LTN.1

---

The lab is my sanctuary, a sterile haven where the rules of logic and order reign supreme. Here, amidst the hum of machinery and the gentle whirring of centrifuges, I find solace from the chaotic unpredictability of the human world. A glance around the pristine space fills me with a sense of calm – everything neatly organized, instruments calibrated to perfection, samples meticulously labeled and stored. This is where I belong, surrounded by the cold certainty of science.

My fingers move with practiced precision, adjusting dials and recording observations as I carefully analyze the latest tissue samples from my latest project. The intricate dance of genes and cellular structures never ceases to captivate me, the underlying order in the seeming chaos of nature an endless source of fascination.

Off to the side, Scylla lies curled up on her bed, her sleek canine form rising and falling with each steady breath. My eyes flick over to her periodically, a sense of contentment washing over me at the sight of my loyal companion. She is my greatest creation, a true marvel of genetic engineering, and I’ve come to rely on her calming presence as I lose myself in my work.

“Hello, my darling,” I coo, reaching out to stroke the smooth scales along her flanks. Scylla butts her head affectionately against my hand, a low rumble of contentment vibrating through her powerful frame. “Are you keeping watch, as always?”

Time seems to slip away as I work, the hours melting into one another in a blur of data and analysis. It’s only when the ache in my back becomes too pronounced that I finally pause, straightening up with a faint grimace. 7:56 PM. The numbers blaze red in the dimness, pulling a faint frown from me. I’ve overstayed again, allowing my obsession to eclipse more… pragmatic concerns. Rising from my stool, I begin the familiar routine of shutting down equipment and double-checking security protocols. As I move about the lab, Scylla trails at my heels, her claws clicking a percussive staccato.

“Nearly 8 o’clock,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “Scylla, perhaps it’s time to call it a night, hmm?”

At the sound of her name, my canine-crustacean hybrid perks up, her lobster-like eyes fixed attentively on me. I move to her side, my fingers gently running through the silky fur along her neck as I consider our next steps.

“I suppose we should at least have a short respite before returning to our work,” I muse aloud, more for my own benefit than hers. Scylla simply gazes up at me, unwavering loyalty and trust shining in her gaze.

For now, I need to ensure my prized creation is properly cared for. So engrossed am I in my musings that I barely register the faint echoes of footsteps approaching from the corridor beyond. It isn’t until the heavy steel door groans open that I glance up, cursing my momentary lapse in situational awareness.

Narrowing my eyes, I move to the doorway, peering into the dimly lit corridor beyond. At first, I see nothing out of the ordinary – just the familiar shadows and the muted glare of the emergency exit sign. Then, a subtle shift in the darkness catches my eye, and I feel a spark of curiosity override my initial caution. Scylla’s hackles immediately rise, a low, rumbling growl emanating from her chest as she, too, senses the disturbance.

Two figures stand silhouetted in the doorway, their features obscured by the harsh backlight spilling in from the hallway. One is tall and slender, the lines of a well-tailored coat accentuating his angular features. The other is broader, more solid in her build, though no less imposing for it.

Scylla stirs at the intrusion, her powerful jaws parting in a warning growl as she rises to her feet. The sound is a low, rumbling snarl that reverberates through the lab, setting my teeth on edge.

“Easy, girl,” I murmur, holding up a placating hand as I push away from the console. “Let’s see who our late-night visitors are, shall we?”

Sliding smoothly out from behind the desk, I straighten to my full height – all five feet and four inches of me. Despite my diminutive stature, I’ve learned to project an aura of quiet command in situations like these, a blend of unflappable calm and scientific detachment that seldom fails to disarm even the most aggressive personalities.

“Can I help you?” I inquire, arching an eyebrow as I regard the intruders through narrowed eyes. “I wasn’t expecting company at this hour.”

The taller figure steps forward, the play of shadows across her features revealing high cheekbones and full lips curved into a polite, if somewhat guarded smile. “Forgive the intrusion, Doctor. We didn’t mean to startle you or your… remarkable companion.”

Her voice is rich and melodic, threaded through with an undercurrent of authority that instantly captures my attention. This is a woman accustomed to being heard and obeyed, I realize, my gaze instinctively cataloging the subtle details that betray her confidence – the way she holds herself, the measured cadence of her speech, the appraising shine in her dark eyes.

Beside her, the other figure shifts almost imperceptibly, the faint clink of metal on metal drawing my focus. He is thinner than his counterpart, his narrow shoulders straining against the crisp lines of his suit jacket as he moves to stand beside her. A pale, angular face regards me impassively, the harsh overhead lighting throwing his cheekbones and brow into stark relief.

“We’re here on a matter of business, Doctor Trinh-Norwood,” the woman continues, her smile widening a fraction. “A potentially lucrative proposition, if you’ll hear us out.”

My brow furrows at the mention of my name, a flicker of wariness kindling in my chest. How do these strangers know who I am? More importantly, what could they possibly want with a reclusive geneticist toiling away in the bowels of this forgotten laboratory?

As if sensing my unease, the man steps forward, his movements measured and precise. “Forgive my colleague’s lack of preamble,” he says, his tone clipped and businesslike. “Allow me to introduce ourselves properly.”

He gestures towards the woman with an economical flick of his wrist. “This is Mrs. Zenith, a…” He pauses, seeming to consider his words carefully. “An associate of ours. I am known as Mr. Bomb.”

The woman – Zenith – arches an eyebrow at her companion’s introduction, but doesn’t comment further. Instead, she turns her attention back to me, that polite smile never wavering.

“As for how we found you, Doctor, let’s just say your extracurricular activities haven’t gone entirely unnoticed in certain circles.” Her gaze drifts pointedly towards the cages lining the walls, lingering on Scylla’s imposing form. “Your unique talents have captured the interest of an acquaintance of ours. One who believes you could be a valuable asset to a developing enterprise.”

Realization begins to dawn, prickling along my nerves like an electric current. These two are hardly mere curiosity seekers – their bearing, their calculated words, even their curious monikers all point to a far more nefarious purpose.

My eyes narrow fractionally as I digest this newfound understanding. “I see. And this ‘acquaintance’ of yours, I assume they had a hand in breaching my security protocols? Or did you simply decide to let yourselves in?”

The man known as Bomb allows a thin smile to crease his lips, though it holds no mirth. “My powers allow me to turn any object into an explosive. As you can imagine, it’s quite useful at opening doors. They prove to be ineffective obstacles when I can simply turn the screws of the hinges into bombs.”

As if to illustrate his point, he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdraws a slender ebony case. With a deft flick of his wrist, he snaps it open to reveal row upon row of what appear to be cigarettes, each one with minuscule writing decorating the outside.

“I assure you, Doctor, we mean you no harm,” he continues, his dark gaze holding mine with an intensity that borders on discomfiting. “I won’t threaten you. If you are uninterested in our offer, we’ll simply leave. But I think you may find it lucrative.”

Scylla tenses beside me, the harsh rasp of her scales sliding against one another filling the weighted silence. I can sense the coiled menace in her powerful form, the barely contained ferocity simmering just beneath that docile exterior.

To her credit, Zenith doesn’t so much as flinch at the subtle shift in atmosphere. “There’s no need for hostilities,” she interjects smoothly, raising one hand in a placating gesture. “We’re not here to threaten you, Doctor. Merely to extend an invitation – one I believe will be mutually beneficial for all parties involved.”

Lowering her hand, she fixes me with a pointed look. “You’re not like other people, are you? Your abilities set you apart, make it difficult for you to connect with the world at large.” Her smile takes on a conspiratorial edge. “We understand that struggle more intimately than you might think.”

I bristle at her words, trying to expand my shoulders, my body rising despite my best efforts to remain outwardly impassive. There’s an undeniable grain of truth to her assertion, one that needles at the ever-present sense of isolation I’ve learned to accept as an immutable constant in my life.

Bomb clears his throat, batting the ebony case closed with a sharp flick of his wrist. “What my colleague is trying to say, Doctor, is that you’ve been offered a rare opportunity here. A chance to surround yourself with like-minded individuals. People who can appreciate your unique talents and put them to valuable use.”

“People with powers,” I murmur, realization crystallizing in my mind like a shard of ice. “You’re behind those heists, aren’t you? The armored truck stickup two weeks ago.”

Zenith’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows inch upwards a fraction. “I’m impressed, Doctor. Our activities must be more visible than we’d realized if even a brilliant mind like yourself, sequestered away down here, has taken notice.”

“Hardly,” I retort with a derisive snort. “I simply make it a point to remain apprised of any potential… complications that could interfere with my work.”

My gaze darts briefly towards the cages that line the laboratory walls, calculating the combat viability and precise lethality of each specimen currently in residence. Not for the first time, I find myself grateful for the contingencies I’ve put in place – containment protocols, remote release overrides, strategically positioned armaments should the need for more aggressive defensive measures arise. A taser in my front pocket. I’m no eel but I do what I can.

Zenith follows my line of sight, her smile taking on a bemused edge as she correctly interprets the subtle shift in my body language. “There’s no need for concern, Doctor. We’re not here as aggressors, but rather as ambassadors extending an olive branch.”

“An olive branch,” I echo flatly. “From whom, precisely?”

“Our employer,” Bomb supplies with a tight grimace. “The individual who first took notice of your… unconventional talents and saw their potential value to our organization. He feels you could prove a most useful addition to our ranks, given the recent loss of one of our more prolific associates.”

Zenith’s expression sours for a brief instant before smoothing over once more. “The late unpleasantness surrounding Mr. Xerox has created something of a void within our inner circle,” she explains, her tone measured. “One your unique abilities could help fill quite neatly, I’m afraid.”

I arch an eyebrow at her words, curiosity momentarily overriding my wariness. “This ‘Mr. Xerox’, I take it he was one of your associates? Someone with abilities similar to my own?”

A muscle tightens in Bomb’s jaw, the only outward sign of discomfort he allows to show. “Not quite. It’s one of our dear leaders’ few eccentricities that simply require working around. Abilities, yes, similar, no.”

There’s a subtle undercurrent of disdain in his words, one that piques my curiosity despite myself. Just what unseemly predilections could this ‘Mr. Xerox’ have exhibited to earn such obvious contempt? The runt of the litter? A colony leper?

Before I can pursue that line of inquiry further, however, Zenith clears her throat delicately. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, I think. The finer details can wait until you’ve had a chance to ruminate on our proposal.”

Reaching into the folds of her coat, she withdraws a glossy black business card and extends it towards me. “Why don’t you take some time to consider your options, Doctor? This is a unique opportunity, one that could open doors currently closed to you and your research.”

I regard the proffered card warily, making no move to accept it. “And if I demure? If I have no interest in trading my current freedoms for fealty to your shadowy cabal?”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of Zenith’s full lips. “Then we’ll take our leave and chalk this up as a memorable, if ultimately fruitless endeavor.” Her gaze drifts meaningfully towards the heavily reinforced door, the pristine metal surface now bearing the unmistakable pockmarks and scorch patterns of individual tiny explosions. “Though I suspect your associates might take issue with our methods of ingress next time around,” she adds lightly.

Beside her, Bomb’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, though his expression remains studiously neutral. For a brief instant, I catch a flicker of what might be genuine trepidation flickering in those dark, impassive eyes. It’s subtle, barely perceptible, but unmistakable all the same – a hairline fracture in his carefully cultivated facade of stoicism, like a gazelle deciding whether to run or attempt to kick something to death.

Zenith exchanges a glance with Bomb, the two of them seeming to communicate silently. “We represent an organization known as the Kingdom of Keys,” she begins, her tone measured and professional. “We perform all manners of business from the legal to the less-than-legal, in service of insane monetary gain.”

Squaring my jaw, I snatch the glossy business card from Zenith’s outstretched hand, more as an assertion of dominance than anything else. “I’ll consider your proposal,” I say flatly, averting my gaze to examine the embossed lettering and sigil engraved upon the matte black surface. “You’ll have my decision in due time.”

Zenith offers me a conspiratorial smile, seemingly unfazed by my brusque manner. “We look forward to it, Doctor. But don’t daydream overlong – opportunities like this one have a nasty habit of evaporating without notice.”

Executing a crisp about-face, she sweeps towards the exit, Bomb falling into step beside her with a curt nod in my direction. As they reach the threshold, the tall woman pauses, tossing a final glance over her shoulder.

“What if I refuse?” I ask, raising my voice ever-so-slightly. “What if I report you two to the police?” I ask, testing the waters. “You just told me you do illegal things. What if I was the sort of person who took umbrage at that?”

Bomb chuckles, and then breaks into laughter. “I don’t think that would be very wise, Dr. Trinh-Norwood.”

“If we thought you would, we wouldn’t have offered,” Zenith continues.

Then, the two of them vanish into the darkness of the corridor. With the oddness of that meeting behind me, my packing is a little more frantic, putting all my materials and notes into my backpack while Scylla paces and rotates protectively around me. It’s only as I’m finishing logging off of my machine do I notice a small cigarette left on my keyboard, and squint my eyes to read the text so meticulously transcribed on the wrapper, before putting it under my microscope. I watch as it unravels, further and further, revealing not a cigarette at all, but a tightly bound piece of paper.

“The device shall become armed and primed upon physical contact by Dr. Lena Trinh-Norwood, henceforth known as ‘the Bearer’. Once primed, the device must remain on the Bearer’s person continuously.

If the device is separated from the Bearer by a distance greater than 6 inches for a cumulative duration exceeding 15 seconds, or if the device is damaged, or if the bearer attempts to destroy the device, detonation will occur. The 15 second grace period is consecutive, not per instance of separation.

Detonation will also occur if the Bearer verbally discloses knowledge of the identities and/or affiliations of the individuals known as Mr. Bomb, Mrs. Zenith, or the organization referred to as the Kingdom of Keys to any party besides the aforementioned individuals. This includes direct statements, references, allusions, or any other indication of familiarity with said persons and entities, regardless of intent.

The device will only be disarmed and deactivated upon returning to the possession of the individual designated as Mr. Bomb. At this point, the device will revert to an inert state.

These conditions are unconditional and cannot be circumvented by any means magical, technological, or otherwise. Any attempt to remove, disable or destroy the device by the Bearer or other parties will result in immediate detonation.”

Mother fucker.

---

The snow is falling in thick, fluffy flakes as I make my way down the dimly lit street, my breath misting in the frigid air. Scylla pads silently at my side, her paws leaving neatly spaced impressions in the rapidly accumulating powder. I glance down at her periodically, reassured by her unwavering presence – a comforting reminder that I am not alone in venturing out into the bleak, barren night.

My fingers clench reflexively around the crumpled business card in my pocket as I hurry along, the cryptic message etched upon the innocuous-seeming ‘cigratte’ still weighing heavily on my mind. A ticking time bomb, as it were, one that I’ve taken to obsessively checking with every free moment, half-convinced that the mere act of removing it from my person will trigger some catastrophic event.

Even now, I can feel the phantom weight of the thing, a constant, nagging presence that has utterly disrupted my carefully curated routine. Scylla, bless her, has been a godsend in that regard, her steadfast vigilance allowing me the freedom to bathe, eat, and even change clothes without the ever-present fear of some unseen explosion reducing me to so much pulverized meat and bone.

I scowl, the memory of that particular indignity still fresh in my mind. Honestly, having to carry around that infernal contraption, constantly worrying that the slightest jostling might set it off – it’s been an exercise in pure, unadulterated frustration. My poor Scylla has been a veritable saint, patiently standing guard as I’ve gone about my daily chores, always vigilant for any sign of trouble.

As I round the corner, a dimly lit storefront comes into view, its flickering neon sign casting an eerie glow over the otherwise deserted street. This must be the place, I think, my fingers tightening reflexively around the business card once more. Steeling my nerves, I stride up to the door, giving it a firm push. It swings inwards with a groan, admitting me into the warmth of the darkened interior.

Scanning the room, I spot Zenith and Bomb seated in a secluded booth at the back, nursing what appear to be highball glasses. They wave me over eagerly, twin expressions of contrasting emotions – Zenith’s welcoming, Bomb’s vaguely constipated, like a cat that just ate grass.

“Doctor Trinh-Norwood!” Zenith calls out, her rich alto cutting through the ambient chatter. “We were beginning to worry you’d gotten lost. Come, have a seat.”

Sliding into the booth across from them, I regard the pair coolly, my eyes narrowing as they settle on the familiar ebony case resting beside Bomb’s elbow. “Forgive my tardiness. I was delayed in… securing your parting gift.”

Zenith’s full lips curl into an amused grin, while Bomb has the decency to at least look mildly chagrined. Reaching into my coat pocket, I produce the tightly folded envelope containing that damnable explosive device, tossing it onto the table with a huff. He reaches out and touches it, and I breathe a sigh of pained relief.

“Next time you decide to booby-trap me, I’d appreciate a bit more warning. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain proper hygiene and conduct my research while constantly worrying about accidental detonation?” I bark, loud enough to draw more than a couple of glances and scattered chuckles from the other customers. I thump my chest twice to get out phlegm. “I take it from the fact that nothing has detonated means that the clientele of this location is familiar with your kind of stunts?”

Bomb offers a contrite nod, his gaze downcast as he gathers up the envelope, tucking it safely away. “Apologies, Doctor. It was a necessary precaution, given the sensitive nature of the information we imparted. And yes. We own this bar in a very literal sense.”

“It’s primed to explode only if a police officer shows up,” the bartender shouts, although I have a hard time telling if he’s joking or not. It only makes my heartrate spike harder. I feel veins pulsating in my forehead.

“Aw, c’mon now, Mr. Bomb,” Zenith drawls, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she regards me. “You gotta cut the good doctor some slack. I’m sure having a fucking bomb strapped to her chest ain’t been a picnic.”

Bomb’s brow furrows in a faint scowl, though the effect is more reminiscent of an angry pug than any true menace. “I hardly find the situation amusing, Mrs. Zenith. The safety and secrecy of our operations are of the utmost importance.”

Rolling my eyes, I can’t quite stifle the exasperated huff that escapes me. “Yes, well, forgive me for not sharing your enthusiasm for bureaucratic minutiae. If you’re quite finished with the theatrics, perhaps we could get down to the matter at hand?”

Zenith chuckles, her gaze flicking briefly towards Scylla, who has settled onto the floor beside me with a contented sigh. “Straight to business, huh? I like that in a gal.” Leaning back in her seat, she props one elbow on the table, her expression turning thoughtful. “Alright then, Doc. What’s it gonna take to get you on board with our little enterprise?”

I arch an eyebrow, casting a sidelong glance at Bomb, who has remained uncharacteristically silent. “For starters, I’d like to hear more about this ‘enterprise’ you represent. Specifically, what role you envision me playing, and what I stand to gain from such an arrangement. As you can tell by the fact that I haven’t been reduced to a small puddle of red goo, along with the contents of my laboratory, I have politely refrained from reporting your lot towards the police or other such authorities.”

Zenith nods, her gaze sharpening. “Fair enough. Well, as I mentioned before, we’re part of an organization called the Kingdom of Keys. We deal in all manner of, shall we say, specialized services – from high-end theft and acquisition to more… experimental research and development. Mostly dealing in the chemical trade.” Her teeth flash in a sharp grin, revealing amalgam fillings glinting at the back of her jaw. “And your particular set of skills would be a valuable asset to our cause.”

My fingers drum idly against the scarred tabletop as I consider her words, the faint hum of concentration vibrating through me. “And what, exactly, are these ‘specialized services’ you perform? I’m rather particular about the nature of my research and how it’s applied.”

Zenith leans forward, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “Think big, Doc. Bigger than anything your academic peers could ever hope to accomplish. We’re talkin’ limitless funding, state-of-the-art facilities, and the freedom to pursue your wildest dreams without the usual red tape and bureaucratic nonsense. You like exotic animals, right? We’ll smuggle you an albino mountain jaguar.”

“Jaguars don’t live in the mountains,” I correct her.

Beside her, Bomb clears his throat, drawing my attention. “The Kingdom has… extensive resources at its disposal. Resources that could be put towards advancing your work in ways you’ve likely only dreamed of.” His lips thin into a wry smile. “And as for the nature of our operations, let’s just say we aren’t beholden to the same ethical constraints as more conventional organizations.”

I can’t quite suppress the involuntary shudder that ripples through me at his words, the implications sending an unpleasant prickle down my spine. “So you’re criminals, then. Thieves and ne’er-do-wells, operating outside the bounds of the law.”

Zenith’s grin widens, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “You make it sound so… unsavory. We prefer to think of ourselves as visionary entrepreneurs, takin’ matters into our own hands to make the world a better place. Or at least, a more profitable one.”

Bomb clears his throat, his expression sobering. “Rest assured, Doctor, our methods may not always align with the letter of the law, but they are employed in service of a greater purpose. One that transcends the petty squabbles and restrictions imposed by those in power.”

I frown, regarding him with a contemplative gaze. “And what, precisely, is that ‘greater purpose’? From where I’m sitting, it sounds an awful lot like simple greed and self-interest.”

Bomb opens his mouth to respond, but Zenith cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “The greater purpose is money. A fuckton of money.”

Turning her attention back to me, Zenith leans in conspiratorially. “Look, Doc, I’m not gonna lie to you. The Kingdom’s got its fair share of unsavory characters, and we do some shady stuff, no doubt. But at the end of the day, we’re giving folks with special talents like ours a chance to shine. To use your gifts to the fullest without all the constraints and red tape holding us back. Unless you think they plan on letting you back into the Philadelphia Zoo anytime soon?”

I consider her words, my gaze drifting towards Scylla as I ponder the implications. Freedom to pursue my research without the burden of academic politics or moral quandaries… it’s a tantalizing prospect, one that resonates with the ever-present ache of isolation that permeates my existence.

“And what, precisely, would my role entail?” I murmur, my eyes flicking back to Zenith. “I have no interest in simply serving as muscle or providing combat-oriented abilities. My work is far too valuable to be relegated to such menial tasks.”

She leans back, propping one elbow on the scarred tabletop as she regards me with an appraising eye. “See, the Kingdom’s got its fingers in all sorts of jawns. Legitimate businesses, underground operations, you name it. And we’re always lookin’ to expand our portfolio, y’know?”

Nodding slowly, I can feel the gears turning in my mind, the possibilities unfurling like a row of dominos. “I see. And where, precisely, would my talents fit into this grand scheme of yours?”

She pauses, her gaze sharpening as she holds my own. “Now, I understand you’ve got a bit of a reputation in certain circles for your, shall we say, unconventional approach to genetic research. Rumor has it you’ve even managed to create a few rather remarkable… ah, ‘specimens’ as a result.”

My eyes narrow fractionally at the implication, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “I prefer the term ‘chimeras’,” I correct, the faintest edge of frost creeping into my tone. “And I assure you, each one is the result of painstaking, meticulous research – not mere flights of fancy or irresponsible tinkering.”

“And your powers,” Bomb chimes in.

“Can I help you?” comes out of my mouth, defensively, causing him to shrink away.

Zenith raises her hands in a placating gesture, her smile never wavering. “Hey, no need to get your spines up, Doc. I meant no disrespect. In fact, that’s exactly why we’ve got our sights set on you.”

Beside her, Bomb clears his throat, drawing my attention. “You see, Doctor, the Kingdom has expansive interests when it comes to the procurement and application of unique materials, both genetic and chemical. And we do believe that your chimeras could be useful assets in all variety of roles, given their propensity towards training.”

She levels a pointed look in my direction. “That’s where you come in. With your special talents, we could open up a whole new world of… opportunities. Imagine the kind of exotic assets we could acquire, the doors we could open. The profits to be made.”

My brow furrows as I digest her words, the implications slowly crystallizing in my mind. “You want me to create chimeras to act as some sort of living acquisitions? Tools to be used in your various… business ventures?” I arch an eyebrow, the gears in my mind whirring as I consider the implications of his words. “Are you suggesting I become some sort of monster masher for hire? Producing custom-tailored creatures to suit your organization’s needs?”

Zenith’s grin widens. “Bingo. Though ‘tools’ might be a bit of an oversimplification. Think of it more as… force multiplication. We provide the vision, the resources, the connections – you provide the mad science know-how to make it all happen.”

Bomb clears his throat, drawing our attention. “To be clear, Doctor, your role would not be limited to the creation of these ‘acquisitions’, as Mrs. Zenith puts it. We have a wide array of projects in the works, each of which could benefit immensely from your unique expertise.”

He leans forward, his expression earnest. “What we’re offering you is a chance to truly push the boundaries of science, to explore the full potential of genetic engineering without the constraints of conventional morality or bureaucratic red tape.” A thin smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “All while being compensated handsomely for your efforts, of course.”

I can’t quite suppress the faint twitch at the corner of my mouth, a begrudging flicker of interest stirring in the depths of my chest. The prospect of unfettered access to state-of-the-art facilities, cutting-edge technology, and an endless supply of exotic genetic samples… it’s undeniably alluring. Not to mention the financial incentive. A nice nest egg for myself.

“And what, specifically, would I be expected to create for this ‘Kingdom of Keys’?” I inquire, allowing a fraction of my curiosity to bleed through. “I assume you have specific objectives in mind, rather than simply granting me free rein to indulge my own whims.”

Bomb clears his throat, his expression shifting into a faint frown. “That, Doctor, would be a matter to discuss with our employer directly. Our instructions are simply to secure your services and expertise – the specifics of your duties would be outlined by Mr. Antithesis himself.”

I consider this, my gaze drifting thoughtfully towards Scylla, who has been watching the exchange with quiet attentiveness. “This ‘Mr. Antithesis’…he would be the one calling the shots, then? The one who recognized the value in my abilities?”

Zenith nods, a grin spreading across her face. “That’s the guy. The big boss, the kingpin, the man with the master plan. And trust me, doc, he’s got some wild ideas he’s been dying to put into action. Ideas that could use a genetic specialist like yourself.”

I can feel the familiar pull of scientific curiosity gnawing at the edges of my psyche, a temptation that’s nigh impossible to resist. The chance to pursue my research unhindered, to create new and wondrous creatures without the shackles of moral quandaries or ethical constraints…it’s a siren’s song that resonates deep within me.

“And what of this explosive device you so graciously bestowed upon me?” I ask, my gaze flicking towards the ebony case now resting securely in Bomb’s possession. “I hardly relish the prospect of being collared like a misbehaving hound, forced to heel at your beck and call. I expect we’ll be done with those sorts of measures?”

Bomb clears his throat, his expression shifting into one of mild discomfort. “Of course. The explosives are only for potential recruits, not full-fledged members.”

She leans forward, her expression earnest. “Once we get you set up with the Big Man, that thing’ll be history. We’re talkin’ full autonomy, no strings attached. You want it, you got it. Blank check.”

I purse my lips, considering her words. The prospect of such unfettered freedom to pursue my work is undeniably tempting, even if it comes at the cost of aligning myself with such a morally dubious organization. But then, who am I to judge? I’ve always complained to my compatriots just how much the need for rigorous ethics boards keeps us held back. Why not put my money where my proverbial mouth is?

And really, what do I owe to my fellow humans, who have consistently proven themselves to be shortsighted, irrational creatures, unable to see the greater good that lies beyond their own petty squabbles and self-interests? No, I owe them nothing. If anything, it is they who should be grateful for the knowledge and insights I can provide.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I come to a decision. “Very well. I’ll… I’ll accept your offer.”

Zenith’s face lights up in a triumphant grin, while Bomb nods, his expression solemn. “Excellent. We’re thrilled to have you on board, Doctor Trinh-Norwood.”

I hold up a hand, forestalling his words. “Actually, I’d prefer to be addressed as ‘Doctor Xenograft’, if you don’t mind. After all, I’ll be taking on a new role within your organization, and I believe the title befits that change in status.”

Bomb’s brow furrows in a faint scowl, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Doctor. Our organization maintains a strict code of conduct, bore down from our founder, and the use of particular nomenclature is mandatory. ‘Mrs. Xenograft’ will have to suffice.”

I arch an eyebrow, my lips curving into a wry smile. “Very well, Mr. Bomb. I suppose I can… tolerate that particular indignity, if I must.”

Zenith laughs, the rich sound of it filling the dimly lit bar. “Aw, c’mon Bomb, don’t be such a hardass. The doc’s earned a little respect, don’tcha think?”

Turning to me, she raises her glass in a toast. “Welcome to the Kingdom, Doctor Xenograft. Here’s to the start of a beautiful partnership.”

I nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I raise my own glass. “To new beginnings, then.”

As the icy liquid burns its way down my throat, I can’t help but feel a curious sense of anticipation stirring within me. For so long, I’ve been content to toil away in obscurity, my scientific passions limited by the constraints of conventional morality and the petty machinations of academic politics.

But now… now, I have the chance to truly spread my wings, to push the boundaries of what is possible without the burden of such trifling concerns weighing me down. No more questioning the ethics of my work, no more kowtowing to the whims of short-sighted bureaucrats.

I owe them nothing, these so-called ‘normal’ people. They’ve never understood me, never accepted the uniqueness of my gifts. Well, now I have the opportunity to show them all just how extraordinary I can be.

Draining the last of my drink, I set the glass down with a decisive clunk, steeling my resolve. “When do I start?”

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