He felt like he was floating.
The shapes that moved around him were all fuzzy, indistinct, illuminated briefly as some lights evenly spaced overhead shone into the room he was in. The youth blinked his eyes slowly, taking an eternity. He tried lifting his arm, yet it felt like moving through thick molasses. It felt so heavy to move.
Then, a sudden blizzard of activity assaulted him. The lid of his capsule rose, allowing him to see a little better. Tyver saw silhouettes of white flitting around him, checking monitors, poking and prodding him with their instruments for some strange design. The numerous drugs flowing through his system made it feel like he was caught in a time loop, thoughts crashing into each other before coherency, everything but him moving in fast forward. He heard a machine groan above him. Tyver was dimly aware of something overhead working, felt chilled, metal arms grasp him. A needle pierced his neck in the same motion.
Before he could form a curse of some sort, the embrace of his acquaintance Darkness once again greeted him as Tyver fell into another dreamless sleep. But, he did see something as his eye lolled back: an older man standing on clear glass above him watching intently, the sad gaze of one who had seen too much grief in his lifetime.
/ / / /
Minutes before...
It was the Professor's sentence to observe the dark fruits of his labor.
He was always found and escorted by two full-sized Arachnica drone platforms. These were much larger than the versions found skittering across the vast network of air ducts, and half again as big as the one that had accompanied the boy on his journey here.
The abdomens were adorned with a vehicle-sized double barreled turret, the faint raised outline of the slender gauss rail gun and the bulky housing of its twinned mass driver apparent against the thick armor plating. This particular class of Arachnicas was outfitted with the strongest armor, eight combination flechette and rifle-caliber gauss weapons mounted on top of each of the corresponding legs that arched slightly upwards before meeting the ground. There were only five in active service, two of which were present on Alia Minora. The other three were on loan to various peacekeeping forces across the United Systems.
The ponderous steps of each chassis usually preceded them corralling Darkarlov into a hall. He had mistakenly thought the massive drones had been sent to eliminate him when the first candidate for the program had gone on her merry way to a grisly demise, the failure of the experiment and his supposed termination all but assured. Now, 2439 subjects later, he had adapted to the routine.
He had been placed in his glass holding cell mounted on a parallel rail constructed above the track leading to the portion of the facility dedicated to the strict purpose of testing, refining, and applying the Compound. The portion of the rail that Ben was suspended on was added after the installation had been built; however, it was no matter for the backbone of Maximus' workforce, the drones, to accommodate.
The hypersleep capsule entered on the magnetic strip below, situated on a platform that hovered a foot above the segments of metal. Darkarlov's cage moved parallel to it, on what constituted the ceiling of the passage.
The Professor was not allowed to take part in the actual procedure of preparing and carrying out the application of the Compound. A small army of techs hopped on to the compartment as the hypersleep chamber began waking the occupant. Their readings and a full body scan of the subject appeared on the holographic display of the glass.
Darkarlov glanced at each readout as it came up, giving a slight nod to each as he approved them. He then focused on the youth himself.
The boy was still garbed in the attire in which he had been taken from his home nearly a month-and-a-half prior. He was only perhaps fourteen, fifteen years old, in good health, although his system was still shocked due to the flush of drugs that had been given to him over the course of recent events. Readings also indicated that he was still in a growth spurt that did not seem to be letting up any time soon. Impressive, since he was reaching five-foot-nine. According to the Professor's hypothesis, the youth was a prime candidate for the trial about to commence.
Having finished the pre-screening just as the compartment reached the Compound's lab, the techs made their way off the compartment as fast as they could before robotic arms grasped the test subject, yet again flushing him with more pharmaceuticals. Three layers of thick steel gates opened to allow the arm and its cargo to pass through, dozens of additional locking mechanisms and interlocking into place. Previous tests had never warranted this security, though Alexander did not want to take the chance that his pet project might actually succeed. Darkarlov wished that it would never. Such a minor abomination would be the greatest antithesis to the natural laws of the universe, even more so than man's election to take destiny into their own hands, sailing the stars and shaping their DNA against what was intended. Yet, to completely change into another form?
Madness. There is no such thing as a minor abomination. This entire place is tainted.
The Professor pushed his spectacles back up. His glass case halted, connecting to the walk space above the testing area. He walked on, gates corresponding to the three below crashing behind him like the many gullets of Cerberus devouring the trespasser to the Underworld.
/ / / /
The subject was gently placed in the medtank. Smaller limbs within the enclosure began attaching restraints, IVs, monitoring devices, and other pieces of tech intended to smooth along the victim's passage into a new world; whether it be the afterlife, or to a completely new existence that would resound through the natural world, would be left to how the dice fell.
The tank's thick crystalline hatch, treated with acid-resistant materials that gave it a soft orange hue, yet still transparent enough to clearly see through, sealed the subject's enclosure. A mixture of hyper-oxygenated pharmaceuticals, which would in normal circumstances accelerate the body's natural ability to heal, slowly flooded the tank. No breathing apparatus would be needed when the liquid immersing the subject would cause no harm to the body as it filled every orifice. Soon, he was suspended with feet well above the bottom of the tank.
Darkarlov watched with keen interest in a room adjacent to the lab floor, a clear wall of glass barred him from it. This time, unlike all the others, it was different. This was not the first time that the Professor knew he was constantly watched, no matter where he went.
It was the first time, though, that Alexander had acted out of desperation to achieve this feat of strength. It was an utter break of character for the man that believed luck would bend to his will, sooner or later.
Forgive me for wanting this to work.
The Professor watched on.
Suspended in the healing bath, the medtank began to deploy the Compound. The subject floated with limbs stretched out to all four corners, facing outward towards the lab floor. Two panels moved sideways to reveal the protective housing of Alexander's struggle to achieve one more great wonder. Maximus had managed to procure it from Weyland-Yutani after one of SPARTAN's data mining sessions revealed the location of yet another illegal bioweapons research outpost that was operating close to Maximus-controlled fringe space. The original unrefined substance was an archaeological marvel, found while excavating a civilization that appeared to be Pilot. A quick, surgical strike eliminated the Weyland-Yutani personnel and kept multiple pallets of the substance safe for Maximus to take over experimentation. What was being prepared for injection was the result of many years of combined research that had eventually brought the estimated chances of failure within a range for acceptable losses in mass testing. Darkarlov had only been brought in but a year ago, yet his uncommon expertise and skill for xenobiology as well as organic chemistry had multiplied what Maximus's top scientists had barely achieved by a thousandfold.
The protective shell opened, revealing the muted black Compound loaded into a hypodermic needle the size of pen tip. Darkarlov's eyes widened when he noticed something amiss. Why is it gray? It is not supposed to be gray! Was something added without notifying me first? He was unsure whether or not to inform his handlers.
The long needle positioned itself over the subject's neck, angled slightly toward where the neck met the midbrain. This was also a modification to the original procedure; previous injections were done directly into the bloodstream, though this resulted in a somewhat unpredictable series for the desired transformation. Most experimentees experienced a life-ending change before the process was complete: some had their blood turn acidic before the body was sufficiently adapted to handle it; bones grew to monstrous proportions before organs did, or vice versa, resulting in a painful last few hours before leaving this plane; the few who almost survived were reduced to babbling wrecks who could not adapt to the shock to their system and lashed out telepathically or with their new body, or turned completely feral as all humanity was erased in the beings that turned on their captors. No one had successfully made it out of this lab alive.
Operating on the silent rhythm of its programming, the machine burrowed the point deep within the subject's skull.
No medicine known to man could blank out that particular kind of pain. Tyver's eyes widened as far as they could, a torrent of bubbles exploding from his mouth and slowly drifting upwards. Lightning coursed through his body as even the deepest recesses of his being cried out in agony.
The syringe mechanism depressed, emptying the silver-streaked fluid into his body. On the molecular level, the retrovirus activated and began attaching itself to the subject's brain structures. Flowing through whatever it came into contact to, enough reached the hypothalamus and pituitary gland. The foreign addition to the process was integrated as the retrovirus began rewriting Tyver's DNA. A change to the procedure Darkarlov had suggested in his mutterings to himself was to utilize an adolescent's changing body, its natural propensity for growth, as the fundamental vehicle for propagating the transformation. Tyver was to be the first for this new line of experimentation. The professor watched on in muted turmoil.
The needle held itself in the original entry it had made. Unbeknownst to nearly all observers, the ring of metal that did not match the machine's hue began to slide down closer to make skin contact with its target.
Then, tendrils of black began highlighting his blood vessels below the surface of his skin. Given that he did not dissolve at that point, perhaps the Professor's hunch would actually result in profound results. The boy's skin began turning black, his hair fell away as the skull also responded to these modified orders given by the subject's own body. Bones, muscle, tendons, flesh began rippling as their structure was broken down and rearranged again into something... alien?
Keeping the same silhouette of the previous human figure, many changes occurred in a short span of time. Skin was replaced with a smooth yet finely coarse carapace that made up the exoskeleton of the desired species. The fingers lengthened and became adorned with razor sharp talons. The legs expanded slightly, the ankle stretching behind before extending forwards again, resulting in the toes and balls of the feet bearing the individual's weight and what was the heel was more or less up in the air, assuming a digitigrade posture. Ribs pressed out and hardened to make the skeletal structure that would be regarded as anorexia in any other being, yet adding to the visage of death the xenomorph personified. Muscles shivered as they multiplied the threshold of their strength by a hundredfold. Tendon, cartilage, and other soft tissues shifted to accommodate all of these new changes.
Darkarlov expanded the experimentee's vitals and the real time x-ray feed. All organs were forming in the proper sequence, no difficulties at all developing. This was out of character for the whatever higher power that had previously surrounded this forsaken crusade with nothing but failure. Everything was proceeding according to plan. The scientist inside of him was overjoyed. The man within was troubled with a terrible foreboding.
Just as the skull was beginning to shift and extend outward into the characteristic crest of the desired class of xenomorph, the metal band around the syringe turned white-hot.
The Professor stumbled as he lost his balance. His cage had become unseated, the magnetic hum he was so used to hearing in the background taking a strange chaotic rhythm, alternating between loud booms and angry buzzing. The lights flickered then went out in this part of the Maximus complex, one by one until all that was visible was the foreign object pressed near the subject's neck. The bright orange light cast shadows across the entire room. He cast a glance to the source of the light, and apparently the cause of this phenomenon. It had not let up, and still continued to brighten albeit slowly.
He heard banging from the far side of the lab floor. Two security personnel spilled into the room, followed by a fellow scientist. This fellow must have been from the pharmaceutical or general medical field. Darkarlov would have been down there himself, but the orders behind his confinement were quite clear.
A high pitched hum began to assault the Professor's ears, even within his transparent cage. He looked at the three men down by the medtank; their discomfort was much more noted.
One of the mercenary's had dropped his flechette gun, trying to cover his ears. The other took a few steps toward the door before he dropped to the floor, his body shaking. Oddly, the scientist just stood there, rocking slightly; blood was beginning to drip from his nose and ears. Darkarlov watched on as he experienced but a fraction of what was going on down there. Then, clarity provided an explanation: this was sabotage, and the men down there were already dead.
The harsh piercing note let out a final screech. Darkarlov barely had any time to think before the glass of his cage walls began cracking, his head being filled with that last burst of deadly energy he could not see. The men below stopped moving as their eyes lolled back into their heads and their brains began oozing out of their ears.
The target area being sufficiently vacated of would-be interlopers, the metal band, working in tandem with the culprit behind this incident waited for the lighting to come back on. Killing the mind behind Maximus's brain child being successful, all that needed to be dealt with now was the product of these proceedings.
As the lights flickered back into existence and the magnetics resumed their normal hum, the metal band shattered. A massive amount of electricity was released into the medtank, lethal enough to kill a xenomorph, especially one injected with an unknown metal with the tendency to amplify conductivity. Streaks of white lightning arced across the changing figure, who responded by writhing around as best as possible while held fast by the robotic arms. The individual once known as Tyver raged against his existence.
A red haze overpowered his pain, and the newborn praetorian writhed against the inactive robotic arms that had been holding him. He placed his legs against the back of the medtank, and with a mighty heave broke through the glass with his crested head. He spilled forth with the slurry of liquid pharmaceuticals and broken crystalline glass. He sucked in a huge breath of real air.
Darkarlov bobbed in and out of consciousness, but he could hear the rolling roar of his creation, feel its agony and sorrow reverberate within his soul.
/ / / /
He ran, the facility now in an uproar as their prized lab lay in ruins. He looked right at home in the chaos as containment teams moved in when emergency responders ran from that part of the facility, some carrying severely wounded men and women. Yet, there was something off. Most of the injured were typical of sudden crashes as the mag-trains skid along the floor or various instruments short-circuited.
These people were carrying body parts, their owners either screaming in pain or their guts exposed. A few responders milled about aimlessly towards safety, eyes wide in shock, blood and gore smeared across their uniforms. There wasn't anything in this part of the facility that could do that. Unless...
Containment teams were only called in to contain things.
He broke into a sprint. There wasn't much time left to escape.
/ / / /
Had SPARTAN been brought into existence as a human being, it may have been amused at the antics of the would-be corporate spy Koening. The sabotage had been unexpected, but it had also triggered a sub-routine that brought the event to the AI's immediate attention. There had been suspicions about the man's true intentions; a thorough check of the man's background exposed his cover at his employment, as his handler had forgotten to edit him out of various news article pictures and school photos. They suggested that the man Robert Koening was indeed a well-trained scientist who had a knack for theatrics, previously in the employ of a Weyland-Yutani subcontractor.
A human had made the mistake that an artificial being would not have overlooked. Apparently, SPARTAN's existence was still as of yet unknown. No one knew about the highly illegal AI, not that he cared in any regard.
SPARTAN looked through the security feed leading up to the incident. There it was: Koening had installed something extra on the Compound as it was loaded.
My, my, someone's been a busy bee. The AI saw that the simple technician had did his best to overturn every nook and cranny he could without drawing attention to himself. He had saved everything from work orders he had participated in, to internal memos sent to high-ranking researchers, utilizing rather archaic spyware and snooping software that had not been seen for decades, if not centuries. It was a security vulnerability SPARTAN actually had not thought about.
The sophisticated AI turned his eye inward, examining his code. A technician had assumed an attacker would use only modern avenues to get what they wanted, reflected by updating the security processes as such. It rectified the error, making a note of it to Alexander. A thought then crossed SPARTAN's mind: how had this man been allowed to burrow his way so deep into one of their second most important project, behind bringing the Coliseum online?
No matter. The damage would be fixed. And, Maximus Corporation now possessed the keys to move forward with its plans.