Chapter One: Somewhere in England
The scratch of pen marks fills the room as the professor studies the colossal set of files set before him. From monotonous student reports to applications for new interns and staff, these papers took up all surface space in the lab and his mind. The success of his creations in Paris should have helped the scientist make his mark on the world. He didn't belong in some stingy, over-the-top facility among pompous researchers who think they're "professional" for writing down every single time the spiders breathed or even passed gas.
The old man sighs as he stands up and begins his trek to the lower level for the nightly report on trial 23. He recalls in his mind the argument he had with one of his superiors. Really, he was the man behind this whole idea in the first place, thus he should be down in the labs instead of 'monitoring progress' from a distance. The sacrifices he makes to have a full staff and funding are starting to take their toll he thinks. The professor reaches his destination and goes to open the door when he notices the cracks in the small glass window. He peeks through to find the room shrouded in darkness and smoke. Putting his sleeve to his mouth, he opens the door and calls out for the workers.
"Anybody here?" He scans the large room for any figures and signs of danger. From the corner of his eye, he sees something rush past the opposite table. "Wait! I'm here to help. Are you hurt?" He goes to take a step towards them, but stops when he hears someone whisper frantically to him.
"C-closethedoor, close the door, CLOSE THE DOOR! DONT LET IT GET OUT!" Before he could react, the dark figure he was approaching hunches and runs him down. Falling on his back, the professor strains to see the door slam open and the end of a white lab coat slip out of the room. A man with broken lenses stumbles to reach the door and goes after it. As the smoke settles, the room reveals broken equipment and scattered researchers across the floor. The professor examines them to find all of them alive, but only a few conscious. He helps one of the men sit up and asks him what happened.
"I—…we were just… we developed our own experiment and something went wrong, I don't know what but the whole thing just went up in flames and I found myself on the ground."
Another man continues, "It was the ingredients, we tried to create our own serums like you, sir, been planning this for a long time. The proportions were wrong. We made a horrible mistake."
"We grew something."
"Something horrible."
"It's not what we thought it would be"
"It was supposed to stay small, stay a —," The man with the broken lenses returns with a grim face, heavily breathing, and sits himself at a desk. Ignoring the bombardment of questions from his peers, he takes a pencil and paper to sketch out something. Finally, when the professor has had enough, he demands a clear answer about the whole event. The man at the desk sighs and holds up the sheet.
"This. This is what we created, what ran out the door, what got away." The old man is speechless and can only stare blankly at the drawing.
"We have to find her." The rest of the men nod in agreement, then exit the room with some carrying the injured out the door. After the last man gets a good look at the paper on the desk, it is left behind. A picture of a tall, young woman with sharp features and long dark hair stares up at the ceiling.