"What should I do? Kill you?" Rick muttered.
"You're just a baby… but you were made in a lab. From my blood."
He stood there, weapon still trembling in his grip, eyes locked on the glass tank like it owed him answers.
"I think…" he exhaled, shaky, "I'll take you in. Containment only. Yeah. This is exactly how horror movies start."
His voice dropped, colder:
"I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone."
She floated in that green-gold fluid—still forming, still watching.
Not Tobey.
Not human.
But breathing.
Alive.
And terrifyingly real.
Then—
Hsssssss
The comm hissed to life.
"Connected to Jennifer: Main Base Model."
"Hey, Rick," came 777's voice, sharp and a little too casual. "Looks like systems are crawling back online."
Rick didn't look up. "Where are you now?"
"You've got GPS on your watch, genius."
Rick glanced down. The screen was cracked to hell—static, black bars, no signal.
"I slammed it while entering this hellscape," he said.
There was a pause.
"…Oh," 777 said. "Yeah. I'm also in the hellscape. Small world."
"What floor?" Rick asked.
"-1. Room AL5."
A pause.
"I'm coming to you," 777 said.
A few seconds later—
"Miss me?" 777's voice echoed from the doorway.
Rick didn't turn. He didn't need to.
777 stepped inside, and then—
Jaw. Dropped.
"Holy shit—what the actual fuck," he muttered, staring at the tank.
"It's a baby," Rick said calmly.
"I know," 777 breathed. "I can see it."
Rick turned slightly. "Let me finish."
"Carry on." 777 didn't blink.
Rick nodded once. "Here's what happened—"
"Wait, let me guess," 777 cut in, voice suddenly dead serious. "You stepped on a broken tile, lost your balance, smacked a red button you shouldn't have, and now you're one needle short of a horror movie prototype."
He pulled his pistol.
And aimed it square at Rick.
"Tell me if I need to run the code. Code Zero," he said coldly. "Because I swear to god, if you become the next enemy of mankind—"
Rick didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink.
Just turned his head, slow and deliberate, and gave him that look.
That dead-eyed, demon-stare, end-of-the-world gaze.
777 stared back, finger tight on the trigger.
Then…
His hand trembled.
He sighed, lowered the pistol, and holstered it.
"Goddammit, man," 777 muttered, lowering the pistol. "You're way too calm for someone who might've just made a mini-apocalypse."
Rick gave a small shrug, eyes drifting back to the tank.
"I didn't ask to be her father," he said, voice quiet. Steady.
777 leaned against the doorway, arms folded, still staring at the baby floating in the gel. Her tiny fingers twitched—like she was dreaming already.
"But it looks like she picked you anyway," he said, half a smirk playing on his face.
Rick didn't look away. "And the needle? Sucked my blood."
"Okay." 777's brow twitched. "So you're not turning into anything. Not yet, anyway."
"Any other questions?"
"Just one," 777 said, walking closer. "That thing… it's made from your blood, right?"
Rick exhaled like it hurt. "Sadly, yes."
"So," 777 nodded, staring at the screen, "that means we've got two."
Rick's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Which gives us two options. Kill it... or keep it."
777 didn't hesitate. "Kill's off the table for me."
Rick nodded slowly. "Same here. For now."
He glanced around the dim lab. "Anyway, I think that tank's a standalone unit."
777 stepped in beside him, tapping a few keys on the nearby console. A few screens flickered to life, their glow pale and sickly. The status panel lit up with a faint green hue, and in the corner of the display—almost hidden in the UI clutter—tiny text read:
[ALL PROCESSES COMPLETE]
[STANDALONE TANK UNIT: DISCONNECTABLE / MOBILE]
777 leaned back. "Huh. You're right."
Rick pointed at the text. "There. That's how I knew."
777 smirked, rubbing his face. "And here I was about to pull a full system trace. Why'd you let me stress?"
Rick shrugged. "Wanted to be sure."
"Did you take care of the science project?"
"Nope," 777 muttered. "Couldn't get the flamethrower to light. Thing hates me."
Rick held out his hand. "Give it."
777 unslung the weapon and passed it over. "Here you go. Be my guest."
Rick gripped it like it was part of his arm. "Let's go."
But before they moved, 777 reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny camera module. He held it up between two fingers.
"This little guy should keep an eye on our... small guest."
He peeled back a corner panel near the tank and slotted the camera inside, syncing it to his watch with a few quick taps.
"Motion-triggered, encrypted, and creepy-proof."
As they stepped out of the lab, Rick leading with the flamethrower slung, 777 froze mid-step.
"…Wait."
Rick turned, brow raised. "What now?"
"My brain's not braining," 777 said, eyes squinting like something clicked. "If you were down here the whole time… then who fired that shot at the mimic when I got in?"
Rick stopped walking.
"You heard it too?"
777 narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean 'too'? You heard the same thing?"
Rick nodded slowly, expression flattening. "Yeah. Thought I imagined it."
"Ghost bullets?" 777 muttered, uneasy.
"Or someone else out there."
A beat of silence.
Rick finally said, "Let's get back to the AL5 room. We review everything there—then we move."
777 nodded. "Nice move. Let's go before something else starts shooting."
And just like that, the air felt heavier again.
Because someone else might be watching.
And they had a gun.
They were back in AL5.
The door sealed behind them with a hiss, and the hum of the containment tank murmured like background noise—like the baby inside was listening.
Rick leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes heavy.
"I'll go first," he said. "Then you tell yours."
777 gave a short nod. "Shoot."
Rick exhaled through his nose, then launched in. "So here's what happened…"
He laid it out clean. From the second he stepped into the woods to the moment he ended up face-to-face with synthetic creation. Every flicker. Every scream. Every second that made no sense.
"…That thing was behind me," he finished. "I saw this lab's door cracked open and slid inside. Then—gunfire. Something hit the mimic. It screamed. I didn't shoot."
Silence stretched for half a second.
Then 777 gave his account.
Quick. Sharp. Calculated. Every detail from spotting the mimic, climbing the trees, the failed flamethrower, to his encounter with the fake Rick.
When he finished, Rick stared at the floor like it owed him an explanation.
"We've got more on our plate than we thought."
"No shit," 777 muttered.
Rick's voice dropped. "Two monsters—confirmed. Possibly more. The chance of us both entering this lab at the exact same time, from separate routes, without running into each other?"
"Damn near zero."
"Which means someone else was here before us," Rick said. "Might've been Tobey. Or someone connected to all this. And the gunshot? Someone pulled that trigger."
777's jaw clenched. "Don't forget the mimic's tricks. Shifting forms. Hijacking voices. Warping memories. Inserting fake ones. Shutting down tech."
Rick nodded. "And now we're being watched. Maybe by the shooter. Maybe by something worse."
The containment tank gave a soft whump, like it agreed.
777 cracked his neck. "So. We've got a lab built like a horror film, a mimic that plays psychological warfare, some invisible third party, and a test-tube kid that might be a failsafe or a ticking bomb."
Rick looked toward the baby in the tank.
"We're not alone in here," he said, low.
777 checked his pistol. "Then let's go find who else signed up for this nightmare."
Rick turned toward the door, his voice colder than steel.
"Yeah. Let's go kill that bitch."
They moved.
Silent. Sharp.
The door to the lab groaned open, metal scraping against concrete like a warning shot. The fog outside hadn't thinned—it was thicker now, like the forest was trying to keep something hidden.
Their boots crunched on loose gravel and broken roots as they stepped out into the open.
And froze.
Right there—just a few meters from the lab entrance—
lay the mimic.
Or… what was left of it.
Its body twitched in slow, dying pulses. Limbs bent at unnatural angles. Skin peeling off like it was rejecting its own shape. Its mouth hung open mid-scream, no sound escaping, just a soft gargle like something unfinished trying to beg for mercy.
The eyes—if you could call them that—shifted rapidly between forms. Rick's. Tobey's. 777's. Jennifer's logo.
Then—static.
Its body rippled once more.
Then stopped.
Completely.
Rick raised his gun anyway. No movement.
He stepped forward, checking the corpse. The mimic's chest cavity was hollowed—like something had burned through it from the inside out.
"Wasn't me," Rick muttered.
"Wasn't me either," 777 replied, slowly lowering his own weapon.
They stood there, quiet, watching the corpse crumble.
"What the hell killed it?" 777 asked.
Rick didn't answer.
Not yet.
He crouched low, scanning the ground near the corpse. No signs of fire. No tracks. Just ash. Black, fine, unnatural.
Then he looked up at the trees—at the fog coiling above.
"It wasn't us," Rick said. "But someone... or something... didn't want it alive either."
A moment passed.
Then 777 stepped back. "We're not just being followed."
Rick nodded slowly.
"We're being cleaned up."
They both looked back at the lab entrance.
Then to the treeline.
And neither said a word.
Because whatever killed the mimic was still out there.
And it had just saved them.
Which meant…
It had a reason.
And reasons are always worse.