The Synthesis

The digital clock on the wall read 12:14 AM.

The Clean-Room was filled with the frantic, high-pitched whir of the office centrifuge. Aris stood over the terminal, fingers flying, constantly adjusting the rotational velocity and chemical binding agents as the computer ran the synthesis probability.

* Probability of survival: 12%... 14%... 11%...*

On the steel table, Kaelen began to convulse. His neural pathways were shutting down as The Rust breached his upper spinal column. He thrashed wildly, his hand striking a rack of glass testing beakers. They shattered against the linoleum, sounding like a bomb going off in the claustrophobic room.

Suddenly, the overhead lighting shifted from sterile white to a strobing, aggressive crimson. A digitized siren pierced the air.

*"Warning,"* the automated security voice announced. *"Class-Four Biological Hazard detected in Level 84 Clean-Room. Quarantine lockdown initiated. Armed extraction teams dispatched."*

"Damn it," Aris hissed. The shattered beakers, mixed with Kaelen’s infected blood on the floor, had tripped the room's internal bio-sensors. The Consortium knew they were here.

Beyond the frosted glass of the Clean-Room, out in the main office, a shower of brilliant orange sparks cascaded from the ceiling. Aris watched in horror as the heavy security doors of the archive began to glow white-hot. A corporate extraction squad was cutting through the locks with plasma torches. They would be through in less than two minutes.

* Ding.*

The office centrifuge spun down, the heavy lid popping open with a hiss of pressurized air. Aris rushed over and pulled out the vial.

The fluid inside was no longer the deep, glowing blue of sovereign blood, nor the dull, hard gray of The Rust. It was a volatile, violently glowing liquid silver. It bubbled and hissed within the reinforced glass, emitting a faint, high-frequency hum.

Aris loaded the silver fluid into a heavy pneumatic syringe, their hands shaking so badly they nearly dropped it.

"Kaelen," Aris yelled over the blaring sirens, grabbing the Prince by the jaw to stop his thrashing. "Kaelen, look at me!"

The Prince’s eyes cracked open. The silver irises were clouded, rimmed with the gray necrosis of the disease.

"The synthesis is done," Aris shouted, holding up the glowing syringe. "But it's untested! I used an office centrifuge, Kaelen. This is a massive cellular rewrite. It might cure you, or it might instantly stop your heart!"

A deafening *BOOM* shook the floor as the main office doors finally gave way. The sound of heavy tactical boots swarming the linoleum echoed through the archive.

*"Target is in the Clean-Room! Breach and clear!"* a voice barked over a megaphone.

Kaelen looked at the syringe, then up at Aris. His breathing was agonizingly slow. Despite the pain, despite the terror of the rapidly approaching death squad, a faint, ghost of a smile touched his pale lips.

"Do it," the Prince whispered. "Kill the empire, Doctor."