The university biology lab was clinical white and sterile, filled with the soft hum of equipment and the occasional murmur of students focused on their work. Salem entered, scanning the room with a swift, calculating gaze. Her platform boots made no sound despite their weight—a skill acquired through decades of practice.

  Demonia was already at her station, purple hair falling across her face as her tattooed hands manipulated a pipette with practiced ease. Salem approached, setting her bag down exactly six inches from the edge of the workbench. I hovered a few steps behind, trying to look casual while keeping an eye on the lab entrance.

  "Demonia." The word was a statement, not a greeting.

  Demonia glanced up, her heavily lined eyes widening slightly in surprise. "Salem! I didn't expect to see you here during independent study hours." She gestured to her samples. "Just running some additional tests on microplastic degradation in saltwater environments."

  Salem's steel-grey eyes examined Demonia's experimental setup, doing a quick assessment. "Your methodology is efficient. Unexpected precision."

  "Thanks?" Demonia seemed both pleased and slightly puzzled by Salem's approach. "I've been refining the protocol we discussed last week. The degradation rates are showing fascinating variances under different pH conditions."

  Salem remained perfectly still, calculating her next words with uncharacteristic care. "We need to discuss school. Private conversation optimal. The current environment is unsuitable."

  Demonia set down her pipette, giving Salem her full attention now. "That sounds... ominous. What's going on?"

  I cut in. "We can tell you somewhere more private."

  Demonia gestured around. "There's not that many people in here."

  I nudged Salem, who pointed to a backroom for storing lab equipment. "There is acceptable."

  Demonia turned and eyed it before exhaling. "Fine, into the closet then."

  We moved into the storage room—shelves lined with microscopes, beakers, and lab equipment stacked tight enough that we had to squeeze in single file. I went in last and immediately regretted it. Salem and Demonia ended up face-to-face at a distance you'd see in a bad romcom, and I was wedged behind Salem with my back against a shelf of glassware that was digging into my spine. Our hips were pressed together. I could feel both of their body heat. Also I was pretty sure I'd just unplugged something trying to fit.

  "Statistical anomalies. Seven disappearances. All biology students." Salem's eyes never left Demonia's face as she cited the data, cataloging every microexpression. "Common factor identified."

  "Wait—" Demonia lowered her voice, that entertained smile vanished, glancing back into the empty lab. "Are you talking about those missing students? Marissa Chen and the others?"

  "Affirmative. Last known location pattern established." Salem reached into her bag and extracted a small notebook, the motion forcing her to shift, which pressed her further into me and nearly knocked Demonia into a shelf. She opened it to a precise page with some notes scrawled inside. "All attended Professor Harmon's evening seminars prior to disappearance."

  Demonia's face paled beneath her gothic makeup. "Holy shit," she whispered. "And he just invited me to attend tonight."

  "Perfect correlation. All seven students attended his seminars. Statistically significant." Salem's posture stiffened. "I recommend you decline invitation."

  I leaned forward slightly. "What Salem's trying to say is that we think there's something very wrong with Harmon's study group, and you should stay away from it."

  "Yeah, I got that myself." Demonia looked between us, skepticism and concern warring on her face. "But he's a tenured professor. How could he be involved in students disappearing without anyone noticing?"

  "Academic credentials can be effective camouflage." Salem paused briefly. "University administration response is insufficient. Campus security seems compromised."

  Demonia ran a hand through her purple hair, her elbow knocking into my chin. "Ow—sorry," she muttered before continuing. "This is... a lot. Do you have any actual proof? Like, something concrete connecting him to the disappearances?"

  "Timing coincides in a pattern." Salem's expression didn't change, but her fingers twitched slightly—a sign of frustration I'd learned to recognize. "Direct evidence is not yet acquired. Statistical pattern is overwhelming."

  Demonia's scientific mind seemed to engage, despite her disbelief. "So you're saying there's a correlation, but you haven't established anything concrete."

  "Correct assessment." Salem nodded once, sharply. "However, risk level to you is unacceptable. Precautionary measures advised."

  "Look," I said, trying to sound reasonable, "we're not asking you to believe everything right away. Just... be careful. Don't go to that seminar tonight. And maybe avoid being alone on campus after dark?"

  Demonia stared at us for a long moment. "You two are seriously freaking me out. But..." she glanced back at her experiment in the lab, then back. "Marissa was my lab partner last semester. She wouldn't just disappear. Something happened to her."

  Salem's posture relaxed by a fraction of a degree—the closest thing to relief she ever displayed. "Logical conclusion. Self-preservation instincts functioning optimally."

  "I still have questions though." Demonia lowered her voice further. "Like, what exactly do you think is happening to these students? And why biology majors specifically?"

  Salem's eyes narrowed. "Theory in development. Insufficient data for conclusive model." Her hand moved unconsciously to touch the vial beneath her shirt. "Biology students have specialized knowledge. Valuable for certain... applications."

  I could see the moment Demonia noticed the movement, her eyes tracking to where Salem's hand rested over the hidden vial. "What kind of applications?"

  Salem glanced at me briefly, a microscopic shift that most would miss. It was her way of asking for support.

  "That's what we're trying to figure out," I said quickly. "But whatever it is, it's not good. And we think you might be next on their list."

  Demonia sighed. "Let's say I believe you enough to be cautious. What now?"

  "Optimal strategy: maintain normal routines. Avoid isolation." Salem's voice remained clinical, but there was a subtle urgency beneath the flat tone. "Exchange contact information. Establish regular check-ins."

  "You want me to text you my whereabouts?" Demonia raised an eyebrow, some of her usual attitude returning. "That's a little intense."

  "Life preservation. Worth the social awkwardness." Salem retrieved her phone with mechanical precision. "Alternative outcomes are statistically unfavorable."

  As they exchanged numbers, I noticed someone lingering by the lab door—a teaching assistant I'd seen with Professor Winters before. He watched our group for a moment too long before moving on.

  "We should go," I murmured to Salem. "We've got company."

  Salem nodded once. "Information transfer complete. Safety protocols established." She turned to leave, then paused, adding with uncharacteristic hesitation: "Your continued existence. Important to me."

  Demonia blinked in surprise. "Um, thanks? Yours too, I guess."

  As we exited the lab, Salem's posture was tense in a way most wouldn't notice. She didn't speak until we were outside the building.

  "Observation noted. Laboratory potentially monitored." Her voice was low, measured. "The assistant. Duration of observation was twelve seconds. Excessive."

  "Noticed that too, huh?" I glanced back at the science building. "Think he's involved?"

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  "Unknown. We were in an unorthodox position when observed." She adjusted her course slightly, angling us toward the mathematics building for our next class. "Thorne's laptop. Processing priority elevated."

  "I texted my friend about it last night. Said he could take a look this evening." I matched her pace automatically. "Think Demonia believed us?"

  "Partial acceptance. Sufficient for caution implementation." Salem's eyes scanned our surroundings continuously, calculating sight lines and potential threats. "Complete conviction requires empirical evidence."

  "Which we don't have yet."

  "Correct." Her hand brushed against mine briefly. "But we will."

  "Maybe we can have her come over and spend a ni-"

  Salem rolled her eyes but smirked a little. "Proposition for a threesome. Desirable but improbable. Don't make her uncomfortable."

  ********

  As we walked across campus, Salem's phone buzzed with a text notification. She retrieved it with clinical precision, read the message, and stopped walking abruptly.

  "Demonia. Message received." She held the phone out for me to see, her expression unchanged but a new tension visible in the set of her shoulders.

  The text read: Help. I think I just saw Marissa Chen. She's ALIVE. Following her now. Humanities building, east wing.

  "Marissa Chen? The missing student?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

  "Affirmative. Missing since Tuesday." Salem's eyes narrowed fractionally, calculations running behind them. "Probability of misidentification is low. Demonia knew her personally."

  "Less than a week, could have just gone on a sorority bender." I pulled out my own phone. "Should we tell campus security?"

  "Negative." Salem was already moving, her pace measured but urgent. "My earlier hypothesis that campus security is compromised. Statistical patterns indicate institutional involvement."

  As we changed direction toward the humanities building, Salem reached into her boot and extracted the ceramic blade in one fluid motion. She slid it up her sleeve with practiced efficiency.

  "Weapon concealment. Essential." She glanced at me. "Chen's continued survival is a statistical anomaly. Requires investigation. We need to capture her.”

  We were halfway across the quad when Salem's phone buzzed again. This time, her posture actually stiffened as she read the message.

  "Status update. Concerning." She showed me the screen.

  Something wrong with her. Following her to basement level. She's moving weird. Not responding to her name.

  "Run or walk?" I asked quietly, adrenaline already flooding my system.

  "Walk. Running draws attention." Salem scanned the campus with clinical precision. "Four minutes to building entrance. Demonia's safety now priority."

  "Could you tell her to not follow Marissa?"

  "Already did. She did not comply." Salem glanced around. "Are you armed?"

  "I'm always armed, babygirl."

  We maintained our casual pace with effort, though my heart was hammering. Salem's expression betrayed nothing.

  "The statistical probability of Chen's survival after targeted abduction is less than 2.7%." Salem's voice dropped slightly. "Current status is unknown but concerning. Demonia is in danger."

  Salem's phone buzzed a third time. When she looked at it, I saw something I'd never witnessed before—a flicker of genuine alarm crossed her features before she could suppress it.

  The message contained only a photo. Blurry, clearly taken in haste, it showed a figure that resembled Marissa Chen, but something was unmistakably wrong. Her posture was distorted, joints bent at unusual angles. The image was too dark to make out her face clearly, but there was something about her silhouette that seemed... wrong.

  "Salem?" I whispered, my hand instinctively checking for my own concealed weapon. "What am I looking at?"

  "Biological anomalies." The words came out measured and precise, but I could hear the tension underneath. "Skeletal structure is altered. Muscular development is abnormal."

  As we approached the humanities building, Salem's phone buzzed one final time.

  She saw me. Coming my way. Something's wrong with her eyes. They're BLACK. ALL BLACK. Basement level, room B-16. HURRY.

  And then, seconds later: HELP

  This time, we ran. God forbid she listen to us, not like we were trying to help or anything.

  The humanities building loomed before us, gothic architecture casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. We took the stairs two at a time, Salem moving with a fluid grace that belied her usual measured movements.

  The basement level was dimly lit, emergency exit signs casting everything in an eerie red glow. The hallway stretched before us, doors labeled in sequence: B-10, B-12, B-14...

  "B-16," I whispered, pointing to a door at the far end of the corridor. A strange scraping sound emanated from behind it, like nails dragging across concrete.

  Salem approached with predatory silence, ceramic blade now visible in her hand. I followed close behind, my 9mm cold against my palm.

  The door to B-16 stood slightly ajar. Salem positioned herself to the side, motioning for me to take the opposite wall. With three fingers, she counted down silently.

  Three. Two. One.

  I pushed the door open with my foot, weapon raised.

  The room was a medium storage space, shelves lined with old textbooks and academic journals. A single bulb illuminated the scene before us. Smelled like mold. Only one door, meaning to save Demonia we needed to get her across the room past Marissa.

  Demonia was pressed against the far wall, her purple hair matted with something dark and wet. Her eyes were wide with terror, makeup streaked down her face in black tears.

  And between us and her stood Marissa Chen. Or what used to be Marissa Chen.

  Her body twitched in unnatural movements, head cocked at an impossible angle. When she turned to face us, I felt my breath catch. Her eyes were solid black, like pools of oil. Dark veins spread from them across her face, pulsing beneath her skin.

  "Help... me..." The voice that emerged was Marissa's, but strained, as if fighting to form the words. "Can't... control..."

  Salem nudged me. "Distract her."

  Distract her? With what, my winning personality? Before I could protest, she was already gliding into the room, ceramic blade readied, leaving me to get a monster's attention.

  "Hey Marissa..." I said, my voice sounding weird and hollow in my own head. "Do you, uh, come here often?"

  Marissa's body convulsed suddenly, her spine arching backward at an angle that should have been impossible. When she straightened, her expression had changed completely—a twisted smile replacing the look of terror that was aimed right at me.

  "Not... Marissa... anymore..." The voice was different now, deeper, resonating with harmonics no human throat should produce. "Vessel... preparing..."

  She lunged forward, movements jerky but devastatingly fast. I had time to get one shot off that grazed her arm. The sound echoed in the small brick room enough that I was rewarded for my brilliant idea with a deafening ringing where actual sound should be.

  And I saw the wound weep black, a detail I registered just before a force like a car impact slammed me against the brick wall. My vision blurred. I tried pushing her off, then swinging a wild punch that connected with her jaw. It felt like hitting a brick wall covered in leather. Pain lanced through my knuckles.

  Behind her, Salem was a silent phantom, moving in. I saw her shout something to Demonia, her lips forming sharp syllables of command. Demonia scrambled for the door. Then Marissa's hands—impossibly strong—closed around my ribs and lifted me clear off the ground. The ceiling lights swam above me, and then the floor rushed up to meet my back. The air left my lungs in a silent, agonized whoosh.

  Gasping, I rolled onto my stomach and reached out for where my gun had clattered across the floor. My fingers brushed cold metal just as an iron grip closed around my ankle.

  I twisted around to kick at her face, catching sight of Salem taking position behind her.

  In one fluid motion, Salem drove her ceramic blade into the base of Marissa's skull—the brain stem, exactly where she had calculated earlier. Marissa froze, body rigid, mouth open in a silent scream.

  Then, impossibly, her hand reached back, contorted in a way that should have snapped her bones, and grasped Salem's wrist.

  Marissa's mouth moved. I still couldn't hear her. Salem's expression didn't change, but I saw the minute hesitation—the calculation being recalibrated in real time when she realized she'd fucked up with the spine stab maneuver. Marissa's body convulsed again, and with strength no undergraduate biology student should possess, she hurled Salem across the room. My wife crashed into a metal shelf, sending books cascading to the floor.

  I picked up my gun, aimed and... fucking Demonia rushed past me into sight to where Salem was weakly trying to push herself off the floor.

  "Get back!" I tried to yell, but my voice was a ragged gasp in the ringing silence. Demonia, oblivious or just brave, reached for Salem.

  Marissa turned to her, movements becoming more janky, less controlled. The blade still protruded from the base of her skull, likely the cause of her sudden lack of grace, but that didn't stop her from lunging at Demonia. I pulled the trigger again. The gun bucked in my hand, a silent jolt. I saw the muzzle flash, saw Demonia and Salem flinch and cover their ears. It didn't do much, but the visual distraction and impact knocked Marissa off balance, pulling her attention on, yep, me again.

  I started backing up as Marissa leaned forward and started skittering toward me on all fours. This was how I'd die, ripped apart by some college nerd trying to do her best killer cockroach impression and too deaf to hear if my wife was screaming, crying, or cursing.

  She skittered over me, giving me one fleeting opening. I lifted my leg and kicked her in the belly. Instant change—her head snapping up like she was listening to something we couldn't hear, cradling her midriff protectively. She swiveled toward Salem with sudden recognition, mouth moving in words I couldn't hear.

  Gun still in hand, I pointed it at her head. Her attention immediately jumped from Salem back to me, and she snarled, not even the slightest bit scared as she lifted her hand to hit me again.

  But when I dropped my aim down to her belly, suddenly she was backing up and turned to the door and bolted out.

  I turned to see Demonia helping pick Salem off the ground. Their mouths were moving—probably strategy or analysis—but all I got was ringing silence. Salem caught my eye and tapped her ear, shaking her head. At least I wasn't the only one with damaged hearing.

  We survived... lucky us.

  I pulled myself up to sit against the wall, my body one giant pulsing bruise. My ears were still a high-pitched symphony of nothing. I looked at Salem, who was already staring at the door, her ceramic blade back in her hand, slick with that black, weeping fluid.

  Observation: We just got annihilated

  Question: Is there any hope for us?

  Hypothesis: We were hopelessly outmatched

  Test Results: Definitively proven

  Data Analysis and Conclusion: We were fucked

  Results: I wasn't a scientist. I'd let Salem determine this part.