The ventilation shaft—
Was worse than expected.
Narrower.
Twisted.
Alive with decay.
Cold condensation clung to the metal walls.
Slimy residue.
Rust.
Oil.
Dust.
A suffocating stench—
Thick.
Rotten.
The space—
Barely wider than Silas Moore's shoulders.
He had no room to crawl.
No room to turn.
So he adapted.
Body lowered.
Limbs pressed tight against both sides.
Movement reduced—
To something almost inhuman.
Or—
Incanine.
Like a reptile.
Sliding forward.
Inch.
By inch.
Every movement—
Risk.
The metal groaned.
Soft.
But in absolute silence—
Deafening.
creak…
scrape…
The shaft resisted him.
Like it knew—
He didn't belong here.
Silas slowed his breathing.
Lowered his heartbeat.
Controlled every muscle.
No wasted motion.
No excess force.
Only—
Precision.
His blue eyes adjusted to darkness.
Tracking faint signals.
Lingbi's guidance.
Not sound.
Not light.
But—
Biological pulses.
Subtle.
Rhythmic.
Almost like—
An insect trail.
Direction confirmed.
15 meters ahead.
Turn left.
Climb 3 meters.
Target hatch above.
15 meters.
On open ground—
Nothing.
Here?
An eternity.
Silas moved.
Slow.
Controlled.
His ears flattened tight—
Listening.
Beyond the metal—
Distant engine hum.
Footsteps.
Water dripping.
Everything mattered.
His claws avoided hazards:
Loose rivetsJagged weld seamsWarped metal edges
Then—
A mistake.
A narrowing joint.
His chest—
Caught.
Cold metal dug deep.
Pain.
Sharp.
Immediate.
But Silas—
Did not struggle.
Struggle makes noise.
Noise means death.
Instead—
He exhaled.
Slow.
Relaxed muscle tension.
Compressed his ribcage.
Reduced his own body—
Just enough.
Then—
Slid through.
A few strands of gray-white fur—
Left behind.
Stuck to rust.
He kept moving.
Until—
Light.
Faint.
Weak.
Lingbi's signal intensified.
Destination reached.
Observation Point
Above him—
A square metal grille.
30 centimeters wide.
Held by four rusted screws.
Below—
The chamber.
Silas anchored himself.
Locked his body into position.
Then—
Looked down.
Dim emergency lighting.
Faint shapes.
A small room.
Three… maybe four square meters.
Center:
A metal platform.
Sides:
Two guards.
Still.
Relaxed.
Unaware.
But the air—
Was different.
The marker scent—
Overwhelming.
Mixed with:
DisinfectantMachine heatTobaccoSweat
Lingbi sent another signal.
This time—
A warning.
One guard stood.
Pacing.
Hand on comms.
Silas froze.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Even his breathing—
Vanished.
Below—
The guard walked.
Paused.
Muttered.
His voice echoed up—
Distorted.
"…damn place… can't breathe…"
"…when's shift change…"
Another voice replied.
Calm.
Cold.
"Not anytime soon."
"Stay sharp."
"That thing's worth a fortune."
"…mess it up…"
"…Dr. Li will feed us to the ocean."
Silas's ears twitched.
Dr. Li.
Levi Wynn.
So—
His authority ran deep.
Silas needed more.
Closer.
Clearer.
He extended his right paw.
From within—
A thin metallic strip deployed.
Old Wu's design.
Fiber-optic probe.
Micro-audio receiver.
Silent.
Precise.
It slipped through the grille.
Like a needle.
Adjusted angle.
Stabilized.
Silas's collar screen flickered—
Then—
Activated.
Full Visual
The room sharpened.
Clear.
Clinical.
No windows.
Reinforced alloy walls.
Two guards:
Black uniformsShock batonsStun weapons
Central platform—
Encased.
A transparent containment dome.
Sealed.
Pressurized.
Inside—
The container.
Connected:
TubesData cablesMonitoring unit
Lights blinked.
Data streamed.
And within—
Silas saw it.
P-07
Not a fossil.
Not an artifact.
Not even—
A complete organism.
It was—
Alive.
Suspended in blue fluid—
A mass.
Dark red.
Threaded with tiny blood vessels.
Incomplete.
Formless.
And yet—
Breathing.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
Expanding.
Contracting.
Like a heart.
Or something—
Trying to become one.
Tiny bubbles clung to the inner surface.
The machine hummed.
Data pulsed.
And in that dim, sterile chamber—
That thing—
Moved.
Silas's gaze locked.
Unblinking.
Cold.
Sharp.
This—
Was P-07.
And whatever Entropy and Pandora were building—
It was no longer theory.
It was real.
And it was—
Growing.