Intern’s Log: Day One of Operation Canid (I Have Made a Huge Mistake)

  Date: Redacted

  Intern ID: Reynolds, J. (I should have taken that marketing job.)

  So.

  Here I am.

  My first day at [REDACTED], a government-funded research facility dedicated to biotechnology, military advancements, and things I am definitely not qualified to be near.

  I don’t know how I got hired.

  I assume it had something to do with the vague, highly classified job description I applied to, which said something about "assisting with controlled bioengineering projects."

  I thought, Cool. Probably something with medical advancements. Maybe cybernetics. Worst case, it’s rats in a maze.

  I was very, very wrong.

  Because I have just been introduced to Project Canid.

  And I?

  I am in way over my head.

  Phase One: The First Briefing (a.k.a. Oh, We’re Playing God? Cool, Cool, Cool.)

  They walked me into a sterile, military-style briefing room, where several very serious people in lab coats were staring at a screen.

  On that screen?

  A dog.

  Or at least, it looked like a dog.

  But it was standing upright.

  And it had hands.

  And it was reading a book.

  I blinked.

  "Uh," I started, because what the hell.

  The lead scientist sighed like he had already given this speech a hundred times.

  "Welcome to Project Canid," he said, motioning toward the screen. "Where we are developing the next generation of special forces operatives."

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  "What… kind of special forces?" I asked, still trying to process what I was looking at.

  "Genetically enhanced caninid soldiers."

  Pause.

  "I’m sorry. Soldiers?"

  The scientist gave me a dead-eyed stare.

  "Yes, Reynolds. Soldiers."

  And that was the moment I realized two things.

  This was not a medical research job.

  I was never, ever getting a normal career after this.

  Phase Two: The Walkthrough (a.k.a. What Have We Done?)

  After the briefing, they took me to the lab floor.

  And that’s when I saw them.

  The dog-soldiers.

  There were seven of them, lined up for some kind of cognitive and coordination test.

  They were tall. Muscular. Clearly engineered for power and speed.

  Each one was a different breed, designed for different combat roles.

  ? A German Shepherd, radiating tactical discipline.

  ? A Belgian Malinois, sleek and built for stealth.

  ? A hulking Rottweiler that looked like it could punch through a wall.

  ? A Labrador, oddly relaxed but scanning everything with sharp intelligence.

  And they weren’t just standing there like animals.

  They were aware. Watching. Thinking.

  And then?

  Then one of them turned and looked directly at me.

  And smiled.

  I do not know how to process that.

  Phase Three: The Moment I Realized This Job Was Cursed

  The head scientist, Dr. Archer, was going on and on about how they had integrated human neural pathways into the caninid genome, how they had enhanced muscle density, how their cognitive function now surpassed baseline human intelligence.

  But all I could focus on?

  Was the fact that the Labrador was staring at me.

  "Hey." he said casually, like we were in line at a coffee shop.

  I froze.

  "Uh. Hi?"

  The Labrador grinned.

  "You smell nervous."

  I absolutely was.

  And that?

  That was the moment I realized—

  I do not belong here.

  Phase Four: The “Training Exercise” (a.k.a. I Nearly Died in My First Hour on the Job)

  After the lab tour, someone had the bright idea to let me observe a field test.

  "Don’t worry," one of the scientists assured me. "It’s just a basic simulation. No live fire."

  I believed them.

  Mistake #1.

  The test was simple.

  ? An obstacle course.

  ? A tactical exercise.

  ? Some basic squad maneuvers.

  They had me stand behind the reinforced glass, watching as the Good Boys moved like a precision-trained military unit, leaping, sprinting, climbing, and coordinating their movements flawlessly.

  And then, out of nowhere—

  THE ROTTWEILER SLAMMED INTO THE GLASS AT FULL SPEED.

  I screamed. Loudly.

  And then?

  The Labrador—

  The one who talked to me earlier—

  Gave me finger guns.

  FINGER GUNS.

  I turned to Dr. Archer.

  "Did he just—?"

  "They are adapting to human behavioral cues faster than expected." he said, completely unbothered.

  And that was when I knew.

  This was not a research facility.

  This was a horror movie, and I had just joined the cast.

  Phase Five: My Current Mental State

  ? I have met genetically engineered dog-soldiers.

  ? They talk.

  ? They smile.

  ? They are far too smart.

  ? One of them finger-gunned at me, and I am still processing it.

  ? I am absolutely, 100% going to die in this facility.

  I don’t know how this project ends.

  But I do know one thing.

  This?

  This is only the beginning.

  End Log.