Symbiotic Agent

As the electronic sound rang out, a beam of faint blue light suddenly shot into the sky, painting the entire area in its ethereal glow. At its center, a dense cloud of light began to expand outward, consuming the few wispy clouds that had been drifting across the night sky. Even the bright moon gradually vanished behind the veil of blue mist.

When the endless light-blue clouds had spread to the horizon, raindrops started to fall. These droplets, saturated with a high concentration of serum, carried a potency amplified by the Canary device.

As the rain fell, the chaos below came to an abrupt halt. Lizardmen, whether they were clawing through buildings or roaring down the streets, froze as if struck by lightning. Like deflated balloons, their hulking forms began to tremble and shrink.

Under the serum's effect, some lizardmen shed their reptilian skin entirely. Their scales dulled, their monstrous appearances faded, and the primal rage in their eyes dissipated. Moments later, they stood confused, covered in shredded clothing and staring blankly at their surroundings. Their memories seemed frozen at the moment when the green mist had first enveloped the city.

Others were less fortunate. Some lizardmen shrank rapidly, their reptilian forms reverting to those of ordinary lizards. But unlike their humanoid counterparts, many of these creatures collapsed, lifeless, as their bodies failed to withstand the transformation. These lizardmen had been ordinary reptiles before their mutation, their vitality insufficient to endure the process of becoming and then reverting. For them, their brief existence as monsters was the pinnacle of their existence—and their ultimate undoing.

While the lizardmen across the city were restored—or destroyed—Dr. Lizard himself was undergoing a similar transformation atop the Stark Building. Serum-infused rain pelted his trembling form, and his massive, hulking body shrank rapidly.

The once impenetrable scales on his body softened and fell away, and his monstrous physique gave way to a frail, human frame. Holm, still gripping his neck tightly, withdrew his writhing tentacles, relying solely on his left hand to keep Dr. Lizard restrained.

"You should be much easier to kill now," Holm muttered, his voice dripping with mockery. As he spoke, his right hand morphed into a pitch-black blade, which he pressed firmly against the villain's scaly throat—where remnants of his monstrous form stubbornly clung.

Dr. Lizard, now more man than beast, could only gasp for breath as his body continued to shrink. His abnormal regenerative abilities, which had made him almost invincible before, seemed to fade with each passing second. Holm prepared to strike, confident that a clean blow would sever Dr. Lizard's head this time.

Beep. Beep.

The sound of Holm's phone broke the tense silence. He sighed, recognizing the ringtone instantly. Neither S.H.I.E.L.D. nor HYDRA was willing to let their "prize" slip away.

Holm hesitated, then retracted his blade and retrieved his phone, holding it to his ear.

"My name is Phil Coulson. Keep the target under control. The helicopter is en route," said a calm, authoritative voice from the other end of the line.

Holm chuckled quietly as he ended the call. "So predictable," he muttered.

Across from him, Dr. Connors—now fully human but visibly weakened—leaned against the rusted elevator door, his breathing labored. Despite his fragile state, there was a faint, mocking smile on his face.

"You can't kill me, can you?" Connors rasped, his voice laced with bitterness. "As long as I have value, someone will always find me useful."

His pale face bore the faint traces of lizard-like scales, and his yellow, reptilian eyes still glimmered faintly, as though the monster inside him refused to vanish completely.

Holm's gaze darkened as he stared down at Connors, his lips curling into a cold smile.

"You really think this is some kind of victory?" Holm asked, his tone dripping with contempt. "If you believe they're coming to save you, let me shatter that illusion right now."

Holm crouched low, bringing his face level with Connors, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

"The organization I work for doesn't do 'rescue.' It deals in control. It's a secret unit tasked with handling the things that most people never even hear about. What do you think that means for you, Connors?"

Connors' smirk faltered, unease flickering across his face. Before he could respond, Holm pressed on.

"You won't be treated as a person. Not as Kurt Connors, the scientist, or even as Dr. Connors, the genius. To them, you're nothing more than a specimen—a freak experiment worth studying."

Holm's voice grew colder. "Everything you've done to those people out there? That's your future now. You'll be their lab rat, poked and prodded for answers. Every shred of dignity you think you have left? Gone. Stripped away."

Connors' face turned ashen, his breath hitching as Holm continued relentlessly.

"You're not a scientist anymore, Connors. You're not even human. You're just a walking, breathing repository of sin. A monster to be dissected."

"And here's the best part," Holm added, leaning closer, his voice a chilling whisper. "You won't get to die. Not yet. No, you'll live long enough to feel every ounce of pain and suffering you've inflicted on others. Long enough to regret everything. Long enough to beg for death—and be denied."

Holm straightened, his cruel grin widening as Connors' expression crumbled into one of sheer terror. The sound of helicopter blades echoed in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.

"Kill me!" Connors suddenly shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Please, just kill me!"

The once-proud scientist had been reduced to a pitiful, trembling shell of a man. Holm's words had shattered whatever resolve he had left. Yet Holm remained unmoved, watching Connors with cold amusement, as though he were observing a broken toy.

"I refuse," Holm said simply, his tone devoid of sympathy. "I told you before—you're the one who should feel regret."

Connors' pleas grew more frantic. "Please! I'll do anything. Just don't let them take me!"

Holm raised an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. "Anything, huh?" he mused. "Well, here's the thing, Connors—I don't need anything from you."

A cruel smirk played across Holm's lips as he delivered the final blow. "My mission is to keep you alive. That's it. So get comfortable with your new reality, Doc. You're just another stepping stone in my career. And who knows? If I ever get promoted, maybe I'll send you a box of fresh insects as a thank-you gift."

Connors slumped against the elevator, his face a mask of despair. The sound of the approaching helicopter grew deafening, signaling the arrival of his captors.

For Connors, the nightmare was just beginning.

.

.

.

Please vote with power stones and give this fic your love.