Chapter 66
The next morning, I step into the lab, my stomach a ball of nerves, every breath catching in my throat. Peter’s already here, standing by the massive machine that would soon be responsible for editing my very DNA. He’s clearly furious—his face pale and his lips drawn into a thin, tight line. His movements are clipped, angry, as he sets up the equipment. It’s unsettling seeing him like this. He’s usually the most easygoing guy in the world, but today, his frustration radiates off him in waves.
“I can’t believe you’re really going through with this, Phoebe,” he mutters under his breath as he preps the tools on a sterile tray, his eyes flicking toward Lily, who stands off to the side, watching like a predator. “This is dangerous. Ridiculously dangerous, all you had to do was wait. I'd like to remind you both that there’s a reason these torture machines never made it to market.”
“Peter, stop whining and do your job,” Lily snaps, her voice icy and commanding. “Just because no one was willing to contend with the risks, doesn’t mean they don’t work. If you don’t want to be here, you can enjoy an impromptu research mission in the Arctic Circle. How does that sound?”
Peter’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives me a sideways glance, the concern etched into his face making my stomach twist.
“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” he mutters again, shaking his head. “You’re not just playing with fire, Phoebe—you’re jumping straight into the damn volcano.”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure as I nod. “I know the risks,” I say, though my voice wavers slightly. “But I have to do this.”
Peter doesn’t respond. He just picks up a set of sterile gloves and pulls them on with a sharp snap. His frustration is clear in the stiff way he moves, the tightness in his expression. He’s angry—at Lily, at me, maybe even at himself for agreeing to this.
“Fine,” he finally says, his voice low. “Let’s get started. Strip down.”
The command sends a flush of embarrassment through me, and for a moment, I just stand there, unsure. But I remind myself that, right now, Peter is acting as my doctor, not my friend. Still, the awkwardness lingers as I slowly undress, feeling my skin prickle with vulnerability. I avoid Peter’s gaze, trying not to think about the fact that I’m standing here naked in front of him. But it’s not Peter who unsettles me the most. It’s Lily.
Her eyes are on me the entire time, cold and calculating. I can practically feel her gaze stripping away my humanity, layer by layer. There’s a strange hunger in her eyes, as though she’s picturing my skin peeling away to reveal scales, imagining my legs morphing into fins. The idea sends a chill down my spine. Being naked in front of her feels like more than just vulnerability—it feels like she’s already envisioning the transformation, eager to see me stripped of everything that makes me human.
Peter clears his throat awkwardly, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Here,” he says, gesturing to a large capsule in the center of the lab. It looks unnervingly like a hypobaric chamber, sleek and metallic, with wires and tubes snaking out of it like some kind of futuristic coffin.
I step forward cautiously, my legs trembling slightly as Peter helps me inside. The metal is cold against my skin, and as I lie down and Peter begins inserting IVs, tapping my veins - one in both inner elbows, one in both hands, my knees, and ankles…
Peter’s hands tremble slightly as he attaches the final IV to the top of my left foot. I can’t tell if his shaking is from nerves or anger, but it’s probably both. He’s been against this process from the start, and now, watching him work with a scowl on his face only makes my stomach twist tighter. After all, he helped make these machines. He more than anyone knows how dire my prognosis is.
“Okay,” he says after a long pause, exhaling sharply. “This… the machine is going to siphon your blood, run it through the machine, and then modify the cells before pumping it back into your body.”
I glance at the chrome and glass surrounding me—sleek, intimidating, and humming ominously as if it’s alive, waiting to do its work.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, suddenly feeling a lot less confident about what I just signed up for.
Peter sighs, clearly frustrated. “That’s what the chamber is for. It’s going to pull your blood out, alter it, and then return it. It’s an automated process, and it’s incredibly experimental.”
“Incredibly experimental?” I can’t help but repeat, voice rising.
He tightens a band around my wrist, securing the IV in place. “We’re talking about modifying your genome almost instantaneously, Phoebe. This isn’t something people do, you're not popping down to Miami for a nose job.”
I swallow hard, trying to keep the panic from rising. “I didn’t think it was going to be a walk in the park, Peter.”
“I just need you to understand how risky this is,” he mutters, his eyes locking with mine. “Once we start, there’s no turning back.”
I glance over at Lily, who stands nearby, watching us with cool indifference. She doesn’t seem concerned—if anything, she looks intrigued, hungry. The same thing people say about me.
“Ready to begin?” Lily asks, her voice sharp and detached.
I nod, though my heart is pounding in my chest. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
Peter gives me one last look—almost a plea for me to reconsider—but I just stare back, determined. I’ve come this far. I can’t back out now.
“Fine,” Peter grumbles under his breath, moving to the control panel. “Here we go.”
The machine hums louder as Peter taps a few buttons, and I feel a strange sensation start to creep through my body. It’s subtle at first—just a tingling in my veins, a slight pressure as the machine starts to siphon my blood. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it feels… wrong. Like something’s being taken from me that shouldn’t be.
I breathe deeply, trying to relax, but the sensation grows stronger, and I start to feel light-headed. My vision swims for a moment, and I blink rapidly, fighting off the dizziness.
“You okay?” Peter asks, his voice tight with concern.
“I’m… fine,” I manage to say, though my voice is shaky. “Just a little dizzy.”
“That’s normal,” Peter says, watching the machine intently. “It’ll pass.”
I nod, trying to focus on anything other than the sensation of my blood being pulled out of my body, modified, and sent back in. It’s surreal, and even though Peter’s trying to keep me calm, the reality of what’s happening is starting to sink in.
And then, the pain starts.
At first, it’s just a dull ache in my chest, but it quickly spreads—hot, searing, like fire coursing through my veins. I grit my teeth, trying to push through it, but the burning intensifies, radiating through my entire body until it feels like every cell is being set ablaze.
I let out a gasp, my back arching against the table as the pain becomes unbearable. I can feel the blood returning to my body, but it’s like liquid fire pouring through my veins, scorching everything in its path.
“Phoebe?” Peter’s voice is sharp now, panicked. “Phoebe, what’s happening?”
“I—” I try to speak, but my voice is swallowed by a scream. My body convulses, jerking violently against the table. It feels like I’m being ripped apart from the inside out. The burning is everywhere—in my bones, my muscles, my skin—like my entire body is being consumed.
“Shut it down!” I hear Peter shout, his voice frantic. “Lily, shut it down, she can’t take this!”
“If you interrupt this procedure, your done,” Lily hisses at Peter, but her eyes are still locked on me. “Your career will be over.”
I can hear Peter cursing, his voice growing more distant as my vision starts to blur. Everything hurts. My body is on fire, but I can’t move, can’t breathe. My muscles lock up, and I realize with horror that I’m trapped inside my own body, aware of everything, but unable to move or scream. My lungs feel heavy, like they’re collapsing, and it’s getting harder to breathe with each passing second.
The world narrows to a pinpoint. I can hear them talking—Peter shouting, Lily calmly issuing orders—but it’s like I’m underwater. The sound is muffled, distant.
I’m going to die.
The thought is like a whisper, a dark certainty that curls around my mind. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. And no one can save me.
In the suffocating darkness of my mind, I call out to him.
Wake.
I can’t scream his name, but I think it, over and over, desperately trying to reach him.
Wake.
Suddenly, there’s a crash. The sound of glass shattering. The pressure around me shifts, the burning fading slightly. I hear a voice—a deep, familiar voice.
Wake.
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