The elevator descended in absolute silence.
Anton Marsol watched the red digits on the overhead display as it sank into the bowels of the F.Y.D.: −66, −67, −68…
When it reached level −70, the final security filter activated. Beneath the panel, a metallic cylinder emerged with a hiss. Anton inserted his finger into the illuminated slot and felt the microscopic prick of a needle drawing blood.
The doors opened with a pneumatic whisper.
"Welcome, Doctor Marsol. Please remain still for a moment," said a woman in tactical uniform with completely white eyes. Anton felt her intense gaze scan him from head to toe. X-ray vision.
Anton merely nodded and proceeded down the corridors, passing laboratories filled with humming equipment, until he reached a large gray door. He took a deep breath before entering.
The room had concrete walls lined with lead and a faint electrical buzz in the air. At the center stood a long rectangular table with several chairs. At the far end, only Dr. Marcos Baruj—a middle-aged man with curly hair and a thick grayish beard—was hunched over the table, flipping through documents.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Baruj."
The man startled.
"Oh. Marsol," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"You sounded urgent." Anton took a seat beside him. "Is this about Zone 7?"
Baruj didn't look up from the papers.
"That's my suspicion. But let's wait for the others."
The F.Y.D. again… Anton thought, leaning back in his chair. Hopefully they're not looking for scapegoats.
At that moment, four F.Y.D. agents entered the room. Anton recognized two of them. The first—known simply as Agent 1—was the current head of the entire F.Y.D.: an elderly man with slicked-back gray hair, a prominent nose, and a gray suit without a tie. Beside him was Agent 21, whom Anton assumed was second in command, wearing his distinctive black jacket over a matching shirt.
Everyone in the room had an Inmo embedded in their temple; small metallic circles glimmered faintly. Anton set his to Do Not Disturb.
Someone was missing.
Dr. Pelt Thatch—another collaborator, twenty-five years old. Red-haired, kind, focused, and somewhat introverted. Baruj insisted on waiting for him, but after five minutes of uncomfortable silence, Agent 1 drummed his fingers on the table.
"Let's begin. Thatch will join us when he arrives." His voice was deep and allowed no argument. "This meeting has two points: the incident in Zone 7 and… the unstable performance of Compound A."
Perfect… so it was complaints. I wish they'd talk about Compound T, Anton thought, crossing his arms.
"The incident yesterday is concerning," Agent 1 continued. "An attack in the forests of Zone 7. It's the first time a bear has come down this far from Zone 9."
"Did you find tracks?" Baruj asked, frowning. "A bear doesn't migrate that far without food. It's unlikely."
Agent 1 gestured to his subordinate. Agent 21 spoke.
"We swept the forest. Zero tracks. Zero trace of the subject. We found a female bear with cubs on the border between Zones 7 and 9, but that's just a convenient hypothesis for the press. We need to know whether our subject, LOB-C, was there."
"And the victim?" Baruj pressed.
"Yes. We found a slimy, transparent fluid."
"Saliva," Baruj corrected.
"It's already been sent for analysis… although I don't understand why it's taking so long," Agent 21 said, checking notifications on his Inmo.
"Excuse me," Anton intervened, raising a hand.
"Go ahead," Agent 1 replied.
All eyes turned to him.
"Standard genetic analysis takes time, but in this case it'll take longer. We concealed the animal genes in subject LOB-C too well. The machines will need two to three days to separate the human variant from the animal one."
"Shit…" Agent 1 muttered. "That's too long."
"Why didn't you bring the sample to us?" Baruj interrupted.
"We wanted to handle the matter ourselves, Doctor," Agent 21 answered.
"It's nonsensical, but fine," Baruj said. "How do you plan to contain the subject? Or are you going to eliminate it?"
Agent 1 sighed, rubbing his temples.
"After the disaster with LOB-C—"
"It was not a disaster!" Baruj snapped, raising his voice. "The subject had unforeseen genetic variations that altered the compound's effects. Besides, the AXO-A variant in the convict was a success."
"Call it whatever you want, Doctor. The fact is, it failed. The subject mutated and lost control. We'll use the stable subjects to capture it," Agent 1 said grimly.
"My God…" Baruj exclaimed, sinking back into his chair. "That could be dangerous for the city."
"We have it under control. What we need from you is to know whether there's a way to reverse that state of instability."
"There isn't. The compound is already bound to his genes. It's death or isolation," Baruj declared.
"Damn it…"
"We could use a genetic cleanser," Anton interjected.
Silence filled the room.
"A genetic cleanser?" Agent 1 asked, narrowing his eyes.
"It's theoretical," Anton said quickly. "It's designed to cure hereditary diseases. In theory, it could purge the mutations from subject LOB-C and restore him to human form."
"How long would you need to develop it?"
"With my current team… five years."
"Why so long?" Agent 1 barked. "You have an almost unlimited budget."
"It's not about money—it's technology. The machinery I need doesn't exist. I have the blueprints, but I need to build it. That takes time and human labor."
"Then build it. Buy whatever you need. We want it ready in two years."
"I have one condition," Anton said, holding the F.Y.D. leader's gaze. "The cleanser must be public. It must be available to civilian hospitals."
Agent 1 looked at him with disdain, but nodded.
"Fine. We have a deal," he replied irritably.
Anton smiled. I'll be able to cure him, he thought, warmth filling his chest for the first time in years.
At that moment, the gray doors burst open with a loud crash.
It wasn't a discreet entrance. Dr. Pelt Thatch walked in as if he owned the place—but something about him was… wrong. His red hair, usually immaculate, was disheveled. He wore black leather gloves that clashed with his lab coat. And his smile—it wasn't his usual shy one. It was a smirk of superiority.
Pelt is acting very strange, Anton thought.
Thatch dropped into an empty chair, sprawling arrogantly.
"What did I miss?" His tone was insolent.
Agent 1 suppressed a sigh of irritation.
"We were discussing how to prevent another LOB-C incident. Dr. Baruj insists there's no way to control the side effects if the subject has pre-existing genetic defects."
"Not even some form of mind control?" Agent 21 interjected.
"No. Even after administering the compound, they may eventually lose control," Baruj said, frowning.
"The compound is defective!" Agent 1 declared, tapping the table sharply.
"It is not! You pressured us to use it prematurely!" Baruj shot back.
"Damn it, yes it is!" Agent 1 growled, scratching his head in frustration.
"We can control them," Thatch interrupted. His voice cut through the argument like a blade.
"What?" Anton stared at his colleague.
"Mind control," Thatch repeated, staring at the ceiling as if it were obvious. "Genetic manipulation linked to the cerebral cortex. We regulate their instincts. If they lose control, we shut them down. Just a theory, of course."
"Mind control…" Agent 21 murmured, smiling slowly.
"It's… theoretically possible," Baruj admitted, thoughtful. "We could consult a neurosurgeon."
"With this, would we have control over the next test subjects?" Agent 1 asked.
"Yes. With this, if they lose control, they could be controlled," Baruj replied.
"Then proceed. Consult specialists and begin development."
The agents began gathering their belongings, but Thatch wasn't finished.
"One question, sir," Thatch said, not rising from his seat. "Compound A… it was for super-soldiers, right? Not 'rescuers'."
Agent 21 froze, his hand hovering near his holster.
"That doesn't concern you, Doctor."
"Let him speak," Agent 1 said, gesturing calmly. "He's right. Initially, they were meant for rescue operations. Then we saw the potential."
"Weapons of destruction," Thatch said flatly.
"The world is a dangerous place, son. Sarac has enemies. Other countries envy us and fear us. They're developing their own monsters. We need better ones. And with crime rising in San Cristov… we need to clean house."
"I understand," Thatch said. "Thank you for your honesty."
"Anything else?" Agent 1 asked.
"Yes," Anton said, raising his hand. He had to know. "What about Compound T? It could save thousands of lives right now. Why keep it secret?"
"Because health is also a weapon," Agent 1 said, stepping closer. "One I will not give to my enemies, Marsol. If we release Compound T, sooner or later they'll get it. And then the war begins. I don't want bloodshed—again."
"But people are dying—"
"And more will die if we lose our advantage." Agent 1 leaned over the table, staring Anton in the eyes. "Tell me, Doctor: what's better? Saving a few and condemning our own—or sacrificing a few to save the nation?"
After those words, the agents left, followed by Thatch, who didn't even look at Anton as he passed.
Anton remained alone, the echo of those words bouncing off the lead-lined walls. Saving a few while condemning our own… The morality of the F.Y.D. was a dark labyrinth.
The electrical hum of the lab, once barely noticeable, now felt deafening. The concrete walls pressed in on him.
Seated with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, Anton tried to process everything. Though he felt strangely relieved about the gene-cleanser deal, his own morality now felt like a heavy chain.
With a sigh, Anton reached out and disabled Do Not Disturb on his Inmo.
Almost immediately, the floating display lit up with an urgent notification from his brother. His heart skipped. Seconds later, the Inmo vibrated again—this time, an emergency call.
Anton answered instantly, lifting the device to his ear. Only an unintelligible murmur came through, but his expression changed. His eyes widened, color draining from his face, an uncontrollable tremor running through his hands. The words on the other end were chaotic—a mix of medical jargon and what sounded like a tragedy.
He lowered his hand, the Inmo still vibrating weakly. His voice came out broken, barely a whisper, as if the words refused to form. The image of Joseph, climbing happily, shattered.
"So then… what happened to Joseph?" Anton managed, his voice cracking.