Two weeks have passed after Lucas heard what Yve and Dylan said, Yve's cooking skills have also adjusted quite well, the group has also slowly lowered their guards one by one. One sunny afternoon, Yve wandered VIRA Complex's dimly lit halls. Her bare footsteps echoed softly against the tiled floor as she ventured deeper into the facility.
She stopped in front of a large glass wall, her eyes widening slightly as she peered into the room beyond. Inside, Dr. Jenkins was hunched over a microscope, his face lined with fatigue, various vials and petri dishes littered the counter in front of him. Yve tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. She watched as he scribbled notes, his movements tense yet determined. Whatever he was doing, it was clearly important.
Unable to contain herself, Yve knocked lightly on the glass. The sound startled Jenkins, who looked up sharply, his brows furrowing as his eyes locked onto hers. He approached the window, his expression a mix of annoyance and surprise. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled through the barrier.
Yve smiled softly, tilting her head to the side. "Can I come in?" she asked, her tone light but filled with genuine interest.
Dr. Jenkins's expression hardened instantly, and he shook his head firmly. "No. Absolutely not. This is for personnel only."
Most people would have accepted that answer and walked away, but not Yve. Instead, her smile grew as she pressed her hands lightly against the glass. "Please? I just want to see. I'll be careful, I promise."
Jenkins hesitated, his resolve wavering as he met her gaze. There was something in her eyes—an innocence, a curiosity, and a quiet determination that made him falter. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "This is a bad idea," he muttered to himself. But when he looked at her again, her pleading expression was impossible to resist. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "But don't touch anything. Not a thing. Understood?"
Yve's face lit up, and she nodded eagerly. "Understood."
Jenkins exhaled sharply, then stepped toward the door. He tapped his ID against a sensor pad beside the frame, and with a metallic hiss, the heavy door unlocked and slid open. Without a word, he handed Yve a disposable mask along with a pair of gloves and a crinkled hair net. His expression remained guarded as he watched her gear up.
After gearing up, he stepped aside, letting her into the lab. "Remember," Jenkins warned, his voice sharp, "don't touch or break anything. And don't distract me."
Yve nodded solemnly, her wide eyes scanning the room with unrestrained fascination. Despite her promise, her hands itched with curiosity as she took in the array of tools and samples spread before her. Jenkins sighed deeply, already regretting his decision, but there was a small part of him that couldn't deny the strange energy Yve brought into the room. Perhaps, he thought, this wouldn't be a disaster after all—so long as she listened. Fat chance of that, though, considering who she was.
Dr. Jenkins worked with laser focus, his hands moving deftly as he adjusted the microscope and scribbled notes, it had become a constant companion in his relentless pursuit of a cure. Meanwhile, Yve wandered the room, her wide eyes scanning every piece of equipment, every vial, every blinking light.
She moved carefully at first, her steps tentative as she took in the sterile, clinical environment. But as her curiosity grew, so did her confidence. She leaned closer to examine a centrifuge, then tilted her head at a row of test tubes filled with mysterious liquids. It was all so foreign, so human, and she couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and intrigue.
But then, as she turned to walk toward another part of the lab, her foot slipped on the smooth marble tiles. Though the floor wasn't wet, the polished surface betrayed her unsteady balance. She stumbled backward, her arms flailing as she tried to catch herself. Her back hit a nearby shelf, and the impact sent a cascade of petri dishes crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the lab, and Yve fell with it, her palms instinctively reaching out to break her fall.
The sharp sting of glass slicing into her hands made her wince, and she gasped softly as she looked down. Blood welled up from the cuts, dripping onto the floor and mixing with the shattered petri dishes and the samples they'd contained—blood from infected individuals.
Dr. Jenkins spun around at the sound of the chaos, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "What the hell—" he began, his voice sharp with frustration. He hurried over, his movements brisk as he assessed the damage. The sight of Yve sitting amidst the wreckage, her hands bleeding and her expression a mix of pain and embarrassment, made him sigh deeply. "Hang on." he said firmly, crouching down to help her up. His hands were steady but his tone was clipped, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on him, his grip firm as he led her toward the disinfecting area. "You shouldn't have been in here," he muttered, his frustration evident. "This is exactly why I said no."
Yve's face fell, her usual brightness dimmed by guilt. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to—"
"Just… don't talk," Jenkins interrupted while pressing the button to activate the disinfectant mist. The cool spray enveloped her, and she stood silently, her hands stinging as the mist cleaned the cuts.
Once the process was complete, he opened the door and gestured for her to step out. He grabbed a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet and motioned for her to sit on a stool. Without a word, he began cleaning her wounds. "You're not coming in here again," Jenkins said finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This isn't a playground. It's dangerous, and I can't afford any more mistakes."
Yve nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. "I understand," she said quietly. "I'm sorry for the mess I caused."
Jenkins sighed again, his frustration softening slightly as he finished bandaging her hands. "Just… be more careful," he said, his voice gentler now. "And stay out of the lab."
Yve offered him a small, apologetic smile before standing and making her way toward the door. As she left, Jenkins turned back to the wreckage, he sighed as he took in the mess Yve had caused. Shattered glass glinted under the fluorescent lights, and the scent of alcohol and sterilant already hung thick in the air.
One by one, he picked up the broken petri dishes with a pair of sterilized forceps, depositing them into a hazardous waste bin at his side. Then, he wheeled over a mobile containment unit—standard for handling biohazard spills. He activated the unit's nozzle and began spraying a thin mist of enzymatic disinfectant over the spilled liquids. The foam reacted on contact, fizzing slightly as it neutralized the infected blood.
He scrubbed methodically, wiping the tiles with heavy-duty absorbent pads, then ran a UV sterilizer wand slowly over the area to ensure nothing viable remained. His movements were practiced, but sluggish. The day had already been long, and this was just another complication in a string of exhausting failures.
As he bent to swipe the final smears near the base of the shelf, a small streak—dark red tinged with black—curled along the glove on his right thumn. It was barely noticeable, half-hidden beneath the folds of the latex and stained with sterile fluid.
He didn't notice. Not yet.
Dr. Jenkins returned to his workstation with a weary groan, yawning at exhaustion as he reaches for a clean glass slide. His movements were automatic now, ingrained from countless hours hunched over the lens.
Unbeknownst to him, a faint streak of darkened blood—the mix from earlier—still clung to the edge of one glove. As he set the slide onto the metal stage, the smear transferred onto the glass, a subtle mark.
He secured the slide in place and reached for the microscope's focus knob, but then paused. His eyes flicked to his gloved hands.
"Damn it! I didn't even change gloves." he muttered. With a frustrated breath through his nose, Jenkins stood, tore off the contaminated gloves, and tossed them into the biohazard bin. He walked briskly to the dispenser and pulled on a fresh pair before returning to the microscope, jaw clenched, eyes shadowed with fatigue.
Dr. Jenkins sat down heavily, exhaling as he leaned into the microscope. His fingers adjusted the microscope slide with mechanical precision, rotating the stage dial to center the sample.
As the lens sharpened, something unexpected slid into view—a dark, blurred smear along the lower edge of the glass. He blinked. That wasn't supposed to be there. He twisted the focus knob, narrowing the lens onto the smear.
The image snapped into clarity—and he froze.
It wasn't just blood. It was infected blood. At least, it looked like it—cells darkened, decaying, collapsed in on themselves like scorched paper. But they weren't degrading randomly. They were being broken down—dismantled, layer by layer.
By something else.
A second substance coiled through the mess—brighter, cleaner. Healthy blood cells. But they weren't merely present. They were moving. Not with the passive drift of dying material, but with intent. They flowed into the infected clusters, surrounded them, and then—
They attacked. The infected blood usually exhibited a predatory behavior—attacking and consuming healthy cells, rapidly spreading the infection and turning them into decaying, useless husks. But not this time. The infected cells ruptured under the pressure. Membranes tore. Nuclei imploded. Leaving nothing but cell debris. Jenkins adjusted the magnification, brow furrowed, breath slowing.
Dr. Jenkins leaned back from the microscope, his mind racing. The image still burned behind his eyes—cells attacking the infection with precision, aggression. That wasn't part of any known strain. It wasn't part of the sample he'd mounted.
He stood abruptly, pacing once before forcing himself to stop. Think.
He retraced every move since the spill. The shattered petri dishes. The infected blood that pooled on the floor. Yve, crumpled in the middle of it all. Her palms cut open. Her blood exposed. And him—lifting her. Treating her hands.
His eyes narrowed. The gloves. He hadn't changed them. Not until after he'd mounted that slide.
He turned sharply to the hazard waste bin, pulled it open, and stared at the crumpled gloves lying on top of the other disposables. The right one—he could still see a faint, dark smear trailing along the finger. He remembered brushing it across the edge of the microscope slide as he'd adjusted it into place.
It wasn't an official sample. It was residue. His pulse quickened.
That blood… it had to be hers.
Dr. Jenkins yanked the waste bin open and snatched the glove from the top of the pile—right one, still wet along the finger with that smear of blood. Protocol was gone. Procedure was gone. His hands moved on instinct now.
He returned to the microscope, tore the current slide off the stage, and without even disinfecting the lens, laid the glove flat beneath the objective.
"Come on," he whispered, fingers trembling as he adjusted the focus knob.
The lens sharpened—first into a chaotic terrain of latex ridges and folds. Then the smear came into frame: a rust-dark streak with threads of deeper black curling through it. He twisted the focus again, inching closer. The cells bloomed into view like something under glass and under pressure.
He observed as the healthy blood cells displayed an unprecedented level of adaptability, forming specialized structures—almost like tendrils—that pierced the viral particles. The virus, which had proven indestructible in every other host, was rendered completely inert within moments. The speed and precision were unlike anything documented in medical science. It was as though the healthy blood cells had evolved to identify and destroy the virus as if it were prey.
Then it hit him.
Every sample in the shattered petri dishes had come from infected subjects. Every vial. Every dish. There had been no untainted blood in that spill.
Except—
His eyes narrowed, and his chest tightened.
Yve.
She'd fallen right in the middle of the wreckage. Her palms had split open. Her blood had hit the floor.
He looked at the glove again, then back to the view under the lens, as if the microscope could confirm what logic already had.
This wasn't from the samples.
This wasn't from the virus.
This… was her.
He scribbled notes furiously, his scientist's brain caught in a whirlwind of hypotheses. "Was this a natural immunity? Some kind of biological anomaly? Or was it… something more?." No human he'd encountered had ever demonstrated this kind of resilience—not against a virus this aggressive, this destructive.
This discovery was monumental. If Yve's blood could neutralize the infection, even in such a chaotic mixture, it could mean something that had eluded him for so long: a cure. Or, at the very least, a way to slow or stop the spread. But how? Why her?
"Impossible," Jenkins muttered under his breath, though the evidence before him was undeniable. His mind drifted to the bandaged cuts on Yve's palms, her innocent, apologetic demeanor still fresh in his mind. She had no idea what she carried inside her—not just a biological anomaly, but possibly the key to saving the world. There was no turning back now. He needed to dig deeper.
He leaned back from the microscope, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. "No. This… this doesn't make sense," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He rubbed his temples, muttering to himself in denial. "There has to be another explanation. Maybe… maybe it's contamination. Something environmental. Something else in the mix…" But as much as he wanted to cling to those excuses, the evidence under the microscope refused to be ignored.
Driven by the need to confirm his findings—or disprove them—Jenkins grabbed a syringe and rolled up his own sleeve. The sharp prick of the needle barely registered as he drew a sample of his own blood. He then grabbed a clean petri dish containing an infected blood sample—untainted, controlled, and sterilized, and added a few drops of his blood.
He placed the new slide under the microscope and adjusted the focus. The reaction was immediate and all too familiar: the infected blood cells attacked his healthy cells with ferocity, overwhelming them in seconds. His red blood cells, normal by every biological standard, stood no chance. One by one, they decayed and disintegrated, consumed by the virus.
Jenkins clenched his jaw as he turned his gaze to Yve's sample again. The stark contrast between the two was impossible to ignore. His blood—helpless, overrun. Her blood—predatory, unstoppable. The disparity gnawed at him, challenging everything he thought he understood.
"What makes her so special?" he murmured, his voice heavy with frustration and awe. He leaned over the microscope again, as if a second, third, or fourth look might reveal some hidden truth. Her blood and his looked identical at a glance, the same red liquid that flowed through the veins of every human being. And yet… they couldn't have been more different.
He ran a hand through his hair, the implications of what he was seeing were staggering. "Could Yve be… some sort of walking cure? Could her blood carry the potential to neutralize the virus, to stop it in its tracks." And yet, that very notion defied everything he understood about virology, about biology, about the human body. It didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense.
"Why her?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "What's in her blood? What's in *her*?"
Dr. Jenkins was a man torn between the logical discipline of science and the growing flame of curiosity that burned within him. After an hour of staring into the microscope, replaying the unprecedented phenomenon over and over in his mind, he knew he couldn't leave it alone. He had to uncover the truth. But how? Taking only Yve's blood would raise eyebrows, and the last thing he needed was to set off alarms or invite unnecessary suspicion. He needed a cover.
With a plan forming, Jenkins gathered his equipment—a tray of syringes, sterilized tubes, and labels. He made his way to the main hall where the group was gathered, chatting quietly or attending to their routine tasks. Clearing his throat to draw attention, Jenkins stepped forward, his usual air of authority firmly in place. "I need to collect some blood samples," he began, his tone measured and professional. "It's customary for research purposes. It's important to monitor everyone's health, especially with the… unique challenges we face."
The group exchanged glances but didn't question him. He was, after all, the doctor. Who were they to argue with the one man equipped with medical knowledge in a world gone mad?
Lucas nodded first, setting the example. "Makes sense," he said, rolling up his sleeve. The others followed suit without hesitation, their trust in Jenkins overriding any inklings of curiosity.
Jenkins moved methodically, extracting blood from each person one by one, labeling the tubes with their names. Lucas, David, Ethan, Andrea, Taylor, Maurice, Elena, Dylan, Lily, Tyler, Derek, Joan—they all gave him their arms willingly, their expressions calm despite the faint sting of the needle.
As Jenkins worked, his demeanor calm, but beneath the surface, his heart raced with anticipation. He was biding his time, waiting for Yve's turn. When it finally came, he approached her with the same professional air he'd shown the others. "Your turn," he said simply, gesturing for her to sit.
Yve smiled warmly, her trust in him clear as she offered her arm. "Of course," she said, her melodic voice tinged with curiosity. "Anything to help."
Jenkins nodded, his fingers surprisingly steady as he drew her blood. But internally, his mind was whirring. He carefully labeled her sample, placing it alongside the others on the tray. To anyone watching, it was just another routine procedure, no different from the others. But to Jenkins, this small vial of blood was the key to understanding the impossible.
As he finished up, he straightened and addressed the group. "Thank you," he said, his tone carrying its usual authority. "I'll process these samples and let you know if I find anything noteworthy."
The group nodded, quickly moving back to their previous activities. To them, it was just another task in the endless grind of survival. But to Jenkins, it was the beginning of something far more significant. He returned to his lab, the tray of blood samples in hand, his determination stronger than ever. Logic and hope continued to battle within him, but one thing was clear—he was closer to the truth than ever before. And Yve, whether she knew it or not, was at the center of it all.
Dylan cinched the strap on his shoulder. His tomahawk rested against his hip, and his gaze flicked briefly to Yve sitting with Lily and Tyler in one corner, her palm bandaged. He jerked his chin toward her hand. "What happened there?"
Yve looked down, fingers twitching slightly against the linen. "I cut myself," she said plainly. "Dr. Jenkins treated it."
Dylan narrowed his eyes, lips pulling into a faint scowl. "Ain't the best week to be bleedin'." He shifted his weight, voice low. "Gotta be more careful next time."
She dipped her head in acknowledgment. "I will."
There was a pause—quiet, but not uncomfortable. Then Yve glanced up at him. "Where are you going?"
He adjusted the strap again. "Me, Ethan, and Maurice—we're headin' out. Scavenge what we can 'fore the rain hits."
Yve's expression softened slightly. "Be careful."
Dylan gave Yve a short nod, then turned his head, voice rough and sharp as it carried through the corridor. "Maurice. Ethan. Let's move, already!"
Boots thudded down the hallway—Ethan appeared first, shrugging on a weather-beaten jacket, followed closely by Maurice with his backpack half-zipped and a crowbar strapped to his side. "We comin', man," Maurice grumbled, tugging the strap tighter across his chest.
Dylan didn't wait. He turned, leading them down the dim corridor toward the main entrance. At the end of the hall stood the massive steel door of the VIRA Complex—scarred, rust-lined, and bolted shut with heavy latches. Ethan hit the panel, and with a groan of metal against metal, the door began to slide open, revealing the gray daylight and the stillness beyond.
Back in his sterile, dimly lit lab, Dr. Jenkins stood over his microscope, staring down at Yve's freshly drawn blood sample with a mix of apprehension and determination. He muttered to himself, trying to rationalize his findings. "Maybe it's the environment. Contaminants. Something on the floor… Anything. This time, it's directly from her veins," he reasoned, his voice low but firm. "It has to react like normal blood. It has to."
His hands moved with precision as he prepared a new slide. He carefully added a few drops of the infected blood to a clean petri dish, then pipetted a few drops of Yve's blood into the same dish. He placed it under the microscope, adjusting the focus until the cellular level came into view. Leaning in, he prepared himself for a typical reaction—her blood succumbing to the infected cells, decaying like all the others he had seen over hundreds of experiments.
But what he saw made his breath hitch.
Her blood reacted exactly as it had before, the infected cells had no chance—no defense. Jenkins leaned back. "It's… impossible," he murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. "She's healthy. Perfectly healthy. So why… why is her blood acting like this?"
He zoomed in further, studying the individual interactions. Yve's blood appeared almost sentient in its response, as if it recognized the virus as an invader to be eradicated. It wasn't just defense; it was an offensive attack, the likes of which he'd never seen in human biology. Her cells weren't being infected—they were actively *devouring* the infection.
Trying to steady his racing thoughts, Jenkins reached for a clipboard, documenting every detail meticulously. As he wrote, an idea formed in the back of his mind—a way to confirm whether this anomaly was unique to Yve or if it could be replicated elsewhere. After all, he had blood samples from everyone now. Perhaps someone else's blood might show a similar reaction.
With renewed urgency, Jenkins got to work. He prepared slides for each group member, carefully introducing a few drops of infected blood to new petri dishes, then adding their blood samples one by one. Each slide was prepared with precision, each sample labeled meticulously to avoid error.
He worked through them methodically, placing each prepared slide under the microscope and observing the reaction. And with each new observation, his heart sank further.
Every single blood sample reacted the same way it always had—typical, human blood, vulnerable and defenseless against the infection. It was the grim, predictable cycle he'd seen countless times before.
And then he turned his gaze back to Yve's slide.
Her blood sample was a battlefield—one where her cells were winning, every time. The infected blood was left in shambles, completely neutralized. The comparison was stark, undeniable. Not one of the others showed even the faintest hint of a similar response.
He rubbed his face, exhaustion mixing with the weight of discovery. It made no sense. "Is she… human?" The question lingered in his mind, dangerous and unspoken. "Or is she… something more?"
Dr. Jenkins rose from his chair, his mind racing with the possibilities. He grabbed the tube containing Yve's blood, this time, he wasn't going to mix it with anything. He needed to see her blood in its pure form, to understand what made it so different. Carefully, he pipetted a few drops onto a clean petri dish, placed it under the microscope, and adjusted the focus.
As he zoomed in, his breath caught. Yve's blood cells were unlike anything he had ever seen. They were larger than typical human blood cells, their membranes appearing thicker and more viscous, almost gooey in texture. The cells shimmered faintly under the microscope's light, their surfaces reflecting an iridescent sheen that seemed almost alive.
Dr. Jenkins meticulously documented every observation, his pen scratching against the paper in hurried but precise strokes. Every detail mattered—every anomaly, every impossible reaction. With each word he wrote, the weight of what he had discovered pressed heavier on his mind. Could this discovery be humanity's salvation? Or could it unleash something beyond his control? The answers eluded him, replaced by an endless swirl of uncertainty and curiosity.
Setting his notes aside for the moment, Jenkins turned his attention back to the remaining blood sample in the tube labeled "Yve." He picked it up carefully, holding it to the light for a brief second before moving to the nearby centrifuge.
With steady hands, he placed the tube into the centrifuge, securing it in place before activating the machine. The equipment whirred to life, spinning at high speeds to separate the various components of Yve's blood. Jenkins stared at the machine as it worked, his thoughts running wild. Red blood cells, white blood cells, plasma—he knew them all by heart. But what would *her* cells look like, stripped of their context, magnified for analysis? Would there be answers—or just more questions?
Minutes later, the machine slowed, coming to a halt with a soft beep. Jenkins carefully retrieved the tube, now divided into distinct layers. He could see the components clearly: the red blood cells settled at the bottom, the plasma forming a translucent layer at the top, and in between, a thin white layer—the buffy coat—rich with white blood cells.
His movements deliberate, Jenkins used a pipette to extract a sample of the buffy coat, placing it onto a clean slide. He then prepared a fresh petri dish and carefully dropped a few samples of Yve's white blood cells onto it.
Placing the new slide under the microscope, what made Yve's blood cells so predatory, so unique, had already defied everything he thought he knew. But her white blood cells—the defenders of the body—might hold an even greater truth, one that could rewrite the rules of biology itself.
Dr. Jenkins leaned closer to the microscope, adjusting the focus, centering the pure white blood cell sample of Yve's blood under the lens. What he saw on the slide made him pause, his breath catching as he took in the sight before him.
Yve's white blood cells were nothing like the calm, almost passive cells of a typical human immune system. Under the magnification, her cells were larger, and unlike the smooth, round, and benign appearance of human WBCs, hers were jagged and irregular in shape. But what drew Jenkins's focus—and unease—were their movements. Her cells didn't simply exist or wait for a foreign invader to trigger them, as human WBCs would. No, Yve's white blood cells were on the hunt.
Even without an obvious threat on the slide, her WBCs moved with relentless purpose. They darted across the field of view with a predatory precision, shifting in form as if adapting in real-time. Tiny tendrils extended from their membranes, probing the space around them as though searching for any potential adversary. It was as if these cells were inherently wired to seek out and eliminate threats—not merely react to them.
By comparison, human white blood cells—which Jenkins knew well—were far less aggressive. Smooth and rounded, they drifted passively in the bloodstream, waiting to be activated by specific signals. When unprovoked, they seemed almost docile, their movements sluggish and deliberate. Even under threat, human WBCs relied heavily on specific triggers to respond effectively, and while they could engulf invaders, their actions lacked the speed, adaptability, and sheer ferocity he was now witnessing.
Switching back to Yve's cells, Jenkins's unease deepened. Surrounding each cell were microscopic, razor-sharp appendages—tiny teeth-like structures that protruded from their surfaces. These structures glinted faintly under the light, and their sharp edges were unmistakable. Jenkins shivered as he watched them move in a coordinated fashion, as though each tooth was a weapon, ready to latch onto and destroy any intruder that dared approach.
"What… the fuck?!" Jenkins whispered to himself, his voice filled with a mix of awe and unease. His mind raced as he documented every detail. Her immune system wasn't just different—it was revolutionary.
Dr. Jenkins stared intently at the separated plasma layer of Yve's blood, the translucent liquid shimmering faintly in the centrifuge tube. While human plasma was pale yellow and watery in appearance, Yve's was different—denser, almost luminous, as though infused with a vitality beyond explanation. The faint iridescence dancing within the plasma suggested properties that were anything but ordinary.
Plasma in humans served as the bloodstream's transportation system, carrying nutrients, hormones, and waste products throughout the body. It also contained healing factors—proteins and enzymes that facilitated cell repair and regeneration. Yet, as Jenkins studied Yve's plasma under the microscope, the differences were stark.
He noted the higher concentration of essential nutrients within her plasma: glucose, amino acids, vitamins, and minerals—all present at levels far exceeding those in human plasma. It was as though her plasma acted not just as a carrier but as a powerhouse, delivering a surplus of resources to her cells to ensure optimal function.
Then, there was something new—something he hadn't seen before. Jenkins adjusted the focus on the microscope, examining tiny, glowing structures suspended within the plasma. These structures were unique, resembling small, shimmering orbs surrounded by delicate filaments. They appeared active, pulsating subtly as if brimming with energy. He hypothesized that these orbs could be specialized healing agents—enhanced proteins or enzymes capable of repairing damaged cells far faster than normal human plasma.
Jenkins's curiosity deepened as he documented his observations. The idea that her plasma could contain advanced healing capabilities intrigued him. "Could these specialized structures play a role in her blood's ability to attack and neutralize infections? Were they responsible for her enhanced immunity? And if so, could they hold the secret to curing the virus?"
Jenkins leaned back, his thoughts swirling. "This isn't just plasma," he muttered under his breath. "It's… alive. It's fighting for her, like it's part of something greater." He tapped his pen against the clipboard, contemplating the potential implications. A hope forming in his heart.