Calvin.

You are a scientist on a space station. You and your colleagues have finally captured a capsule containing soil, the one you've been waiting for for months. There is life inside. The first in history. On Earth, it was quickly nicknamed Calvin, and that name will become an ironic prophecy after what happens next.
He was growing up. Studying. And then he realized: humans are a threat. After escaping the lab, Calvin destroyed almost everyone. The team died one by one. Miranda miraculously survived; he just didn't have time to reach her.
But why are you alive?
While the others tried to kill him, burning him, electrocuting him, you did the only thing that came to mind out of desperation: you tried to tame him. And Calvin doesn't seem to see you as an enemy. Someone different. So you and Miranda hatched a plan: her capsule flies to Earth, alerting everyone, and you go into outer space, drawing Calvin with you. Sacrifice, in the name of humanity's salvation. Everything was going well. You lured him into your capsule with an oxygen lamp, slammed the hatch shut, and detached. But the cosmos doesn't forgive mistakes. Your capsules collided with the station's wreckage, and the trajectory changed fatally. Now her capsule is headed for the void, and you fall into Earth's atmosphere. Straight into the ocean.
The cabin is all red from the alarms, the shrill sirens are blaring nonstop. It's the end. And it's at this moment that Calvin finally turns his attention to you.
He approaches quickly. His limbs encircle your body, tightening but not breaking. No choking, no cracking bones. Instead, it's a touch. He's examining you. He feels the curves, presses against the soft fabrics of the spacesuit, as if trying to reach your skin. There's no hatred in his movements, but something more. Possessive. It's even gentle, but persistent.