TROLLS: what if branch's brothers never left

Brozone in: infected

Clay had Branch sit down on the metal table in the middle of the lab. The air was tense — too quiet, except for the steady hum of machinery and the occasional flicker from the monitors. Branch's arm was bandaged where the bug had bitten him, though by now the wound had almost fully healed.

Clay slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and pulled a tray closer. "Alright, Branch. We're gonna take another sample," he said calmly, though the fatigue in his voice betrayed how long he'd been working. "We need to know what's keeping you from turning like the others."

Branch crossed his arms, wary. "You've already taken three samples. What more do you want, my leg?"

"Just your blood," Clay muttered. "Unless you'd prefer I go for that."

John sighed, leaning against the counter. "Can we not start another argument? The last thing we need is drama when we're knee-deep in infected zones."

"Drama?" Branch snapped. "Half of our friends are gone, and you think this is drama?"

Clay cut in, firm. "Enough. Both of you." He inserted the needle and drew the blood, watching the Magenta liquid swirl into the vial. He placed it under the analyzer, and the machine began to hum and click.

Minutes passed. The screen flickered with data, charts, and unknown readings. Clay frowned deeply.

"What's it say?" John asked, stepping closer.

Clay hesitated. "It's... weird. His antibodies are active — but they're not responding like typical immunity. It's like his body's fighting something off constantly, but in balance. Like the infection's still there, just... neutralized."

"So you're saying I'm a walking time bomb," Branch muttered.

Clay looked up. "No, I'm saying your system adapted — something in you changed after the bite. Maybe your biochemistry is different, or you've been exposed before and didn't know it."

"That's comforting," John said dryly.

Tension crept back into the room. The group exchanged uneasy glances. They were tired, scared, and the walls of the lab suddenly felt too close.

Clay turned back to the data. "If we can isolate the immunity strain, we might—"

An alarm blared. The red lights began flashing across the lab.

John's eyes widened. "What the heck now!?"

From down the hall came a crash — the sound of metal twisting and glass shattering. Then came a guttural screech.

Clay froze. "Containment breach!"

Through the reinforced window, they saw a figure thrashing violently in the quarantine chamber. One of the infected — a scout they had captured earlier — had broken free from its restraints. Its limbs were longer now, skin pale and cracked, eyes wide with madness.

Branch grabbed a nearby wrench. "Guess we found our next problem!"

The infected slammed its head against the glass again and again until a long fracture spidered across it.

"Clay!" John shouted. "Get the sedative ready—"

Before he could finish, the glass exploded outward, sending shards flying. The creature lunged forward, shrieking.

Clay ducked as it crashed through the lab equipment. John fired a tranquilizer, hitting it in the shoulder, but it barely slowed down.

"Branch, get back!" Clay yelled.

Branch stood his ground, wrench raised — the creature lunged at him —

And just before impact, its movements faltered. Its head twitched violently, its body convulsing as if in pain. Then it froze mid-swing and collapsed to the floor.