The screech of a chair dragging across concrete made every hair on my skin rise.
He planted the metal seat beside me, sat down, and hissed next to my ear:
"Start talking… before I start ripping out your nails one by one."
I'd felt that agony before; nails take forever to grow back. Still, nothing I haven't seen in this hellhole.
I drew a slow breath, ignored the throb in my nose and temples, and rasped:
"I'd rather hold this chat with my eyes open."
He laughed—sharp, rotting at the edges.
Footsteps, then the iron visor lifted from my face. No dazzling light—just a sickly bulb overhead, enough to reveal the Doctor's bloodless, ghoulish face. White coat, sleeves rolled up. A side table cluttered with torture tools.
He straddled the stool opposite me and sneered:
"So? I know you're a fish, but I can't find a single ID tag. Who are you?"
Only then did I register a second presence. Admin Patrick leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, his grin dripping with contempt.
I stared straight into his eyes—long and unblinkingــ until the smug glaze cracked into confusion.
Turning back to the Doctor, I said flatly, voice cold and void:
"I'm the Rose Organization's Jellyfish. IQ: 161. Neural response latency: 0.12 seconds. Fluent in seven living languages."
A slight tilt of my head. One slow blink.
"Field surgery. Physical infiltration. Cyber and network intrusion. Close-quarters combat…"
I drew a breath, let the list hang. "Enough?"
Patrick's face had drained of color; disbelief tangled with fear.
The Doctor barked a nervous laugh:
"You? A Jellyfish? Patrick, you buying this?"
Patrick couldn't tear his eyes off me.
I licked blood from my teeth, tasting iron.
The Doctor spun back to me, eyes narrowing:
"Are you saying the girl who rewired a polar-sub navigation system… was you?"
Silence. I watched his jaw clench; a flicker of panic crossed his face.
He stood, leaned in, cupped my cheeks in his hot hands—breath burning against my skin.
His gaze scanned my face—cheeks, nose, lips—then locked with mine.
"Beautiful… but deadly."
His lips brushed my ear, whispering feverishly:
"A one-of-a-kind creature, glowing in the ocean. I've always wanted to feel that warm current under your skin…"
His hand slid across my cheek.
I jerked—then slammed my forehead into his nose.
Cartilage crunched. Blood spattered.
He staggered back, clutching his face—and, rage-blind, hammer-punched my jaw.
Pain burst white.
I spat crimson onto the floor and smiled.
He seized my collar, spun me toward him, fury sparking in his eyes.
"Touch the thing and it shocks you—"
His grip tightened, knuckles white.
—"That Jellyfish might be pretty, but one brush with it is deadly!"
He flung me back. My head swam; the burn of a cracked cheekbone fused with the throb in my nose. I panted, growled:
"That's exactly what I was trained for."
A crooked grin split his face. Hair wild, lashes casting jagged shadows, he caught my chin and yanked it up.
"What was your mission?"
I drew a slow breath, tasted blood, and stared him down.
"Ashur."
No point lying; everything was blown. To get out of this hell, I'd have to trade secrets—without giving up the bigger game.
"You're breaking him out?" he snarled, suspicion and rage twisting together.
I nodded, voice raw.
"Had no choice."
He let my jaw go and leaned back, laughing softly. I collapsed against the chair's cold back, lungs scraping for air.
"Then you must know how to use Ashur. That coded string in your fist—it has to be about him. We tried decoding it, but the knots and dyes were smeared. Which means only you can tell us how he's controlled. You got him to talk. You clearly know a lot."
Perfect. He thought I was worth keeping alive. The Doctor had preserved Ashur five years on that same gamble. My survival depended on it. Still, I couldn't play all my cards.
"What string? I don't know anything."
"Really? Looks like plain old yarn to me," I deadpanned.
His grin snapped. He snatched the cloth and thread, stepped right beside me.
— "Maybe I'm not as smart as you—but I'm no fool."
He wiped the blood under his nose with the same cloth and murmured:
"You tell me what's written in that string, and I kill you without pain."
I honestly had to wonder—did he really think I was out here chasing an easy death?
Stupid Doctor… I was born to die. And the worst death imaginable? That would be a gift to me.