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Scene Twelve: Drugs and Dosages
He scanned through the ongoing research activities.
PROJECT SERAPHIM
PATIENT ZERO 2010
PROJECT STASIS
CRIMINAL CASES
ECSTA-Z
There were hundreds of files.
The screen shifted as Brian navigated to the PHASE 2 TRIALS sub-folder, opening it brought a long sequence of surveillance and internal recordings that began to spool forward, each labeled with timestamps, compound lots, and subject aliases.
"AI, summarise effects observed across the subject pool of PHASE 2 TRIALS."
The interface began computing the video data, interpreting the archived biometric logs, behavioral transcripts, and surveillance recordings.
"Processing, PHASE 2 TRIALS."
A temporary folder appeared on the screen, slightly translucent, flickering as data nodes compiled behind it. The header pulsed softly:
PHASE 2 TRIALS — 98 SUBJECTS — SUMMARY DASHBOARD (UNREVIEWED)
Within seconds, categorized folders stabilized as crisp white glyphs labeled with the count of affected individuals in parentheses. Each header was sortable, expandable, and cross-linked with video data and longitudinal medical entries.
01. HYPERSTIMULATION (98/98)
02. SYNAPTIC FATIGUE (98/98)
03. WITHDRAWAL INSTABILITY (94/98)
04. Z-COMPENSATION SYNDROME (67/98)
05. MEMORY ECHO RETENTION (52/98)
06. PERSONALITY ALTERATION (61/98)
07. SOMATIC MUTATION (37/98)
There were many more entries.
Brian selected Z-COMPENSATION SYNDROME; his eyes narrowed.
The screen shifted. On the right three-fourths, 67 surveillance clips were loaded in a cascading queue. The subjects in the video were moving slowly. Some crouched in corners. Others stood in rigid silence, swaying slightly, unblinking.
On the left panel, the AI populated the symptom database:
04. Z-COMPENSATION SYNDROME
DEFINITION —
A chronic neuroadaptive phase observed in long-term Ecsta-Z users, marked by progressive behavioral and physiological changes resembling an advanced hollow phenotype. Believed to result from parasitic mimicry, cumulative synaptic fatigue, and long-term dopaminergic override.
OBSERVED SIGNS —
Shuffling gait and postural instability.
Reduced pupillary light reflex and slowed blink rate.
Flattened affect or unresponsive facial musculature.
Delayed or blunted nociceptive response.
Echolalia and compulsive muttering.
Periorbital pigmentation changes ("z-shadowing").
Occasional tonic muscle tremors.
ONSET —
Typically emerges after sustained Ecsta-Z exposure for 12+ months.
Earlier onset is noted in high-dose users or those with compromised blood-brain barrier integrity.
Symptoms worsen progressively with each exposure cycle.
Remission is unlikely once the syndrome reaches cortical remodeling.
Often misdiagnosed early as neurodegenerative or schizoaffective disorders.
CROSS REFERENCE DATA —
92% neural pattern similarity to Type-B Hollow limbic configuration.
Peak correspondence with known Hollow encephalopathy zones: amygdala, anterior cingulate, dorsal striatum.
In 22% of cases, somatic mutation markers resemble Stage I parasitic adaptation.
CONCLUSION —
Behavioral mimicry of hollow phenotype.
CONFIDENCE —
92.4%
PROGNOSIS —
Poor. Neuroplastic rollback was not observed in the trial cohort.
Brian stared at the readout. He already knew it, but now the AI had confirmed it, too.
Brian went back over to ECSTA-Z and selected it.
"Loading, ECSTA-Z," the AI announced.
The screen was populated by a grid of sparse data. Much of it was blank, marked with the status of UNKNOWN.
Brian stared at it a moment longer as if thinking about something, then spoke aloud.
"AI, log entry."
"Dictation ready," the synthetic voice replied.
"Update ORIGIN HYPOTHESIS. Include a possible biochemical harvesting from hollowed neural tissue."
"Logged."
"Add new entry on SOURCE. Include Eastern Syndicate's involvement."
"Logged."
"And tag… Amari Kresh."
He paused, just for a breath.
"His status — unknown."
"Confirmed," the AI replied.
Ecsta-Z, which was cheap, dirty, and euphoric, had triggered the same systems as Seraphim-1.
The same hunger, but for the drug. The same resilience, but fleeting. The same transformation, but artificial.
On the other hand, Brian was the perfected vessel. He had all the pros and none of the cons. When compared to the drug, of course. Because that came at a cost — one most couldn't bear:
Control, containment, isolation, and restraint.
The average human wasn't built for it.
He sat back, his fingers steepled under his chin.
In the world after the outbreak, people hadn't just scavenged for food or safety. They had scavenged death. They exploited even the rotting, parasitized dead. They wanted to be like them — but not completely. A taste of the thrill. The strength. The primal wholeness. Without the decay.
The irony, he thought.
They hated the hollows. But they envied them more.
And as Brian's reflection shimmered in the dark glass of the monitor — motionless, unblinking. He realized. He was the bridge between the two.
The last thing that could live like a human. And devour like a plague.
Scene Thirteen: Taste of Your Own Medicine
The lights in the sublevel lab were dimmed to an eerie clinical blue, broken only by the occasional red pulse of motion sensors and biometric scans. The room stretched vast, silent except for the ambient hum of life-support systems.
Cylindrical glass tanks lined the chamber. Some held humans — floating, motionless, suspended in viscous fluid with breathing masks sealed over their mouths.
Others held hollows where they were restrained. Their eyes were vacant, and their limbs were bound in electromagnetic cuffs. Whatever rage had once animated them was long gone. Now they simply twitched, dull and empty.
Brian walked between the rows like a priest among reliquaries.
He stopped in front of Cylinder 99. A monitor engaged with it, showing the data regarding it.
SUBJECT — MARCO (16-S)
STATUS — IMMERSED
SEDATION — STABLE
Brian studied the shape suspended within. Marco's body floated limply, like a drowned man held in limbo by translucent blue gel. A respirator mask covered his mouth and nose. Wires trailed from his scalp, chest, and thighs, pulsing faintly.
"AI," Brian said softly. "Begin fluid evacuation. Target cylinder ninety-nine."
"Confirming, Subject 16-S," the AI replied.
Mechanical arms above the cylinder hissed to life. Tubes drained downward, and the chamber began to hiss and empty. The blue suspension fluid spiraled out through a filtration system below. Marco's body gently descended, limbs slowly rotating as gravity reclaimed him. His back settled onto the textured floor of the chamber with a soft thud.
Brian folded his hands behind his back.
"Wake him up."
"Activating neurostimulant blend."
A hiss was heard. A light mist began to flood the interior chamber. The blend was enough to draw Marco from induced coma, but not enough to trigger adrenaline.
Marco twitched and stirred. Behind the mask, his mouth opened with a dry gasp. His eyes flickered under heavy lids, and his lips mumbled something low and inchoate.
"…mmgh… fuckin'… was that a dream or…"
He blinked. The mask detached automatically, retracting into the wall as his vitals spiked.
Marco's eyes snapped open. He looked around.
Steel? Glass? Shadows?
His breath quickened. He started hyperventilating. His hands clawed for something — anything — to orient himself. His body recoiled backward. He slammed into the reinforced back wall of the chamber with a sickening crack. As soon as he saw the situation, he panicked.
"THE FUCK IS THIS?" he yelled, voice rising into a sharp, panicked bark. "YO! GET ME OUT! YO! JIMMY? COLE?"
He tried throwing his shoulder against the glass once and then again, but nothing happened. There was not even a hairline fracture. Brian made sure of it. Marco didn't have too much strength, and the glass was not cheap.
That's when he noticed it. His left leg. Gone below the knee.
There was no blood — only a sealed, pale bio-patch banded across the stump, like a surgical brand. The nerves had been chemically silenced.
He stared, then screamed, "FUCK! You piece of shit — YOU TOOK MY FUCKIN' LEG! WHAT IS THIS?! YOU MOTHERFUCKER — I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL KILL YOU — OPEN THIS FUCKING GLASS!"
He hammered his fists against the chamber, each blow duller than the last. His voice cracked from shouting. His saliva hit the glass.
Outside the cylinder, Brian stood still. He had his hands in the pockets of his coat. His expression was unreadable. He said nothing. He only watched. The AI waited in silence.
Marco pounded once more, now coughing, sliding to his knees. His fury was choking him. His breaths grew shallow, but inside, he was furious, then frightened.
He looked up through the glass, eyes wild. Sweat mingled with confusion. "Where… am I?" he asked, the question more to the glass than to Brian.
Marco's words barely faded when Brian spoke.
"I took your leg for culturing Seraphim."
Marco blinked.
"You are still useful," Brian continued, almost absently. "Four more times. Maybe five. Depends on how you hold up."
Marco's mouth opened. "What the fuck did you just— "
"But that's not why I am here," Brian said, stepping closer to the glass. His reflection hovered faintly over Marco's trembling figure.
"Would you prefer to take Ecsta-Z… or stay here? Just like this."
Marco's fists curled. "You — you sick freak. You fucking parasite! You think I'm gonna shoot up that shit?!"
Brian waited in silence.
"FUCK. YOU. I'll — I'll find a way outta this! You hear me?! You don't know who I am!"
Brian glanced at the AI sensor pad on the station.
"Begin sedation. Re-preserve subject 16-S."
"Wait — wait, WAIT!"
"Confirmed."
A hiss escaped as the chamber's valves opened. Gasps of incredible pressure flowed in. Beneath Marco, the floor emitted a soft vibration as the base channels unlocked.
The viscous fluid began rising again, slowly licking its way up Marco's calves.
"No — NO NO — WAIT!!" Marco shouted, pounding against the glass. "I'll do it! I'll — fuck! I'll take it! I'll fucking take it, alright?!"
Brian didn't move.
"Please! Just — don't put me back in this shit again!"
The hiss paused.
The rising fluid slowed, then retracted. A faint click echoed as the command canceled mid-sequence.
Brian didn't blink. "Good."
The chamber rumbled as mechanical joints activated.
"Relocate subject 16-S," he said.
"Confirmed."
A crane-like suspension arm clamped the upper frame of the cylinder and began to lift. The motion was smooth, but Marco shuddered as the glass shell tilted slightly, his weight swaying with it. He screamed once, incoherent, panic laced with confusion.
The chamber traveled along a mounted rail system, descending into a narrow auxiliary hallway lit only by strip-lights and retinal scanners. The glass hissed again for decompression. With a clack, the cylinder split open.
Marco collapsed forward, gasping, onto cold concrete. He looked up. It was neither a lab nor a torture box.
A room with a metal sink, compact bed, a toilet in the corner, and smooth tile underfoot.
A wide mirror stretched across one wall. It was too clean and deliberate. It was a one-way glass, but Marco could still feel the eyes on the other side.
Marco crawled and sat against the wall, soaked and trembling.
And behind that glass, Brian stood, watching.