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autumn verseXabominable blue

They had to travel an ocean that started brackish, both in temperature and in salinity, to get here. The waters had been cold for a while now, but three different universities would not forget to load the boat with their representatives up with isolating technologies. A trek over the ice for the machines they'd brought, and then a hike in their snow boots. A guide who was weather bitten enough to be trustable, in this environment. But who really knows what's in a man's heart? Out here, isolation was what you paid for. What happened to those who were rich in it?

He told them all manner of stories during the last leg of their outing together. The superstitious lot were engrossed and the sceptics could chalk it up to anthropology. Point was, they listened by the fire. They'd discern themes of pulling spirits out of flesh, and reforming heroes into prizes. Transformation. But perhaps not like the phoenix. In the morning they'd remember vague nightmares that had a red tint. Either individual was beholden to the state of their pajamas, and the self doubt about their hormonal state. It was this place. It's strange legends.

Eventually they'd be there. Reached it just before the sun set, just like the guide had promised. He stayed behind and pointed and shouted for them to find the entrance. They didn't think much of it when one of their colleagues pointed out his tribe was fearful of these gates. More like a hole in the ground. It would have been primitive, but the metal that lined it was well-made. Nothing in old days could have made it. There was already jokes about aliens among them. The wind whistled over the silver lips, and someone remarked how strange it was that snow didn't find its way in to the hole, despite being wide open. There would be grumbles from the group, sceptic again, but hard to argue.

The giant corridor narrowed slightly, and the surfaces around them became even more smooth. Lines everywhere from where plates had been joined. Impossible technology, even in a modern country. Out here, it was ludicrous.

But as they surveyed their surroundings, something was looking back at them. Their nightmare. A lot like them but also different. A giant thing, a replica. Green muscle fibers shining through the translucent skin. The milk of his complexion became denser from the middle of his chest, hombre, upward. His face was perfectly white and with chord hair, long, going back from his features. Large, human mouth, impossibly wide, and black eyes, blotted out sclera.

They noticed a change in atmosphere. This was not the chilling climate they'd arrived in, anymore. The hall they came to had a number of gates to other places, smaller but similarly built as the one they'd entered through to get here. The ceilings were littered with long light sources that seemed to shine from beyond the metal, as though its radiation penetrated whatever alloy that now hosted them. It was their move, thought their host, unhearable, from a corner where the shadows were thick.
 
The expedition upon which they had embarked was a prodigiously expensive undertaking, depleting not only human resources but also vast financial coffers. Yet, the allure of unearthing secrets that exceeded the wildest fancies of modern science proved irresistible, casting aside the conventional rationality of academia and its patrons. Three carefully selected emissaries, one for each of their respective alma maters, had been chosen for the perilous voyage. They were adorned with expertise, youth enough to risk their reputations in pursuit of improbable truths, and possessed the constitution required to endure the harrowing odyssey.

Mia Almquist, the material engineer of the expedition, had already collected a minuscule specimen of the metallic compound that cloaked the entrance, meticulously securing it within the numerous compartments adorning her attire. This young woman, a maven in her scientific discipline, had achieved remarkable feats in a comparatively brief span, earning both admiration and resentment from her more established peers. Clad in layers of insulating cloth and smart fabric, she was scarcely recognizable beneath the concealment, save for the grace of her movements and the efficaciousness of her form.

Sean Joshi, the biologist and cultural anthropologist, offered assistance to Nora Shyman as they descended into the frigid depths of the burrowed permafrost. His demeanor was characterized by politeness and chivalry, reflecting the bond that had grown between them during their recent months of travel. Shyman, a virologist with occasional forays into theoretical xenobiology, seemed more engrossed in the study of human anatomy, as evidenced by her preoccupation on the journey thus far. Mia Almquist, the enigmatic observer, couldn't help but wonder if their proficiencies and the resources provided by their benefactors had not already been squandered at the behest of an unchecked libido.

As they ventured deeper into the glacial repository of forgotten enigmas, the sight of the antechamber cast a mesmerizing spell upon them, its uncanny illumination seemingly transcending the very boundaries of solid matter—a phenomenon that defied any material science Almquist had ever encountered or even heard whispered in academic corridors. The trove held such a wealth of study material that they resolved to erect a provisional camp with the supplies and equipment they had brought along, necessary for the daunting task of mapping the labyrinthine network of passageways. It would be several days before the main expedition party could follow with fresh provisions and specialized apparatus, linked by a simple radiocommunication.

Amid the ruins, as the first tents unfurled in this otherworldly realm, they appeared strangely out of place amidst the metallic angles and the muted, eerie luminescence. They were akin to an invasive species infiltrating the subterranean caverns, a witticism that Sean Joshi didn't squander the chance to share with his companions as they prepared for their journey deeper into the structure. Though their group was modest in size, a duo of researchers tasked with mapping the corridors should have no trouble managing the assignment.

Thus, it was Mia Almquist and Sean Joshi who ventured into one of the side entrances, their aim to chart, if possible, a portion of the corridors for future reference. Nora Shyman was entrusted with overseeing the encampment, and she embraced the responsibility with characteristic determination. She established a cozy nook within one of the heated tents, her transmitter ready and her computer humming with anticipation. Contentedly ensconced in the warmth, her imagination hardly brushed upon the enigmatic entity lurking in the shadows, scrutinizing its domain with the curiosity and intellect befitting those that masterfully adapt their environment to their inscrutable desires.​
 
The alterations were already upon them. It had come like a spring, a fabled thing, in here; owed them by time, but elusive until now.

Mia, who'd taken up the material, was allotted the beginnings of her new self. The metal in the containers that she kept on her were docile at first, at least for their ballistic nature. The foreign material shifted, when she didn't see, from mercury to gas and to the shavings she'd originally taken. With a sense a lot like sight it took part of her own metals, in her blood, rushing by. And they communicated. Her human irons didn't have much of a chance when the xeno alloys hummed. She would feel it first like a stirring, and like any human, she would confuse magnetic activity for something else, in her.

But more pressing than Mia and Sean, who was already engaged and hormonal on merit of just being a man, was Nora. Hunting was ritualistic in any real culture, and the host of their underground soiree was plenty cultured, where he was from. She stunk of it, these chemicals he was looking for. Lubricants are, well, the best lubricants for change. And the apex creatures native to this world were not the best in being who they are, but rather, the best in becoming. So he hunted.

In her hideaway, she might see the tall shadow of the Eostrix if she looked at the tent wall during an opportune time. If she was alert about it, she could be confused, but with her mind and loins so otherwise distracted, the good virologist might discard it for just that, a throwaway silhouette. Eo touched his hand to the fabric that divided them, and wouldn't you know, Shyman was against it, too. Hyphae extended from the hosts palm, and quickly contaminated her. A tinge, and then she'd nod off for a microsleep part of a second. And when she woke up, there would already be an agent in her that started discoloring her blood, and carefully, slowly, hardening the surfaces of her skin.
 
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