The service corridor stretched before them like the throat of some massive beast, emergency lights casting feeble red shadows along the walls. The silence was profound—not the silence of emptiness, but the heavy silence of a pce holding its breath.

  "Power's still on," Elena whispered, surprised by the functioning emergency systems.

  "Backup generators," Viktor replied, his voice equally low. "Designed to run for years in case of catastrophic events." His mouth quirked in a humorless smile. "Though I doubt anyone anticipated this particur catastrophe."

  They moved cautiously through the corridor, Viktor leading the way. The facility seemed abandoned, but the occasional sign of disturbance—a knocked-over chair, papers scattered across the floor, a smear of something dark on a wall—told the story of panic and violence from months before.

  "We need to secure a space," Viktor said as they reached a junction in the hallway. "Somewhere defensible, with multiple exit options."

  Elena nodded. "What about your old b?"

  Viktor shook his head. "Too many entrances. And it would be an obvious target for scavengers." He considered for a moment. "The bio-storage area on level three might work. Limited access points, reinforced doors, and most people would avoid it due to containment concerns."

  "Lead the way," Elena said, adjusting her makeshift pack.

  They took the emergency stairs rather than the elevator, a precaution Viktor insisted on despite the functioning power. "Never trap yourself in a box," he expined, a lesson Elena filed away in her growing mental catalog of survival rules.

  The bio-storage level was accessed through heavy security doors, which Viktor bypassed with an emergency protocol code. Inside, they found a rge open space filled with storage units, freezers, and boratory equipment. Gss-walled offices lined one side, while the other featured a small kitchenette and lounge area for researchers working long hours.

  "Not exactly the Ritz," Elena commented, surveying what would become their temporary home.

  "But defensible," Viktor countered, already examining the security features. "First priority—securing the perimeter."

  Over the next few hours, Elena watched and helped as Viktor transformed the space with a scientist's precision and a predator's instincts. He rigged simple arms on all access points—strings of empty sample vials that would ctter if disturbed, pressure pads made from scattered papers that would crinkle under any weight.

  "Most vampires rely too heavily on their enhanced senses," he expined as he worked. "They listen for heartbeats, smell for blood. They forget basic security."

  "But not you," Elena observed.

  "I was paranoid even before I turned," he replied with a wry smile. "Now, help me with this."

  Together they pushed a heavy freezer unit in front of one of the secondary doors, leaving only the main entrance as their pnned access point. Viktor then opened a supply cabinet and removed several bottles of chemicals.

  "What are you doing?" Elena asked as he began carefully pouring liquids along the floor near the entrance.

  "Creating a scent barrier." He held up a bottle of clear liquid. "Phenolic compounds. Strong smell that overwhelms vampire olfactory senses—like walking into a wall of disinfectant. Anyone with enhanced senses will avoid it instinctively."

  Elena raised an eyebrow. "So basically vampire repellent?"

  "An oversimplification, but essentially correct."

  "And you know this how?"

  Viktor paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Trial and error. During my first weeks after turning, I was trying to... control my hunting instincts."

  The admission hung between them—a reminder of what he was, of the constant struggle he faced. Elena chose not to press further.

  With the security measures in pce, they turned to creating a livable space. Elena organized the lounge area, clearing debris and constructing makeshift sleeping areas from b coats and cushions from the furniture. Viktor secured the kitchenette, finding still-sealed packages of dehydrated foods and energy bars in the cabinets—standard emergency rations for a facility designed to withstand lockdowns.

  As night fully descended, they established a watch rotation. Elena took the first shift, letting Viktor rest to recover from the day's exertions. She sat by the main entrance, listening to the subtle sounds of the building settling around them. Despite the circumstances, she felt an odd sense of security within these walls of science—a familiar environment from her previous life.

  When Viktor awoke hours ter to take his turn on watch, he found Elena examining the boratory equipment with professional interest.

  "Most of it still works," she told him. "The cold storage units have backup power, and a lot of the analytical equipment seems operational."

  "Good," Viktor said. "Tomorrow we start searching the archives."

  Morning brought a ghostly quality to the boratory, sunlight filtering through dusty windows and creating columns of illuminated particles in the air. Elena woke to find Viktor already awake, organizing equipment on a rge central table.

  "I thought vampires slept during the day," she said, rubbing her eyes.

  "A common misconception," he replied without looking up. "Sunlight weakens us, makes us vulnerable. Sleep is a defensive adaptation, not a requirement. Besides," he added, "these windows have UV filters. Standard for boratories."

  Elena joined him at the table, accepting a package of shelf-stable oatmeal he'd prepared. "So, what's the pn?"

  "Methodical grid search of the archives. We need to recover whatever research data survived about the original virus development."

  They established a system quickly, moving from section to section of the rge storage area. Viktor focused on the electronic data, connecting salvaged hard drives to still-functioning computer terminals, while Elena tackled the physical archives—paper records, sample catalogs, and research notebooks.

  The work was tedious but absorbing. Hours passed in comfortable silence broken only by occasional questions or observations. Elena found herself falling into a familiar rhythm of research—the methodical cataloging, the cross-referencing of sources, the small thrill of discovering useful information. It was almost possible to forget the apocalyptic world outside.

  By te afternoon, they had established a functional research station. Salvaged monitors dispyed fragmented data recovered from the system, while stacks of notes and journals covered the tables they'd arranged in a U-shape for efficiency.

  "You're good at this," Viktor commented as Elena effortlessly navigated the archival system.

  "I spent most of grad school in basements just like this one," she replied. "Though usually with more coffee and fewer vampire attacks."

  Viktor actually chuckled—a sound Elena realized she had never heard from him before. It transformed his face briefly, making him look younger, more human.

  "What about you?" she asked. "What exactly did you do here? Before, I mean."

  Viktor's hands stilled on the keyboard. "I was part of the Lazarus Project. Cellur regeneration research."

  "You were trying to prevent aging?"

  "We were trying to reverse death." His voice was matter-of-fact, but Elena caught the undercurrent of old passion. "The initial goal was resuscitation technology—bringing back cellur function after clinical death. But the research evolved."

  "Into immortality," Elena said softly.

  Viktor nodded. "Keller pushed for it. I was...less convinced of the ethics." He resumed typing. "Ironic, considering what I've become."

  They worked until evening, establishing a pattern that would continue for days. Each morning brought a renewed sense of purpose, each night a growing collection of recovered data. They developed unspoken routines—Viktor preparing meals from the emergency supplies while Elena organized the day's findings, sharing discoveries over quiet meals, working side by side without need for constant conversation.

  On the fourth day, Elena discovered a sealed cold storage unit tucked behind several rger freezers. Unlike the others they'd examined, this one had remained untouched during the chaos, its backup power keeping the contents at a perfect subzero temperature.

  "Viktor," she called, "I think I found something."

  He joined her, examining the unit with interest. "Secondary storage. Used for long-term sample preservation." He entered a code on the keypad, and the seal broke with a hiss of escaping cold air.

  Inside, rack after rack of carefully beled vials glinted under the freezer's internal lights. Each bore a numeric code rather than a name—anonymized research samples.

  "Blood samples," Viktor expined, carefully lifting one of the racks. "Test subjects for the regeneration trials."

  Elena scanned the bels, her scientific mind automatically searching for patterns in the numbering system. One series caught her attention—samples beled ATA-397, stored separately from the others with additional security seals.

  "What are these?" she asked, pointing to the distinctive vials.

  Viktor stared at the samples, his expression changing almost imperceptibly. "Those are..." He hesitated. "Those were special research samples. Anomalous antibody structures that showed unusual interactions with the regeneration compounds."

  Something in his voice made Elena look at him more closely. "Viktor? What is it?"

  He met her eyes. "They're yours, Elena. These are the ATA-397 samples."

  Elena stared at the vials, recognition dawning. "My samples... I remember signing the research consent forms at the university medical center, but I never knew exactly what they were using my blood for."

  "Your anonymized samples were highly valued," Viktor confirmed. "I recognized the designation immediately. We referenced your code in numerous research meetings."

  Elena's mind raced, recalling the regur blood donations she'd given at the university medical center. Standard procedure for medical students, she'd always thought.

  "These samples were given the designation 'Anomalous Type A, subject 397,'" Viktor continued. "They were considered extremely valuable for the research."

  With careful movements, Viktor removed one of the vials and held it up to the light. The dark red liquid inside looked ordinary, belying its apparent significance.

  "What made my blood special?" Elena asked, trying to process this revetion with scientific detachment.

  Viktor set the sample in a rack and moved to one of the computer terminals. "Let me show you."

  His fingers flew over the keyboard, bringing up a series of molecur diagrams. "Here," he said, pointing to a complex structure on the screen. "Your antibodies have an unusual configuration in the binding region. We'd never seen anything like it."

  Elena leaned closer, her scientific curiosity overwhelming the strangeness of examining her own blood components. "That's not a standard immunoglobulin structure."

  "No, it's not. Your body produces a variant that has significantly enhanced binding capabilities." Viktor brought up another image, showing the antibodies interacting with other molecules. "In boratory tests, these antibodies demonstrated the ability to bind to and neutralize a much wider range of antigens than normal human antibodies."

  "That would expin why I rarely get sick," Elena mused.

  "More than that," Viktor said, his voice taking on the quality it had when he discussed his research—precise, intense. "Your antibodies showed remarkable adaptability. They could reconfigure their binding sites in response to new threats more efficiently than any we'd studied."

  Elena stared at the diagrams, trying to grasp the implications. "So my blood was valuable because it had superior disease-fighting capabilities?"

  "Precisely. The Lazarus Project became interested because of the regenerative implications. If we could understand how your antibodies adapted so effectively, we might apply that mechanism to cellur regeneration."

  A thought occurred to Elena. "Wait, if my blood was being used in the immortality research, then..." She didn't complete the sentence, the possibility too disturbing.

  Viktor understood immediately. "Your blood didn't cause the outbreak, if that's what you're wondering. But it was part of the research that eventually led there." He hesitated. "There's more, though."

  "What?"

  "Your samples were among the st introduced to the research before everything went wrong. Most of the final-stage testing hadn't been conducted with your specific antibody structures."

  The implication hung in the air between them.

  "So we don't know how my blood interacts with the virus," Elena said slowly.

  "No," Viktor confirmed. "We don't."

  They stood in silence for a moment, contempting this new information. Elena felt a strange disconnect—the scientific fascination at discovering something unusual about herself warring with the unsettling knowledge that her blood had been used without her informed consent in research that ultimately devastated the world.

  "We should preserve these samples," Viktor finally said. "They may be crucial to understanding the virus better."

  Elena nodded, her researcher's instincts taking over. "We'll need to catalog everything. Set up proper test protocols."

  They worked with renewed purpose, transforming part of the storage area into a functional blood analysis station. Viktor's knowledge of the facility proved invaluable—he knew where to find equipment that hadn't been looted, which systems could be bypassed to provide necessary power, which reagents would still be viable after months without climate control.

  Elena watched him work, noticing the precision of his movements, the way his scientific mind remained intact despite his transformation. In these moments, focused on research, he seemed most human—driven by curiosity and the methodical pursuit of knowledge rather than predatory instincts.

  By nightfall, they had established a rudimentary but functional research space. Cold storage for the samples, basic analysis equipment, a documentation system using recovered ptops. It wasn't state-of-the-art, but it would allow them to begin investigating the retionship between Elena's unusual blood and the virus that had changed everything.

  As they finished organizing the st of the equipment, Viktor stepped back and surveyed their work with something approaching satisfaction.

  "Good job, Dr. Reid," he said, using her professional title for the first time.

  She smiled, feeling an echo of her former self—the researcher who had once believed science could solve any problem. "Not bad yourself, Dr. Novak."

  Later, as they shared a simple meal of reconstituted pasta in the lounge area, Elena found herself studying Viktor's face in the soft glow of the emergency lighting. The day's revetions swirled in her mind, raising questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered.

  "Do you think it was fate?" she asked suddenly.

  Viktor looked up from his untouched food. "What?"

  "That we met. That of all the humans you could have rescued that day, it was me—the person whose blood was part of your research."

  Viktor considered this, his expression thoughtful. "I don't believe in fate," he said finally. "But I do believe in statistical improbabilities that appear meaningful in retrospect."

  Elena ughed. "That might be the most scientist way of saying 'maybe' I've ever heard."

  A small smile touched his lips. "Old habits die hard. Even when you're technically dead."

  They fell into comfortable silence, the hum of equipment providing a soothing background. Outside, the world remained broken and dangerous. Vampires hunted, humans hid, and the future seemed uncertain at best. But here, surrounded by the familiar trappings of science and research, Elena felt something she hadn't experienced since the outbreak—a sense of purpose, of possibility.

  She gnced at Viktor, who was reviewing notes on a salvaged tablet, his brow furrowed in concentration. A vampire scientist and a human doctor, working together against impossible odds. If someone had described this scenario to her months ago, she would have dismissed it as absurd.

  Yet here they were.

  "We should establish a regur testing schedule," Viktor said without looking up. "Starting with baseline analyses of your current blood composition compared to the preserved samples."

  Elena nodded, already thinking through the protocols they would need. "We'll need control samples too. Your blood, and ideally samples from other vampires if we can obtain them safely."

  "Agreed." Viktor set down the tablet and met her eyes. "This won't be easy, you know. We're working with limited resources, fragmented data."

  "When has science ever been easy?" Elena countered. "Besides, what else are we going to do with our time? Take up knitting?"

  Viktor's mouth quirked in that almost-smile she was beginning to recognize. "I ck the dexterity for knitting."

  Later, as they settled into their now-familiar sleeping arrangement—Elena on the makeshift bed in the lounge area, Viktor taking first watch near the entrance—she found herself reflecting on the strange turn her life had taken. From medical researcher to apocalypse survivor to... whatever this was now. Partner in an improvised scientific endeavor with a vampire who was simultaneously predator and protector.

  "Viktor?" she called softly into the semi-darkness.

  "Yes?" His voice came from his position near the door.

  "Thanks for not eating me that first day."

  A pause, then a low chuckle—the second time she'd heard him ugh. "You're welcome. Though I'm beginning to think I may have saved you simply to be subjected to your questionable sense of humor."

  Elena smiled as she closed her eyes. In this new world of constant danger and uncertainty, she'd take her victories where she could find them. And making a vampire ugh? Definitely counted as a win.