Chapter 1: The Desperate Alchemist
The sharp, ammonia-like scent of the solution burned in Alan’s sinuses, a familiar counterpoint to the damp wool and grass smell rising from the rugby jersey he’d tossed over his desk chair. His dorm room was a battlefield of conflicting identities. Textbooks on Mendelian genetics lay splayed open next of a pair of mud-caked cleats. On a makeshift lab bench of cinderblocks and a stolen cafeteria tray, beakers and test tubes bubbled and steamed, their contents casting a sickly, pulsating green light onto the walls.
From the window, the distant roar of the crowd from the athletic fields was a dull, rhythmic thrum. Frank was out there. Frank, who had shoulders that looked like they could hold up the world and a laugh that made Alan’s stomach do things he’d only read about in poetry he’d never admit to reading.
Alan adjusted his glasses, pushing his messy brown hair back from his forehead. It immediately fell back into his eyes. He was invisible. He knew it. A background character in the sprawling campus novel of his own life.
“Just a few more minutes,” he whispered to the flask in his hand, his fingers trembling as he stirred the glowing liquid with a glass rod. It wasn’t exhaustion. It was a raw, electric thrill. This was it. His own design. A targeted pheromonal amplifier, spliced with a retro-viral vector for cellular uptake. In theory, it would temporarily enhance his physical presence, make him… noticeable. Irresistible, even. Specifically, to Frank. He’d tailored the chemical profile based on strands of hair he’d… collected.
The lock on his door clicked. Alan jolted, nearly sending the flask flying. He shoved it behind a stack of notebooks just as his roommate, Mark, shouldered his way in, smelling of sweat and cheap deodorant.
“Dude, you are missing one hell of a game. Franklin just ran sixty yards for a touchdown. Absolutely majestic.” Mark dumped his gym bag on the floor, his eyes scanning the room. “What is that smell? Did you order Thai food again and leave the containers out?”
“No. Just… an experiment for botany. Cross-pollination yields.” The lie came out too quickly, too high-pitched.
Mark snorted, grabbing a towel. “You and your plants. Come on, live a little. The party after the game is at Sigma Chi. Frank’s gonna be there. You know, the guy you’re always subtly staring at from behind like a lost puppy?”
Alan felt a hot flush creep up his neck. “I don’t stare.”
“You stare. It’s cool, man. He’s a specimen. But he’s also, you know, Frank. He dates people like Chloe. The human equivalent of a sports car.” Mark headed for the shower. “Seriously, come out tonight. It’s pathetic in here.”
The door to the bathroom slammed shut. Alan’s heart hammered against his ribs. Pathetic. The word echoed in the suddenly silent room, mingling with the faint hiss of his equipment. He looked at the hidden flask. This wasn’t pathetic. This was initiative. This was science.
He waited until he heard the shower running before pulling the flask back out. The green glow seemed more intense now, almost hungry. This was his ticket out of the background. Frank would have to see him. He wouldn’t be able to look away.
With a deep breath that did nothing to calm his nerves, Alan brought the flask to his lips. The liquid was thicker than he expected, syrupy and warm, with a taste like copper pennies and overripe fruit. He gagged, but forced it down.
For a moment, nothing. Then a warmth started in his gut, spreading outwards like a slow-moving fever. His skin prickled. A faint, metallic scent, like ozone after a lightning strike, began to emanate from his pores. He looked in the smudged mirror above his sink. His face seemed the same. Messy hair, glasses, the usual constellation of acne along his jaw.
Disappointment, sharp and acidic, rose in his throat. It had failed. Of course it had failed. He was an idiot playing with things he didn’t understand.
Then the bathroom door opened, steam billowing out. Mark stopped dead, towel around his waist, his eyes widening. He sniffed the air. “Whoa. What is that? Did you get new cologne or something?”
Alan’s breath hitched. “Or something.”
Mark took a step closer, his head tilting. “It’s… intense. Kinda good, actually. Makes you seem… different.” He blinked, shook his head as if clearing it, and looked at Alan, really looked at him, for a second longer than usual before turning away to get dressed. “Weird. Anyway, you coming or what?”
A wild, giddy hope surged through Alan. It was working.
“Yeah,” Alan said, his voice stronger than he’d heard it in months. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
He followed Mark out into the hallway, the strange warmth still coursing through him. The metallic scent was a halo around him. People they passed in the corridor turned their heads, their conversations stuttering for a beat. A girl he’d never spoken to gave him a slow, appraising smile.
It was working.
They spilled out into the cool evening air, the party noise from the Sigma Chi house already a booming bassline in the distance. And then he saw him. Frank, standing on the front steps, a red plastic cup in his hand, surrounded by his usual crowd. He was glowing under the porch light, a golden god holding court.
Alan’s confidence, a fragile thing built in a petri dish, wavered. This was it. The moment of truth. He took a step forward, then another, Mark forgotten behind him.
Frank was mid-laugh, his head thrown back. Then he stopped. His nostrils flared. He turned, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, past the obvious, beautiful people, until it landed, with an almost physical force, directly on Alan.
The crowd around him seemed to blur and fade. Frank’s eyes, usually aloof and distracted, were now sharp, focused, intensely present. They were locked on Alan with a raw, unguarded curiosity that made the air leave Alan’s lungs.
Frank took a step down, then another, moving through his friends as if they weren't there. He didn’t smile. He just looked, his expression one of deep, primal confusion and undeniable attraction.
He stopped a foot away, so close Alan could feel the body heat radiating from him.
“Hey,” Frank said, his voice low, a little rough. “Do I… know you?”
Alan’s heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. The world had narrowed to this point, to Frank’s questioning gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his skull, so violent his vision whited out for a second. He swayed on his feet.
Frank’s hand shot out, steadying him by the elbow. “Whoa, you okay?”
The pain receded as quickly as it came, leaving a throbbing ache behind his eyes. Alan forced a smile, his head swimming. “Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.”
Frank’s grip on his arm tightened, not letting go. His touch was electric. “You sure? You look a little pale.” He was still staring, his gaze dropping to Alan’s mouth, then back to his eyes. “Seriously, what’s your name?”
The word caught in his dry throat. “Alan.” It came out as a croak, swallowed by the thumping bass from the house. He cleared his throat, his face heating. “I’m Alan.”
Frank’s intense focus flickered. The primal curiosity in his eyes shifted into something more familiar, more mundane: polite recognition. He gave a small, easy smile, the kind he probably gave to everyone. “Alan. Right. Cool.” He gave Alan’s arm a final, perfunctory pat before dropping his hand. “Well, see you around, Alan.”
And just like that, he turned, his broad back already facing Alan as he rejoined his roaring friends on the steps. The circle closed around him, absorbing him back into his golden world.
The dismissal was so swift, so casual, it felt like a physical shove. The giddy hope that had propelled Alan out here curdled in his gut, leaving a cold, heavy shame. The metallic scent clinging to him now seemed ridiculous, a desperate stunt. He stood frozen on the path, invisible all over again.
Mark clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. “See? I told you he’s in his own universe. Don’t take it personally, man. Let’s get a drink.”
Inside the Sigma Chi house, the air was thick with sweat and cheap beer. Bodies pressed in from all sides. Alan let Mark steer him through the crowd, his head throbbing in time with the music. The initial warmth from the serum had intensified into a feverish heat that prickled under his skin. His mouth still tasted of copper and decay.
He grabbed a plastic cup of something clear and fizzy from a keg and drank it down in one go, hoping to wash the taste away. It didn’t help.
A girl with blue-streaked hair bumped into him, spilling a little of her drink on his shoe. “Oops, sorry!” she giggled, her eyes lingering on him for a moment too long. She sniffed the air. “You smell… interesting.”
Before Alan could form a response, a jock in a letterman jacket pulled her away, laughing. The attention was there, flickering around him like faulty neon signs, but it was shallow, disconnected. It wasn’t the deep, singular focus he’d seen in Frank’s eyes for those three perfect seconds.
He felt a wave of dizziness and leaned against a wall, the textured wallpaper sticky against his back. The room seemed to pulse, the faces around him blurring into a smear of noise and color. Another stab of pain, sharper this time, pierced behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut.
“You look like you’re about to hurl,” Mark shouted over the music, his own speech slightly slurred. “You good?”
Alan forced his eyes open. “Fine. Just… hot.”
“It’s a party, man! It’s supposed to be hot!” Mark laughed, sloshing his beer. “Look, Chloe’s here. God, she’s terrifying. And magnificent.”
Alan followed his gaze. Frank was near the fireplace, his arm now slung around a tall, willowy girl with perfect blonde hair. Chloe. Of course. She was laughing at something Frank was saying, her head thrown back in a way that looked both practiced and effortless. Frank leaned down and whispered in her ear, and she smiled a slow, possessive smile.
The sight was a punch to the gut. It was all wrong. The serum was supposed to fix this, to rewrite the rules. Instead, he was just a weird-smelling guy having a bad reaction in the corner.
The throbbing in his skull intensified, a relentless drumbeat behind his eyes. The metallic taste rose again in his throat, this time accompanied by a sudden, violent lurch of nausea. His vision swam, the edges darkening. This was more than disappointment. This was something else. Something wrong.
He pushed himself off the wall, his legs unsteady. “Mark… I gotta go.”
“What? Already? Dude, the night is young!”
But Alan was already stumbling through the crowd, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He needed air. He needed to get back to his room. He needed to look at his notes, to figure out what was happening to him.
He burst out the front door, gulping in the cold night air. It did little to cool the fire in his veins or settle the rolling in his stomach. He started the walk back to his dorm, each step a monumental effort. The world tilted on its axis.
He made it to his building, fumbled with his key, and stumbled into the silent hallway. The contrast with the roaring party was jarring. His own door seemed a mile away.
His head was splitting open. He could feel his heartbeat in his temples, a frantic, panicked rhythm. He fell against his door, his hand shaking so badly he could barely get the key into the lock. He finally managed it, shoving the door open and collapsing into the familiar chaos of his room.
The scent of chemicals was still there, but now it was smothered by his own failing body. He crawled toward his desk, toward the scattered notes and the empty flask. What had he done? What had he actually created?
He reached a trembling hand out, his fingers brushing against the cool glass of the flask just as a fresh, searing pain exploded behind his eyes. A strangled sound escaped his lips. His vision tunneled, then went black. The last thing he felt was the hard, unyielding impact of the floor against his cheek.