Title: The Monster They Made
The fluorescent lights flickered violently, humming a dissonant tune that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the boy's shallow breaths. His body lay strapped to the cold, metal operating table—naked except for the wires, tubes, and steel clamps pinning him in place. His skin, once smooth and human, was now rough, scaly, and discolored. Faint pulses of radioactive light coursed through veins that no longer looked natural.
His name was Quest Strother. He was only seventeen.
"Vitals are stable," one of the scientists muttered, his voice a sharp contrast to the chaos building in the room. Others scurried around the table, adjusting machines, monitoring data, and scribbling notes. But none dared to look him in the eyes.
Not anymore.
"Increase the output. I want a full reading of cellular regeneration before we begin neural stimulation," said Dr. Valen Reed, the man leading the project. His voice was calm, detached—a predator savoring the moment before the kill. He had no empathy, only curiosity.
"Sir, the radiation levels—"
"—are necessary. Do it."
Quest's eyes twitched behind swollen lids. Somewhere deep inside, he could still feel the pain—the endless burning, the sensation of his body breaking and reforming over and over again. But beyond the pain, there was something else now. Something darker.
Hatred.
The machines whirred louder, sparks arcing across the metal framework as the process continued. Quest's breathing hitched, then steadied. His skin hardened further, spikes pushing through his spine, tearing apart what little flesh remained untransformed. The scientists stepped back as if their creation might suddenly break free.
And then it did.
Quest's eyes shot open—bright, glowing orbs that radiated malice and hunger. The clamps that held his limbs in place buckled with a metallic shriek, and the first scream came not from him but from the scientist nearest to the table.
Quest tore through the restraints like wet paper, his elongated claws slashing through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed against the sterile walls, painting them red.
"Contain him!" Valen barked.
The room erupted in chaos. Alarms blared. Guards poured in with rifles and electrified nets, but their efforts only added fuel to the storm. Quest moved like an animal, but with intelligence—a predator that knew exactly how fragile its prey truly was. Bullets ricocheted harmlessly off his scales.
A guard lunged with a cattle prod, jabbing it into Quest's ribs. The surge of electricity barely slowed him before he grabbed the man by the throat and crushed it with one hand.
Valen scrambled toward the control panel. "Activate the failsafe!"
The walls groaned as thick steel doors began to close, but Quest wasn't interested in being caged. He roared—a deep, guttural sound that sent vibrations through the floor—and slammed his massive tail against the walls, shattering panels and rupturing pipes. Flames erupted from the ruined machinery, engulfing bodies and igniting the room.
Valen was gone, sprinting down the corridor with a handful of survivors. Behind him, the facility trembled.
"Self-destruct countdown initiated," a robotic voice announced. "Detonation in T-minus 60 seconds."
The scientists ran, but Quest did not chase them. He stood in the flames, his glowing eyes fixed on the ruins around him. Smoke curled around his monstrous form as the countdown continued.
He walked.
Not toward the survivors, not toward the exits—but toward the sea. When the explosion came, it swallowed the facility in fire and ash, but it could not stop him. Nothing could stop him.
Days Later.
A massive oil tanker drifted through the Pacific, its crew uneasy. Reports of missing vessels had spread quickly, along with whispers of something unnatural hunting the waves.
"Contact at starboard!" shouted one of the lookouts.
The crew rushed to the rails just in time to see it rise from the depths—a silhouette against the moonlit waters. Spines like jagged obsidian cut through the surface, followed by a monstrous head that barely resembled anything human. Its eyes glowed, and for a moment, the ocean seemed to hold its breath.
"Open fire!"
Cannons roared, and machine guns rained fire, but the bullets may as well have been pebbles. Quest surged forward, smashing into the ship with enough force to tear its hull apart. The deck tilted, and men screamed as the monster climbed aboard, cutting them down with claws and teeth.
The radio crackled as the captain desperately called for help.
"Mayday! Mayday! We're under attack! It's—it's not human!"
Quest grabbed the radio from the captain's hand, his claws crushing the device. But before he destroyed it completely, he leaned in close, letting his voice slip through the static.
"You did this," he growled. "And now you'll drown in it."
The line went dead.
As the ship sank, Quest stood on its remains, staring out at the horizon. He felt no satisfaction, no regret—only the pull of something deeper. A need to keep moving.
To destroy.
Because he was no longer human.
He was something else.
And the world would learn to fear him.
End of Part 1.