David's hands trembled as he guided Aaron through the dimly lit corridors of the lab. Every breath his son took was strained, wet with pain. The lights above buzzed faintly, casting flickering shadows on the sterile white walls—cold, impersonal, nothing like a place a father should ever have to bring his child.
He burst into the monitoring room, quickly activating the chamber—an airtight glass enclosure with medical-grade concrete floors and life support systems surrounding the walls. Carefully, he laid Aaron inside, his heart hammering with dread as he connected monitors to his son's chest, temples, arms. The machines beeped and blinked in response, painting a dire picture: elevated heart rate, rapid temperature increase, and oxygen saturation dropping dangerously low.
Aaron lay sprawled out, his body convulsing in violent waves, fingers twitching as thick, dark fur began to push through his pores like needles. His back arched with a choked cry as the transformation clawed its way through his nervous system. His skin looked flushed and bruised, the tendons in his neck taut with stress. His body was on fire, and it showed in every agonized movement.
David stood outside the glass, heart clenched. He's going to die, was the only thought echoing in his mind. The formula was never supposed to work like this. It wasn't even supposed to function at all—not yet. There had been no time for trials, no way to know what the human body could withstand. And now it was his son paying the price.
Inside the chamber, Aaron's vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the corners. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. His body felt like it was trying to rip itself apart from the inside. He clawed weakly at the floor, and the sound of his nails scraping deep gouges into concrete startled even him.
Through the haze, he lifted his head. Beyond the blurry glass, a figure stood—his father. Aaron reached out, trembling, wanting to cry, to scream for help... but his body collapsed under the pain. His head hit the ground with a soft thud, and blackness swallowed him whole.
David slammed a fist against the console, eyes burning. "Come on, Aaron... fight it." He watched as his son's vitals stabilized slightly, and for a moment, hope flickered. But something was wrong. The transformation was accelerating now that Aaron had passed out. The data confirmed it: his cells were mutating faster, his temperature was rising again, and his skeletal structure was slowly beginning to shift.
He was fighting it when he was awake. That realization stabbed David deep. His son had been holding on, resisting it with everything he had. And now that strength was gone.
Inside Aaron's mind, the world shifted.
He stood in a long, dreamlike hallway. The floor stretched endlessly ahead, and on either side of him were towering mirrors—clearer than glass, somehow more real than real. His bare feet padded softly against the dark stone floor as he moved forward, breath steady but uneasy.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Human. Whole. But something was... off.
He turned to stare. In the reflection, his form began to change. Not abruptly—but slowly, like a sped-up video of nature taking its course. Fur began to sprout up his arms in gentle waves, creeping toward his shoulders. His legs warped, bending backward into a digitigrade stance. Fingers became clawed. His ears sharpened, and his once-normal eyes glowed a soft, eerie blue.
But the most jarring change was the tail—long, thick, muscular—growing from his lower spine, curling behind him like a serpent.
Aaron backed away from the mirror and looked down at his body.
Nothing.
He was still human. Still untouched. But the reflection never lied.
Panic bloomed in his chest like a wildfire. Is this me? What's happening to me?
A heavy pressure filled the hallway air, like some presence watching him, waiting for him to give in.
Outside, in the real world, Aaron's unconscious body jerked again. The heart rate monitor spiked. Fur now covered patches of his arms and neck. Claws had fully formed at the tips of his fingers, and small shifts in his skeletal alignment were registering as "unidentifiable deformation" on the scanning system.
David stepped closer to the glass, ignoring the pounding in his own chest. He placed a trembling hand on it, whispering, "I'm so sorry, son. I should've never kept the samples in the open. I should've—" His voice cracked. "I should've protected you."
Inside the chamber, Aaron stirred.
Slowly, his glowing blue eyes snapped open. But these weren't the same eyes David had known since birth. There was something wild in them—animalistic, feral.
Then Aaron lunged.
With terrifying speed, he sprang up and slammed against the glass, claws extended, face twisted into a snarl. The impact was thunderous, shaking the room. David stumbled backward, heart skipping a beat as he fell onto the cold lab floor.
Then, silence.
Aaron collapsed again, completely still. The monitors beeped softly.
David sat frozen, staring wide-eyed at the motionless form of his son—no, something wearing the skin of his son. But deep down, he knew.
That brief moment... that snarl... That wasn't Aaron.