He jolted awake, his shaggy cheek lathered with spit from the expansive pool of drool occupying his desk. He sat up quickly and wiped his drooling face on his jacket sleeve, eyes adjusting to the white light surrounding his work station as he searched for the time rapidly: his watch’s display read three in the morning. As often as he and others pulled all-nighters you’d think CyGen would have invested in some desk side accessories for comfort and slumber. It had been some weeks – possibly a month and some change – since he had gotten a full night’s sleep and poor nutrition habits didn’t help but this was no time to back down; they were on the precipice of a breakthrough in creating an almost entirely self-sustainable symbiotic being: the first human hybrid and the future of native Abanians.
Before he had passed out he had begun synthesizing a new injection for the hybridation process which would supposedly significantly reduce the chance of potential hybrids becoming complete husks: unresponsive and dead to the world. Previous experimentation and testing led to an extremely volatile but almost entirely incognitive subject whom walked the line of insanity. These creatures became known as ferals.
He took the vial from the machine and loaded it in, testing the syringe. The containment tank door latched behind him, impossible to open from the inside and crafted from reinforced abantine. Ferals weren’t good enough. No. They were unacceptable. They were failures of science and monstrosities of life and he would not rest until he found the answer to harnessing their evolution. He would not rest until he righted the wrong of his dreams. Even if that meant testing on himself…
Daily Prompt: transformation
Word of the Day: heuristic