AETERNA

KAIRO-07

Johor, Malaysia

02:17 a.m.

Rain had been falling since eleven that night.

Above ground, the industrial district was still alive. Container trucks crawled along the slick roads, warehouse lights reflecting in rain-filled puddles, their engines rising and fading beneath the distant rumble of thunder.

Building N-17 attracted no attention.

Four floors stood above ground.

Three more lay beneath it.

Officially, N-17 was a biotechnology research facility owned by Nusantara Biologics Research Group, a company conducting research into cell therapy, degenerative diseases, and cancer treatment.

That was all the public knew.

No one knew that the lowest level of the building had been constructed specifically for a project that had never been announced to the public.

KAIRO.

And tonight, they were about to open the seventh sample.

02:18 a.m.

“Still five minutes?”

Dr. Faris Hakim glanced at his watch.

“Four minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

The woman beside him did not answer.

Dr. Haruka Sato continued down the corridor. The soft click of her shoes echoed against the polished white floor. She had been down on this level several times since the sample arrived from Japan, yet every time she stepped inside, her expression remained the same.

Far too serious.

Faris quickened his pace to catch up with her.

“Haruka.”

“Hm?”

“I’m asking again. Why Malaysia?”

Haruka did not slow down.

“Because this facility meets the required specifications.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Haruka stopped.

Faris stopped beside her.

She looked at him for a moment.

“You’ve asked me that three times.”

“And I still haven’t gotten an answer.”

“You will.”

“When?”

Haruka shifted her gaze toward the security door ahead.

“When we know what we’re dealing with.”

The answer did nothing to satisfy him.

He sighed.

“KAIRO-07 came directly from Japan. Special transport. Military clearance. No standard manifest. No complete classification.”

Haruka remained silent.

“And now we’re supposed to develop a human-grade formulation from it.”

“You knew that before you agreed to the project.”

“I knew the medical data.”

“You knew enough.”

Faris studied her for several seconds.

“No. I knew what they wanted us to know.”

Haruka said nothing.

She turned back toward the door.

“Whatever happens tonight, we follow protocol.”

Faris gave a humorless smile.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. It’s supposed to keep you alive.”

Haruka placed her palm against the scanner.

BEEP.

The light turned green.

Faris scanned his access card.

BEEP.

The steel door unlocked.

A blast of cold air spilled from the room beyond.

Faris tugged his lab coat tighter around himself.

“Sixteen degrees?”

“Sixteen.”

“You memorized the temperature?”

“I memorized everything about this room.”

Faris looked at her.

“That’s exactly what worries me.”

Haruka said nothing.

They stepped inside.

The main laboratory was far larger than the building above ground suggested.

Four researchers were already stationed at their workstations.

No one spoke when Faris and Haruka entered.

Every pair of eyes was fixed on the cylindrical structure standing at the center of the laboratory.

Nearly two meters tall.

Stainless steel.

Layered glass.

An independent cooling system.

Pressure sensors.

Temperature sensors.

Air filtration.

Emergency systems.

Everything had been designed to ensure one thing—

whatever was inside stayed inside.

At the center of the structure sat a small glass container.

And inside that container—

a blue-green liquid.

Its color was difficult to describe.

Under the white laboratory lights, it appeared to be a clear turquoise blue. When the light shifted even slightly, the color deepened into a dark green, almost like the depths of the ocean.

It did not glow.

Yet there was something about it that made it difficult to look away.

Faris stopped in front of the main console.

“Status?”

A Malaysian researcher at the monitor immediately checked the readings.

“Containment stable.”

“Pressure?”

“Negative twenty-six pascals.”

“Temperature?”

“Four point two degrees Celsius.”

“Air composition?”

“Normal.”

“Bioaerosol?”

“None detected.”

Faris nodded.

“Sample?”

“Stable.”

Haruka stepped forward.

“Regeneration results?”

The researcher changed the display.

“Still increasing.”

“How much?”

“Approximately one hundred and thirty-eight percent above baseline.”

Faris stared at the graph filling the screen.

“Cancer cells?”

“Destroyed.”

“Healthy cells?”

“Regenerating.”

Faris fell silent.

“Without scarring?”

“So far, yes.”

He frowned.

“How?”

The researcher shook his head.

“We still can’t determine the mechanism.”

Haruka studied the data.

“KAIRO-07 doesn’t behave like a conventional drug.”

Faris turned toward her.

“Then what does it do?”

“It changes the way cells respond to damage.”

“That’s a little vague.”

“It’s the truth.”

Haruka pointed toward the graph.

“Conventional therapy targets the disease. KAIRO appears to alter the cellular response itself.”

Faris folded his arms.

“So the cells repair themselves.”

“More accurately, they are instructed to repair themselves.”

“And if this works in humans?”

Haruka looked at the blue-green liquid.

“Then advanced cancer could become treatable.”

Faris smiled faintly.

“Not just treatable.”

Haruka glanced at him.

“You’re thinking too far ahead.”

“A treatment that can repair damaged tissue while destroying malignant cells?”

He looked back at the screen.

“That’s not just a new cancer therapy.”

No one disagreed.

Because they all knew what was waiting for them if the project succeeded.

One name.

One product.

One future capable of transforming the medical industry.

AETERNA.

The name chosen for the therapy.

An exclusive regenerative treatment that, at first, would only be offered to a select group of late-stage cancer patients.

People willing to pay anything for a second chance.

And a handful of individuals with enough influence to receive it before anyone else.

Haruka looked at Faris.

“Don’t call it a cure yet.”

Faris raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t.”

“You were thinking it.”

He smiled.

“Maybe.”

Haruka turned her attention back to the sample.

“We haven’t tested the final formulation in humans.”

“Not yet.”

“And we don’t know what prolonged exposure will do.”

Faris looked at her.

“That’s why we’re here tonight.”

Haruka said nothing.

02:26 a.m.

“Begin the procedure.”

The laboratory lights shifted from white to red.

One by one, the automated doors locked.

CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL ACTIVE

A technician began reading through the checklist.

“Primary containment active.”

“Secondary?”

“Active.”

“Negative pressure?”

“Stable.”

“Filtration?”

“Active.”

“Emergency purge?”

“Standby.”

“Tokyo connection?”

“Live.”

“Cyberjaya?”

“Live.”

“Recording?”

“Three copies.”

Faris checked the time.

02:26:41

Haruka nodded.

“Open the first layer.”

CLICK.

One lock released.

“Second.”

CLICK.

“Third.”

CLICK.

“Fourth.”

CLANG.

White vapor spilled from the top of the structure.

The temperature inside the containment chamber dropped several degrees.

A robotic arm extended from the side of the chamber.

At its tip was a fine needle connected to a glass tube.

Faris watched without blinking.

“Two millilitres,” Haruka said.

“Two millilitres.”

The robotic arm moved toward the surface of KAIRO-07.

Slowly.

Almost painfully slowly.

Then the needle touched the liquid.

BEEP.

“Penetration successful.”

Extraction began.

One millilitre.

One point five.

Two.

“Stop.”

The robotic arm halted.

The needle withdrew.

The glass tube sealed automatically.

Several seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

Faris released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

“Looks safe.”

Haruka didn't answer.

Her eyes remained fixed on the monitor.

“Temperature.”

Faris turned.

4.2°C

4.8°C

5.3°C

“Check the sensor.”

“Sensor is normal.”

“Check it again.”

“Still normal.”

The temperature continued to rise.

6.1°C.

7.4°C.

Faris frowned.

“Shut down the transfer system.”

“Already shut down.”

“Then why is the temperature still rising?”

No one answered.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The main screen suddenly turned red.

> UNIDENTIFIED BIOLOGICAL ACTIVITY

Faris straightened.

“Biological activity?”

“Yes.”

“In the sample?”

“We believe so.”

“How much?”

The number on the screen changed.

17%.

29%.

43%.

Haruka raised a hand.

“Everyone, step back.”

One of the researchers looked at her.

“Doctor?”

“Step back. Now.”

They all retreated.

Then—

TOK.

The sound came from the experimental room next door.

Faris turned.

Behind the glass wall stood twelve cages.

Twelve white laboratory rats.

All of them were standing.

All of them were facing the same direction.

Toward the KAIRO-07 chamber.

Faris stepped closer to the glass.

“Why are all the rats looking over there?”

Haruka didn't answer.

One of the rats began to tremble.

Its body stiffened.

Then—

BAM.

Its head slammed against the bars of the cage.

It stopped.

Then struck them again.

BAM.

Blood began to appear around its nose.

A second rat started trembling.

Then a third.

A fourth.

Within seconds, all twelve rats began behaving strangely.

Some bit at the bars.

Others clawed at the floor.

One ran in tight circles without stopping.

Another suddenly collapsed onto its side and began convulsing.

“Shut down the experimental room,” Faris ordered.

“Already done.”

“Then why are they still moving?”

“We don't know.”

Haruka looked at the monitor.

The biological activity continued to climb.

61%.

72%.

89%.

Then—

100%.

The laboratory fell silent.

Far too silent.

A small sound came from inside the chamber.

THUD.

Everyone froze.

THUD.

Faris slowly turned.

THUD.

The third strike was louder.

Haruka spoke quietly.

“Don’t open the door.”

Faris looked at her.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Whatever happens, don’t.”

A fine crack appeared across the glass.

KRAK.

One of the researchers stepped back.

“Doctor…”

Haruka immediately pressed the emergency controls.

“Activate the secondary seal.”

Nothing happened.

She pressed it again.

Still no response.

“Why isn't the system activating?”

“The main server isn't responding!”

“Manual override.”

“Locked out!”

“Cut the power.”

The technician hesitated.

“Doctor, if we cut the power, the containment system—”

“Do it.”

“Doctor—”

“Do it!”

The power went out.

The laboratory was plunged into darkness.

For several seconds, the only sounds were human breaths.

Then—

the blue-green liquid began to move.

Not like water being shaken.

Not like chemicals being stirred.

Something moved beneath its surface.

A dark shadow passed through it.

Then disappeared.

Faris didn't move.

“Haruka…”

She was still staring at the chamber.

The shadow appeared again.

This time, closer to the surface.

Then sank.

The communication system suddenly flickered to life.

A distorted voice crackled through the speakers.

> “N-17, respond.”

Faris reached for the microphone.

“This is N-17. We have a containment anomaly.”

Silence.

Then the voice returned.

> “What kind of anomaly?”

Faris stared at the chamber.

“We don't know yet.”

Several seconds passed.

The voice from Tokyo became firmer.

> “Listen carefully. Do not open the chamber.”

Faris frowned.

“We haven't opened it.”

Silence.

Then—

> “Then why is it moving?”

Faris looked at Haruka.

The color drained from her face.

THUD!

Something slammed against the glass from inside.

Everyone flinched.

THUD!

A second impact.

The crack across the glass spread farther.

THUD!

The first layer shattered.

Blue-green liquid spilled onto the floor.

The alarms erupted simultaneously.

WEE-OO. WEE-OO. WEE-OO.

Screens flickered on one after another.

> CONTAINMENT FAILURE

> BIOLOGICAL EXPOSURE DETECTED

> KAIRO-07 — ACTIVE

Haruka stared at the final message.

Faris looked at her.

“What?”

She didn't answer.

“Haruka.”

She pointed at the screen.

Faris read it.

> CELLULAR REGENERATION: UNCONTROLLED

His face changed.

“That can't be right.”

Haruka continued staring at the data.

“We thought KAIRO-07 teaches cells how to survive.”

She paused.

The liquid continued spreading across the floor.

“Maybe that's not what it's doing.”

Faris turned toward her.

“Then what is it doing?”

Haruka swallowed.

“Maybe…”

Her eyes fell to the spreading liquid.

“…it teaches them not to die.”

Something crashed inside the rat room.

CLANG!

Every head turned.

One of the cages had overturned.

Then another.

Haruka stepped backward.

“Get out.”

Faris didn't move.

“Haruka—”

“Now!”

They ran.

The alarms screamed behind them.

Emergency doors began sealing one after another.

LOCK.

LOCK.

LOCK.

Faris managed one last glance before the final door closed.

Inside the experimental room, a white rat stood in the middle of an overturned cage.

Seconds ago, it had been lying completely still.

Dead.

But now it was standing.

Its body was still trembling.

Its eyes were red.

It lifted its head.

And as if it understood that something was leaving—

it looked directly at them.

The door slammed shut.

THUD.

Darkness.

Above ground, the rain was still falling.

Trucks continued along the roads.

The building lights remained on.

Someone was driving home.

Someone was asleep.

Someone was probably planning what to have for breakfast the next morning.

The world continued as usual.

No one knew what had just happened three floors beneath the ground.

No one knew that the sample brought in from Japan to create a revolutionary cancer therapy had breached containment.

And no one knew that, in just a few days, AETERNA would be introduced to the world as a medical miracle.

The people who received it would not immediately fall ill.

Instead, they would feel healthier.

More energetic.

Stronger.

As though their bodies had been given a second life.

That was what would convince everyone that AETERNA had succeeded.

And when the first symptoms finally appeared—

it would already be too late to dismiss them as mere side effects.

Because something inside their bodies had already learned one thing:

how to keep living.