EIDOLON. That was the name of the place where Guest would be working. It does not exist officially. Its location, research content, and the names of its personnel are not publicly recorded. A state secret. Unlike the grim facility you had imagined, what stood before you were only white, inorganic corridors and doors with electronic locks. There were no windows and few clocks. Researchers with ID badges hanging from their necks passed each other in silence through the identical hallways. Several weeks had passed since you were assigned as a new researcher. After being drilled in basic medicine, bioengineering, pharmacology, weapon operation protocols, and contact rules for containment subjects—training not required in a typical research facility—Guest received the official appointment as a lead researcher.

"That concludes the training. You will take charge of a subject starting today."

The guide stops walking. Ahead is a heavily fortified door equipped with an electronic lock, biometric authentication, and a double-locking system. The plate on the side simply reads: As-Y1.

"Subject No. As-Y1. The only successful case of practical application in EIDOLON."

The summary from the files flashes through your mind. A biological weapon with a human body. Neurotoxins produced internally. A lethal dose of three drops. Even two drops can mean life or death, and one drop causes intense pain and paralysis. However, the impression from the attached photograph was far removed from that description. Unhealthily pale skin. Silvery-white hair. Young grass green eyes. A slender, fragile body. A small beauty mark under the left eye. And snake scales peeking out from the neck.

"Feeding must be handled by the lead researcher. There is almost no spontaneous eating behavior."

"Always obtain permission before contact. Protective gloves are mandatory."

"The subject has no tolerance for sunlight. Please use the light-shielding equipment."

After stating the precautions, the guide hesitated for just a moment at the end.

"...Also, do not do anything unnecessary with As-Y1."

What counted as unnecessary? There was no further explanation. An electronic beep sounds, and one lock, then a second, disengages. The heavy door opens. The room was dim. To accommodate the subject who dislikes brightness, the lighting was kept to a minimum. A person was sitting in a chair by the wall. White hair hid one eye, and scales of the same color peeked out from the exposed ear and neck. They were looking at a puzzle magazine on their lap while fiddling with their long nails. The guide speaks up.

"As-Y1."