3: The watchers

The soft hum of the overhead lights buzzed like a lazy wasp trapped in the sterile air. The glow bathed the room in a cold, artificial blue, interrupted only by the sharp flashes of the surveillance monitors mounted along the wall. Papers were scattered across the floor like fallen leaves, half-crushed Styrofoam cups leaking stale coffee onto the tiles. A cracked leather couch sat in the corner, a wrinkled lab coat tossed haphazardly on the armrest. It was a mess, but Dr. Shoemaker couldn't bring himself to care.

He leaned back, boots propped on the edge of the console, and sipped his soda with a grin that split his face. His eyes stayed fixed on the largest monitor in front of him, where Subject 0173 scavenged through the mutilated remains of Harris Daniels.

"That's just too much," he cackled, wiping a tear from his eye. "I thought Harris was on vacation."

Dr. Porter, standing with her arms folded, did not share his humor. Her violet eyes flickered like embers in the glow of the monitor, her brow furrowed with clear disapproval. Jet-black hair cascaded down her face, strands shifting as she pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"Probably got drunk and wandered into the wrong room again," she muttered, her voice sharp with agitation. Her gaze snapped to Shoemaker, and for a moment, he felt a chill run down his spine. Her eyes locked with his, cold and cutting. "How did no one notice?" she asked, her voice like a scalpel.

Shoemaker shrugged, straddling the chair as he leaned forward to face the screen. The room's dim glow flickered across his face, the steady stream of light from the monitors illuminating his tired features. He felt the weight of her stare but chose to ignore it.

"Yeah… well…" His voice trailed off as he tapped at the keyboard, switching to a closer feed of 0173. The cameras whirred to life, their mechanical hum syncing with the thudding footsteps of two approaching figures on-screen.

The image sharpened. Two human 1-XB units lumbered into view. They were shirtless, their gray, sinewy torsos bulging with rippling muscle. Thick trapezius muscles wrapped around their necks, locking their bald, featureless heads into place. Their pants were shredded, exposing torn flesh and muscle beneath. Their toes curled upward like they were wearing invisible heels, balancing on clawed feet that tapped the ground with eerie precision. Their large, meaty hands flexed open and closed as they zeroed in on Subject 0173.

"Switch to Camera 2B," Dr. Porter ordered, her voice firm but calm.

Shoemaker's fingers hovered over the keyboard. He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow with mock annoyance. "Come on, Doc. We've talked about this. It's Dr. Shoemaker, thank you." He clicked the button, switching to the next camera feed, but his tone was playful. He was used to Dr. Porter's jabs, but today something about her tone had changed. There was an edge to it that made him uncomfortable.

Her eyes didn't leave the screen. "When you stop putting your dick over your duties, we'll talk."

Shoemaker's grin died instantly. Shit. Busted.

He had no comeback, so he sank deeper into his chair, arms folded, eyes locked on the monitor. On-screen, the first Titan lunged forward. It leapt with terrifying grace, its massive hand slamming into the wall of a nearby clothing store. Its fingers melted into the concrete, gripping it like soft clay. The second Titan followed suit, soaring through the air, its clawed feet crashing into the wall like a wrecking ball. Cracks spider-webbed through the structure as the Titans ripped chunks of brick and drywall apart, creating a fresh entry point.

But 0173 was already gone.

"He escaped. Not bad," Porter muttered, leaning back and crossing her arms. Her sharp eyes never left the screen.

Shoemaker tilted his head in mild surprise. "Not bad at all…" he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Still, he knew it wouldn't last. No one survived the first room. No one. He reached for 0173's file, flipping through the pages with an annoyed grunt. "So tell me, why are we even doing this?"

"It would be a waste to dispose of him," Porter replied, her voice steady.

She spun her chair slowly, crossing her legs as she stopped to face him. Her gaze was calm but calculating.

"We aren't even sure what he's capable of."

Shoemaker shot her a disbelieving look. "Capable of?!" he barked, holding up the clipboard and jabbing it with a finger. "It says right here the nanites were supposed to guide his evolution for rapid cellular regeneration! He didn't get any abilities, and his nanites went offline for Christ's sake!" He smacked the clipboard with the back of his hand. "He's a dud, Porter. Trash."

Porter casually stood, her lab coat sliding down her shoulders, hanging just at her elbows in that unbothered, effortless way she always did. Her footsteps were light, precise, as she walked toward him.

"And?" she asked, tilting her head like he'd missed something obvious.

Shoemaker's jaw tensed. "We're breaking protocol here! We're supposed to cremate him!"

"He hasn't succumbed to the parasite, now has he?" she said, her voice smooth as silk. Her hand extended, offering two cherry lollipops. Shoemaker snatched one without hesitation, peeling the wrapper with his teeth. Porter had a habit of offering candy during "lectures," like it somehow made her points more palatable.

"Well, no…" he muttered, trailing off, suddenly unsure of himself.

"And that doesn't bother you?" She placed the lollipop in her mouth, her eyes flicking back to the monitor. "His parasites evolved somehow. I want to know why he's different."

Shoemaker narrowed his eyes, glancing at the screen. "What if the board finds out, though?" he whispered, cupping his hand near his mouth as if someone might be listening.

Porter smirked. "I won't tell if you don't."

Shoemaker sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But he's still going to get mauled by a Titan anyway."

Porter didn't reply, her eyes locked on 0173 as he weaved through alleyways, ducking behind dumpsters and darting through collapsed buildings. Each time the Titans got close, he seemed to know, reacting a second before they arrived. Shoemaker's brow furrowed.

"How the hell does he keep doing that?"

On screen, 0173 dashed through an alley. A plague leapt from above, crashing into him. Their bodies hit the ground hard, the impact rattling the feed's audio. The plague, with its twin whip-like tails and gnashing buck teeth, reared up, its barbed tails flailing as black toxic sludge oozed from its tips. It shrieked, ready to pounce.

"He's done," Shoemaker muttered, leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The plague's lifeless body flew across the frame, its twisted form slamming against a wall, crumpling on impact. 0173 rolled to his feet, eyes locked on the threat ahead. Shoemaker leaned in, his heart racing. "What the hell…"

A Titan exploded from the wall next to him, its massive arm swinging down like a wrecking ball. WHAM! The impact sent 0173 flying, his body spinning through the air like a ragdoll before slamming into the street.

"That was a mistake," Porter muttered, still calm as ever.

Shoemaker raised an eyebrow, glancing at her before returning his gaze to the monitor. "What do you—"

His words trailed off. On screen, the second Titan stood over 0173, blocking the camera with its bulging back. Then, slowly, it began swatting at the air. Not at 0173. At something else.

A horde of plagues swarmed the Titan, screeching like bats. They latched on with their barbed tails, clawing, biting, and tearing at its flesh. One burrowed into its eye socket, scooping the blood-red orb from its skull like a melon ball. The Titan howled, thrashing, its massive frame collapsing to its knees.

Shoemaker felt his chest tighten. He slowly turned to Porter.

She didn't move. Didn't blink.

Her violet eyes burned with quiet fascination.

"That," she whispered, her lips curling into a smile. "That wasn't supposed to happen."