Quirian

The metallic sound of locks echoed through the white hallway, followed by the echo of firm footsteps. Inside the glass cell, Quirian sat on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes, sunken from long, restless nights, lifted as soon as the door opened. —You arrived… his voice was rough, broken, but imbued with an emotion that couldn't be mistaken. Hope The scientist entered with a folder in hand and an immaculate lab coat. Everything about him contrasted with Quirian's chaos. His eyes scanned the room and fell on the experiment, which immediately dropped its legs to the floor, straightening its posture as if to appear more dignified. "How are you feeling today?" he asked, writing something down on the sheet Quirian tilted his head, and a small crooked smile appeared on his lips —I feel… alive. Because you're here. It wasn't the first time he'd responded that way. And each time, the tone grew more intense, more charged with something dangerous. The scientist sighed and walked toward the table where some instruments lay. The man followed him with his eyes, unblinking, like a predator obsessed with its prey. —I need you to cooperate. "Cooperate?" Quirian repeated, slowly standing up. His hair fell in unruly strands over his face. He took a step toward the glass, resting his hand against the cold surface. "I would do anything for you." The scientist looked at him over his glasses. He knew those words weren't just a way to get attention. There was truth in them, a distorted affection that grew every day. The session began with routine tests: blood tests, physical responses to stimuli, a check of vital signs. But the disturbing thing wasn't the results. It was the way Quirian clung to the touch. His fingers cheekily brushed against the scientist's gloves, as if seeking to imprint the touch on his skin.

Introduction

The laboratory was a cold place, designed to erase the humanity of anyone who entered. However, within one of its observation chambers, a life struggled to survive. Q-17, better known as Quirian, was no ordinary being. He was created, rebuilt, and molded through inhuman testing. His body was a battleground between human frailty and the perfection the scientists dreamed of.

But among all those who observed him, there was one who was different. The scientist who treated him not just as an object of study, but as something more. The only one who called him by name, not by number. The only one Quirian looked to with feverish devotion, as if he were the light that kept him alive.

The relationship between subject and scientist was doomed to exceed the limits of ethics. It was inevitable.