Prologue

Year: 05/17/2525

Planet: Sargasso

Location: Life Foundation Research facility, a few miles from Fairfields

The Sargasso branch of the Life Foundation Research Facility was devoted to the betterment of humanity and home the region's top scientists that have dedicated their lives to developing cutting-edge technologies aimed at improving and prolonging life. On the outside, it was unsuspecting. An authoritative mass of metal and concrete, stained with years of grit and grime from the elements. Minimal augmentation, spartan and mundane in nature--common characteristics of a typical medical facility. However, unbeknownst to oblivious civilians and diligent staff operating within, it was anything but.

The director of the Sargasso Branch is a middle-aged man by the name of Ronald Reece, and he is getting ready to make a report to the CEO of the Life Foundation. The notion made what little hair he had stand on end as he nervously fiddled with his lab coat. The pressed white button-up beneath his coat was slightly too tight around his heavyset frame and he wished there was another on hand in his office.

“Sentry,” He said, straightening himself behind his oak desk. “Call Mr. Drake, please.”

“Yes, Director. Setting up encryptions and direct link,” chimed the digitized AI voice.

A projector in the middle of the office flickered to life and a young man that appeared to be in his early 30s, stood with slicked-back hair and a neatly pressed suit. He exuded a youthful yet professional aura. It was Carlton Drake, CEO of the Life Foundation. He straightened his black tie then clapped his hands together.

“Ah, Director, I was expecting you. Tell me, how is everything with the project? Have our ‘vaccines’ been shipped? Our first group of clients is becoming a little...impatient,” he gave Ronald a shark-like grin. “You know how I feel about unhappy clients.”

Ronald coughed into his hand before wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Not yet, but the trial ‘vaccines’ are being loaded up as we speak and will be shipped to the nearest spaceport as soon as it finishes loading. We are using the most discreet and secure method possible.” Ronald took a sip of water from the cup on his desk. His mouth felt unusually dry.

“As for the Project, everything is going according to schedule. Limited runs of the ‘vaccines’ are being produced and stored for potential clients. The compatibility test is showing an accuracy rate of roughly 70%. Thanks to Dr. Skirth's contribution, we are losing less ‘volunteers’ to the experiments.” Once again, Carlton clapped his hands enthusiastically as he praised Ronald.

“Great! Good work. Make sure to remind the good doctor that we are keeping a close eye on her children, and to be a good girl. She should be grateful that she’s still useful to us; otherwise, she would have been terminated long ago.”

“Yes, sir, I will inform her right away.”

“Oh, and Ronald, don’t disappoint me like Dr. Skirth. Unlike her, you’re expendable, and we are too close to our goal for delays.” Suddenly, the connection was terminated. . In the blink of an eye, Ronald had his desk drawer open, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass drinking to calm his nerves.

(Meanwhile…..)

In one of the facility's many loading docks, a forklift carried ten gray metal cylinders marked with warning labels and biohazard symbols. Each barrel had a serial number, starting with ‘SPM’ and ending with a number between 1 and 10. The dockworker driving the lift turned towards the designated transport vehicle, but pressed the brakes too hard. One cylinder toppled off the forklift and crashed to the ground with a loud metallic clang.

“Hey, watch it! That cargo is worth more than your life!.” yelled a gray-haired foreman. Those cylinders needed to go out intact and he wasn’t going to let a few careless lackeys jeopardize his job.

The dock worker stopped the forklift. “Sorry, sir,” he fumbled.

“Don’t ‘sorry, sir’ me! Get those containers loaded up, pronto!”

One of the other dockworkers hastily lifted the container and carefully placed it back on the forklift with the others. The driver loaded the containers onto the truck where another dock worker secured them with multiple load locks and tie-down straps. He got out of the trailer and gave a thumbs up to the foreman.

“Alright, that’s the last one. Close it up, and make sure the reefer is set at the correct temperature or do I need to remind everyone,” he tapped the datapad he was holding. “How time-sensitive and important this cargo is?”

One of the dockworkers checked the reefers and gave another signal of approval. The foreman nodded and gave the truck driver the OK to move. The truck’s engine sputtered as it sped away from the dock, checking out of the security gate, and into the rainy night.

“So, what’s in those containers anyway?” asked one of the dock workers once the truck was gone. The foreman shrugged with a 'hmph.'

“From what I heard, a new vaccine,” said the foreman dismissively.

“But, sir, those don’t seem like the type of containers you use to store vaccines, and-”

The foreman lifted his hand, stopping his underling. “What is the first rule on the docks, when it comes to our cargo?”

“Don’t ask questions,” responded the dock worker with a drone-like monotone.

The foreman nodded curtly.

“Exactly. Keep that in mind, and you won’t get fired.”

The dock worker nodded, and they both went back to work. They had another truck to load.

(A few hours later...)

The delivery truck stalled on the highway behind some cars. The heavy rain was causing standstill traffic, which was the source of the driver and his partner’s headaches. Micheal sighed with frustration’ He and his partner hated these types of deliveries. The kind that contained sensitive material, and needed to be at its destination in an unrealistically short amount of time. At least they were paid extra for the trouble.

“So, what are we carrying that is so important? I mean this due date is ridiculously close,” said Micheal’s co-driver, Dylan.

“It's a new vaccine.”

“But those containers didn’t seem to be used for vaccines in the past?”

Micheal let out a sigh. “Dylan, what was the first thing I taught when you got hired?”

“Don’t ask questions,” sighed Dylan.

“Exactly, and you already asked one too many,” Micheal took a sip of his energy drink just as some bozo abruptly cut in front without a turn signal.

“Damn it!” cursed the driver as he jerked his wheel, narrowly avoiding the car. As he swerved out of the way, the truck tipped to the side slightly. Micheal felt his seat belt pull against his chest and collarbone, keeping him safely in place. He steadied the truck and the distinct sound of snapping followed by glass breaking caught his attention. A cold sweat formed on Michael’s brow.

“Oh, no….” Micheal pulled over the side of the highway, then turned towards his partner.

“Dylan, check the back. Make sure everything’s in place. We can’t afford to lose a single container.”

His partner nodded grimly.

“Alright,” he said before grabbing a raincoat and getting out of the truck. He slowly moved to the back of the vehicle, taking out a flashlight to get a better look. The trailer door was cracked open, creating an icy breeze as cold air drifted out. Upon closer inspection, Dylan noticed the broken clasp and concluded that it must have been faulty because the clasps were supposed to withstand the force of a plane crash.

He opened the door all the way and went inside the trailer to check the cargo. He shined his flashlight on the containers. There were around ten, stacked neatly on top of each other and secured by load locks and straps. A chilly mist surrounded the cylinders. For a minute he wondered what the hell this stuff could be but quickly squashed the thought. He was paid to transport cargo, not to ask questions. Dylan continued to inspect the strange cargo until he noticed a loose container that had rolled away from the others. As he walked closer, he noticed there was a crack in it, and a slimy residue coated the edges. Something had leaked out. Dylan knocked on the cylinder and heard an echo.

The container was empty.

“Oh shit,” breathed Dylan. Quickly, he turned around coming face to face with a black and midnight blue slime. Before he could scream, the blob jumped on him, covering his face. Dylan tried to tear it off to no avail, the substance gripping harder until he could no longer breath. He gasped for air for a few seconds before collapsing, unconscious. The slime remained on Dylan's face for a few seconds before cringing and sliding off. It slithered out of the trailer and onto the open highway.

(Outside the truck)

Finally free, the inky blob dragged itself across the highway, getting pelted by rain and battered by the wind of passing cars and trucks. But it didn’t care. Right now, its primary focus was finding a host. The last potential host tasted terrible. Not a good match, at all. It needed a more viable host if it was going to survive long term, and soon.

The mass of animated ooze kept slithering, barely avoiding speeding vehicles until it came across a pothole and slowly climbed out delaying just enough for a car barreling down the crowded highway to strike it. The impact spread the substance across the car’s bumper like a bug splattered on a windshield. In its weakened state, all the slime could do was latch on tighter, turning the same color as its ride, as it was forced to go to the car’s destination.