A week passed.
Not that time meant much in the lab.
There were no days. No nights. Just cycles—tests, observations, adjustments… and then it all started again.
The scientists never slowed.
If anything, they became more precise.
More selective.
Subjects were pushed harder now. Nutrient concentrations adjusted. Variables tightened. Failures removed quicker than before—
sometimes mid-test, sometimes before they even understood what they had done wrong.
Progress mattered more than anything else.
And Jake—
Jake adapted.
He had stopped reacting the way the others did. No more blind lunges. No wasted motion.
Every test became something else entirely—a chance to refine control, to test limits, to feel where his body resisted and where it… didn't.
The crystal along his tendrils had grown.
Not dramatically. Not enough to draw attention.
But he felt the difference.
Denser. Sharper. More responsive.
He could split the tips now—just slightly—forming thinner, needle-like extensions before pulling them back together again. It wasn't perfect. Sometimes the structure warped, sometimes it held.
But it was improving.
And all the while, he watched.
The scientists. Their patterns. Their reactions.
And the crack.
It hadn't been repaired.
Not fully.
Maybe they didn't notice. Or maybe it wasn't urgent enough compared to everything else they were managing.
Either way—
It remained.
Thin. Low along the base of the storage unit and easy to overlook unless you knew exactly where to look.
Jake knew.
He checked it whenever he could, without making it obvious. A slight shift in position. A longer glance than necessary.
Waiting.
The next test cycle had just begun when everything changed.
At first, it didn't register as danger.
Just a sound.
Low. Distant. Almost like something dragging across the outer hull—
Then the world snapped sideways.
The impact came hard enough to distort everything. The fluid around Jake lurched violently, slamming him against the inner curve of the tank. For a split second, orientation didn't exist—up and down blurred into the same thing.
A deep, metallic groan followed.
Not from inside the lab.
From the ship itself.
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice—
Then alarms tore through the space.
Sharp. Overlapping. Too many to separate.
The scientists reacted instantly, but not cleanly.
"What was that—?"
"External breach—sector three—no, four—"
"Shields are fluctuating!"
"Get me a visual—now!"
Panels lit up across the observation deck, projections snapping into place mid-air.
Symbols Jake didn't understand flooded the displays, shifting too fast to follow.
Another impact hit, and closer this time.
The vibration ran through the structure of the chamber, deeper than before—like something massive had struck the ship and kept pushing.
Glass tanks trembled.
Some didn't hold.
A sharp crack split through the chamber, followed by a sudden, spiderweb fracture racing across one of the far tanks. Fluid spilled out in a slow, thick rush as the structure gave way.
More cracks followed.
Not everywhere, but just enough.
Jake felt it before he saw it.
A faint shift behind him—pressure changing—
Then a thin line spread across the surface of his own tank.
Not large at first but it was real.
The fracture deepened with a soft, almost delicate sound. Another line joined it. Then another, branching outward.
Across the chamber, the storage unit shuddered under the strain of the shockwaves.
The existing crack—
widened.
Not by much, but that was enough.
Above, the situation was unraveling fast.
"Multiple incoming signatures—this isn't debris—"
"Are those… ships?"
"Unidentified. Closing fast."
"Open a channel. Now."
One of the scientists leaned toward the console, voice tight but controlled.
"This is a civilian research vessel. You are engaging a non-combat—"
The transmission cut into static.
And then there was another impact. But much harder this time.
Some of the scientists staggered. Others grabbed onto their stations, trying to stabilize systems that clearly weren't responding the way they should.
"Return fire?" someone asked.
"We're not equipped for—"
"Then reroute power! Do something!"
A new voice cut through, sharper than the rest.
"Those aren't pirates."
A pause—brief, but noticeable.
"Zhorian signatures confirmed."
That changed the room.
Not panic exactly—but something close to it.
"They found us?"
"How—this route was—"
"Doesn't matter. Seal the data cores. Prioritize containment."
"And the subjects?"
A hesitation.
"Maintain if possible. Otherwise—purge."
Jake didn't wait to hear more.
The crack in his tank had spread enough.
It was not wide and not open...yet.
But weakened enough and that was all he needed.
He moved without drawing attention—no sudden bursts, no obvious strike. Just a slow extension of one tendril, the crystal tip narrowing as it formed.
Precise.
He pressed it against the fracture.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then he pushed.
The glass resisted—briefly—before giving way with a dull, muted snap. The crack split open just enough for pressure to do the rest. The structure failed in a quick cascade, lines racing outward before the entire section gave in.
Fluid rushed out and so did Jake.
He didn't hesitate at all and neither did he look back.
The chamber was already too chaotic for anyone to notice one missing subject.
He moved low, close to the surface, tendrils pulling and pushing in controlled bursts. Not fast enough to draw attention—but fast enough.
Toward the storage unit.
Another explosion rocked the ship as he crossed the chamber. Something overhead collapsed, metal bending inward with a harsh screech. The lights dimmed, then surged back unevenly.
Still—
No one stopped him.
The crack was worse now, wider, probably caused by the shockwaves from all the explosions.
Jagged along the edges, stretching just enough to change everything.
Jake slowed as he reached it.
Not from hesitation, but from calculation. He knew striking it would be loud. Messy. Obvious.
And that was too risky at the moment.
Instead, he extended a single tendril into the opening.
Then another.
The space was tight—tighter than it looked. The edges pressed against him as he pushed forward, the material of his body deforming to fit. It wasn't comfortable. The crystal tips scraped faintly against the inner surface.
He forced more of himself through.
Slowly, but carefully.
Until—
He slipped inside.
The change was immediate.
Not subtle.
It hit all at once.
The concentration inside the storage unit was nothing like the ambient supply. It wasn't diluted. It wasn't regulated.
It was raw, dense, and overwhelming.
Jake didn't absorb it at first—
It crashed into him.
Energy flooded through his structure in violent waves, filling every part of him faster than he could process. His form expanded involuntarily, tendrils thickening, crystal segments flaring with unstable light.
Something in him tried to regulate it.
But he failed miserablely.
Notifications began to cascade.
Not one at a time.
All at once.
Stacking over each other faster than he could focus—
+ 5 EP gain.
+ 5 EP gain.
+ 5 EP gain—
...
The pressure built almost instantly.
Too much.
Far too much.
His body strained under it, structure warping at the edges as if something inside him was pushing outward, looking for space that didn't exist.
For a second—
A very short second—
he considered pulling back. Leaving.
But the moment passed.
He knew he couldn't stop.
The absorption wasn't something he was doing anymore.
It was happening.
The first upgrade notification cut through all the noise.
Clear, sharp and urgent.
He didn't read it, he didn't need to, he just accepted and let it transform him.
The change rippled through him immediately.
Not enough to fix it—but enough to ease the pressure, just slightly.
A fraction.
That was all.
Another notification appeared.
Then another.
He accepted those too.
Again.
Again—
The process became automatic.
No hesitation. No evaluation.
Just survival.
Each upgrade stretched him further, reinforced something, adjusted something else—small changes stacking rapidly, barely keeping pace with the flood of energy tearing through him.
It hurt.
Not in a way he could localize, the pain was everywhere at once.
A constant, grinding pressure that never dropped, only shifted.
Time blurred.
Seconds didn't feel like seconds.
Minutes—
maybe.
It was hard to tell.
The alarms outside faded into something distant and meaningless. The battle, the scientists, the ship—it all slipped away at the edges of his awareness.
There was only this.
Endless absorption, followed by pressure and then a change.
Again.
Again—
And then—
Somewhere in the middle of it, between one forced upgrade and the next—
Something aligned.
The notifications shifted.
Not in volume, but in their very nature.
A single line forced its way through the flood, clearer than the rest.
Not louder.
Just… final.
Jake didn't fully process the words.
But he understood enough, the pressure didn't disappear.
And the pain didn't stop.
But something beneath it—
stabilized.
For the first time since it began, his form stopped feeling like it was about to tear itself apart.
And in that narrow, fragile space between collapse and control—
The requirement was met.
Jake had crossed the threshold.
He was no longer what he had been.
And whatever he was becoming—
had only just begun.