The weather wasn’t turning out for the better. The man had hoped the clouds would clear out when given a few hours more but it seemed to be quite the opposite. The swirls of white cotton were turning black at a rapid rate and the hint of a storm was reaching the man’s ears.

A smart man would have turned around and right back to the house but the man was neither smart nor logical. The rain started coming down and he continued his walk in the forest, his backpack making enough noise to wake up anybody in a hundred-metre radius. He had been hoping to find a nice spot for a late round of tea but he doubted that was possible anymore. He certainly wasn’t going to sit down in the mud, his boots being dirty being more than enough for him.

The sun had already gone down and the light from the full moon was obscured, forcing the man to rely heavily on his hobby-flashlight. The thing was two decades too old, flickering at the most opportune of moments. It was maybe that, or his inability to look where he was going, that made him meet the mud face-first.

Spitting out the wet ground from his mouth, the man was more than ready to go home and leave his demented ideas of adventure be. But then… he saw something. Lightning struck a nearby tree hard, making the man’s ears burn with sound while the surroundings lit up in the furious manner that nature liked to play with. Fire roared and the winds and rain fought it with all their fury, the old man lying in the mud and staring at a nearby object.

The land had shifted just the other day, letting trees be buried while also revealing objects from another time. Stones that hadn’t been seen by human eyes for decades were left bare. But there was also something else. As the man stood up, ignoring the mud on, well, everywhere, he dug out something he saw.

A white oval tip. Not a very common sight to see in a world of mud. The old man filled his hands with the wet dirt before throwing it to the side, revealing more and more of the white object. It was pristine, the light from the fire letting it shine.

An egg. The man picked it up, noting the size of it. Too small for the bird that roamed yet clearly durable enough to survive on the ground. And with the heavier weight… perhaps the time spent in the ground had made it harden fully through. The man had no desire to test the theory, finally seeing a small trinket to bring back home. If asked, nobody could say he hadn’t found something neat while on his misadventure.

Getting out of the mud, the man felt his boots sink into the wet ground with every step. If not for a life spent walking, he might’ve been stuck there until morning. Instead he went forward without pause, having put the egg in a small bag on his stomach. It was normally used for the wild-berries he found but there was no reason to waste the chance for more safety. He wasn’t going to break his treasured find so quickly, after all.

The farm was in sight soon enough, the lines of crops wet with water. The man noted the numbers on the screens with dismay, as he walked by. There was actually too much water on Field 5 and 7, the artificial tomatoes becoming over-hydrated. He would have to send out somebody to rebalance them or they’d lose another batch.

The fields were passed fully and the workers’ area was entered. It was entirely empty, nobody seeing a reason to be awake so late at night. The man was happy about that, nobody pointed at him as the person who dragged mud into the common area. Getting to his apartment, he rid himself of the dirty clothing into the washer before making sure no brown spots were left on his skin and in his hair.

Food was ready by the time he was in fresh clothing, a plate of mush seeming more delicious than ever. News played on the radio, talking about some dead hero yet again. There was little reaction to it, the fabricated beans taking up his attention more than anything else. The man could always drive to the store and get something more refined but he was not one of many who rejected the company’s excuse for edible waste. It had little taste but it kept his stomach filled and his mind in working order. On the note of working order, however…

Walking over to his bags, he searched through one before finding that white egg. It felt cold to the touch, making the man convinced that it was nothing but stone within the shell. How something couldn’t be affected by the heat of the room to such a degree was quite surprising. Though, now that he thought it, the man had to admit the room was too chilly for comfort. It was either that or the fact he’d stayed out in the rain for too long.

Either way, it ended with the man putting up the temperature by a few degrees. Not enough to get a call from the company but more than enough to make it bearable to be inside. Taking one final glance at the egg, and then a longer glance on the watch which sat on his bedside, the man realised he needed to sleep. Three hours until the morning shift began, meaning he had two hours and fifty minutes to rest his mind on.

The egg was put on the man’s bedside before his head hit the simple pillow. It was not hard to tell the man was asleep as the light snoring filtered into the air after the first minute. The room was nearly quiet excluding those sounds, the only others being the background noise from the air-conditioning working overtime.

The hardware was trying its hardest to increase the temperature to the requested levels, the costs for such an increase be damned. It was certainly slow, taking an entire ten minutes before the first increase was noticeable. Yet that small difference was more than enough to start up an entirely separate process.

With no real warning, the egg cracked.

REQUIREMENTS FOR INITIALIZATION HAS BEEN MET.

[HATCHING] SUB-ROUTINE HAS BEEN STARTED.

Years of silence was stopped and the white layer that hid the secrets beneath were removed, sharp tendrils forcing it outside. The shell was consumed by the creature within, if one could call the writhing mass such a thing.

The layer of protection was there for a reason, however. Even in the perfect temperature, the mass of constructed flesh was not meant to withstand the open air. Small holes began to be created in its structure. It wouldn’t survive for long. Not without an [Host].

And a [Host] was exactly what was present. The writhing mass moved from the bed-table and over to the snoring man. The being was lying on his side, leaving the back of his neck exposed. The mass of flesh saw the gift for what it was, cutting into the top of the neck just before the skull would protect it. It moved swiftly and efficiently through the skin, before finding the desired location.

Entering the opening, the mass of flesh closed the way it got in. By the time it had finished, there was nothing but a small scar.

MAIN HOST HAS BEEN CHOSEN.

[RAPID REPLICATION] ENGAGED