Disclaimer: I do not own Venom

A/N: Yes! We're finally gotten to the point we've all hopefully been waiting for. This chapter was such a joy to write, and this will actually be the second longest chapter in the entire fic behind Chapter 15, with approximately 6 500 words in total. We've finally reached the point where everything will escalate from, and I've been waiting so long for this, and I know a lot of you guys have been doing the same.

Can't wait for the next chapter! Hopefully, it will be out soon, but exams are around the corner, so it might be a week or so at most if I'm lucky.

Enjoy! Remember to review, please! I love reading your opinions.

Fun Fact: The character Axelson was deliberately referenced after Lieutenant Rico Axelson, who became one of Phage's hosts in "Carnage U.S.A. #2", which ironically was a comic that was first published in March 2012. Whether they are the same person or related somehow, I haven't given it much thought. Yet.

Edit: 17.10.21

Chapter 17: The Breach

Their footsteps echoed through the empty space as they ventured through the corridors. Evelyn ensured that the ex-journalist managed to capture every piece of evidence on camera. Every picture could serve as opposing evidence against the facility's corruption and lack of morals, which was a goal they were both aiming for.

There was not a trace of life in this part of the lab, which was ironic in its own way. There were no traits of blood on the floor, no specimen left behind by the symbiotes that were to be used for further research, and there was nothing which gave off the implication that unethical human experiments had taken place there but the various tools that were used for bodily extractions served as evidence enough.

They would have to get to the cells if they truly wished to see the worst aspects of it all, and Evelyn predicted that it would be the thing which Mr. Brock would find both most interesting and most disturbing. If he was as genuine of a human as he seemed to be, then the reaction of fear and dread would be mandatory for him in order to qualify as a human being. Few people could look upon the sight of death with a straight face, and those who did were either too used to it or not human enough. Whichever she herself qualified as, it was trivial.

She noticed his skeptic glances around the place as if he was evaluating whether or not it was truly as gruesome as they had described. "This section was used to experiment the patients' physical durability after temporary symbiosis had been established," she explained as she cast her eyes on the tools, reaching for one of them as to inspect the dry traits of blood and matter that had stained the steel. The scientists had failed to properly sanitize the equipment, and as a doctor, the neglect of their material displayed their incompetence. "Few survived."

"What did these aliens do to these people?" Mr. Brock did not seem like he quite understood, but he made the effort to wrap his mind around the subject. It was a quality she found herself respecting. "Did it give them superpowers? Make then invincible? Make them super?"

"That's was the theory," she affirmed and put the scalpel down again on the table, making sure to put it in the exact same position as to avoid scrutiny later. "However, thus far, the only ones who have endured temporary symbiosis are suffering from multiple injuries and show no signs of improvement thus far."

"And that wouldn't be enough for you to, I don't know, end it?"

"Perseverance never ceases." It was neither a piece of personal opinion nor a statement. It was a firm fact; one which was genuine whether they wished to deny or accept it. An act of madness - if sharper words were allowed to come forward. Attempting the same thing on multiple attempts whilst expecting a different result to be produced. Those were the words of a genius, but they were also labeled as the words of an occasional madman as well. Two sides of the same coin, but humans belong on both sides regardless.

She could spot Mr. Brock watching her from her peripheral vision. He was studying her, but she could not tell what it was he was searching for. A reaction? Sign of regret, or lack thereof? His eyes were constantly on her, occasionally darting from right to left to assure himself of their solitude, but otherwise unmoving. If she had to produce a hypothesis about what he was feeling, then it would have to be (anger? suspicion? distrust?). None of which struck her as vital to the task at hand. Whether he trusted her or not, as long as he was equipped with a camera, he was useful enough to keep around. It was, most plausibly, the only value he possessed. A camera alone would have been sufficient enough, but it would have been too risky to do it themselves.

They required a whistleblower, but who would be foolish enough to take up the task themselves and expect to get out of the predicament unscathed? She had no interest in dying, but while she harbored no favor towards the ex-journalist either, she was in no position to judge whether or not he would live. That was not her task; to play God was not a priority of hers.

Whether they would live was entirely up to how well they managed to receive evidence, and whether Drake would remain oblivious of the subtle infiltration of his company or prove himself sharper than anticipated.

That – however – was up to chance.

As they continued to walk, his eyes never ceased to focus on her. From what Evelyn knew of him beforehand, Mr. Brock was not a man who was willing to keep silent if there was something he wished to say. Silence was a trait she doubted he possessed, so it puzzled her why he refused to say anything over the course of the minutes he spent glaring her way.

"If you have anything to say –" She glanced over her shoulder to meet his eyes, catching him off-guard in the process. "– You may say it."

He quickly calmed himself. "For once, you said something civil." His words were sharp but sardonic (if she had perceived them correctly). "I didn't know you were capable of such speech."

She deliberately ignored him and reached for the entrance to the cells, making sure to keep the noises as inaudible as possible. If there were any kind of security measures around (cameras? motion detectors? alarms?), then discretion would be their strongest ally.

The same could, however, not be said for Mr. Brock, whose visible lack of discretion made it seem like they were deliberately placing themselves in the center of attention. His movements were stiff, and he continued to glance around the empty space in search of potential enemies, but he seemed to find little of was he was looking for.

Taking her silence for an answer, Mr. Brock sighed and stooped beside her. "So, they found these things in space?"

"I was under the impression that you listened to what Dr. Skirth informed you of. It appears I was mistaken."

"Hey, I did listen. Still, it's a little strange that they simply started experimenting with humans right after discovering them, don't you think?"

As she opened her mouth to respond, he quickly interjected with one of his obnoxious comments. "Oh, wait. I just found out that you don't care, so neither do I."

She raised an eyebrow. "If that keeps you mute, then I will indulge in your assumptions – regardless of how obnoxious they are."

Whatever effect her words had on him, they succeeded in rendering him quiet. While she would have savored it in other circumstances, what laid ahead of them snatched all of her attention away from what little enjoyment she could offer herself. Pleasantries were not afforded, not in situations like these – not for her, in any case.

For Mr. Brock, managing to prove that what he had accused Drake of months before was true would be pleasant. For Dr. Skirth, ending unethical human experiments would place her conscience in a safe-zone. For numerous other people, it would mean that they were no longer threatened to have their lives taken away and deemed expendable.

But for Evelyn, this particular incident did not place her in any sort of comfort zone. She would simply be fulfilling her duty as a doctor, which was to save lives and keep their hearts beating. It was neither an act of altruism or a way for her to act as a hero (an idea she loathed entirely). For her, this was simply a way to ensure that she did her job. It was the only convenience she would get out of this. Whether it was 'selfish' or otherwise, it did not matter.

The corridor between the cells was empty, as expected. No guards were present, the air was deadly still, an the temperature was approximately thirty degrees, which did not make it any less cold in there than it was outside. If anything, it made it even colder, and both Evelyn and Mr. Brock felt chills run up and down their bodies as they failed to adjust physically to the temperature in time.

"Jesus, you guys don't keep any air-conditioner here?" His words shivered through his teeth as he clutched his arms around himself, yet he still managed to pronounce the words properly. "I call that bad service. Zero stars."

"This isn't a hotel," Evelyn responded and quirked an eyebrow at him, bot skeptical an curious. Why would he rate a research facility when its purpose was neither to contain nor entertain anyone? Although she had not expected much from him in terms of intellect, she had assumed that he at least amounted something.

Her response shook him quite strangely. Eddie had to do a double-take to check whether or not she was joking – she had to be joking, honestly. However, as he turned to look at her, he found no traits which indicated that she was anything but serious. Green orbs looked at him with an amalgamation of uncertainty and skepticism, as though she was inspecting him of any indication that he was anything but serious.

"You know I was being sarcastic, right?" Was that seriously a question he was asking her? For someone with a tongue of venom, she was certainly denser than she seemed. He usually made it pretty obvious whenever he was being sarcastic, but to explain that he was so, it seemed … stupid.

After hearing his answer, she didn't say a word. Her face was empty of any kind of reaction, but there was the slightest frown tugging on the edge of her lips as if she was internally reprimanding herself for being unable to analyze the words correctly. Although it slightly provided him with a sense of smugness to see her in a state of subtle embarrassment, it failed to deliver him with any long-lasting victory. From where he was standing, she looked slightly like … a child, who refused to acknowledge a mistake they had made and accept fault, and would rather hide any shame they were feeling.

Instead of coming with any sort of comment which could send him in a fit of blind rage, Dr. March merely turned back again and continued walking, ignoring his presence almost entirely as she had done before. It was just as well because the more he looked around, something else caught his attention entirely.

Cells were surrounding them, glass walls which contained imprisoned human beings. Frost produced from the cold shielded them from getting a full view of the interior and made them more aware of how cold it was. Without sparing a moment, Eddie held his cellphone up and took a picture every few seconds, making sure he received enough evidence to last him a lifetime in luxury.

However, few of the cells were occupied, which surprised him. Those who were, they were … not exactly in a state of consciousness. One of the cells inhibited what only seemed like a mass of a concoction gone wrong; a slime-like substance which reminded him of the movie 'Aliens' was spread across the floor, and he made sure to take more than a few pictures of it.

"What the hell happened here?"

The doctor took a step towards the glass and observed the sight in more composed manners than he did, but there was an elusive pause in her breath as she laid eyes on it. She was silent for a moment, rendered entirely mute before she opened her mouth to speak. "This was one of the patients they failed to properly care for." Eddie noticed that she pronounced her words with tight restraint, seemingly provoked by some unknown source. "Harry Beckley was proclaimed deceased a couple of days ago. Lack of proper nourishment caused the symbiote inside him to resort to feasting on his organs as a means to survive."

She pressed the palm of her hand against the glass, and Eddie spotted the tips of her fingers slightly clench to the point where they turned white. He could spot in the reflection of the glass that her face was as void of any emotions as it had always been, but there was twitch beneath her right eye that did not escape his notice. "I gave those imbeciles clear orders; They were supposed to feed the patients with the proper amount of nourishment required for them to function each day, yet they continued to deprive them."

"These things … feeds of them?" It sounded so silly saying it out loud, but it was a question that was genuinely spiraling out of control in that thing he called a brain.

She nodded. "If they do not get the proper amount of food they require, they will. If you were to deliberately starve yourself, the effects of malnourishment would firstly take its toll on your muscles before proceeding down to the organs."

"That's …." Unbelievable? Fucked up? Impossible? He did not possess a vocabulary that was large enough to contain the words he wished to say, but the three former ones might have gotten close. Somewhat. He found himself unable to look away, almost captivated entirely by the disturbing sight in front of him. He might have thrown up had it not been for the fact that there was little he could get out of that. Money had been hard and getting the proper amount of food for himself – even harder. Those parasites would have eaten their way through his stomach and to his liver almost immediately if they had been in him.

But fortunately enough for him, he was not inhibited by one.

That was something he could not say about the next poor guy he spotted in the cell next to the previous one. This was was a man – African-American and currently in a state of what seemed like a peaceful slumber. According to the statistics displayed in front of them, the symbiote had remained in the man's body for the past four days. After snapping a few pictures, he turned to the doctor with a scrutinizing look. "And this one? Who's he?"

"Jacob Markson," she answered shortly. "One of the only patients who has survived."

"And how many, again, did not survive?" he pressed. "Ten? Twenty? A hundred?"

She does not look straight at him when she finally answers. "… I do not think you would appreciate the numbers."

That reply alone keeps him from asking any more questions in regard to the subject. He exhaled and watches the air turn into white smoke in front of him, whereas barely anything was seen leaving the doctor nose or mouth. Her eyes remained unreadable, but something had changed. The twitch beneath one of her eyes had vanished and something else had taken its place, but he was unable to perceive what it was. If she had participated in Poker, she would have left with her pockets filled with money by the end of the game.

"Why were you here?"

Dr. March looked up at him, her sharp eyes having been rendered rounder. It didn't strike him as strange until he looked back at it and realized that it had been he who had asked that question. She continued to stare at him for what felt like a few moments, yet he had not heard her talk over the course of that short amount of time she had at her disposal to come up with something clever.

Instead, she gestured for him to follow her down to the next cell, back against him and facial features out of sight. Eddie followed her without a sound, but the question lingered behind him like an animal stalking its prey. He felt pressured by something to demand an answer, yet he didn't. He was a reporter, it was anticipated that he had a knack for asking the right questions even if they did give him a lot of trouble on occasions – however, he did not feel inclined towards taking something that was not his' to claim.

Not in this case, at least.

But all the questions in his mess of a head came to an abrupt halt once he spotted the next victim. This one was a woman body was crouched to a ball and whose face was covered behind thin layers of dark hair. The cell seemed entirely covered in ice, and whether it was because he himself was cold or because he sympathized with the woman's situation, more goosebumps erupted on top of his skin. He was nauseated upon seeing the condition she was in; frantic, cradling herself back and forth – afraid. She was afraid, and with the right reasons too.

Eddie could feel the insides of his stomach churn, his fingers started to scrape the exterior of his phone, and he could literally feel the veins inside his head pump blood through his system like a water-canal. This was inhuman; disgusting; beyond almost anything, he had seen in his entire career. He had interviewed victims of human trafficking, he had exposed corrupt CEOs, participated in organizations that supported human rights. This, however, could not compare to any of them. Or rather, those events could not compare to this one.

He wanted to vomit on the floor – consequences be damned.

"She's the only one who has survived since the experiments initiated," Dr. March crossed her arms over her chest, looking straight at the woman through the glass. "The symbiote within her is … docile, in comparison to the rest."

But her words didn't reach him. After snapping a few pictures with his shaking hands, he took a great number of steps away from the transparent entrance and clutched a hand over his face, paling where he stood. It felt as though the ground swayed beneath him, threatening his knees to buckle under his weight. A thousand pounds had been placed on top of his shoulders, further rendering him incapable of standing steadily.

Seeing him like that, Dr. March unraveled her arms and looked at him with … subtle pity? Why was she looking at him like that, like he yearned for her fucking solicitousness? She was partially the cause of this, all this fucked-up mess! Did she expect any different reaction from him, or did she simply assume that he would harbor neutral feelings about this as she did herself? What did she take him for? A machine?

"Mr. Brock, what is–"

"Let's get out of here, now," he hissed, gathering whatever was left of his composure to regain his stance and make a beeline towards the exit.

Although his words had visibly surprised her for a moment, Dr. March cast a distant look back to the corridor outside the cells. "Are you certain you have gathered all the evidence require–"

"What? You want me to bring a fucking sample or something?" he snapped and turned around, glaring a thousand daggers her way. "Want me to take a finger with me from the decaying corpse in that other room, is that it? Maybe an arm or a leg just to be certain the judge can verify it in court?"

"The body of Mr. Beckley doesn't have–" But he wouldn't allow her to finish.

"Unlike you, I don't find it easy to kill people for my own personal agenda." He could feel the volume of his voice threaten to cut his chords entirely, but he didn't give a damn about it at all. All the anger had somehow manifested itself as a black mass inside of him that could ruin everything around him if unleashed.

Dr. March's eyes grew slightly upon witnessing his anger first-hand, but she did not say anything at all. She remained as still as a statue, not moving, and even her breathing was barely visible from an external perspective. Was she even a fucking human being herself? It sure didn't seem like it. If anything, she resembled more a machine than she did a person.

There was so much more he wished to say now that he was already at it, but something kept him from going further. A dark shape behind them came into view and startled him to the point where all the anger that radiated from him became replaced with a mixture of shock and confusion. He spotted a familiar face behind the glass; one he had not seen for several days now.

"Maria?"

He could scarcely believe it, but as he stepped closer towards the glass and got a hold of her face, he could tell that it was her. However, her face, which had always been scrawny and inhibited signs of malnourishment, looked like nothing more than bones and skin at that point. Her fingers were crumbled up like paper, and her hair seemed longer and much more unkempt; it almost seemed like a completely different person, but it was her.

She was shouting vehemently at the sight of him, banging on the glass to the point where the ice that had gathered began to crack and fall down to the floor and her knuckles began to bruise and bleed. Eddie was barely able to put his head around it, but as she continued to scream his name from the other side, he knew that there was something he had to do in order to get her out.

"How do you open this damn thing?!" He shifted around to face the doctor, practically begging an answer from her. Instead of providing him with one, Dr. March stared at him with cold eyes and reached for the fabric of his sleeve, preventing him from reaching for anything. Though her grip was firm, it was weak in comparison to his own strength.

"If you do anything, it will trigger the alarm system. You can't–"

He easily shook her off him, sending her several steps back in retreat. "Watch me."

By that point, Mr. Brock had begun to tap on everything within his sight. Evelyn, despite the pain that reappeared in her abdomen after he had swung his arm at her, quickly regained focus and snatched the fabric of his hood yet again by the elbow, attempting her best to pry him off the panel. But Mr. Brock was quicker than her, stronger as well, and continued to try and get Ms. Nordstrom out of her containment; oblivious to the fact that doing so could unleash the security on them.

Evelyn gritted her teeth at his actions, not comprehending how impulsive he was. They had gathered the evidence they needed, they could actually win this against the Foundation. All they were required to do now was to get out and avoid any suspicion, but the chances of that were not considerably decreased because of Mr. Brock's lack of equanimity. They were practically inches away from being able to win this, yet his stupidity would be the end of them.

Humans allowed themselves to be driven by such emotions because they deemed it necessary, even at the cost of everything else!

Suddenly, he began to tap a range of numbers on the access panel, yet without anything to guide him to the correct password. The numbers were inconsequential and incorrect, and just as she reached for his hand in an attempt to keep him from pressing any more of them, the screen flashed in a red color and the piercing sound of the alarm went off. The shrieking from above sent a wave of pain through her head, temporarily causing her to let go of his arm and shield her ears from the external source.

From what little Evelyn could gather outside the sound from the alarm and the flickering red lights above them, Ms. Nordstrom continued to bang and beg from the other side of her containment, but then the sound of something smashing right in front of her was brought to her attention. Ignoring her own discomfort, Evelyn snapped her head back up to watch in disbelief as Mr. Brock started to bang on the glass with a fire extinguisher. The sound that originated from the impact with the wall echoed throughout the entire corridor and possibly further, which could further alert the guards of their whereabouts.

Mr. Brock continued to hit the glass until the ice on the other side cracked entirely and marks were left on the surface of the wall. For once, Evelyn was unable to make out what to do about the situation. There were no answers that aligned themselves in her head, no thoughts on the circumstances whatsoever. She stood there, arm over her abdomen and eyes fixated on the movements in front of her. If she interfered, she knew she would not get far, but if she didn't, then Mr. Brock would unleash something inside that cell that could wreak havoc given the chance.

If Ms. Nordstrom broke out of her containment, then the Foundation would lose one more of its assets. They would be one step further away from achieving their goals, and one step further away from fulfilling what Drake had in mind for them. Perhaps … Mr. Brock's impulsivity could have an outcome that was more convenient on their part than it would on the Foundation's? Either that, or the symbiote would kill them all then and there now that it was released.

Was she about to leave that possibility solely up to chance?

She did not have enough time to evaluate the possibilities at her disposal before the glass began to break, pieces scattered to the floor around them. As it caused her to snap out of her thoughts, Evelyn grasped the moment and practically dragged Mr. Brock out of proximity with the opened cell. Surprisingly, he seemed too shocked to resist, even though he could easily push her away again as he had done before. She glared at him from the side, but the irritation did not seem to be aimed directly for him.

Despite how much of an inconvenient position his lack of control over his emotions had placed them in, it did not feel as though she was angry at him. She genuinely felt as though she wished to blame him for their situation, but in honesty, she couldn't. Instead, Evelyn opened her mouth to tell him that they were required to leave immediately if they wished to avoid getting caught by security, but something prevented her from uttering the first vocals.

There came what sounded like growling behind her, reminding her of some sort of predator. It was deafened by the sound of the alarms, but it failed to escape her ears. Evelyn cast a look towards Mr. Brock, who seemed like he was on the verge of asking her about the origins of the sound, but the answer reached him in a less hospitable way than he would have preferred.

A pair of hands gripped tightly around her throat and forced her down to her knees, like an animal ambushing its prey. Out of instinct, Evelyn quickly shifted around before she allowed herself to fall into a position of defeat and threw her hands over the offender's face, prying them off her. Though it initially seemed easy to put a distance between them, it did not last for more than a few seconds before the offender proceeded to push the doctor back and disturb the balance in her stance.

Her knees buckled beneath her as the offender's arms tightened around her throat and cut off all access to oxygen. Evelyn felt her back hit the ground with a heavy grunt and the sight of Ms. Nordstrom's face above her came to view, yet there were no traits of the woman who had previously been there. No benevolence, no calm, no nothing. Her eyes were entirely white from the pupils to the sclera, and that gave off the indication that it was no longer Ms. Nordstrom who possessed control.

She began to feel what little strength she possessed in her body discard her, and dark spots appeared in the corners of her eyes and it seemed as though she was on the verge of falling out of consciousness. Saliva trickled down the side of her mouth and tears were pouring out of her eyes from the lack of air. The darkness was closing in on her vision, all sounds grew quiet in her ears, and the features of her assailant grew more and more disoriented the longer she remained in her state.

But suddenly, the hold around her neck ceased slightly, and Ms. Nordstrom's unrecognizable face tilted to the side as though in state of both confusion and … recognition. Her white eyes stared intently at the woman pinned beneath her, yet they were as unreadable as a sheet of paper.

"We remember …" Ms. Nordstrom uttered in a voice not her own. " … your name …"

The slip in her grip granted Evelyn just enough air to regain her consciousness before she blacked out for good. The words her attacker had spoken remained unclear to her and instead of questioning them, she cast a quick glance over the woman above her and gathered as much information as she could in order to make her move.

Name: Maria Nordstrom
Age: Thirty-eight
Physical state of subject: Traits of malnourishment, iron-deficiency, 5'3 in height, 105 lbs (classified as severely underweight).
Plausible ways on incapacitation: Trauma to the eyes, throat, abdomen, or groin.

With those pieces of information in mind, Evelyn gritted her teeth and sent her fist straight into the woman's face. She was unable to feel any bones breaking beneath her knuckles, and if anything, the blow delivered more damage to herself than it did to her opponent. She had never been physically adept, which was something that had more than often kept her unable to participate in physical activities both as a child as an adult.

However, Ms. Nordstrom's lack of focus served as her disadvantage. Her nose got painted with a red color and her neck snapped back for a second, granting the doctor just enough time to grasp the opportunity to push the woman entirely off of her. The weight lifted off her like and she quickly crawled back from the woman, struggling to regain her breath as the pressure around her throat abandoned her.

Her muscles tightened and her heart was beating uncontrollably, yet as she prepared to get up, she witnessed the figure of the patient jump at an inhuman height over her and onto Mr. Brock instead, whose unpreparedness had rendered him unable to fight against the woman's unexpected strength.

Ms. Nordstrom got on top of him and wrapped both of her hands tightly around the man's throat, threatening to strangle him at the spot. Although he tried his best to fight her off, it was evident that Mr. Brock's strength could not compare to the kind that had manifested itself into the patient.

Without wasting a moment to consider her options, Evelyn instinctively regained her focus and quickly scrambled up to her feet and made a beeline towards Ms. Nordstrom, whose back was against her on top of Mr. Brock. Under ordinary circumstances, behaving so irrationally without thinking thoroughly about her actions would have left a bitter aftertaste with the doctor, but she considered herself excused from any self-inflicted reprimands for reasons unknown.

Grabbing the fire extinguisher, Evelyn gripped both her hands around it and actively tried to aim at Ms. Nordstrom's head, imagining that it would be just enough force to hit her parietal lobe and render her temporary debilitated. Her strength was not a reliable source, but it was not entirely useless either.

But just as she was about to strike, Evelyn felt her attempt at an ambush come to a sudden halt as the item in her grip stopped inches before its target. Eyes widened a few inches, it seemed as though the air had grown deathly still and their surroundings had frozen in place. When she dared to look over to see what it was that had halted her attack, Evelyn spotted Ms. Nordstrom's –

No, not hers. Those fingers were definitely not those of Ms. Nordstrom.

With one hand still tightly enveloped around Mr. Brock's throat, another clawed hand engulfed in a black substance had gripped around the fire-extinguisher in Evelyn's hold so forcefully that its claw-like fingers had pierced through the metal and caused the carbon dioxide inside of it to burst out on the floor like the blood in an artery.

Without words, Evelyn let go of the device and watched it get discarded by the blackened appendage to the other side of the corridor, far out from their reach. The sound of the alarms grew distant in her head and she scarcely remembered to breathe as she stared intently at what had once been the subservient Ms. Nordstrom.

If one thing was absolutely certain, this was not the same person – not a person at all, in fact.

"You are …." Evelyn's voice was barely above the volume of a whisper, yet still, she managed to pronounce her words just coherently enough. She could not feel anything in her body; hardly the beats of her heart, the blood beneath her skin, the muscles in her appendages – she was paralyzed entirely, and she could not comprehend the reason why. Was this a symptom of 'fear'? Was she 'afraid'? Or was this simply shock over the fact that her body had just been exposed to a near-death experience?

Ms. Nordstrom's white eyes were aimed at the doctor, but they were as unreadable as before, which filled her with more questions that would doubtfully be answered. The patient's hands remained firmly enclosed around the man beneath her weight, who was at that point struggling to remain conscious.

Mr. Brock's movements had ceased after what seemed like hours of struggling, yet he continued his best to try and fight the figure sitting on top of him. It did not seem like he would remain conscious for long if he was denied his privilege of breathing. His actions earned back his assailant's attention and Ms. Nordstrom turned back to him and began to pant heavily and grunt. A black mass transferred itself from her hands and to the ex-journalist, resembling a snake striking its unfortunate prey.

But the transition only lasted for a fraction of a moment before it was over, and Ms. Nordstrom fell limp to the side and her weight abandoned Mr. Brock. Though he was quick to get back on his feet, the image had Evelyn's chest tightening once again. All reason must have discarded her head, because without casting a glimpse towards the ex-journalist whose body had just been inhibited by an extraterrestrial parasite, she slowly crawled over to the patient's unmoving body, grabbed her shoulders, and shook it.

"Ms. Nordstrom?"

She asked her question, but there was no physical response – or a verbal one for that matter. No movement, no glimpse of any life. With a finger to her neck, the doctor checked her for any pulse, yet there was none to be found. She placed her ear to her chest in an attempt to locate her heart-beat, yet there was none there either. With her eyes closed, she came to the conclusion that Ms. Nordstrom was ….. she was …

"M-Maria was here all along?" Mr. Brock looked down at the corpse with eyes the size of plates and his expression hardened as the facts added up. "You're the ones who took her."

But before he could throw any more accusation in the doctor's way, the sound of the alarm snapped him out of his temporary stage of rage.

"There has been a breach in Lab Sector 3,"

"If you wish to survive, then you need to get out of here now."

Her words were not aimed for the ex-journalist, but someone else. Evelyn's eyes met those of Mr. Brock with a cold sense of severity. Her words were aimed towards someone she knew could understand her, and she knew would take her advice into action immediately. If the creature was as sentient as it seemed, then it would heed her words carefully. "Get out of here."

Without processing her words entirely, Mr. Brock opened his mouth to retort to something, but before he could, something invisible seemed to pull him away and he was forced to run towards the exit, leaving the doctor behind with the corpse of her former patient.

As soon as Mr. Brock vanished from sight, Evelyn – still on her knees over the lifeless body – experienced an unfathomable sensation surging through her. The sight of death in front of her had become common over the course of the past couple of weeks, but this seemed different from the rest. This seemed almost too familiar for her comfort, if there was any to find in the sight of death. Ms. Nordstrom's eyes were shut, reminding her of the view of someone sleeping. It was almost ironic, considering how the last couple of weeks in her life had been anything but peaceful.

It was a privilege she had earned – to finally be able to rest.

And yet still, clenching her hand to a fist over the deceased woman, Evelyn slammed it down on top of the floor, feeling her knuckles bruise.

"Damn it all!"