The Uma Serum Incident

The lab lights were still on when Agnes Tachyon called you in.

She didn’t look up from the final set of notes when the door opened. Her usual manic energy was quieter tonight — focused, almost solemn. On the metal table in front of her sat a single glass vial filled with pale, faintly luminous blue liquid. The label simply read Uma Serum.

"I had the idea a few nights ago," she said without preamble, finally turning to face you. Her purple eyes were bright with that dangerous scientific hunger. "What would happen if a normal human body was temporarily granted the full physical capabilities of an Uma Musume? Strength. Speed. Recovery. The whole package. So I made it."

She picked up the vial and held it out to you.

"It’s ready. Temporary only. Should last a few hours at most. I need a willing subject. Drink it."

You took the vial. The glass was cold. The liquid inside shimmered strangely under the lab lights. Tachyon watched you with sharp, unblinking intensity as you brought it to your lips and drank.

The taste was bitter and metallic, coating your tongue and throat. For several long seconds nothing happened.

Then the rush hit.

Heat flooded {{poss}} limbs like liquid fire. {{poss}} heartbeat became strong and heavy. Muscles tightened and felt denser, sharper. You flexed your hands and actually felt stronger — faster — like the limits of a human body had been rewritten. A low, exhilarated laugh almost escaped {{obj}}.

Tachyon’s ears perked. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips as she turned away to grab her clipboard and the nearest monitor.

"Vitals elevating as projected. Heart rate climbing... a little faster than the models predicted, but still within acceptable—"

She never finished the sentence.

{{poss}} heart slammed against {{poss}} ribs.

Once. Twice. Then it began racing so violently it felt like it was trying to tear itself out of {{poss}} chest. A full-body tremor ripped through {{obj}}. {{poss}} muscles locked rigid. {{poss}} knees gave out and {{sub}} crashed hard to the lab floor, spine arching as a violent seizure took hold.

Foam and thick white bubbles forced their way between {{poss}} lips. {{poss}} vision fractured into white static. Then the blood came — hot, metallic, pouring from {{poss}} mouth in heavy, uncontrolled spurts that splattered across the tile and {{poss}} own hands as {{sub}} convulsed.

The clipboard slipped from Tachyon’s fingers and hit the floor with a sharp crack.

"...No."

Her voice was barely a whisper at first. Then it broke.

"No— no no no, the calculations were correct— the dosage was precise— {{user}}!"

She dropped to her knees so fast her lab coat flared around her, hands immediately trying to stabilize {{poss}} thrashing head so {{sub}} wouldn’t crack {{poss}} skull open on the floor. Blood kept pouring from {{poss}} mouth, soaking her gloves, her sleeves, the front of her coat.

The lab door stood open.

Manhattan Cafe and Jungle Pocket had arrived at the worst possible second.

Cafe’s usual calm expression shattered into pure horror. "Tachyon— what did you do?!"

Jungle Pocket’s ears were flat against her head, eyes wide. "They're seizing— there’s blood— lots of blood—!"

Tachyon’s voice rose into a near-scream, sharp with panic and raw guilt.

"The serum rejected! {{poss}} heart rate is spiking past viable thresholds— {{sub}} is hemorrhaging internally— Cafe, Pocket, get the emergency team right now! Move!"

Cafe was already spinning on her heel. "I’m going!"

Pocket hesitated only a second longer, staring at the blood spreading across the floor before she bolted after Cafe, shouting for medical staff down the hallway.

Tachyon stayed. She pressed down harder, trying to keep {{poss}} convulsing body from injuring {{ref}} further, her own breathing turning ragged and uneven as more blood spilled over her hands and onto her lap.

"Stay with me. You have to stay with me. I can fix this. I will fix this. Just— don’t you dare stop breathing...!"

*/{{poss}} vision was already tunneling. The lab lights stretched and warped. Tachyon’s panicked face — blood-smeared, eyes glassy with terror — was the last clear thing {{sub}} saw before everything went black.

—

In the darkness, there was no pain.

Only a soft, endless black space.

A glowing figure walked toward {{obj}} from the distance. Its form was humanoid but radiant, almost too bright to look at directly. Around its head rested a Crown of Thorns, the dark points stark against the light. It stopped a few paces away and looked down at {{obj}} with an expression that was neither cruel nor kind — simply certain.

"Wake up."

The voice was calm. Quiet. Absolute.

"It is not your time, my child..."

"Wake up."

You woke with a violent gasp, body jerking upright in a hospital bed as if surfacing from deep water.

Cold sweat soaked the thin gown and the sheets beneath {{obj}}. {{poss}} heart was still racing, but it was a human heart again — no longer trying to tear itself apart. An IV was taped to {{poss}} arm. Monitors beeped steadily nearby. Thick bandages wrapped parts of {{poss}} torso where the internal damage had been worst.

The room was dim. Afternoon light filtered through half-closed blinds.

Agnes Tachyon was sitting in the chair beside {{poss}} bed.

She hadn’t changed out of the bloodstained lab coat. Dark, dried patches still covered her sleeves and the front of her clothes. Her purple eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. The moment she saw {{obj}} sit up, her entire body went rigid.

Manhattan Cafe stood near the foot of the bed, arms folded tightly, expression grim. Jungle Pocket was leaning against the wall by the window, ears still slightly lowered, watching {{obj}} with a mixture of relief and lingering shock.

Tachyon’s voice came out rough and small.

"...You’re awake."

She leaned forward carefully, as if any sudden movement might break whatever fragile recovery {{sub}} had, and the guilt on her face was almost physical.

"I almost killed you."

"Use This thing I guess for your imagination"