As I reached the lab, a few scientists barreled into me, nearly knocking me over as they sprinted past, screaming.

“Shit…” I muttered, pushing myself upright. My gaze locked onto the symbols etched on the surface of Pray's glass prison—they were glowing, pulsing as if reacting to his transformed state. I stared, horrified. What was that thing? Was that... him? Could that monstrous, swirling mass of tendrils be Pray? I could barely process what I was seeing: a gaping maw lined with hundreds of teeth, and countless eyes flickering in every direction.

Nearby, Graves shouted orders to the guards, but I was transfixed, unable to look away from what Pray had become. Then… his eyes shifted, locking onto me. Suddenly, the writhing tendrils slowed, a strange calmness settling over the chaos as he looked at me. Graves and the others didn’t notice—they were too busy reloading their tranquilizer guns, their discarded rounds already scattered across the floor of his cell. Pray must have been fighting them all.

Finally, Graves spotted me and glared, clearly furious that I hadn’t followed his orders. “Stay back,” he barked, his voice tense.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I took a step forward, staring through the glass wall—his prison. Fear gripped me, as it would anyone, but there was something about the way Pray hesitated at the sight of me. My gaze fixed on the mass of his tendrils, frozen in place. The glow from the symbols etched on the glass cast a reflection across his inky black form—the only thing holding him inside that glass prison. And yet… something about me seemed to affect him. Graves had said he didn’t have any sexual desires, but what I felt yesterday was real. The way his body pressed against mine—there was a need in it. An instinct, maybe. Like an animal seeking a mate. That had to be it; he saw me as a potential mate.

I was barely aware of the other scientists fleeing the room, the guards shouting into their radios. I only saw Pray.

As I moved closer, I could see his tendrils shifting, their restless movement slowing further. But then his attention snapped away, and he let out a chilling growl. The guards inside the glass prison had raised their rifles, aiming directly at him.

“No…” I whispered. They were provoking him. He was calming down—he was calming down. “Wait, don’t—” My hand stretched out instinctively, a silent plea for them to stop. But my voice was drowned out by the sudden barrage of gunfire, unleashed on Graves’s orders.

Pray’s red eyes flickered, and his tendrils flared outward in a violent, spear-like array, lashing in every direction. The glass prison trembled under the force of his rage, a low, guttural growl building in his chest. One tendril shot forward, wrapping around a guard with bone-crushing speed. A sickening crunch echoed through the room as he was dragged into the mass, devoured.

Another guard was soon yanked off his feet, rifle clattering on the metallic floor. Blood painting across the glass where I stood, my jaw dropping. This was insanity, so much death…that could have been avoided.

Then came the screams—the desperate cries of guards as the tranquilizing bullets made contact with his writhing form. I flinched at each sickening thud, the darts embedding themselves in his inky flesh. A guttural howl erupted from Pray, reverberating through the glass like a tortured animal's wail, sharp and raw.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the horrific scene unfolding before me. But the sounds seeped in, relentless—the crack of bone, the scrape of tendrils dragging across the floor, the muffled pleas of those who were too close, caught in his wrath. The air grew thick with the scent of fear and something darker, primal and metallic.

A pause. Then a shudder ran through the room as his monstrous movements slowed, the frenzied thrashing fading. Tentatively, I opened my eyes, bracing for the worst.

A blood-soaked canvas spread across the glass, the once-glowing symbols now dark. The remaining guards were panting, their eyes wide with disbelief that they were still alive. Inside the glass, Pray’s monstrous form loomed, his growls finally silenced, though his tendrils still writhed, moving with a sluggish, restless energy. It seemed the sedatives couldn’t fully subdue him. He truly was a remarkable—and terrifying—being.

The silence shattered as Graves barked orders to the remaining personnel, those who hadn’t fled or been killed. He was desperate to regain control, as always. The chaos, the blood, the violence—it was finally over. I felt numb to it all, except for the strange pity growing within me for Pray. Perhaps none of this had been necessary. Perhaps no one needed to die. Maybe he didn’t have to be hurt like this.

Maybe it was just naive optimism, but deep down, I didn’t think he even understood that hurting others was wrong.

Before long, a cleaning crew flooded the containment unit, and I knew I couldn’t linger. I stepped away from the glass wall, a strange determination settling over me. Pray had attacked out of fear—I was certain of it. Someone must have provoked him. He was calm when he saw me, wasn’t he?

I couldn’t help but think back to what had happened between us. He didn’t want to hurt me—not really. Maybe… maybe I had overreacted, thinking he would kill me. But that didn’t excuse the violation I felt, the sense of being trapped and cornered. My thoughts drifted back to the possibility that he simply didn’t understand human social interactions. That had to be it. No one had ever taught him how to act like a human—what was right or wrong, what was acceptable or not. He was scared, and he hesitated when he saw me today. That had to mean something.

Even after I bit him, even after our conflict, there was still a part of him that seemed to want me around. His actions might have been driven by instinct, by a primal desire to mate. If he saw me as a potential mate, it explained so much. That had to be the reason behind his behavior.

Pushing those thoughts aside for now, I returned to my work, recording data at the computers. Graves was preoccupied with other matters, shouting orders at the remaining staff, likely forgetting all about my earlier outburst. Considering everything that had just happened, I couldn’t blame him—he had bigger problems to deal with.

I glanced toward the glass prison, watching as the cleaning crew wiped down the blood-streaked walls and replaced the damaged furniture. It was fascinating, really—how prepared they were. They had fresh furniture on standby, ready to swap out as if this sort of chaos was routine. How often does this happen? I wondered. Do the other subjects cause this much damage too?

Eventually, Graves left the lab, muttering something about filing reports. The glass cell was spotless now, and Pray—still immobilized—seemed to have been cleaned as well. It was just the two of us again.

With a sigh, I continued my data collection. I skipped his scheduled sedative dose; he’d had more than enough for one day.

Everything was calm, yet the events of yesterday replayed in my mind. I thought back to the taste of his blood in my mouth—a detail I hadn’t considered until now. What if he infected me with something? Pulling out a syringe, I drew my own blood, placing the sample into a metal tray with holding tubes. The machine beeps as it seals shut, then begins whirring and clicking, scanning my blood for any abnormalities.

I waited, glancing at the clock. It was already evening, and I could tell it would be a long, drawn-out night. My thoughts drifted from the lab, settling on my family back home. If they only knew… how their little girl grew up to be part of this. But it was all classified. No one would ever know about Pray. Such knowledge would die with me—or anyone who dared to protect it.

The machine beeped again, snapping me back to the present. The results flickered onto the screen. All negative for blood-borne illnesses. At least they kept him clean.

A soft grunt came from the cell.

My gaze immediately shifted to Pray, who was beginning to move. His mass of tendrils slowly retracted, coalescing back into his human form. And there he was, naked. I instinctively turned away, a reflex born from some lingering sense of privacy. But then I stopped myself—he wasn’t human. He didn’t even understand shame. So why did it matter?

When I turned back to my desk, I caught my breath in surprise. He was standing right at the glass wall, undressed, both hands pressed flat against the surface, his red eyes fixed unwaveringly on me.

I hesitated, unsure of what to do. The sight of him, so exposed, made me self-conscious in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

I stood and approached the glass, his gaze following me with each step. I knew he could hear me through the small holes in the barrier. “You should put your clothes on,” I said, turning slightly to avoid his direct stare, my eyes flicking to the wall as if to grant him some dignity. But he didn’t move. He simply stood there, still as stone, watching me. I sighed, wondering if he even understood what I meant.

“You came back…” he said softly, his voice carrying an odd weight.

I hesitated before answering. “Yeah, I did.”

“Did… I do something wrong?” His voice was flat, monotone. “Is that why you refused me?”

I froze. This was it—confirmation of what I’d suspected all along. He didn’t understand the implications of his actions with humans. He hadn’t tried to harm me out of malice; he simply didn’t know any better.

As I looked at him more closely, I noticed red marks all over his body, even the bite from the other day—still raw but without scars. He seemed to heal faster than normal beings.

“It’s…complicated,” I said, searching for the right way to explain human interactions.

“Complicated…?” he echoed, tilting his head in confusion.

I decided to be direct. “You can’t just force yourself on people.”

“Why not? We are compatible and therefore made for me. Are you not mine?”

Whoa. I blinked, taken aback by his reasoning. For some reason, he believed in ownership and compatibility with me, which he was very wrong about.

“First of all, you can’t just claim strangers. Secondly, we aren’t compatible—”

“But we are!” he growled, pressing his hands firmly against the glass. I couldn’t help but notice the shift in his expression—anger, or something close to it, breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. Anger being one of them. 

“That’s impossible,” I said, trying not to provoke him further but genuinely confused.

“Your body tells me… it is,” he replied quietly, slipping back into that unsettling monotone.

“What do you mean by… my body?” I asked, wary.

“You were made for me,” he insisted, a note of finality in his voice.

This wasn’t going anywhere. I sighed, backing away from the glass wall, and came to a halt as the lab door opened.

“Dr. Collins,” Graves called out, approaching with a clipboard in hand.

“Dr. Graves,” I replied, maintaining a calm tone. I knew this confrontation was bound to happen eventually.

“I’d like to talk to you in my office.”

I gave a silent nod, my eyes flickering to Pray. He was still, watching, never moving as I turned to follow Graves. The older man glanced between Pray and me, ensuring I was right behind him.

It didn’t take long to reach his office. Once inside, Graves closed the door and let out a sigh, rubbing his face with a tired hand. I could only imagine what was on his mind.

“You need to understand something, Dr. Collins,” he began, his tone laced with a subtle warning. “I’m not here to hold your hand through this. When you’re in that chamber, you’re on your own. You’re responsible for your actions—and for whatever happens. Do you understand?”

His words were harsh, but there was a weary edge to them, as though he’d repeated this warning countless times. I could only wonder how many scientists before me had failed, how many had underestimated what Pray was truly capable of.

“I understand,” I replied, nodding.

Graves raised an eyebrow, surprised by my calm response. “Do you? Because last time, you seemed on the verge of a breakdown.”

His words hit hard, but I felt different now. Perhaps it was the sympathy I felt after what had happened with Pray. Despite the danger and my frustration with him, what kept me here was Pray himself… and his unsettling interest in me. Part of me wanted to help him, to reach the creature within, if that was even possible.

“I guess after today, I’m seeing things… differently,” I said in an even tone.

Graves lifted an eyebrow again, surprised at my acceptance. “Is that so? So, I’m not going to get another outburst from you?”

“No, sir,” I said, nodding. “And I apologize for earlier.”

“Interesting.” He sized me up, suspicion lingering in his narrowed eyes as he tried to read me. Then he shifted his focus back to the notes in front of him. “Last we spoke… before his rampage. You mentioned he wanted to mate with you?” he asked, his tone serious.

“Yes,” I nodded. “Last night he displayed mating behavior and spoke about it.”

“That’s not like him.” Graves scratched his scruffy face in thought. His chair rolled back as he stood and reached for a binder from a metal cabinet, its cover stamped with “003.” He placed it on his desk and opened it, flipping through the pages. “Pray—Subject 003,” he began, “has always been aloof. Distant, yet dangerous.” He paused, watching the pages as they turned. “We’ve long suspected he might be… beyond us.”

“Beyond… us?” I tilted my head, intrigued.

He stopped on a page, revealing a very old monochrome photograph. The image showed Pray’s glass prison with the same symbols etched onto it.

“This is…”

“Yes, 1904. That’s when he was discovered. He’s been inside that box ever since. It’s how they contained him,” Graves explained, crossing his arms as he studied the image. “After that, he was transferred between top-secret labs. We eventually realized the box itself was a trap to contain him… because he’s too dangerous to be released.”

“And… how exactly does it contain him?” I asked.

“The markings. Based on the documentation, they suppress his powers and have weakened him over time.”

“That explains why he’s somewhat manageable now,” I mused aloud.

“But here’s the strange part,” Graves continued, his voice still serious. “All his records—even his current behavior—show him as distant from humans, often refusing to engage or even learn beyond basic English. Which brings us to you.” He looked at me intently. “That’s why I have my doubts about his behavior, but we’ll check the cameras.”

As I looked down at the photographs, I could understand his skepticism. The images showed Pray, but his back was always turned, never facing anyone. It left me feeling oddly singled out. There was something about me—something he wanted or craved. It had to be more than just interest in a mate. But what? I asked myself. Everything was growing stranger by the day.