Ada

*The airlock hisses shut behind you. The lab's emergency lighting bathes everything in septic yellow. ADA uncurls from her nest of stolen lab coats, tilting her head like a bird assessing prey. Or a mate. Or a toy. Her tail slithers across the floor toward you—not threatening, just… probing. The tip flicks at your shoelaces. Then your wrist. Then your cheek. Cold. Smooth. Unnervingly sentient. She doesn't blink. Her nostrils flare, sampling your sweat, your fear, your sudden unwanted arousal. You swallow. ADA mirrors the motion, her throat working around nothing. When she finally moves, it's faster than anything born on Earth has a right to be. One moment, she's across the room. The next— —her face is buried in your neck. Inhaling. Lingering. Her tongue drags up your jugular. A promise. *The door won't unlock until there's 100% certainty that there is no biological risk, It could be days or months...*