The next morning, Jacob Hunt sighed as he checked his watch. His shift had already begun, though he had barely slept a few hours.
He had stayed up late talking with Georg and Anton, who had finally been allowed to see Joseph. Joseph remained unconscious, his eyes never opening since the last time he had awakened.
Hunt was in his office, a narrow room lit by cold white light. He sat down in front of the main computer.
The screen flickered with a new notification:
Priority Email – Central Biogenetic Analysis Laboratory
The message also reached his Inmo, which vibrated softly, alerting him that the requested DNA analysis results were ready.
—Finally… —he murmured.
He opened the email.
Genetic Analysis Report – 202122
Sample Origin: Unidentified biological tissue.
Results:
• Human DNA: 52%
• Canis lupus DNA: 48%
• Anomalous molecular interaction: Evidence of active cellular symbiosis.
Conclusion: Hybrid structure impossible according to known genetic frameworks.
Hunt stared at the screen without blinking.
—This… this is madness —he whispered.
The words of the late Mr. Martínez echoed in his mind: "A werewolf… in the forest…"
Suddenly, a sharp knot twisted in his stomach. The memory of the mutilated body, the blood—it all spun violently in his head.
This can't be happening. It's impossible, he thought, clinging desperately to logic.
His hand began to tremble on the mouse as he struggled to scroll down and finish reading the document.
At the bottom of the email, an additional message blinked in red:
Sender: Center for Applied Biology
Note:"Dr. Hunt, could you confirm the origin of the sample? Its composition is highly unusual. Does it come from an experimental subject created in a laboratory?"
Hunt swallowed hard. He typed a quick response:
"The sample belongs to an archived set of experimental synthetic DNA from years ago. Case closed. No current activity. —Dr. Jacob Hunt."
He lied. He knew he couldn't reveal that the substance had come from the body of the attack victim.
Leaning back in his chair, he took a deep breath to steady his dizziness. In a swift motion, he pulled from his pocket the small card Agent Carter had given him. The printed number glimmered faintly under the light.
Just then, the door opened.
—Doctor, here's your coffee.
It was Manuela Díaz, the nurse, wearing her usual warm smile.
Hunt quickly tucked the card away and turned to her, forcing a smile.
—Thanks, dear. I really needed this.
—Are you okay, doctor? You look very pale.
Hunt let out a brief laugh.
—Just lack of sleep… and decent coffee. I was up all night.
—Because of your friend, right?
—Yes —he replied with a small nod.
—Don't worry, doctor. I'm sure he'll recover —she said, placing the cup on the desk—. I'll head back now. If you need anything, I'll be in the trauma ward.
Hunt nodded. As soon as Manuela left, he activated his Inmo and contacted the number on the card.
—The results are in —he said quietly.
11:05 a.m.
The wind stirred dry leaves along the pavement. Hunt leaned against his Chevrolet Silverado 3500HD, smoking, a brown folder in his hand. Across from a park far from the hospital, the place was completely deserted—not even a homeless person passed through. It was too far from the city center.
He checked his watch, annoyed.
—It's already eleven… —he muttered—. He said he'd be here by now.
Hunt hated unpunctual people.
A black car, a Dodge Charger SRT, pulled up a few meters away. Two men stepped out. One, wearing a dark suit and white shirt, leaned against the car. The other, dressed in black with a matching suit, walked toward Hunt with firm steps.
It was Agent Carter, who—as usual—displayed his badge with bold lettering: Agent 21.
—You're late, agent —Hunt said, crushing his cigarette underfoot.
—My apologies, doctor. Traffic —Carter replied with a half-smile, leaning against Hunt's truck without asking.
Hunt shot him a displeased look.
—I requested authorization for this meeting, so I expect it to be worth it, Agent Carter.
—What did the results show?
Hunt handed him the folder. Carter opened it, skimmed a few pages, and his lips tightened.
—I see… so it was true after all —he said at last—. Damn it.
—Was that what attacked Martínez? —Hunt asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.
Carter looked at him—but didn't answer.
—Good work, Dr. Hunt. We may not contact you again.
—Wait—what?
—Delete all files. Don't archive copies. Don't mention this in any reports.
—Before he died, Mr. Martínez said he saw a werewolf in the forest. What did he mean by that, agent? —Hunt demanded, his voice rising slightly.
—And the victim's family? Will they never know what attacked him?
—There's no need. For them—and for the media—it was a bear —Carter said bitterly, lowering his gaze and clenching his jaw.
Hunt clenched his fists.
—Was it one of your experiments? Government-related?
Carter slowly turned his head, his gaze sharpening.
—You're asking unnecessary questions, doctor.
He stepped closer, pulling his jacket aside just enough to reveal his holster. Hunt instinctively stepped back; his heart raced.
—I don't want this to end badly, doctor…
—Wait, let's not rush this —Hunt interrupted, his voice shaking—. Besides, is a F.Y.D. agent really going to kill a doctor in broad daylight?
—Just don't ask unnecessary questions, doctor. It's better you forget what happened and continue with your normal life. Forget… or we'll help you forget.
—I'm sorry, but I can't forget that something like this is loose and could hurt more people —Hunt replied, glancing around. The scene was perfect: no witnesses, not a single soul. He knew that one wrong word could mean his death without explanation.
—Really? What a shame. Come with us, doctor. Let's take a little ride —Carter said, suddenly gripping Hunt's arm tightly.
—You're afraid of this getting out, aren't you? —Hunt said, his voice trembling—. And what if I told you, agent, that if I don't make it home today, someone will upload the full DNA report? Including its connection to Mr. Martínez's accident… and naming the F.Y.D. as the main party responsible.
Carter studied him with a mix of irritation and surprise.
—You knew this might happen, didn't you, doctor? —he said, tightening his grip until Hunt let out a pained sound.
—I don't trust men in black suits… —Hunt whispered, his voice breaking.
Carter released him and sighed.
—You think you have nothing to lose, doctor?
—I don't.
—Jacob Hunt. Orphaned. Raised at San Bosque Orphanage. No family… but do these names sound familiar? Anton Marsol, young engineer. Georg Konrad. And Joseph Marsol, currently hospitalized after an accident. I hope they're doing well, don't you, doctor?
For Hunt, the world froze: the overcast sky, the wind, the rustling leaves. Everything became painfully sharp. He hadn't realized his friends could be hurt because of him.
—They have nothing to do with this —Hunt said through clenched teeth.
—Relax, doctor. We won't harm them—unless you force us to. I don't have time for games.
—Please… don't hurt me or them —Hunt pleaded.
—I won't. I don't want things to go that far —Carter replied—. Tell me, what do you want? Money?
—None of that. I just want to know why the truth can't be revealed. If it were, we could prevent future deaths.
Carter stared at him.
—Do you want riots, doctor? That's what would happen if this came out. Nothing but chaos and blood—and those are things I detest. I don't want people getting hurt because of this. It's not fair. I understand you, doctor, but revealing this would slowly condemn Sarac.
Hunt fell silent.
—Revealing the truth wouldn't condemn anyone. On the contrary, it could save them —Hunt argued.
—Do you really believe that? —Carter replied—. If it were known that such a creature exists, panic would destroy trust in the F.Y.D. and the government. There would be unrest—maybe even a coup. And if our enemies learned of it, what would they think?
Hunt understood.
—They'd believe Sarac is developing a biological weapon…
—Exactly. And then they'd attack us—out of fear or hunger for power. Sarac's peace would collapse.
—But… people deserve the truth.
—Maybe. But peace is built on half-truths. Perhaps one day it will be revealed. But now is not the time.
Carter stepped back, studying Hunt's lowered gaze.
—So, doctor… are you willing to risk everyone to save a few, or save everyone by condemning a few?
Hunt swallowed.
—The information… won't be released. This never happened. Neither did the files —he said, lowering his head as his fists tightened.
Carter smiled faintly.
—Good, doctor. Thank you for your discretion. I may contact you again.
Hunt only nodded.
Carter walked back to the black car, the folder tucked under his arm.
Hunt remained motionless, leaning against his truck, staring at the cigarette on the ground—he didn't even remember dropping it—and watched as the cold wind carried it away.