The Zeiros Project

Dr. Movchan wiped his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his lab coat. Just seconds before the elevator doors opened, the scientist took a deep breath, his mind racing with the possibility of a sudden ventilation system failure at the depth of fifteen meters below the surface. However, such an event seemed highly unlikely, considering the corporation's use of cutting-edge and highly reliable technologies. This rationalization calmed him down.

Yet the air was unbearably stuffy. Sweat poured down his exhausted face, the lab coat pressing heavily on his shoulders. After a grueling night shift during which he and his lone lab assistant had to set up all the complex equipment, the doctor felt as though he might collapse at any moment.

But ahead of him awaited something extraordinary... At least, he forced himself to think so—it was crucial not to let his scientific curiosity extinguish completely. After all, the exhausting work of the past week threatened to rob him of that residual spark of inspiration that still allowed him to stick to the plan, despite the lack of clear explanations from the higher-ups.

A vague, unsettling doubt gnawed at him. And it wasn't just about the non-disclosure agreement he had been forced to sign multiple times over the years to secure positions in major billion-dollar government projects. Several timely questions tormented him. What had happened in the other laboratories? Why had colleagues from three different facilities suddenly stopped responding during scheduled remote video conferences? And why were all the acquired materials now under his complete and exclusive control?

Now, only sparse and cold instructions were given in the strict format of confidentiality, which the mysterious curator of the "Zeiros" project adhered to so meticulously.

Just yesterday, on the eve, the doctor had carefully re-read the laboratory reports on the early experiments several times and thoroughly examined the provided data on the sample—as much as possible within the framework of the project documentation text, which was quite sparse in his opinion. Moreover, the task set before him remained incompletely clear.

Among other things, he regarded the terms used in the reports with great skepticism.

"The protoplasmic organism of unknown origin... A gelatinous substance exhibiting signs of intelligence... Specimen SR-06889 is undeniably dangerous... It displays an extreme craving for consuming the blood of living beings, particularly, if not exclusively, human. Its ability to undergo transformations and increase its own mass is unparalleled in nature."

Three automatons in identical black uniforms rolled a small black container out of the elevator cabin and promptly, silently, returned to the surface. As the doors closed, the stale underground air was replaced by a hint of cool steppe breeze. The weary doctor struggled to suppress the agonizing thirst for fresh air within himself. It was imperative to get to work without delay.

"During early experiments, it was determined that the most favorable environment for the organism (specimen SR-06889) is a humid, tropical climate. The recommended minimum temperature for the subject is 35 degrees Celsius."

With the assistance of his aide, Dr. Movchan secured the extracted reservoir onto a stand on a small metal table, then lowered a dome of tempered glass over it and activated the electronic lock. This was a crucial safety measure for opening the reservoir containing the specimen.

Surprisingly, from that moment on, the doctor's nervous tension began to diminish. He wiped the sweat from his face once more and felt more composed. At his directive, the assistant set the necessary readings on the instruments. Just yesterday, the doctor had compiled all these scattered data gathered from a long series of observations in other laboratories.

The natural conditions for the specimen had been set up precisely according to the recommendations of his colleagues. Colleagues whose fate was now being carefully silenced.

Doctor... it...
It's looking at us, - Dr. Movchan finished for his visibly agitated assistant.
Good Lord! - The young colleague involuntarily recoiled from the dome, beneath which a repulsively churning and bubbling black amorphous substance suddenly surged; large bulging eyes rotated with a blasphemous lethargy in their orbits. It seemed the creature was surveying, casting its oily amphibian gaze around the office and all the countless equipment surrounding it.
Keep yourself together, - the doctor snapped angrily. - Prepare the blood packs... Feeding it is top priority if we don't want to see IT in rage!
Yes... yes, as instructed... - the assistant whimpered, but almost instantly turned and began to carry out the order.
Attaching two bags filled with dark-red liquid—cold from their time in the ice box—to spiral capillary tubes, the young assistant returned to the table, where beneath a large transparent dome, something black and viscous inflated and instantly divided into thin, wide ribbons, somewhat resembling boiling tar. However, the creature had managed to grow four small, undeveloped limbs with webbed fingers on each. And it unexpectedly expanded, filling the space under the dome.
The assistant froze in horror, his fingers involuntarily squeezing, nearly emptying the contents of the bags onto the floor.
Dr. Movchan inexplicably held a scalpel in his hand. It was easy to see that his gaze was in direct and unbroken contact with the gaze of the shapeless creature under the glass. Its eyes were no longer darting around the office but were entirely focused on the doctor. In that moment, the assistant first discerned a strange, incomprehensible meaningfulness in them.
With a swift... too swift for his age... stroke, the doctor slashed the sparkling blade of the scalpel across his junior assistant's throat. Blood gushed in dark streams, quickly drenching the unfortunate assistant's coat, and a large puddle formed on the floor almost instantly.

"More blood," croaked the doctor, "more blood for the great Tsathoggua."

Leaving bloody streaks on the computer sensor, Dr. Movchan entered a long password combination, and the dome of tempered glass slowly rose up with a characteristic hum. Upon gaining freedom, sample SR-06889 swiftly expanded in size, assuming grotesque shapes increasingly resembling those of frogs; as the creature outgrew the confines of the reservoir, it began to be covered with large, pustule-like black bubbles. With its slimy bulk, it toppled from the table to the floor, firmly standing on two thick, bent legs. One of its bubbles burst, and from the ragged opening, a thin, elongated tentacle emerged, coiling in rings before suddenly straightening out, resembling a giant worm, displaying its round, toothy mouth. The tentacle then slid across the floor and, with a nauseating slurp, like juice through a straw, began to draw in more warm blood from the spreading puddle.

The huge bulging eyes of the frog-like creature beheld a man kneeling before it, who brought a scalpel to the wrist of his own hand; then, with an expression of indescribable gratitude on his smiling face, the man opened his veins.