The Facility sat deep in the woods, far off the beaten path and miles from the nearest paved road. Transports were always at their most vulnerable in the last stretch as the bumpy dirt roads jostled wounds and made medical care inefficient. Especially with a package in as bad shape as theirs, the last few miles were the final trial to get the delivery completed.

Or, they should have been.

Inside the facility, extraction team two was in a pickle.

Still in their grey coveralls, they stood beside the stretcher in a small room just a few steps inside of the moderate grey building. The driver had removed his mask and glasses but kept the hat. His partner was still in full gear, speckled with blood from his work keeping the package alive. 

On the other side of the stretcher stood a petite Caucasian woman in a fitted white lab coat. They had each met her once or twice before, but preferred not to deal with her if at all possible. 

Unfortunately for them, for the past few months she had come to inspect deliveries in person. She finished her review of the package and scowled. 

"This is roadkill," she said, nodding her head to the woman on the stretcher. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

The tall paramedic took her measure. Her long blonde hair, he decided, was the softest thing about her. She felt his gaze and returned it, and even the sheen of the florescent lights reflecting from her glasses did nothing to block the caustic appraisal she aimed their way.

That same ache in his jaw flared back up. "Ya put out a call for females only. Makes it hard to get anything kickin'," he said with an edge. "It's bad enough scavenging out there, much less havin' to be particular."

The head researcher clicked her tongue as she looked at the chart in her hands. Her manicured nail tapped against the bottom of the metal clipboard.

"Now, doctor," a deep voice called from down a narrow hall to the right of the room. 

The researcher's head snapped up with a furrowed brow and a twist to her lips.

The man who approached was just as tall as the first paramedic, but as broad as the second. Although also Caucasian, he had a thin tan that suggested that unlike the researcher, he had time to occasionally leave the facility. That tan, combined with his crisp navy blue suit, presented a distinct silhouette against the medically stark white walls.

The businessman stopped at the foot of the stretcher with his natural resting smile.

"These gentlemen here have brought us a patient," he said with a sweeping gesture to the extraction team. His eyes locked with the researcher's. "See to it she gets proper treatment."  

The researcher's scowl did not waver as she held the chart over her left shoulder. As if by magic, a medic appeared and plucked it from her hands, two more surrounding the subject and ushering the stretcher across the room and down another adjoining hall. 

"Prep for a P-strain comp test, stat," she called over her shoulder as her team rounded the corner.

She turned back to the businessman with arms crossed. 

"I need better subjects," she said flatly.

"Oh?" the businessman squared himself despite the foot and a half distance in height between himself and his opponent. "And did I just hear that you put out a sex restriction on available patients when we already have a deficit?" 

"Pearl prefers women," the head researcher said, biting off every word.

"Just like its mother," the second paramedic scoffed. His ears flushed red at the glare he received from both the researcher and the businessman, the latter made all the more terrifying by that unwavering smile. 

The shorter man curled into himself under the pressure of their eyes, and at his visible withdrawal they returned their attention to each other. 

The businessman didn't speak, merely waiting for the researcher to justify herself. 

She held his gaze without flinching. 

"Pearl kills or maims every male subject we give her. In the last two trial clusters the only survivors have been female." She paused, gauging how much more to say. "I think Pearl is female. I don't see the need to waste time or money prepping host bodies she'll just reject."

The businessman blinked slowly, considering. 

The paramedics were busy looking at the ground, the wall, anywhere but at the two giants battling before them. 

The businessman decided to try a different approach.

"Even so, you must be aware that your side project does not take precedence in this facility. What about the T-strain trials? Our next investor presentation is tomorrow. Have you prepared anything?"

The researcher let out an audible scoff, her lip curling as she turned away. "Of course I have something prepared," she said, stylish heels clicking as she followed in the direction of her team. "I always do."

She was gone down the corridor before the businessman could reply. 

He watched her as she left, his hand in his pocket fiddling with the smooth, small stone he kept on a chain. When he finally looked away his eyes landed on the forgotten extraction team, who stood waiting for their payment. 

"Please accept my apologies," the businessmen said, waving vaguely in the direction the head researcher had gone. "Your payment has been transferred into the agreed account."

"With tha' expenditure bonus?" the tall man asked around the chill he felt from that seemingly immobile smile.  

"Of course," the businessman said smoothly, no hint of offense in his caramel voice.

The tall paramedic nodded. He, like his partner, found it difficult to bear the attention of this man despite the amiable words he was offered. 

As the businessman dipped his head pleasantly in farewell, the paramedic shoved his hands into his pockets and spoke up.

"We're thinkin' about giving tha' Brighton area a rest. Got a nosy cop sniffin' around. Almost uncanny."

The businessman stopped, his body already half turned away. 

The paramedic went cold as he was reminded of the still, frozen attention of a wolf on the hunt. He had seen it in a documentary once, something he had watched one lazy night in a motel.  

"No-not that 'e knows anything!" he sputtered, spurred on by that unbidden image, his voice picking up pitch and speed as he spoke. "We got away clean, no tracks. Burned tha' plate and gonna resurface tha' van. Clean, I'm tellin' ya, clean!"   

The paramedic had his hands back out and in front of him, as if taming a wild animal, while his partner frantically looked back and forth between the two. They both had sunk into a slight, tense crouch as flight-or-fight instincts kicked in. 

The businessman's smile grew just a little bit sharper. 

"Pearl may have a...preference for women," the businessman said, more timber to his voice than before. Without turning his head he caught the paramedic's eye. "But we have many opportunities to relocate team members who don't meet expectations. Remember that."

The businessman broke eye contact and resumed his departure, his steps steady as he returned the way he came. 

Behind him the paramedics looked at each other. They swallowed with dry mouths.

                                                                                ~Part II~

Deeper in the facility, the medical team was hard at work transferring the new subject from the stretcher onto a bare metal bed. The head researcher watched with a tilted head, her two junior associates flanking her: on the left, a medium man, Caucasian with deep worry lines etched into his forehead; on the right, a tall South Asian woman with a steady gaze.

The three researchers observed as the medical team began cutting through the subject's ruined clothing and removing the bandages that had kept her alive. None of them moved as blood splashed across the floor towards their shoes. 

The head researcher's delicate hand darted out, finger pointing to the long, deep gash down the subject's left leg. 

"There."

The male junior moved forward, in his hand a small vial of runny grey liquid that splashed up the sides of the glass. The med team parted to let him through as he approached the subject. 

He studied the gash. It was about a foot long, starting on the upper thigh and continuing to the knee. The ragged edges suggested it was made from semi-sharp shards of either glass or plastic tearing through the soft flesh by force of velocity alone.

He poked a gloved finger inside the wound, testing the depth. His finger sank almost to the second knuckle at the deepest point. Nasty. He looked back and shook his head.

He stepped back to make way as the second junior researcher approached, in her hands a similar vial. The substance she held, however, was significantly more viscous. It had collected into a tablespoon-sized lump at the bottom of the small glass. 

The female junior performed her own inspection of the wound. Apparently she liked what she saw, because she nodded wordlessly to herself before uncorking the vial in her hands and dipping a long, thin spatula inside. 

Of its own volition, the substance slowly reached for and curled around the plastic. It stretched like taffy as the woman twirled the spatula to help it along. She carefully raised the loaded instrument out of the glass. 

In a quick, sharp movement, she slapped and smeared the spatula across the open wound.

The med team surged forward to hold down the subject as her muscles twitched and spasmed at the point of contact. 

The surface of the grey matter roiled, thin clawed tendrils emerging and violently latching onto the skin around the gash. A spiderweb of thin blue lines sparked across the grey surface as it connected itself to the subject's existing network of veins. 

It fed, growing asymmetrically bulbous before contracting and forcing its new bulk further down the length of the wound. More tendrils sprouted, clamping onto the edges as it expanded. 

It reached the end of the open flesh, tendrils brushing unbroken skin. Finding no more room to grow, it reached straight up, seeking, seemingly dissatisfied with the limits of its exploration. One clawed appendage brushed the green scrubs of the nearest medic, who had wrapped an arm around the subject's leg to still the spasms. 

The claw latched and the medic screamed. 

The tendril pulsed. Unable to forge a connection to the lifeless material, the claw released and the medic stumbled back. The tendril stilled for a moment. 

All seeking appendages retreated back into the body of the grey matter. 

With new purpose, it flattened and shimmied itself deeper into the muscle. The latched tendrils went taught, pulling the two halves of the leg closed as the grey matter tucked itself comfortably inside the woman's flesh. Within seconds the surface movement stilled. 

The female researcher reached forward with a thick wad of gauze to wipe away the blood. The skin came clean--a long, thin grey line all that was left of the ugly gash.

The remaining med team members shared glances.

"Subject is sufficiently compatible," the female junior said in a dispassionate voice, her calm tone cutting over the excitement that was growing among the other witnesses. 

No one moved to help the medic panting on the floor.

The head researcher stopped her pacing, arms clasped. She looked down speculatively at the young woman in scrubs now on her hands and knees on the bloody floor. "Can you give me an estimate?" she asked.

"I'll need a diagnostic to be certain, but I would say that the speed of integration and the minimal scarring suggest that the subject is over a 90% match."

The head researcher tasted copper. 

A 90% match was so improbable that they had long ago settled for 30, 40% as their goal. She began to pace again, the groveling, sobbing medic completely forgotten as adrenaline pumped through the room. 

This was what they had waited for, this crushed body the key to their hopes. 

The head researcher sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly through her nostrils. Her juniors returned to flank her. She turned her head to the right, toward the woman.

"Assign this subject to cluster 11. She will be our first, 1101. Run that diagnostic, get me DNA samples, and prep the body. Continue to use the P-strain symbiont on the remaining injuries." 

The junior researcher nodded, turning away to begin the paperwork to file and document the birth of a new trial cluster.

The head researcher looked to the left, toward the man. "Clean up this mess," she said. 

He nodded as well, moving to help the medic off of the floor. The young woman was shaking as he ushered her out of the room.

As he opened the door, the head researcher's voice called out. "And while you're out, get me the latest status report on subject 1032."

The junior researcher flinched, worry lines deepening despite his relative youth. The head researcher took note, turning her body fully to face her associate.

"Will that be a problem?" she asked with a dangerously even tone.

The man hesitated.

"I thought I had recommended termination of subject 1032. Her condition is...beyond our worst expectations," he explained.

The head researcher lowered her brow and drew her right hand to her hip. "Subject 1032 is an invaluable asset to our research. Although, yes, her current condition is undesirable, she was the most successful of her cluster. Your termination request was denied upon receipt."

"But ma'am, she's... At the very least we can..."

The head researcher snapped before he could finish.

"You, sir, are not a dog who gets to avert his eyes from the mess he's made. You cleared 1032 for the procedure, and you will account for her condition. Subject 1101 is the best chance we will ever have to reach our goals, and we need to track 1032's progress to give 1101 the highest chance for success. I will hear no more talk of removing that asset. Have I made myself clear?"

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as the junior researcher turned his face aside. After a pause, he nodded.

"Good." The head researcher turned away from him dismissively. 

He backed away, unable to look up as he left the room along with the failed med team member. As the door closed behind him he heard the head researcher's voice, loud and steady:

"This is it, team. Let's get moving. I want her whole and conscious in the next 48 hours."