Fifteen hours since Joseph's accident.
Agent Carter walked down the access hallway to the F.Y.D. offices next to Yadson Coytt, his most recent partner. Yadson, a thirty-one-year-old man, maintained an impeccable appearance with his suit and thin-rimmed glasses. His jet-black hair, straight and dense, parted on the sides, gave him an air of strict control. His steps echoed on the polished floor. The morning sun still hit the glass; Carter carried the folder under his arm as if it were uncomfortable evidence he would prefer not to look at.
"You could have killed him right then and there," Yadson said without looking up, adjusting his glasses. "Why didn't you put a bullet in him? The doctor got defiant and threatened us."
Carter didn't answer immediately. He looked into the distance, evaluating, and sighed.
"I didn't want to kill him," he finally replied, with a cold tone. "Killing a doctor is a waste."
Yadson snorted, skeptical.
"If it had been Agent 1 who found him being that defiant, Hunt wouldn't be here. The Old Man gets irritated easily and doesn't let himself be intimidated by a doctor."
"And what would he do with the threat?"
"He would resolve it. As he always does."
Yadson swallowed hard.
"Agent 1 is extreme. But I prefer options. Later on, we can make use of Hunt. He is someone reasonable."
"And if he tried it again?" asked Yadson.
"He won't," replied Carter sharply.
"How are you so sure?"
"I saw it in his eyes. The desperation of not being able to do anything. Hunt understands the situation Sarac is currently going through."
Without further ado, they headed toward Agent 1's office. Upon arriving in front of it, they noticed the door was ajar. Carter stopped halfway and, through the gap, heard voices. Peeking his head in, he saw Agent 1 and one of the doctors who was in the meeting a few days ago.
"It's one of the scientists," whispered Carter. "Surely they will take their time. I'm going to the bathroom, wait for me here; we have to talk to the Old Man," he said in a low voice to Yadson, who nodded.
Yadson leaned his back on the frame, listening to what those voices were saying. He immediately understood what was happening. He activated his inmo, typed a quick message, and sent it.
Minutes earlier
Anton felt his stomach shrink as the F.Y.D. elevator ascended. He rarely set foot in the central offices. The glass and steel walls gave him the sensation of climbing into a hawk's nest.
The polished titanium door of the federal floor opened with a mechanical sound.
"Doctor Marsol," said a woman in a dark blue suit.
Anton nodded. They led him to an office where the only occupant was Agent 1, with his characteristic slicked-back hair and gray suit without a tie. He had a serious look. He didn't get up from his seat.
"Agent," said Anton as soon as he crossed the door. "I need a small portion of Compound T. It is for my brother. We don't have time."
Agent 1, a man of imposing presence, looked at him without hurry.
"I had already been informed of your brother's accident," said the agent. "But first, take a seat, Doctor."
Anton took a deep breath and sat down.
"We cannot give it to you," replied Agent 1 with a dry voice. "Handing that compound to a civilian, and even more so to a registered patient in a hospital, would be catastrophic. If he appears recovered overnight, there would be questions, rumors."
"We could transfer him to the laboratories of these facilities. I know the F.Y.D. can do it."
"Doctor, it is not that simple," replied Agent 1 with a hand on his face.
"Please, the situation is critical," said Anton, with a broken voice. "It is the only way for him to live. I will do any genetic work you ask. Whatever it is. Just save him."
Agent 1 sighed, looking to the side of the office. His foot began to tap rhythmically while he remained silent, analyzing the information.
Anton lowered his gaze and squeezed his knuckles. Without realizing it, he raised his voice.
"My brother has little hope of life!" Anton's voice cracked with rage. "I want him to live well! I will do any other genetic work, whatever you need!"
Agent 1 leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands.
"Please!" begged Anton. "It is the only way for him to live a normal life!"
Agent 1 sighed again, a sound denoting annoyance.
"That decision is not mine alone to make. A committee has to endorse it. However… I will propose your case at the meeting in a few days, but I am not sure they will accept. But please, Doctor, lower your voice. I understand the desperation and how painful it is to want to save a loved one; I understand it very well."
Anton swallowed hard. He still didn't quite understand the situation, but he nodded.
"In exchange, I have two conditions: First, you will be available immediately to work on any other type of biological compound we assign you. And second, the Genetic Cleaner project becomes the exclusive property of the F.Y.D. from this moment on."
"From now?" asked Anton. "And if the committee rejects the request?"
Agent 1 looked at him coldly. "Doctor, my influence has a price. Just for the fact of putting my reputation on the line and taking this petition before the committee, I will negotiate with them by offering them the Cleaner. If they say yes, we save your brother. If they say no... well, at least you will know we tried everything. Do we have a deal or do you prefer to leave?"
"I created the genetic cleaner project to heal Joseph of his condition... will he at least be able to use it?"
"No. With this deal, the Cleaner will not leave the F.Y.D."
Anton understood everything. Agent 1 was using him, although at this point it didn't matter. Joseph was paramount.
"I accept," he whispered.
Agent 1 nodded and shook his hand formally.
"Sometimes, Doctor, the comfort of having tried is the only thing we have left. I know."
On his way out, Anton passed in front of an ajar door. He didn't notice the figures standing next to the frame: Yadson and Carter, who had returned from the bathroom a while ago. Anton advanced with his gaze lowered and didn't see them. It seemed the floor was swallowing him.
Back to the present
After seeing Anton leave, Carter entered the office alone, followed by Yadson a few seconds later.
"Any problem, Twenty-One?" asked Agent 1.
"Sir. I bring you the results of the DNA analysis of what happened in Zone 7," said Carter, passing him the folder.
"Damn," blurted Agent 1, standing up for the first time. The air in the room became heavy.
"Good. I need you and your team to go to the forest. We need to sweep the zone again; lift every stone, enter all the caves, check the sewers, and interview people in the area."
Carter nodded.
"And you will also take Thirty-Nine."
"Agent 39?" complained Carter.
"Yes. He is ready for field missions."
"Sir, but with all due respect, he is an inmate," said Carter, clenching his fist.
"I don't care. He is a weapon, just like you, and we have to take advantage of his strength. And I don't want complaints, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," affirmed Carter through gritted teeth.
"Any questions, Twenty-One?"
"No... well, yes. But it is about the scientist who was in this office before."
"About Doctor Marsol? Tell me."
"Will you really ask the committee about using Compound T on a civilian?"
"Although I feel pity for Dr. Marsol's situation, no, I won't do it. I just wanted him to calm down."
"Besides, the council wouldn't yield to that," commented Yadson.
"Exactly," affirmed Agent 1. "The doctor is smart, but naive when it comes to dealing with the world."
"Understood, Sir. Then I'll take my leave," said Carter firmly.
After Carter and Yadson withdrew, Agent 1 stayed at his desk looking at a photograph where four smiling young people appeared.
"With this, the peace of Sarac will be guaranteed, right boys?" he asked himself in a low voice.
Anton descended in the elevator. As he went down the floors, he left behind the intimidating opulence of the federal offices and entered the world he knew: the sterile, white, and cold subsoil of the F.Y.D. laboratories.
He went out into the hallway and walked mechanically toward the locker rooms. He took off his jacket and put on his white coat. While buttoning it up, he tried to convince himself that everything was fine, that the deal with Agent 1 was an opportunity.
Upon entering the main laboratory, the hum of machines and the smell of ozone welcomed him, a place so illuminated that shadows did not exist. Workstations floated on central islands, surrounded by genetic sequencers the size of industrial refrigerators that hummed with a hypnotic rhythm, processing terabytes of human and animal code.
At the back, behind a thick plastic curtain, was the 'Wet Zone'. There, containment cages housed the test subjects. The sound was a constant cacophony: the beep of heart monitors mixed with the scratching of claws against metal and the constant purr of ventilation systems struggling to filter biological particles.
"Doctor Marsol?" a familiar voice stopped him.
It was Dr. Marcos Baruj, the head of research, with his peculiar curly hair.
"What are you doing here, Anton? I gave you the week off because of your brother's situation. You should be with your family."
Anton forced a tired smile, taking a notebook from a nearby table.
"Don't worry, Doctor. I needed to clear my mind and later I will go to the hospital to cover my grandfather. Besides, I know the work coming upon us is heavy. I prefer to get ahead."
Baruj sighed and nodded, understanding.
"I appreciate the commitment, but don't overdo it. By the way, to alleviate the load, we are going to hire one more support bioengineer. And I have scheduled an appointment with a specialist for the team, Doctor Elías Kovak; he is an eminence in neurology and brain mapping. We need fresh minds for the new changes in protocols."
"Understood, Doctor. Thanks."
Anton walked away before Baruj could ask more questions. He walked down the hallways, noting data in his notebook just to keep his hands busy, until he reached the Secure Storage Sector.
The huge iron door was open, as was usual during operating hours. Anton entered. The air there was colder.
The walls were lined with reinforced containment cylinders. But his eyes went directly to the central row.
There they were.
Armored glass containers filled with a reddish liquid, dense and slightly viscous, that seemed to pulsate under the white light of the neons. The label on the metal read: COMPOUND T – CT/N721.
Anton stood paralyzed. His reflection in the glass mixed with the red of the liquid.
He was so close. Just one vial. Just a small sample could change Joseph's life. His hand, involuntarily, dropped the notebook onto a table and approached the glass. All the noise of the laboratory disappeared; only Compound T existed.
"Don't do it now. There are seven cameras in this room."
The voice sounded right behind his ear.
Anton jumped, his heart almost coming out of his mouth. He spun around.
It was Doctor Pelt Thatch.
Thatch looked at him with an undecipherable expression, standing with his characteristic red hair, though now messy. He wore those strange black leather gloves he had started using since the last meeting, contrasting violently with the white purity of his coat.
"I… I wasn't…" stammered Anton, pale. "I was just taking inventory notes."
Thatch let out a dry laugh, which didn't reach his eyes.
"Relax, Doctor Marsol. It was a joke."
Anton exhaled, trying to catch his breath, but noticed Thatch kept staring at him, without blinking much. There was something weird about him since the executive meeting; an electric, uncomfortable vibe.
"I heard you had a family accident," said Thatch, approaching the containers, but without looking at the liquid. "How is your brother?"
"He survived," replied Anton with a tense voice. "But he is very grave."
"I see..." Thatch turned his head slowly toward Compound T. "So, that's why you were looking at it like that."
"No, no, nothing like that," Anton hastened to deny. "It is just scientific curiosity."
"Relax, Anton. I won't tell anyone," whispered Thatch, taking a step closer. His voice lowered in tone, becoming confidential. "It is normal to worry about our loved ones. It is torture to see that the solution is so close, within reach, but that we cannot reach it because of 'something greater,' right?"
The precision of Thatch's words disarmed Anton. He felt vulnerable, discovered. He lowered his guard.
"I spoke with Agent 1," confessed Anton in a whisper.
Thatch arched an eyebrow.
"So you spoke with the Devil?"
"Yes… I asked him for access to the Compound for my brother." Anton looked at the floor. "Apparently, there is a possibility. He is going to present my case to the committee."
Thatch remained silent for a few seconds. His expression changed to a strange smile.
"Ah… how good," he said, although his tone suggested caution. "I hope he agrees. But be careful, Anton. Be very careful with any deal you make on that floor above."
Anton nodded, feeling a chill. Before leaving the room, he stopped and looked at Thatch, who was already preparing to check some monitors.
"Pelt… how did you know there were seven cameras here?" asked Anton.
Thatch turned around, adjusting his black gloves with a slow and sure movement that overflowed with arrogance. A sharp smile formed on his face.
"It's just that I am very observant, Doctor Marsol."
Thatch held his gaze a second longer than necessary, before passing by him and leaving the room, leaving him alone with the hum of the machines and the red glow of Compound T.
Night had fallen heavy over the city when Anton left the F.Y.D. facilities. After endless hours of work, where his mind tried to flee reality through formulas and microscopes, he finally headed to the General Hospital.
He walked through the white corridors, ignoring the smell of disinfectant and sickness that permeated the air. Upon arriving at the intensive care room, he stopped a second in front of the door before pushing it gently.
The interior was bathed in a dim, bluish artificial light, coming from the monitors.
The view cut his breath, as if it were the first time he saw it.
There was Joseph.
His body lay motionless in the bed, transformed into a sculpture of pain and medical technology. He was bandaged from top to bottom, a white mummy on white sheets. In his arms and legs, large external fixation screws pierced the bandages and flesh, anchored to the bone to support the multiple fractures; the metal shone with a cold chrome under the light of the equipment.
There were cables connected to bio-gel patches on his chest, and a thick tube came out of his throat to help him breathe. His head was completely wrapped, leaving exposed only his right eye, which remained closed and swollen. His legs were elevated by a system of motorized pulleys that hummed softly.
Anton approached and noticed the cruel details: small stains of fresh blood blooming through the bandages on the forearm and thigh, witnesses that Joseph's body was still fighting not to crumble.
To one side of the bed, in a worn vinyl recliner, was Georg. The grandfather slept in an uncomfortable position, with his head fallen on his chest and hands interlaced on his lap, exhausted by the vigil.
Anton felt a knot in his throat, a painful pressure that threatened to break him. He walked slowly to the bed and, with infinite delicacy, extended his hand to touch the only part of Joseph's cheek that didn't have a screw or a cable.
The skin was feverish.
Then, he turned toward Georg and touched his shoulder gently.
"Grandpa…"
Georg woke up with a start, eyes wide open.
"What? What happened? Is he okay?" he asked, frantically searching the monitors.
"Relax, relax," whispered Anton, forcing a reassuring smile. "It's me. Relax."
Georg exhaled, passing a trembling hand over his face.
"Ah, it's you, son… I fell asleep without realizing it."
"I'm here, Grandpa. Go home to sleep in a real bed. I'll cover the night shift," said Anton.
Georg looked at him, trying to protest, but the tiredness was evident in his deep wrinkles.
"But you worked all day…"
"It doesn't matter. I need to be here. Go, please."
Georg didn't protest anymore. He got up with difficulty, making his knees crack, and hugged Anton tightly. A hug that smelled of old coffee and worry.
"Did the doctors say anything?" asked Anton, worried.
"That he is stable and his body is very strong, he will resist. But, Anton, a decision must be made."
Anton took a deep breath.
"Yes, Grandpa, we will discuss that later. Although..." Anton stopped in his tracks.
"Yes? Tell me."
"Nothing. Rest, Grandpa. Blessing."
"Okay, son. Thanks." Georg looked one last time at Joseph. "May God bless you both."
"Rest, Grandpa."
Georg left the room, shuffling his feet, and the door closed with a soft click, leaving Anton alone with the rhythmic hum of the machines and the hiss of the artificial respirator.
Anton dragged a chair and sat next to the headboard. He looked at his brother's closed eye, the metallic screws piercing his skin; the fragility of his life depended on a decision.
The memory of the meeting with Agent 1, the sacrifice of his project, everything weighed on his shoulders. But seeing Joseph like that, he knew there was no other option.
He leaned forward, bringing his mouth close to his brother's bandaged ear, and whispered:
"Joseph… there is a chance."
The heart monitor was the only thing responding with its constant rhythm: Beep… beep… beep…
"I have secured a chance for your body to recover. So you can walk normally. Forgive me, I won't be able to cure your condition, Jos," Anton's voice trembled, charged with desperate hope. "But you aren't going to stay in a chair or among metal. I promise."
Anton gently squeezed his brother's inert hand, taking care not to touch the intravenous lines.
"I only ask you one thing… please, hold on. You have to live, Joseph. You have to live."
Anton rested his forehead on the edge of the bed, closed his eyes, and let the sound of the machines be the only answer in the darkness of the room.