The assistants moved with quiet efficiency, gloved hands adjusting dials, noting down observations, preparing samples—well-oiled machines under Arias’ command.

Glenn Arias himself stood at the center of it all, hands behind his back, eyes sweeping over the monitors displaying the latest data on the A-Virus. It was progressing well. Controlled infection rates, observable transformation stages, and—most importantly—results. His jaw barely moved as he spoke.

"Status."

One of the lab-coated assistants, a man with graying hair and nervous eyes, straightened. "We've refined the dispersion methods further. Airborne remains the most efficient, but the liquid transmission—through water sources or direct injection—is proving... effective in its own right."

He knew the information already, hell, he only asked because he wanted to hear how these people 'felt' about it. How comfortable they were voicing the reality of what they were creating. The nervous ones would break first. The ones who thought too much.

"And adaptability?"

A woman this time—sharp, composed, but with a slight shift in her stance that gave her away. "The virus mutates well under stress, but we’re still determining long-term stability in non-human hosts. Animalia strain has proven erratic in higher-functioning mammals."

He clicked his tongue, that was an inconvenience. "Show me."

The woman hesitated a fraction of a second before nodding. She moved toward a containment chamber on the other side of the room, gesturing for Arias to follow. The glass of the containment unit was thick, slightly fogged from the internal temperature controls. Inside, a subject—a dog, or what was left of one—twitched erratically. Once muscular, its flesh now stretched, veins darkened beneath thinning fur. Its eyes were wrong, unfocused and full of something primal.

Arias watched it press its malformed snout against the glass, sniffing, jaws flexing as if trying to remember how to open and close properly. There was no hesitation, no sympathy. The dog was useful, and that was all.

"And cognitive retention?" he asked.

"Deteriorating past expected parameters," the woman admitted. "It retains aggression and base instincts, but there’s no sign of recognizable thought patterns. No training recall. No ability to follow commands."

Tch... Unfortunate.

Arias looked away from the dog and back to the assistant. "We keep refining. Higher brain function is secondary, but if we can control it, we will."

Arias turned away from the containment unit, already walking back toward the central monitors.

"We begin the next phase," he said, voice final. "No more tests in isolation. We escalate."

The assistants exchanged glances, and in that brief second, he could see the questions forming behind their eyes. He didn’t give a damn. "If you hesitate, I’ll find someone who won’t."

That shut them up. Good.