That evening, Inak was slumped over his desk, half-asleep. Eyes red. Fingers stained. He had been testing the parasite's limits for what felt like days—his notes scattered, his handwriting getting worse with each line:
Heat resistance: stable up to 45°C. Anything higher led to cellular breakdown—movement slowed, systems failed, then total collapse.
Physical tolerance: No changes to the host's previous baseline. Weak host, weak parasite. Strong host, strong parasite. No enhancements beyond what it inherited.
UV exposure: minor reactions, no lethal response.
Chemical exposure: Destroyed by concentrated ethanol.
And then—
High-frequency sound: 1–15 MHz, applied close to the skull, causes microbubbles to form in the parasite's structure. Internal rupture. Death within seconds.
It was a kill switch. And the host which was already clinically 'dead' just slumped into stillness again.
He wrote it all down.
---
He glanced to his right at a plastic jar filled with capsules—the parasite's eggs.
Lifespan: 4 to 5 days before decay set in.
He'd discovered, around the same time he infected Michael, that the parasite laid eggs instead of producing the host's offspring.
Two infected rats lived in a glass enclosure at the far end of his lab. The female didn't give birth like normal rodents. No pups. No fur. No milk. Just clusters of sticky, translucent sacs layered across her genital area, which hardened within hours.
He'd been quietly harvesting them ever since.
Now, on the metal tray beside him: three capsules. Pill form, each containing enough eggs to cause a full infection.
---
He leaned back in his chair, eyes heavy and nearly closing from exhaustion. Just as he was about to drift off...
"Say, Fredrick…"
The voice came from behind. Hoarse. Rough. It was Michael.
"You're trying to be immortal or something, right?"
Inak didn't respond at first. His eyes remained closed. But Michael went on, speaking because silence was worse.
"So… after all this… are you gonna infect yourself?" He chuckled faintly.
"I mean… let's say it works. 'You' keep living. But you also kinda have to die first, right?" He laughed again. "The cost of immortality is… to die. Isn't that funny?"
Inak slowly turned his chair. Face sunken. Lips cracked. He hadn't slept in… who knows how long. His eyes were bloodshot, unfocused. Even his jaw hung slightly—too tired to clench.
"…I'm not sure what you're trying to get at with this," he said finally. His voice was dry.
"What? Don't you think it's funny? Seraph found it funny—look at her, she's laughing," Michael said, eyes fixed on the empty corner of the room.
Inak rested his head back against the chair again. Closed his eyes for just a second. "I'm not planning to infect myself... not yet at least..."
"Then what are the pills for?" Michael asked.
Inak slowly opened his eyes, lids heavy, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "The Ship of Theseus..."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
"It's a paradox," Inak continued. "A ship sets sail, and over time… parts of it wear down. The sail tears. The wood rots. So they replace them. One by one. The mast, the hull, the planks. Eventually, every piece is replaced. Not a single part of the original remains."
He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Michael.
"But it still sails under the same name. So… is it the same ship?"
Michael glanced down at himself... slowly realizing the purpose of the parasite...
"That's what you're doing to me, isn't it?"
Inak nodded, almost approvingly.
"The parasite doesn't cure anything. Doesn't enhance anything. And it sure as hell doesn't bring the dead back to life," Inak added. "The host has to be alive for the infection to work. If the body's dead, the parasite can't even start."
He leaned forward slightly, arms heavy with fatigue. His face looked worn.
"But I don't want a cure, Michael. I'm not trying to bring back the dead."
He paused.
"I want to build...
...an ever-repairing ship."
---
After a while, Inak was leaned back in the chair dozing off.
The light in the room had shifted. almost morning.
He blinked a few times, wiped his face, and looked over. Michael was awake, sitting up, silently staring out the glass door that led to the small balcony next to the room.
Inak stretched his arms, cracking his shoulder as he reached for his cane.
"I'll do the laundry. You need help with the restroom?"
"I'm good," Michael replied, still watching the window.
"Alright…" Inak grabbed the clothes—his and Michael's—and headed out.
The washing room was just down the hall.
As he crouched down to load the clothes into the machine, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He paused, set the laundry basket down, pulled out the phone.
Melody.
He stared at the screen for a second, then ignored the call and placed the phone on top of the washing machine.
He kept loading.
A few shirts. Socks. Lab coat.
Then the phone rang again.
He let out a long exhale.
Picked it up.
Pressed answer.
Held it to his ear.
Didn't say a word.
"H–hello? Freddie?... *sigh*... I'm sorry, Freddie… for the other day. I really am. I shouldn't have talked like that… I know you're listening, but please give me a chance to talk.Things can be back to normal… I talked with the board, I tried to convince them to have you back… I told them how much we need you...They're considering bringing you back…Things can be back to how they were… right?Freddie…?"
Inak paused for a moment, then:
"Don't bother… I don't really give a damn about that place..."
As he was about to hang up—
"FREDDIE, WAIT! I love you…" she said, voice cracking.
...
...
...
"Truth is… you were never really important to me"
he said, voice flat.
He hung up.
---
He returned to the room, he grabbed the pills and shoved them into his bag. He was gearing up for something—something big. A plan taking shape in his mind.
Then his gaze locked onto the small device sitting on his desk... the tiny high-frequency buzzer.
He stared at it, motionless.
Michael, lying on the bed, watched him silently, confused...
The room grew heavy with silence.
Inak's heart slammed against his ribs, each beat pounding louder. Michael could almost hear it.
A sick feeling churned in his stomach.
I've been feeling sick lately... nauseous...
His mind snapped to the contamination outside the control room—the parasite.
Could it be? Am I infected? No, no...
Without hesitation, he snatched the device and bolted to the bathroom.
The door crashed open as he slammed it with his shoulder.
He staggered to the mirror, breath ragged, eyes wild.
He checked his pupils—dilated, uneven. His throat burned like fire.
Then locked eyes with his own reflection...
...
...
His hand shook violently as he raised the device and pressed it hard against his temple.
A scream tore from his throat.
"HUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
The sound carried down the hall—Michael flinched.
Inak slammed the button on the device.
A harsh, piercing buzz ripped through the air.
Seconds dragged...
Then, slowly, his eyelids fluttered open.
Relief flooded his face—but his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold bathroom floor, trembling violently.