Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
The rusted wheel of the metal cart protested with every rotation against the cold tile floor. Two men clad in white overalls pushed the heavy load down a dimly lit corridor. Their faces were hidden behind thick leather masks and their garments were stained with dark, coagulated fluids.
Inside the cart, a pile of wet, raw meat shifted with the motion. It wasn't animal flesh. Or rather, it wasn't just animal flesh. Three human arms, elongated and covered in scales, dangled over the edge of the metal rim and brushed against the floor.
Buzz. Buzz.
A swarm of fat, black flies followed the cart with persistent hunger.
"God, the stench," one of the cleaners grumbled. He swatted at a fly that landed on his mask. "It gets worse every day."
They passed a row of large glass tubes filled with bubbling green liquid. Inside the suspension fluid floated the twisted failures of previous weeks; dogs with human hands for paws, and cats with weeping sores that resembled eyes.
"Another failure!"
A scream of pure frustration echoed from the far end of the corridor. It bounced off the metal walls and made the cleaners wince.
"The Boss is in a mood again," the second cleaner whispered. He shoved the cart harder to pick up the pace. "His results have been unfavourable lately. He keeps rambling about creating the 'Perfect Species.' Something that can rival a Tumor in strength but obey orders like a soldier."
"Well, just thank God we are on the cleaning crew," the first man replied with a shudder. "Otherwise, it would be us on those operation tables."
They reached the end of the hall and shoved the cart through the double doors that led to the incinerator.
As the doors swung shut, the source of the shouting grew louder and more coherent.
"The cytoplasmic resonance is unstable! The Sarx gene is consuming the host mitochondria instead of splicing with it! Why? Why?!"
The heavy iron doors at the end of the corridor opened to reveal a cavernous chamber. It was a cathedral of horrors. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and fear.
Rows upon rows of pods and tables lined the room. Hundreds of women were hooked up to machines. Tubes ran into their arms and necks like mechanical parasites. And every single one of them was pregnant. Their bellies were distended and swollen to unnatural proportions.
In the centre of the room stood a short man. He wore a dirty lab coat that had once been white. A massive lump deformed his back and gave him the posture of a vulture. His hair was a bird's nest of grey wire, and when he turned, his eyes revealed his madness; one was a piercing blue, the other a sickly yellow.
This was Lord Vanderznak.
He stood before an operating table where a young woman lay strapped down. A gag was tied tight around her mouth but her eyes screamed in terror.
"Perhaps the dosage was insufficient," Vanderznak muttered to himself. "We need to force the mutation."
He grabbed a syringe filled with a glowing purple viscous liquid.
"This sedative will lower your immune response," he told the woman clinically. "And the accelerant mixed within will heighten cellular adaptability. We must hasten the fetus's development."
Thump.
He stabbed the needle into her neck and depressed the plunger. The woman convulsed against her restraints.
"There, there," Vanderznak cooed. He rubbed her swollen belly with a cold, gloved hand. "Don't look at me like that. Your life is in my hands, my dear. You should be proud. You are the mother that will herald the new evolved human species."
He pulled away and threw his hands up in hysterical triumph.
"I am a genius! I will succeed where nature failed!"
He shouted this to the hundreds of women trapped in the room.
"Do you hear me? I am the architect of the future!"
A chorus of low groans and muffled sobs answered him from the pods. The sound of their collective misery seemed to fuel his mania.
"Hah! Hahaha! BWAHAHAHA!"
His laughter rang out and shattered the silence.
In a dark corner of the laboratory, suspended by heavy iron chains that hooked into his wrists, Zareth stirred.
"Ugh..."
The groan was deep and guttural.
Vanderznak stopped laughing. He swivelled his head with bird-like twitchiness.
"Awake are we?"
The scientist sauntered over to the corner. He held a metal clamping tool in his hand.
Zareth hung inches from the floor. His coat and shirt had been stripped away to reveal a torso mapped with scars. Below his feet sat a metal bucket. It was nearly full of dark red blood.
"Let's see…"
Vanderznak crouched down and clamped the tool onto a thick, bulging vein in Zareth's calf.
Squelch.
He squeezed.
"Guh!"
Zareth gritted his teeth as fresh pain shot up his leg. A steady stream of blood flowed from an incision and splashed into the bucket.
"Don't pass out on me again," Vanderznak chided. He stood up and tapped Zareth on the cheek. "I have questions."
Zareth lifted his head. His vision swam but he focused on the deformed little man.
"Who are you? And what is this place?"
"I am Lord Vanderznak," the scientist boasted and spread his arms wide. "And this is my laboratory. These..." he gestured to the pregnant women, "...are my specimens. We are bringing about a great change to humanity."
"You're insane," Zareth spat.
Vanderznak shrugged and let out a giggle. "I take that as a compliment. Sanity is a shackle for the mediocre."
He stepped closer to Zareth and his mismatched eyes scanned the old Priest's body with genuine fascination.
"But you... you are a puzzle."
Vanderznak pointed to the floor. Beside the bucket catching Zareth's blood, there were four other buckets. They were already filled to the brim with crimson fluid.
Vanderznak tapped his chin.
"I have been draining you for hours. Each of these buckets holds exactly three gallons. You have filled four of them completely, and the fifth is nearly full."
He looked at Zareth with a calculating stare. "That is nearly fifteen gallons of blood."
Vanderznak paced back and forth. "The average human body contains approximately one point five gallons. You have produced ten times that amount. And yet..."
He leaned in close and sniffed Zareth.
"...you are still breathing. Your heart is still beating. Your skin is pale, yes, but you are not dead. Just who the hell are you, old man?"
Zareth stared at the madman. The pain in his leg was a dull roar but his thirst was sharper.
"Do you have a cigarette?" Zareth asked hoarsely.
Vanderznak blinked. He was startled by the mundane request. "A cigarette?"
"Yes. A smoke. Unless you want me to die of boredom before I answer."
Vanderznak chuckled. "Fascinating."
He reached into a nearby drawer and produced a silver case. He placed a cigar between Zareth's lips and lit it with a match.
Fsss...
Zareth inhaled deeply. The smoke filled his lungs and dulled the edge of the pain. He blew a thick grey cloud directly into Vanderznak's face.
"Where is the boy?" Zareth asked through the haze.
Vanderznak waved the smoke away, annoyed. "The specimen? He is being taken good care of. Now answer me!"
Zareth took another drag and said dryly. "I'm just a resilient old man. I drink a lot of water."
He smirked. "And by water, I mean liquor."
Vanderznak's face twisted in displeasure. "Lies."
Slice!
He took a scalpel from his pocket and carved a fresh gash into Zareth's other leg.
"Perhaps pain will loosen your…"
AAAAHHH!
A blood-curdling scream cut him off.
The gag had fallen from the mouth of the woman on the operating table. She arched her back so violently that the leather straps creaked.
Squirm. Bulge.
Her belly moved. It rippled and distorted as if something inside was fighting to get out.
"It's here!" Vanderznak shouted. He forgot about Zareth instantly and dashed over to the table in glee. "The acceleration worked! It's here!"
Zareth watched from his chains. He saw the woman's skin stretch to the breaking point.
"Good grief… What the heck is coming?"
Zareth muttered as the cigar dangled from his lip.