the moment they stopped paying attention.
It might be stupid, but like every living thing, it had an impressive instinct for self-preservation.
It didn't understand the concept of elimination, but it did understand loss. It responded by reinforcing the areas Jarek neglected in that microsecond when it managed to wake, trying to anticipate the voids he opened. It was a silent war, with no visible blood, fought on microscopic scales.
The first time Jarek truly understood the infection's speed was particularly infuriating. Two full days of meticulous work—hours of clean replacements, almost imperceptible but real progress—vanished in an instant. When he reevaluated the system, it was exactly where he had started.
As if nothing had changed.
As if it had mocked him.
With every defeat, the same question appeared.
¿How was it possible that something like this hadn't killed Andy before he could intervene?
Three hours a day to kill it, and the rest of the time was devoted to containing it. Making sure the body didn't collapse, that Andy kept breathing without suspecting her life hung on a microscopic tightrope.
Curing her wasn't the problem. The real challenge was keeping her alive long enough to achieve it.
And, to be honest, he wasn't particularly in a hurry to succeed.
Despite being an inexhaustible source of stress and the number-one candidate to eventually drive him to suicide, the Thanocardia also functioned as an ally. A deeply unorthodox one, but an ally in the end.
As long as the little wretch stayed alive, Andy wouldn't have a real reason to actively seek a way to get rid of him.
Honestly, it was a situation that would have caused him baldness.
--------------------------
Neither of them was in a hurry to return to the apartment. With the floating risk of being intercepted by Ripley, going back would only bring more problems.
Problems that, for once, both preferred to postpone indefinitely.
They had a full week free to rest, sheltered in one of the cabins at the resort. A small room, but surprisingly cozy. Warm wood, real silence, and a door that didn't lead straight to uncomfortable interrogations. It was the only thing they had to pay for, and fortunately Jarek had covered the expenses.
Though that completely depleted his savings.
— Wow — he thought, as a slow smile formed. — I'll have to pay that boy a little visit.
The image of his generous benefactor crossed his mind with absolute clarity.
—I don't want stealing things to become a habit, thank you — Andy replied.
They remained seated on the edge of the thermal pool, watching the steam curl between the low lamps and the resort's vegetation. Hot water, free food and drinks. Feet submerged up to their ribs. Everything could be perfect, if not for one small problem.
—You don't have to stay — the man said, with a smile that was too forced. — Seriously. I'm fine alone.
The Æthari tilted her head slowly.
But — she replied after a brief pause — if you're here, and I'm here, then we can both be alone… together.
— Look at them — Jarek murmured, leaning against the stone while spying on the couple from a hole he himself had made. — If someone looked at me like that, I'd get married.
Andy let out a breath through her nose from the other side of the wall.
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At sunset.
The path wound along the slope, polished by the slow passage of footsteps and small wheels. It wasn't steep, but serpentine enough to force walking without haste, following the natural rhythm of the terrain. The stone, worn and still warm from the day's sun, contrasted with the cool shadow descending from the peaks.
On both sides, vegetation grew. Low shrubs, thick mosses clinging to rocks, and twisted-trunk trees that seemed to lean slightly toward the trail. Among their branches, the sunset light fractured into golden and orange tones as it passed through the leaves, scattering in various spots while dancing on the ground.
At Jarek's request (though really because he needed to stretch his legs), they had decided to take the route on foot. According to him, it was important to integrate with the environment.
Three steps later, peace died when the same couple from before stopped right in front of them. The exact distance to prevent passing without pushing one of them. Andy had to press herself against the stone wall to avoid falling straight into the underbrush.
The Æthari turned abruptly. Not to look at Andy, but to wrap her arms around the human, resting her chin on his shoulder with alarming naturalness. The man tensed immediately, trying to keep walking while she clung as if the path might steal him at any moment.
Andy wondered why, among all the guests who had come to this activity, she had to end up teamed with them. A thick, rough, reliable safety rope was tied around the waists of all three as part of the "safe guided tour through unstable areas." A brilliant idea, according to the brochure. A criminal idea, according to Andy, who now perfectly understood why the guides insisted so much on not separating.
The path decided, in a completely personal way, that it had tolerated enough weight for one day and opened in a short but scandalous landslide. Earth, gravel, and moss slid downhill.
Andy barely had time to think "oh, of course" before losing her balance.
The rope snapped taut.
The human screamed.
The Æthari clung even tighter, convinced the problem was clearly that he wasn't close enough.
The stressful taunts in her head hurt more than the impact itself.
--------------------------
At nightfall.
Jarek tiptoed between the planks of the resort with a destination in mind. The lights were warm, more decorative than functional. Paper lanterns hung between wooden columns, swaying gently in the night breeze. Steam still escaping from some pools drifted lazily across the ground before vanishing completely.
He stopped in front of a discreet door, almost invisible between the beams. No decorations, just a simple lock and a warning carved directly into a sign so worn it was barely legible.
Restricted Access.
Jarek smiled.
His form rippled slightly. He didn't separate from Andy's body, but loosened just enough to slide part of himself out and force the lock. If there was a place where all the information about the resort and nearby dangerous sites was stored, it was definitely the owner's office.
Or in his brain. Either way, both options were behind the door.
A venue in the middle of nowhere that had reopened overnight, without prior notice or visible evidence of any remodeling, according to what Jarek had gathered while returning to Andy's apartment. It wasn't just possible that something bad was going to happen; it was practically guaranteed.
That he had dared the universe to make "that something" happen sooner wasn't a big deal.
The universe, apparently, had listened.
From the other side of the door came movement. Footsteps. Two different rhythms: one irregular, the other far too light. The door burst open before Jarek could even touch it, so hard and sudden that it actually hit him.
The Æthari appeared first, ducking to force her way out. The building seemed designed to easily accommodate her large size. She had the human practically glued to her side, one arm wrapped around his torso. He, true to tradition, struggled with all his strength, fighting for a freedom that—judging by previous experience—would only last a few miserable seconds.
The Æthari nodded enthusiastically, resting her forehead against his shoulder and pushing him a little further inside.
Of course it's them.
Of course it's now.
Jarek froze, genuinely disturbed. Not only had he not detected either of their presences until they were right on top of him—which was already alarming—but they were also in the owner's office. Exactly where they shouldn't be.
The human, for his part, looked up at Jarek with silent desperation. A mute plea that said "get me out of here."
That night it became impossible for him to continue with his plans.
--------------------------
The next day was more of the same.
The couple appeared at the worst possible moment every single time.
Somehow—mystical, statistically impossible, and deeply offensive—they always ran into those two, no matter where he went.
The universe was strategically dropping them in his path just to remind him that peace was never an option.
If Jarek slipped through service corridors, there they were. If he tried to snoop in a guest-forbidden area, a huge shadow fell over him. If he finally found a quiet corner to concentrate, a too-close human breath and an even closer Æthari hug ruined any attempt at stealth.
A series of exasperating coincidences that drove him insane.
— Hey — he whispered in Andy's mind — Let's kill them
— No — she replied with a calmness that bordered on chilling. — Just ignore them.
Andy was all smiles, exactly the opposite of the stress consuming Jarek's mental energy. It was the experience accumulated over years and years of dealing with impossibly annoying people that made it easier for her.
Besides, for the first time in days, her body had completely relaxed.
The hot springs had done their job. The accumulated tension had slowly dissolved between steam and heat. Her muscles no longer protested, her mind no longer raced from one problem to another, and—strange as it was to admit—sleeping without interruptions had changed many things. Even her attitude toward Jarek—previously cold, rude, distant, and slightly condescending—had softened into something almost comfortable.
"She's getting used to this way too fast."
The thought crossed Jarek's mind with an uncomfortable mix of suspicion and bewilderment. After the initial scare, she didn't seem to have too many problems carrying him inside while he roamed her guts. Maybe it was because Andy had always lived surrounded by phenomena that, in her previous life, only existed in fantasy or in poorly classified books gathering dust on shelves. That, or she was retarded.
Neither possibility was as reassuring as it should have been.
—Aren't you upset? — he insisted, still tense. — They keep talking, invading my… our personal space.
Andy rolled her eyes. — I've dealt with worse people — she said in a low tone. — Much worse.
The days had been long. Strangely long and, at the same time, the week flew by. Before he could fully notice, they were already packing the few belongings they had brought, preparing to return home.
With Ripley's tight schedule, running into him shouldn't be a concern for a very, very long time. In any case, it would be enough to disappear into some remote corner for another week or even two. Avoid advanced scans or stares that lingered too long. It wouldn't be the first time Andy had erased herself from the map for long periods to avoid overly persistent problems. She had just done it.
The difference was that she wouldn't be alone. She still wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
She opened the main door, expecting to find the same compact gravel path, the gentle slope descending toward the bus station. Instead, the hallway stared back at her. The same one, intact and perfectly arranged.
The distant song of insects, the muffled voices of employees, the occasional murmur of the few remaining guests—all vanished the precise instant they crossed the threshold.
Andy froze, hand still on the door, thinking she had made a mistake. She took a few steps back, inspected the frame, the floor, the tilt of one of the wall paintings. Everything matched. Every detail confirmed that yes, this was the right path—but something didn't feel right.
The ambient noise didn't return.
Not an echo, not a whisper, not even the insects that usually bothered at night.
—Hurry up, I want to avoid traffic.
Jarek's voice snapped her out of her spiral of thoughts. Andy blinked, barely aware she had been standing still for several seconds.
—¿Was this the right way? — she murmured at last. — I feel like we should already be outside.
—So much steam melted your sense of direction — he replied. — But I don't blame you, all the rooms look the same.
Andy didn't answer.
Door after door was opened, with less and less pause between each. Open, advance, look. Hand on the knob, turn, push. One step forward. Eyes scanning the space for just an instant before repeating the process. Open again. A sequence of movements so insistent it began to lose any trace of conscious intent. She wasn't running, but she also wasn't advancing with the distracted calm of someone strolling without hurry, counting fallen leaves on the pavement or letting themselves be carried by irrelevant thoughts. It was always the same pristine hallway, the same distance between doors, the same even lighting, the same sensation of moving without really progressing.
She stopped after opening the twentieth door.
She rested one hand on the frame, struggling to catch her breath, her pulse racing too fast for someone who, technically, had only been jogging slowly. The silence didn't help, there was no sound to mark the passage of time, nothing external to cling to in order to confirm they were making progress.
Jarek peeked out from behind Andy, stretching far enough to look both ways down the corridor and back at the sections they'd already passed. Andy barely noticed. She wasn't in any condition to worry about whether someone was watching or how absurd the scene must look from the outside. She desperately needed someone else to appear. Anyone. Someone to break the silence with a clumsy sound, a stifled shout, even a sigh of relief upon discovering they weren't alone in that impossible repetition.
—¡Yes! — Jarek suddenly shouted, far too happy for the situation.
He used one of Andy's arms as if it were his own, activating the Garm scan with almost childish enthusiasm only to discover they were the only victims in the vicinity.
Jarek extended part of himself forward and raised her hand.
—¡It's finally happening, give me five! — he ordered, according to him, to earn the right to be in charge. — My turn.
The hand hung in the air for a few seconds before being swatted away with a sharp slap, and a judgmental glare appeared. Seeing how little importance Jarek gave the situation, Andy let out a small scream from her throat and began shaking the cord that connected them.
—¡¿Is this your fault?! — she exclaimed while symbolically strangling him.
Jarek, swaying uncontrollably, took half a second to respond.
—Not yet, give me five minutes and it will be.
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It's been a month already?!
Damn, I didn't even feel it.