176 days had passed since Specimen II had been introduced to the incubator. Including organ construction and assembly, about 200 days.

Beneath the noise of fluid bubbling through the incubator, Lyre hummed and whistled as she reviewed her records. She sat on the floor, back against the wall, a pillow decorated with music notes sandwiched between her knees and chest. One hand held onto a couple papers and the other fiddled with the pillowcase in her lap. A bunch of other documents laid strewn about on the floor—a mess she would later dread cleaning up. Everything always had to go through paperwork and authorities, and they had to fax everything to Lyre's room. A stupid arrangement, but it was one that the young scientist couldn't fight her way out of no matter how hard she tried—and she did try.

She twisted a corner of her pillow, the decoration on the pillowcase having faded there from constantly being rubbed. One glance at the vitals screen—kept safely windowed in another room—told Lyre that everything here was also going smoothly. [i][color=89cff5]Smoother than it is out there, anyway.[/color][/i] She didn't really keep up with the news, but if the state was desperate enough to spent millions on a hybrid superhuman, then it didn't take an intellect of Lyre's caliber to figure that something was up.

[i]Crack.[/i] Lyre jolted at the sudden sound. The papers in her hand fell to the floor, drifting a bit in the air before resting on the white linoleum. Incubator fluid dribbled out of the small crack and soaked a page in the process—not that soaked paperwork was of any actual concern, but.... [i][color=89cff5]Shit. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening.[/color][/i]

Slowly but surely the incubator stability began to weaken. Cracks spread across the glass tube, and if the computer screen was set to display biofluid levels it would certainly be within dangerously low territory. Thankfully all doors and windows were airtight. The saline liquid all but poured onto the floor.

The specimen emerged from the hopeless ruin of broken glass and biofluid.

It was too early. [i]Much[/i] too early.

Lyre remained frozen in place, her socks and pants getting drenched in liquid. Somehow she had enough control over her body to slightly lift the pillow, just barely keeping it dry.

[@SporkoBug]