CHAPTER 24: The Origin of the Serum

CHAPTER 24: The Origin of the Serum

The conference room at Enid Corp was a cube of technology and deliberate darkness. Walls of polished steel reflected the lines of blue LED light that snaked like luminous veins. The investors—men and women in suits with expressions of skepticism and greed—watched the hologram floating above the central table.

Enid stood under the cold light of the projector, her silhouette outlined like an iron statue.

"For centuries," began the narrator's voice, deep and edited to sound omniscient, "humanity has searched for its origins. We found them."

The hologram showed a desert under a starry sky. Then, a primeval forest. At its center, a muscular, bestial figure—Adam, the first lycanthrope—walked among shadows. His golden eyes glowed with ancient intelligence.

"Adam was not just a man; he was the missing link," the voice sounded almost religious. "A perfect fusion of human and predator. His genetic code is the Rosetta Stone of lycan transformation."

The images changed to underground laboratories. Glass capsules with subjects writhing in failed transformations. Green liquid humming in test tubes.

"We had failures," the voice admitted. "But every mistake brought us closer to the definitive serum."

The hologram ended with the Enid Corp logo—an eagle devouring its own tail—lighting up in blood red.

The lights came on. Enid stepped forward, her heels echoing in the silence.

"This is not biotechnology," she said, her voice cutting the air like a knife. "It is directed evolution. The Uber Lycan Serum redefines what it means to be powerful. And that power... is exclusive to us."

An investor—a man with a weasel-like face—raised his hand.

"And the risks? The previous subjects..."

"They were necessary stepping stones," Enid interrupted. "Now we have an elite army. And a leader who demonstrates that control is possible."

She smiled, showing perfect teeth.

"Are you ready to write history?"

Crystal glasses were raised. The silence broke with murmurs of approval. Enid drank, savoring the metallic taste of triumph.

The plane cut through the night like a steel hawk. In the cabin, illuminated by dim lights, Fénix was pale and sweaty. A drop of blood escaped from his left ear, zigzagging down his jaw.

Alucard, sitting beside him, was leafing through a vintage fashion magazine. Without looking at him, he commented:

"You have some blood on your ear. Abstract drip style."

Fénix opened his eyes. He touched his ear, looked at the red stain on his fingers with annoyance.

"Great," he murmured, wiping it with a napkin. "Just what I needed."

"Headache?" asked Alucard, turning a page. "Or are you just decorating the plane with your fluids?"

Fénix massaged his temples.

"Yeah, it hurts. Like I have a pneumatic hammer in my skull. Nothing new."

Alucard closed the magazine.

"The human body is funny. It gives subtle signals... until it can't anymore. Blood from the ears, migraines that don't subside... things people ignore until they collapse in a hallway."

"I won't collapse," Fénix closed his eyes. "I just need to sleep."

"Sure," Alucard lit an electronic cigarette he didn't use. "But if you vomit, try not to stain my shoes. They're Ferragamo."

Fénix didn't respond. The pain was real—a persistent drill behind his eyes—but he ignored it as always. Not knowing it was the echo of something much deeper.