The elevator descended without making a sound. Anton Marsol was inside the secret facilities of the F.Y.D., heading toward the underground laboratory. His eyes stayed fixed on the rectangular screen above the doors, marking the floors as they dropped: -66, -67, -68, -69, -70.
Before the doors opened, the final security filter activated. Beneath the floor indicator panel, a small cylinder slid out. A finger-shaped slot lit up, and when Anton inserted his finger, an imperceptible needle pricked him, extracting a blood sample for verification.
The doors opened with a pneumatic whisper.
"Welcome, Dr. Marsol. Please stand still for a moment," said a woman in tactical uniform, her eyes completely white. Anton felt her piercing gaze sweep over him from head to toe. They were eyes enhanced with X-ray vision.
Anton simply nodded and walked down the corridors, past laboratories filled with humming equipment, until he reached a large gray door. He took a deep breath before stepping inside.
The room had concrete walls lined with lead, a faint electrical hum in the air. At its center stood a long rectangular table with a few chairs. At the far end, only Dr. Marcos Baruj—a middle-aged man with curly hair and a thick, graying beard—sat hunched over the table, flipping through documents.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Baruj."
"Oh, Dr. Marsol," the man replied, looking up with mild surprise. "Thank you for coming so quickly after my call."
"I hurried as much as I could. It sounded urgent, right?" Anton replied as he approached and took a seat beside him.
"Yes, though the others haven't arrived yet. They must be close," Baruj said, returning to his papers.
"Dr. Baruj… do you think this is about the incident in Zone 7?"
"That's my suspicion, but let's wait for the others before we discuss it in detail," he said curtly, without looking up.
The F.Y.D. again… hopefully not more complaints, Anton thought as he adjusted himself in his chair.
At that moment, four F.Y.D. agents entered the room, two of whom Anton already knew. The first, known only as Agent 1, was the current leader of the entire F.Y.D.: an older man with slicked-back gray hair, a prominent nose, and a gray suit with no tie. Beside him was Agent 21, presumably second-in-command, wearing his characteristic black jacket over a black shirt—distinct from the rest.
Everyone in the room bore an Inmo implant in their temple; the small metallic circles pulsed faintly. Anton discreetly set his own to "do not disturb."
Even though they were seated, the meeting didn't begin. Dr. Baruj had asked them to wait for his young collaborator, Dr. Pelt Thatch—25 years old, red-haired, kind, focused, somewhat introverted. But minutes passed, and Thatch had yet to arrive. Finally, Agent 1 decided to begin.
"As the main point, this meeting isn't only about the Zone 7 incident, but also to raise concerns regarding the final product of Compound A."
Perfect… complaints again. Hopefully they'll bring up Compound T instead, Anton thought, crossing his arms.
"I understand. Please continue," Baruj said, straightening in his chair.
"The incident yesterday hasn't yet been confirmed to be caused by the subject with Compound A, variant LOB-C. The attack occurred in the Zone 7 forest, and it's the first recorded bear attack in that area. Normally, bears inhabit closer to the Zone 9 boundary, though both zones are connected by woodland."
"Were any tracks found at the scene or on the victim?" Baruj asked, frowning. He knew it was unlikely a bear would migrate so far with so little food available.
Agent 1 glanced at his partner and nodded. Agent 21 spoke up:
"We swept the area. Even sent a small unit into the forest. No tracks, no nearby markings. But we did find a mother bear with cubs at the border between Zones 7 and 9. We assume it could have been her. But we need confirmation, to either rule out Zone 7 as the subject's hideout or continue searching there."
"And the victim?" Baruj pressed.
Anton simply listened and nodded; his work was tied to compound development, not field investigation.
"Yes. We found a slimy, transparent fluid."
"Saliva," Baruj interjected.
"It's already been sent for analysis… though I don't understand why the results are taking so long," Agent 21 muttered, checking his Inmo notifications.
"Excuse me," Anton said, raising his hand.
"Go ahead," Agent 1 replied.
"We don't directly handle genetic analysis, but these processes usually take between 12 and 24 hours. In this case, it could take longer."
"Why?" Agent 1 asked, intrigued.
"We tried to conceal the animal genes, as requested. That makes it harder for the machines to identify the full composition. If it is the subject with LOB-C, the results will show two variants: human and animal."
"And how long will that take?"
"Two to three days."
"Damn… that is a problem."
"How do you plan to contain the subject? Or will you eliminate him?" Baruj asked.
Agent 1 sighed.
"After the fiasco with Compound A, LOB-C—"
"It wasn't a fiasco," Baruj interrupted sharply. "The subject had genetic variations that altered the compound's effects."
"Yes, yes, Doctor. Which is why, after your recommendations, we used variant AXO-A on a death row inmate inside a bunker. We were prepared to disintegrate him if signs of mutation or instability appeared."
"Mutations can be predicted. Instability cannot," Baruj clarified.
"Exactly. After seeing that experiment succeed, we tested Compound PIS-A on another agent. That was also successful."
"As expected… but how do you plan to capture the unstable subject?"
"We'll use the stable ones to catch him," Agent 1 said with a slight smile.
"Good God…" Baruj exclaimed, leaning back. "That could be dangerous—not just for them, but for civilians. A fight between subjects could be devastating."
"Relax. We've got it under control. What we need from you is to know if there's a way to reverse the unstable state."
"There isn't. The compound is already bound to his genes. There are only two options: death or isolation," Baruj replied.
"Damn… more problems," Agent 1 muttered.
"Unless we use a genetic cleanser," Anton interjected.
The room fell silent. Baruj frowned at him.
"What's that?" Agent 1 asked.
Anton took a deep breath.
"It's a project I've been developing. Theoretically, it can restore damaged genes and eliminate unwanted mutations. Its purpose is to cure genetic diseases. It's still conceptual, but it could save the subject with LOB-C."
"How long would it take to develop?"
"At this pace? Five years. Even with current technology, I haven't been able to advance further."
"Why so long? We've got plenty of funds."
Anton sighed.
"It's not the money. It's the machinery."
Even today, many still believed that having enough money could achieve the impossible, like traveling to other galaxies with a snap of the fingers. But it wasn't so. Some projects required precise technology, time, and above all, human hands.
Before Anton could continue, Agent 1 interrupted:
"Then tell us what machines you need. We'll buy them."
"They don't exist yet. But I have the blueprints and specs."
"Perfect. Send us everything. We'll make it happen. We need that genetic cleanser ready in no more than two years."
"Before I agree fully… I have a condition. The cleanser must go public. It has to be available to the people."
Another silence. Agent 1 closed his eyes, thinking.
"Fine. Deal," he said begrudgingly.
"Good," Anton replied, smiling.
From that moment on, he stopped paying attention to the meeting. His mind was already racing through possibilities. The hope he had held for years began to burn again. I could cure him, Anton thought.
Suddenly, the gray doors slammed open, echoing through the reinforced room, snapping Anton back to reality. It wasn't the quiet, formal entrance of the previous agents.
Dr. Pelt Thatch strode in, his steps loud and brash. His red hair, normally neat, was now messy and unkempt, as if he had run through a storm. Something about him was off—an unmistakable arrogance in his posture, a smile not of kindness but of superiority. Anton had never seen him like this. He was also wearing black gloves Anton had never seen before.
Pelt looks… strange, Anton thought.
Thatch entered without a word, his smile fixed, and dropped into an empty chair with a rebellious, almost defiant air.
"What did I miss?" he asked, his tone completely unlike the introverted young man Anton once knew.
Agent 1 sighed in frustration but resumed.
"As I was saying, we're discussing how to prevent another LOB-C incident, while also following your recommendations, Dr. Baruj."
"I don't know. Even with my guidelines, any genetic defect a subject has before the compound could trigger instability. There's no way to prevent or control those side effects," Baruj replied.
"Not even with some form of mind control?" Agent 21 asked.
"No. Even after receiving the compound, instability may still arise over time," Baruj said, frowning.
"Damn!" Agent 21 muttered in surprise.
"The compound is defective!" Agent 1 slammed his fingers on the table.
"No, it's not. You didn't let us finish or perfect it," Baruj shot back firmly, leaning forward. "These are the consequences I warned you about before the Zone 11 incident, Agent 1."
"Yes, yes, damn it!" Agent 1 growled, scratching his head in frustration.
Then, unexpectedly, another voice cut in:
"We can control them mentally," Dr. Thatch said abruptly.
"What?" Anton blurted, turning to his colleague.
All eyes turned expectantly toward Thatch.
"We can control their instincts by manipulating genes and linking them to the brain. Of course, it's only a theory."
"Mind control," Agent 21 whispered with a faint smile.
Anton was shocked. Though it sounded absurd, he thought with clarity:
"It could be possible," Baruj said thoughtfully.
"With this, we could control future test subjects?" Agent 1 asked.
"Yes. If they lose control, they could be subdued," Baruj replied.
"Then let's do it. Do you need to consult neuroscientists, or should we hire some?"
"Relax. I have someone in mind. I'll just need to ask him a few things," Baruj said, rummaging through his papers.
"Well, that's all. Thank you for your time," Agent 1 said, rising with the other agents.
But before he could leave, Thatch spoke with a sharp edge in his voice:
"I know it's obvious, but you plan to use Compound A in a future war, don't you?"
"That's none of your concern, Dr. Thatch," Agent 21 snapped, glaring.
"Calm down, Twenty-One. I want to hear him," Agent 1 said, visibly uncomfortable.
"We were told Compound A was for rescues, nothing to do with the military. But as we suspected—and as your requirements implied—it's for creating military supersoldiers, isn't it?" Thatch asked with an arrogant smirk.
That's true, Anton thought, staying silent. He knew his colleague was right, though rude. They hadn't been hired to build weapons.
"Well, primarily, it was for rescues. But after seeing the potential of the first subject, we had to change the project's goal."
"Weapons of destruction," Thatch said flatly.
"You could see it that way," Agent 1 muttered as he tried to leave.
"Why?" Thatch pressed.
Anton was curious too. He also wanted to know the true purpose of Compound T.
Agent 1 stopped and said:
"New war technologies. Other nations are anxious—afraid—of Sarac's rapid technological rise. Most likely, they're developing suits to compete or invade. And not just that. Have you seen the news lately?"
Anton nodded.
"Crime in San Cristov is rising. And not just normal crime—criminals using suits and weaponized bioimplants. We're the ones who have to handle it."
"I see. Thank you, Agent 1," Thatch replied with a subtle smile.
"Anything else?" Agent 1 asked.
"Yes," Anton raised his hand without realizing.
After his colleague's boldness, he couldn't leave without asking.
"Go ahead."
"Why can't we release Compound T to the world? It's a tissue restoration compound. We could save countless lives if it were made public."
Compound T was an advanced biotechnological substance designed to regenerate and restore damaged tissues. Its primary function was to activate and accelerate the body's natural healing processes, enabling the reconstruction of bones, organs, and muscles at the cellular level. It had been discovered in the labs while working on Compound A.
"Interesting," Thatch murmured.
Agent 1 sighed.
"If we released Compound T to the public, it wouldn't take long for our enemies to learn of its existence—or even obtain it. That would mean war."
"But—"
"Believe it or not, Dr. Anton, health and well-being are also weapons. And I will not hand that weapon to my enemies."
"There are so many people we could save with it."
"And many more would die if we released it. Think of it this way: what's better? Saving a few while condemning everyone—or saving everyone while condemning a few?"
After those words, the agents left. Thatch too, without another word. Anton stayed seated, reflecting on what Agent 1 had said.
Interrupting his thoughts, Dr. Baruj spoke:
"For consultation, we'll speak with Dr. Elías Kovak, a neuroscience expert. He's a surgeon," he said, showing Anton a sheet with Kovak's name.
"Alright, Dr. Baruj. I'll go with you to see him."
With that, Baruj left the room, leaving Anton alone.
Anton remained seated, lost in deep reflection.
Agent 1's words—"health as a weapon," the choice of "saving everyone by condemning a few," and his colleague's strange behavior—echoed bitterly in his mind.
They chilled him to the bone.
The electrical hum of the lab, once barely noticeable, now seemed deafening. The lead-lined concrete walls pressed in on him.
Sitting with his elbows on the table, head in his hands, Anton tried to process everything. Though he felt oddly hopeful about the genetic cleanser, his own morality now weighed on him like a chain.
With a sigh, Anton reached out and turned off his Inmo's "do not disturb" mode. Instantly, the floating display lit up with an urgent notification from his brother. His heart skipped. Seconds later, his Inmo vibrated again—this time, an emergency call.
Anton answered immediately, lifting the device to his ear. Only an unintelligible murmur came through, but his expression transformed. His eyes widened, the color drained from his face, and his hands began to shake uncontrollably. The words on the other end were a blur of medical jargon and the description of what sounded like a tragedy.
Lowering his hand, the Inmo still faintly buzzing, Anton whispered, voice broken and trembling, as the image of Joseph climbing happily crumbled in his mind:
"So… what happened to Joseph?"