The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like an incessant swarm of insects, casting a harsh, unyielding glow on the white-tiled floor. Elena, barely ten years old, sat on the cold examination table, her small legs dangling, kicking idly to distract from the prickling fear in her chest. The room smelled of antiseptic and something sharper—chemicals that made her nose wrinkle and her eyes water. Her father, Dr. Harlan Voss, loomed over her, his lab coat crisp and white, his face a mask of focused determination that he called "love." "This will make you strong, Ellie," he said, his voice steady but distant, as if speaking to a subject rather than his daughter. "Stronger than your mother. No more weaknesses."
Elena's heart raced, not just from the unknown, but from the grief that still clung to their home like a shroud. Mom had died six months ago—heart failure, the doctors said, sudden and merciless. Dad had changed after that, retreating into his work at the secret facility, whispering about "enhancements" and "preventing loss." Now, here she was, his guinea pig in a hidden basement lab he'd built under their house, away from prying eyes. The needle in his hand glinted, filled with a shimmering serum—his "vitality boost," a splice of subtle genetic traits from Project Chimera's early trials. "It'll protect your heart," he promised, swabbing her arm. The prick was sharp, the liquid burning as it entered her veins, fire spreading through her body. She cried out, tears streaming, but he held her still. "For your own good."
That was the first injection, the beginning of a nightmare disguised as salvation. As the days blurred into weeks, Elena's body changed in ways she couldn't understand. At first, it was subtle—heightened energy, sharper senses, a restless itch under her skin that made her fidget endlessly. But then came the urges, confusing and overwhelming for a child. Her heart would race unpredictably, palpitations thudding like a drum in her chest, leaving her breathless and terrified. "It's the boost adapting," Dad explained, his grief turning to obsession, administering more doses in secret sessions. "You'll be perfect—no more failures like your mother."
The experiments escalated. By twelve, Elena's "treatments" involved isolated traits from hybrid prototypes—nothing visible like ears or tails, but internal: Enhanced metabolism, amplified hormones to "fortify cardiac resilience." Dad's notes, which she'd sneak peeks at, detailed it all: "Subject E.V.—spliced with feline vitality for endurance, avian adrenaline for response. Side effect: Hyper-libido as hormonal overflow. Must monitor for cardiac strain." The high libido manifested as an unrelenting need, a fire in her core that built if ignored, leading to blackouts and heart flutters that mimicked Mom's fatal attack. "Release it," Dad had said clinically when she confessed the confusing sensations, handing her books on "self-care" with detached advice. Shame burned in her—vulnerability in her father's cold experiments, grief for the normal childhood stolen.
Nights became battles—her body demanding relief, heart pounding dangerously if denied, fear gripping her as she learned to "manage" alone, tears of confusion mixing with forced pleasure. Joy was rare, fleeting moments when the "boost" made her feel alive, strong, but anger grew—anger at Dad for turning her into this, for using Chimera's horrors on his own flesh. By fifteen, the changes stabilized, but the curse remained: High libido as a lifeline, sex or self-release a necessity to prevent cardiac overload. "You're my success," Dad praised, but his eyes held guilt, grief for Mom twisting into madness.
Then came the breaking point. At seventeen, Elena discovered the full extent—hidden files on Dad's computer revealing Chimera's atrocities: Cages of hybrids like Miko, experiments far worse than hers. Horror struck her—fear for those "subjects," anger at Dad's role. "You did this to them? To me?" she confronted him, tears streaming. He broke down, grief pouring out: "I couldn't lose you too. The boost... it worked. But the cost..." Vulnerability cracked his facade, but it was too late—the strain killed him months later, official "heart attack," but Elena knew: Guilt's toll.
In the aftermath, she inherited the files, the house, the curse. Vulnerability defined her—high libido a constant need, release or risk blackout, heart attack looming like Mom's ghost. Joy eluded her, relationships shallow, until me—kind, understanding, but committed to Miko. Anger at her body, grief for lost innocence, fear of dying alone—emotions collided, driving her persistent propositions, desperate for connection beyond survival.
Back in the present, as Elena shared this in our living room, tears flowing, Miko's empathy grew, her hand on Elena's shoulder. "You're one of us... experimented on." Love for our bond held, but alliance deepened—Elena's condition a key to suppressants. Emotions raw, the night ended in tentative hope, shadows retreating slightly.