Morning light filtered through the boratory's UV-protected windows, casting long rectangles across the workbenches Viktor had meticulously arranged overnight. Elena entered the main b area, coffee in hand—a precious luxury from the dwindling supply of instant packets they'd found in the break room cupboards.

  "You've been busy," she observed, surveying the transformed space.

  Viktor looked up from a microscope he was calibrating. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd make use of the time."

  The central b bench now featured an organized array of equipment: centrifuges, microscopes, testing apparatus, and a modified containment hood that Viktor had repaired using parts from damaged units. A series of test tubes and petri dishes were arranged in precise rows, each bearing handwritten bels in Viktor's neat script.

  "Ambitious setup," Elena remarked, moving closer to examine his work. "Especially considering our limited resources."

  "Science doesn't require fancy equipment. Just methodology." Viktor made a final adjustment to the microscope. "And patience."

  Elena set down her coffee and pulled her hair back, securing it with an estic band she'd found in a desk drawer. The simple act of preparing for b work felt comfortingly familiar—an echo of her life before everything colpsed. "So, what's the protocol?"

  Viktor handed her a paper where he'd outlined their experimental approach. "We start with baseline analysis of your current blood composition compared to your archived samples. Then we introduce controlled amounts of inactivated viral material to observe the interaction."

  Elena skimmed the protocol, nodding approvingly at his thorough approach. "You're using UV-inactivated viral samples?"

  "Safety first," Viktor said. His expression grew serious. "I don't want to risk any active virus exposure, especially given your blood's potential susceptibility or resistance. We can gather preliminary data without that risk."

  "Agreed," Elena said. She pced the protocol on the bench and reached for a b coat hanging nearby. "Let's get started."

  They worked through the morning in comfortable tandem, moving around each other in the b space with the efficiency of dancers who've practiced the same routine for years. Elena prepared blood samples while Viktor handled the more dangerous viral materials behind the containment hood. Their conversation was sparse but focused, professional terminology flowing easily between them.

  "Centrifuge at 3,000 RPM?" Elena asked as she prepared a sample.

  "Make it 3,500," Viktor suggested. "The age of the samples might require additional separation force."

  Elena adjusted the settings without question. As they settled into their work, she found herself watching Viktor when he wasn't looking—the practiced movements of his hands, the intense focus in his eyes when examining a slide, the slight furrow in his brow when processing data. Despite his condition, he remained fundamentally a scientist, his methodical approach unchanged by his transformation.

  By midday, they had established baseline comparisons between Elena's archived blood samples and fresh specimens she'd drawn that morning.

  "Look at this," Viktor said, gesturing her toward a microscope where he'd prepared comparative slides. "The antibody concentration in your fresh samples is approximately 12% higher than in the archived specimens."

  Elena peered through the eyepiece, making minute adjustments to bring the cellur structures into focus. "That's significant. Could be a response to environmental exposure since the outbreak—my immune system ramping up production."

  "Or a natural progression of your already unusual antibody development," Viktor suggested. "The question is whether this enhanced production provides any advantage against the virus."

  They broke briefly for Elena to eat lunch—a package of shelf-stable crackers and some dried fruit—while discussing their next steps. Viktor abstained, as always, though Elena had noticed he sometimes held a cup of coffee during their meals, more as a social gesture than from any need for the beverage.

  "I've been wondering about the shelter," Elena said suddenly, the thought of food triggering memories of communal meals with the survivors. "Do you think they're okay?"

  Viktor looked up from the data he was reviewing. "From what you've described, they seemed organized. Survivors who've made it this long know how to adapt."

  "They probably think I'm dead," Elena said, picking at a cracker. "I was just supposed to gather supplies at the hospital and return. Now they have no idea what happened to me."

  "We could try to get a message to them," Viktor suggested, though his tone suggested he thought it risky. "Let them know you're safe."

  Elena shook her head. "And tell them what? That I'm conducting vampire virus research with a..." she hesitated, "...with you? Sophia would organize a rescue mission immediately."

  Elena nodded, appreciating his perspective but still feeling the weight of her abrupt departure. "It's just... they were the closest thing to stability I'd found since everything happened."

  "Science is stability," Viktor said with unexpected earnestness. "Data doesn't change, even when the world does."

  The simple statement resonated with Elena, reminding her why she'd been drawn to research in the first pce—the promise of concrete answers in a chaotic world. She brushed cracker crumbs from her hands and straightened. "You're right. Let's get back to work."

  The afternoon was dedicated to the first critical experiments—introducing inactivated viral components to samples of Elena's blood under various conditions. Viktor handled the viral material with extreme caution, working entirely within the containment hood.

  "These are protein fragments from the viral capsid," he expined as he prepared microscopic amounts for testing. "Rendered inert through UV exposure but still structurally intact enough to observe binding behaviors."

  Elena watched him work, impressed by his thoroughness despite their limited resources. "You've done this before."

  "Simir protocols," he confirmed. "Though never with this particur virus, obviously. My team was primarily focused on cellur regeneration, not virology. We colborated with the virology department when our research paths intersected."

  Hours passed as they conducted test after test, methodically documenting results in both digital files and handwritten b notebooks—redundancy being a habit of thorough researchers. The work was exacting and time-consuming, but Elena found herself fully absorbed, the apocalyptic world outside momentarily forgotten in the pursuit of understanding.

  Late afternoon brought their first significant observation.

  "Elena," Viktor called from his position at the microscope. "You need to see this."

  She joined him quickly, taking his pce at the eyepiece. The slide showed a sample of her blood exposed to viral proteins, stained to highlight binding activity. What she saw made her breath catch—her antibodies were attaching to the viral proteins in patterns she'd never observed before.

  "They're binding at multiple sites," she said, adjusting the focus slightly. "Not just the typical antigen-recognition regions."

  "Exactly," Viktor confirmed, excitement evident in his voice. "The binding pattern is unprecedented. Your antibodies aren't just recognizing the viral proteins—they're engaging with them in ways standard human antibodies shouldn't be capable of."

  Elena looked up from the microscope, meeting Viktor's eyes. "What does it mean?"

  "I'm not entirely sure yet," he admitted. "But it could expin why your blood samples were so valuable to the research team. Your antibodies interact with foreign bodies in unique ways."

  They spent the next hours running variations of the same test, altering conditions and concentrations to better understand the binding phenomenon. As night fell, the boratory took on a cocoon-like quality, the darkness outside making their illuminated workspace feel like the only reality that mattered.

  Elena stretched, her back stiff from hours bent over equipment. "We need to test my blood against active viral samples eventually."

  Viktor looked up sharply. "That's significantly more dangerous."

  "But necessary if we want to understand the complete interaction," she countered. "Inactivated proteins can only tell us so much."

  "Not yet," Viktor said firmly. "We need better containment protocols first. And more baseline data."

  Elena knew he was right, but the scientist in her chafed at the dey. "Fine. But we should start preparing the protocols for when we're ready."

  Viktor nodded, accepting the compromise. "Tomorrow we can outline the enhanced safety measures we'd need."

  They continued working well into the night, breaking only when Elena's growling stomach reminded them of human needs. They moved to the break area, where Viktor had arranged a more comfortable dining space using salvaged furniture. Elena ate rehydrated stew from a metal container while they reviewed the day's findings.

  "Your antibodies are demonstrating adaptive binding," Viktor said, sketching a molecur diagram on a notepad. "See how the configuration changes upon secondary exposure? It's almost as if they're learning."

  "That aligns with my medical history," Elena noted. "I rarely get sick, and never twice from the same pathogen. My immune system has always been unusually effective."

  "It's more than just effectiveness," Viktor said. "Standard immune response improves through memory cells recognizing previously encountered pathogens. Your antibodies appear to be actively reconfiguring their binding sites in real-time."

  They fell into a deep discussion of immunological mechanisms, building theories and challenging each other's assumptions with the comfortable back-and-forth of scientific colleagues. Elena found herself completing Viktor's sentences at times, while he sometimes anticipated her questions before she asked them—a natural rhythm developing from their shared scientific backgrounds.

  As the night deepened, their conversation gradually shifted from pure science to the personal motivations behind their research. Elena found herself sharing stories she rarely told, drawn out by the intimate atmosphere of their isoted boratory and the intellectual connection they'd established.

  "My sister was diagnosed with lupus when she was fifteen," Elena said, staring into her empty food container. "I was twelve. I didn't understand what was happening—only that Sophie was in constant pain, that her own body was attacking itself."

  Viktor listened silently, his full attention on her story.

  "The doctors expined autoimmune disease as a case of mistaken identity—the immune system unable to distinguish between self and other." Elena's fingers traced invisible patterns on the table. "I became obsessed with understanding it. Read medical textbooks way beyond my grade level. Started doing science projects on immunology."

  "Is that what led you to medical research?" Viktor asked.

  Elena nodded. "Sophie died when I was in college. Complications from a fre-up. By then, I was already on the path—microbiology undergrad, then medical school with a research focus. I specialized in immunological disorders, trying to understand the fundamental mechanisms of self-recognition in immune systems."

  "I'm sorry about your sister," Viktor said softly.

  "It was a long time ago," Elena replied, though the pain in her voice suggested otherwise. "What about you? What drew you to regenerative medicine?"

  Viktor was quiet for a moment, his expression distant. "My grandfather," he finally said. "He had Alzheimer's. I watched him disappear piece by piece—his memories, his personality, everything that made him who he was, just... fading away."

  He picked up a pen, turning it absently between his fingers. "I was working on my doctorate in cellur biology when he died. I became fascinated with neuronal degradation and potential regenerative treatments. The idea that we might restore what was lost, bring back what disease had taken."

  "From neural regeneration to immortality research is quite a leap," Elena observed.

  "Not as much as you might think," Viktor replied. "The fundamental question is the same: can we prevent the loss of self? Whether through cellur degeneration, disease, or ultimately death—the core research question is about preservation."

  Elena studied him, understanding dawning. "You weren't trying to live forever. You were trying to save people from losing themselves."

  Viktor met her eyes. "Immortality was never my goal. I just wanted more time for people to remain... themselves. For families to not lose loved ones to diseases that strip away identity before taking life." His mouth formed a bitter smile. "Ironic that I ended up in this state—technically 'immortal' but at the cost of constantly fighting to maintain my human identity."

  The vulnerability in his admission touched Elena deeply. She'd assumed the immortality research had been about power or fear of death—not this fundamentally compassionate motivation.

  "Your grandfather would be proud," she said quietly. "Of the way you're still fighting to help others despite everything that's happened."

  Viktor looked surprised, then thoughtful. "I'd like to think so."

  They fell into a comfortable silence, each processing the deeper understanding of the other they'd just gained. Outside, the night pressed against the boratory windows, but within their scientific sanctuary, a new kind of connection had formed—one built on shared purpose and mutual recognition of the human drives that had shaped their scientific paths.

  "We should test the binding affinity under varying pH conditions tomorrow," Elena eventually said, returning to their research with renewed focus. "If your theory about adaptive configuration is correct, we might see different binding patterns in more acidic environments."

  "Which would expin potential variation in effectiveness depending on which body tissues are affected," Viktor added, immediately engaged in the scientific problem. "We should also examine temperature variables. The virus seems to cause febrile responses in early stages of infection."

  They continued theorizing te into the night, building on each other's ideas with increasing synergy. When Elena finally yawned, unable to suppress her human need for sleep, Viktor insisted she rest while he organized their notes into a coherent research pn for the following day.

  As she settled onto her makeshift bed in the break room, Elena found herself reflecting on how drastically her life had changed. Months ago, she'd been treating patients in a university hospital, leading a normal life unaware of the catastrophe brewing in research bs like this one. Now she was conducting apocalypse research alongside a vampire who had once worked on the very project that destroyed the world.

  Yet somehow, in this strange new reality, she'd found something unexpectedly familiar—the pure intellectual engagement of scientific colboration with a mind that challenged and complemented her own. Despite everything, there was comfort in the methodical pursuit of knowledge, in the shared nguage of hypothesis and evidence, in the careful documentation of observations that might someday make sense of the chaos.

  She closed her eyes, her mind still processing the day's discoveries. In the adjacent b, she could hear Viktor moving about, the soft sounds of pages turning and equipment being prepared for tomorrow's experiments. The sounds were oddly reassuring—a scientist at work, unchanged in his essential nature despite his transformation.

  Tomorrow they would continue their experiments, building on today's promising results. And perhaps, eventually, they would understand enough about the virus and her unusual blood to make a difference in this broken world.

  For now, that possibility—that hope—was enough to carry her into sleep.