California, America
The figure turned sharply, her mechanical hand instinctively moving toward the weapon at her side. The morning light had shifted, casting long shadows across the room. The coffee on the table had gone cold, forgotten.
From the shadows near the window, a figure emerged. He moved with unnatural grace, as though the darkness itself was parting for him. Long blue hair with red eyes cascaded over his shoulders in waves that caught the dim light, and a dark cape draped over a pristine suit that looked both modern and timeless. He appeared young mid-twenties perhaps with features so refined he looked like a young prince from some forgotten European castle. But his eyes held something ancient, something that made the figure's synthetic nerves fire warning signals through her system.
"What do you want?" the figure's voice was cold, controlled, but her fingers flexed against her palm.
The Scientist smiled slowly, deliberately, as though savoring the moment. "I'm just correcting you." He paused, letting her name hang in the air even though she hadn't given it yet. "Pranit is also known as the Hollow Moon."
"I don't care about his title." She kept her stance rigid, prepared.
A low, dark laugh escaped his lips not loud, but it seemed to fill the room. "You should, dear." His voice dropped lower, carrying a weight that made the air feel heavier, oppressive. He took a single step forward, hands clasped behind his back. "You're hunting something you don't fully understand. The Hollow Moon isn't just a name it's a warning."
The figure's jaw tightened. She refused to ask. Refused to show curiosity.
The Scientist's smile widened slightly, reading her resistance. "But let's talk about you instead. What should I call you?" His gaze drifted deliberately to her right hand the mechanical replacement, synthetic skin stretched over titanium and carbon fiber.
the figure glanced down at her hand, watching the fingers flex. Perfect mimicry of human movement, but cold. Always cold. "Just Vera."
"Just Vera." He repeated it like he was tasting wine, deciding if it was worth his time. "Alright, Vera. Simple. Direct. I like that." His tone turned playful, almost mocking. "So tell me where are Angela and Eve?"
"Why should I tell you anything?" She stepped back, creating distance, her hand moving naturally toward the sword mounted on the wall behind her.
The Scientist tilted his head, studying her like a scientist might study a fascinating specimen. "Have you chosen your option yet?" His voice became softer, more intimate. "Which will you pick, Vera?"
The three choices echoed in her mind, unbidden. Words she'd spoken to herself a thousand times, carved into her consciousness like a brand.
*Sacrifice your loved one for the world.*
*Sacrifice the world for your loved one.*
*Sacrifice both for yourself.*
Her father's face flickered in her memory. Eve's image from the photograph. The weight of everything she'd lost and everything she still hoped to reclaim.
"I don't know," she said through gritted teeth. Her hand closed around the sword's hilt, drawing it in one fluid motion.
"You should hurry." The Scientist's expression shifted still smiling, but something serious crept into his eyes. "The Tree of Hope will come soon. And when it does, everyone will have to choose. Including you." He spread his hands slightly, almost inviting. "Now tell me, Vera. Where are they?"
She didn't answer. She lunged.
Her blade flashed through the air, aimed directly at his throat. Twenty years of training, human and then enhanced with mechanical precision the strike should have been unavoidable.
The Scientist raised one hand casually, almost lazily. He caught the blade between two fingers.
The metal edge bit deep into his skin. Blood welled immediately, dark red against his pale fingers, dripping slowly onto the floor in fat droplets. The sound of each drop seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
He didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. His smile never wavered.
Instead, he lifted his hand slowly to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with Vera the entire time. His tongue traced the blood from his fingers, and he made a small sound of consideration, as though evaluating the taste of expensive wine.
"B positive," he said conversationally. "Interesting. You've been eating well, Vera. Good iron content." His eyes gleamed with something that might have been amusement. "Don't play games with me, Vera." His voice dropped to something cold, final. "Don't forget about the Sinners. We're everywhere. We see everything. And we're very, very patient."
Vera's breath caught in her throat. Her resolve, her carefully maintained composure, cracked like glass under pressure.
"Scotland," she gasped, hating herself even as the word left her lips. "Edinburgh."
"Good girl." The approval in his voice made her skin crawl.
He closed his fist slowly, deliberately. The sword high-carbon steel, folded three hundred times, sharp enough to split silk in the air shattered like cheap glass. Metal fragments scattered across the floor, tinkling like broken wind chimes.
"We'll meet again, Vera." He stepped backward into the shadows, and they seemed to welcome him, wrapping around him like old friends. His voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "I'm looking forward to seeing which choice you make. Bye-bye, Vera."
And then he was gone. Just gone. As though he'd never been there at all, except for the blood on the floor and the shattered sword fragments scattered like accusatory evidence of her failure.
Vera stood alone, trembling. Her mechanical handespair something that shouldn't be possible, a malfunction in her control systems triggered by pure emotional overload. She slammed her fist into the wooden table with all her enhanced strength.
The wood splintered. The table legs cracked. Coffee spilled across the floor, mixing with the Scientist's blood.
"Daddy..." Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. She looked at her mechanical hand again, at the synthetic skin that would never feel warmth the way it should, at the fingers that moved with perfect precision but would never truly be hers. "Can I really become human again?"
The question hung in the empty room, unanswered. Outside, California continued its morning, indifferent to her despair.
Cardiff, Wales
Max sat on his bedroom floor, surrounded by toy soldiers. He'd arranged them in elaborate battle formations red army on one side, blue on the other, with tanks and helicopters positioned according to logic only an eight-year-old could understand. He made explosion sounds as he knocked pieces over, fully absorbed in his imaginary war.
His bodyguard, Thomas, appeared in the doorway. Mid-thirties, former military, with the kind of alert posture that never really went away even in civilian life. "Sir, we need to go."
Max's face fell immediately. "But I just started the battle! The red army is about to launch their counter-offensive!"
"Your classes start in thirty minutes. Your father insisted you not be late." Thomas's voice was gentle but firm.
Max sighed dramatically, the way only children can when faced with the unbearable injustice of responsibility. "Fine." He began gathering his toys with deliberate slowness, hoping for a miraculous reprieve.
Thomas waited patiently, scanning the room's windows and doorway old habits. When Max finally finished, they walked to the armored car waiting in the driveway. The vehicle looked civilian from the outside, but Thomas knew it had reinforced panels, bulletproof glass, and run-flat tires. Max's father didn't take chances.
As they drove through Cardiff's morning traffic, Thomas's phone buzzed. He answered through his earpiece. "Yes, sir?"
Max's father's voice came through, tense and clipped. "Thomas, be extremely careful today. We received intelligence that the Sinners know we leaked information to S.O.W. They might retaliate."
Thomas's grip tightened on the steering wheel, but his voice remained calm. "Understood, sir. I'll keep Max in public spaces and maintain awareness."
"Do whatever you need to. Keep my son safe." The line went dead.
Thomas glanced at Max in the rearview mirror. The boy was looking out the window, watching other children walk to school with their parents, unaware of the danger his father's choices had put him in.
"Max," Thomas said, forcing brightness into his voice. "After class, I'll take you to the amusement park."
Max's eyes lit up immediately, all thoughts of the interrupted battle forgotten. "Really?! Yaay! Let's go!"
The classes passed slowly. Max sat through mathematics, history, and literature with barely contained excitement. Thomas waited outside, eyes constantly scanning the area, noting exits, watching for anything unusual. Nothing. Just normal morning activity at an expensive private school in Cardiff.
When the final bell rang, Max burst out of the building like a prisoner granted freedom.
"Let's go!" he yelled, running toward the car.
Thomas smiled despite his tension. "Let's go indeed."
The amusement park was crowded weekend families, teenagers, couples. Good, Thomas thought. Lots of witnesses. Harder to make a move in a crowd.
They started with the flying roller coaster. Max screamed with joy as they soared and dipped, arms raised in the air. Then the mechanical dinosaur ride, where Max pretended to be a paleontologist discovering ancient creatures. Ice cream followed chocolate chip for Max, vanilla for Thomas. They walked past carnival games, watched street performers, rode the carousel twice because Max insisted.
For a few hours, Thomas almost forgot to be worried. Max's laughter was infectious, genuine. This was why the job mattered. Protecting innocence. Keeping children safe so they could just be children.
As the sun began setting, painting the sky orange and purple, Thomas checked his watch. "Today's over now, Max. We need to get you home."
"I wanna stay more!" Max protested, pulling on Thomas's hand. "Just one more ride!"
"Not now. It's over." Thomas's voice firmed up. "Plus, you know you're an important person. What if someone attacks you?"
Max's shoulders slumped. "Fine."
They walked to the car, parked in a corner of the lot with good visibility. Thomas's security instincts were screamingThen too exposed, too long in one location, too predictable. But they'd been here for hours without incident. Maybe the intelligence was wrong.
They climbed in. Thomas started the engine, glancing at Max in the rearview mirror. The boy looked tired now, the excitement fading into that particular exhaustion that comes after a perfect day.
"Don't worry," Thomas said playfully, pulling out of the parking space. "We'll come back next weekend, alright?"
Max grinned, eyes already half-closed. "Promise?"
"Promise."
Everything felt happy. Joyful. Perfect.
Then—
*Crack.*
The sound came first a sharp, specific sound that Thomas recognized instantly from his military days. His brain registered it before his conscious mind could react.
But by then, it was already too late.
The bullet tore through the window bulletproof glass designed to stop small arms fire, but not a high-caliber sniper round fired from elevated position. It entered Max's temple cleanly, precisely. The boy's head snapped to the side. His eyes, which had been bright with excitement seconds before, went wide and empty.
Time slowed. Thomas saw the blood spray. Saw Max's small body slump against the car seat. Saw the promise he'd just made turn into a lie.
He reached for his weapon, training overriding shock. But he was too slow.
*Crack.*
The second bullet hit Thomas in the center of his forehead. His hand never reached the gun. His body slumped forward onto the steering wheel, and the car horn began blabot a single, continuous note that seemed to mourn them both.
Far away, on the Ferris wheel platform overlooking the amusement a woman lowered her sniper rifle. She looks in her 30s, with sharp features and black eyes and white hair that showed nothing at all. No satisfaction. No guilt. Just the blank professionalism of someone doing a job.
She field-stripped the rifle with practiced efficiency, packing it into an inconspicuous sports bag. Around her, park-goers laughed and screamed on rides, completely unaware that two people had just died less than three hundred meters away.
"Poor kid," she said to no one in particular, her voice flat. "But it had to be done."
Her phone rang. She answered without looking at the caller ID.
"Florencia." The Scientist's voice came through clearly. "Now you need to go to Scotland, Edinburgh. Your next mission."
She sighed, shouldering the bag. "Why should I listen to your orders? We're partners with the same goal, nothing more."
His dark laugh echoed through the phone, making her pull it slightly away from her ear. "We found her."
Florencia's stride faltered for just a moment. "For real?"
"For real."
A smile touched her lips for the first time that day. "Alright then."
She hung up and headed for the parking lot, leaving Cardiff behind. The car horn was still blaring in the distance, and someone was probably screaming now, having found the bodies. But Florencia was already gone, thinking about Scotland, about the mission, about finally completing what she'd started years ago.
Edinburgh, Scotland
Angela leaned against the cold steel wall of the S.O.W. facility canteen, her half-eaten sandwich forgotten on the table. The room was clinically clean, all metal and white surfaces that reminded her uncomfortably of hospitals. She'd been lost in thought, replaying her conversation with Eve, when Carmilla entered.
The woman moved like a predator graceful, purposeful, always slightly amused by some private joke. She sat down across from Angela without asking permission.
"What is it?" Angela asked, defensive.
Carmilla's smile was predatory. "Do you know about the Sinners?"
"Sinners?" Angela's confusion was genuine. She'd heard the word before religious context, moral context but never as a proper noun, never spoken with the weight Carmilla was giving it. "Who are they?"
Carmilla leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled. "They possess world-changing power and influence. Not metaphorically, Angela. Literally. They have the resources, the intelligence networks, and the ruthlessness to reshape entire continents if they choose to."
"What does that have to do with me?" Angela's voice had an edge to it. She was tired of mysteries, tired of being told fragments of truth while the full picture remained hidden.
Carmilla studied her for a long moment. "Tell me do you know about the Nazis in the 1930s? Or World War Two?"
Angela frowned, searching her memory of history classes that had always felt incomplete, sanitized. "Nazis... that's Nazi Germany, right? They won the European War?" She paused, uncertainty creeping in. "And what's World War Two? Is that the same thing?"
"So you don't know." Carmilla's expression darkened, satisfaction mixing with something like anger. "Of course not. Of course they wouldn't teach you."
A robot servant entered silently, placing coffee cups in front of both women. Angela wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic, grateful for something tangible to hold onto.
Carmilla continued, her voice taking on the quality of someone reciting forbidden knowledge. "The Nazis existed from 1933 to 1945 over a century ago now. Their leader was Adolf Hitler. He believed in racial supremacy, in the purification of humanity through elimination of anyone deemed inferior. Jews, Romani, disabled people, political dissidents
millions murdered in industrial death camps."
Angela felt sick. "Why would anyone—"
"Ideology," Carmilla said simply. "A belief system so absolute that atrocity became not just acceptable but necessary. You can compare Hitler's Nazis to the Sinners in terms of ruthlessness and complete disregard for human life. Both believed that their goal justified any method."
"How do you know this?" Angela asked. "If it happened so long ago, and apparently they don't teach it now, how do you know?"
Carmilla's smile turned bitter. "Because I learned it from my grandfather and my father. They were part of the resistance during the 2040 European War. They saw the Sinners' methods firsthand the same tactics Hitler used, resurrected and refined. Mass manipulation, historical revision, systematic elimination of opposition."
She paused, letting Angela absorb the information. "After the Sinners consolidated power, they erased the historical records. They didn't want anyone making the comparison. Didn't want anyone recognizing the pattern."
"But if the Nazis fell in 1945, how could the Sinners use their methods in 2040?"
"History repeats itself, Angela. The Nazis fell, yes. But their ideology, their tactics those were documented, studied, refined by people who believed they could succeed where Hitler failed. The Sinners learned from those failures. They didn't make the same mistakes."
Angela's hands trembled slightly around the coffee cup. "What does this have to do with me?"
Carmilla's eyes locked onto hers. "Because the Sinners are coming for Eve."
Angela's eyes widened. "Eve? Why would they want her?"
"Because her Synthetic Soul can bring the Tree of Hope." Carmilla said it like it was obvious, inevitable.
Angela went completely silent. The words hung in the air between them Tree of Hope, the thing that mysterious figure had mentioned, the thing that had seemed like myth or metaphor. Her throat felt tight.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "The Tree of Hope... it's real? It's not a lie?"
"Of course it's real." Carmilla leaned back, taking a sip of her coffee. Then she recited the words like a prayer, or perhaps a curse:
"*To become a God in a chaotic world, you have three options to do so.
First, sacrifice your loved one for the world.
Second, sacrifice the world for your loved one.
Third, sacrifice both for yourself.*"
The words settled over Angela like a weight. She understood them intellectually, but their full meaning remained elusive, dancing just out of reach of comprehension.
Carmilla continued, her voice colder now. "The Sinners chose the third option. They've already proven it sacrificed millions in the 2040 European war, sacrificed their own humanity, sacrificed everything for the chance at godhood. But they need one more thing to complete the transformation."
"Eve," Angela whispered. "The Tree of Hope." She looked up at Carmilla, desperation creeping into her voice. "What do we do now?"
"We'll talk about it. Don't worry." Carmilla's smile returned, but it was different now
calculating. "Actually, I have a suggestion. You should go to Nazi Germany."
Angela blinked. "What? Why would I go there?"
"To learn about history firsthand. The Sinners control the historical records here, but there are still places and people who remember. S.O.W. has members embedded in the current German territories. They can show you what really happened, help you understand what the Sinners actually are." She paused. "Knowledge is a weapon, Angela. Right now, you're fighting blind."
Angela sighed, exhaustion and fear mixing into resigned acceptance. "Fine. If it helps me to get my body" Then said with quiet voice "And protect Eve, I'll go."
The door to the canteen opened. Eve entered, her movements slightly stiff from the recharge cycle she still hadn't fully adjusted to the way her body needed periodic energy renewal, the mechanical necessity that reminded her she wasn't entirely biological.
Her crimson eyes synthetic but somehow expressive scanned the room, taking in Angela's tense posture, Carmilla's calculating expression.
"What happened?" Eve asked, concern evident in her voice.
Angela turned to her, and something shifted in her expression. Resolve, perhaps. "Eve... what actually happened during the 2040 European War?"
Eve's expression grew somber. She moved to the table, sitting down carefully. Her memories of the war were secondhand downloaded data, historical files she'd accessed while serving the Veyron household. But the information felt real to her now, weighed with understanding she hadn't possessed when she first read those records.
"If I remember correctly," she began slowly, "the European War was one of the greatest conflicts in recorded history. Casualty estimates vary, but most sources agree at least twenty million people died." She paused, watching Angela's reaction. "The war lasted ten years 2040 to 2050. When it ended, the political landscape of Europe had completely changed. Nazi Germany rose to power in the aftermath, filling the vacuum left by collapsed governments."
"Twenty million," Angela repeated, the number almost incomprehensible.
"Some say it was orchestrated by a group no one knows anything about," Eve continued. "The official records attribute the war to political tensions, economic collapse, resource disputes. But there were always rumors of shadowy organizations pulling strings, manipulating conflicts for their own purposes." She looked at Carmilla. "S.O.W. was formed in response to the war. An international organization designed to monitor and prevent future large-scale conflicts."
She sighed then a learned gesture, emotional rather than functional. Her chest rose and fell even though she didn't technically need to breathe. It was a human affectation she'd adopted, like so many others, in her quest to understand what being alive truly meant.
Before anyone could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway. William appeared in the doorway, his posture tense despite his blindness.
"What now?" Carmilla asked, something dangerous entering her voice.
"A Sinner just arrived," William said simply. "He's requesting entry. Says he wants to talk."
Angela shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "What?! A Sinner?!" Fear and shock twisted her voice into something high-pitched, almost panicked. Her hands gripped the edge of the table. "Here? Now?"
Carmilla's smile widened, predatory and somehow pleased. "Invite him in."
"Are you insane?" Angela hissed. "You just told me these people—"
"I know exactly what they are," Carmilla interrupted calmly. "And I want to see which one has the audacity to walk into an S.O.W. facility." She stood, smoothing her clothes. "Besides, we're perfectly safe. He wouldn't come here to fight. He wants something. Let's find out what."
Eve remained seated, but her hands had curled into fists on the table. Every synthetic nerve in her body was firing warning signals, telling her to run, to hide, to protect Angela. But she forced herself to stay still, to wait.
Pranit entered with a gentle smile, his movements precise and graceful. He wore a simple chef's uniform white jacket, black pants looking for all the world like he'd just stepped out of a kitchen rather than into the headquarters of an organization dedicated to opposing everything he represented.
He sat at the table without being invited, folding his hands in front of him with the casual comfort of someone in their own home.
"Well, well, well." His voice was warm, almost friendly. "I suppose you're Carmilla from S.O.W."
Carmilla's dark laugh echoed through the room. "I suppose you're the Sinner Pranit."
"Also known as the Hollow Moon," he added pleasantly, as though introducing himself at a dinner party.
"Why 'Hollow Moon'?" Carmilla asked, genuine curiosity mixing with her wariness.
Pranit chuckled, a sound that seemed completely genuine. "Maybe it sounds cool, right? Mysterious. Ominous." He shrugged. "In truth, it's a title I earned within our organization. But the specifics..." He waved a hand dismissively. "Those are rather boring."
"Maybe."
A robot maid entered one of the facility's service units carrying a tray. It placed plates in front of each person: finely prepared meat dishes that looked and smelled expensive. Wine for the adults, juice for Angela.
Pranit smiled at Angela. "I insisted they bring you juice instead of wine. I don't approve of minors drinking."
"Shut up," Angela snapped, her fear manifesting as anger.
"Well, you're rude, aren't you?" His tone was amused rather than offended. "But I suppose fear does that to people. Makes them sharp, defensive." He picked up his fork. "Please, eat. It would be rude to refuse hospitality."
They began eating in tense silence. Eve found she couldn't taste the food one of her ongoing frustrations with her synthetic body. Angela pushed her food around her plate without really eating. Only Carmilla ate normally, her expression neutral.
After several minutes, Pranit spoke again, his voice still gentle, conversational.
"All of your food is poisoned."
Every fork froze. The silence became absolute.
"The fuck do you mean, poisoned?!" Angela nearly choked on the bite she'd just taken.
Carmilla's smile never wavered. She took another deliberate bite, chewed slowly, swallowed. "Tell the truth, Pranit."
He laughed genuine amusement this time. "Okay, you got me. There's no poison. I'm not quite that theatrical." He paused, letting them begin to relax. Then, almost as an afterthought: "It's human meat, though."
Angela made a strangled sound and immediately spit out what was in her mouth. Eve's eyes went impossibly wide, her entire body going rigid. Black oil rose in her throat
the synthetic equivalent of bile and she leaned over, vomiting onto the floor. The sound was awful, mechanical and organic at once.
"Human meat?" Eve whispered when she could speak, horror etched into every synthesized feature. Her mind reeled, processing and re-processing the information, trying to make it fit into her understanding of what human life was supposed to be. "Humans... eat themselves?"
The disposal robot flashed through her memory crushed, apologizing, dying for failure. The rocks Angela had thrown. The axe. The Pulse Regulator. Every cruelty she'd witnessed and experienced.
*Is this what human life is?* The question burned through her consciousness. *Is this what I wanted to understand? This... this consumption of each other?*
She hadn't expected this. Couldn't have imagined it. All her observations of humanity, all her desperate desire to understand what being alive truly meant it was supposed to lead to something beautiful, something meaningful. Not this. Never this.
Carmilla wiped her mouth calmly with a napkin. "It tastes like pork, doesn't it?"
Pranit nodded approvingly. "Perhaps it does. You have a refined palate, Carmilla. Most people can't identify it so readily." He looked at Eve's devastated expression with something that might have been sympathy. "You're learning, little robot. Humanity isn't what you thought it was. We're not noble. We're not pure. We're animals that learned to cook our food including each other, when it suits us."
Outside the facility, hidden in the shadows of an adjacent building, Florencia stood perfectly still. She'd arrived thirty minutes earlier, scoping out the facility, identifying entry points and vulnerabilities. Her target was inside the white-haired figure, the one the Scientist had sent her to eliminate.
She'd expected to wait hours. Maybe days. But then Pranit had entered, and she understood. This was a distraction. A setup.
She lit a cigarette, watching the facility through her scope. Enough talk. Enough games.
"Enough," she muttered to herself, pulling a small remote detonator from her pocket.
She'd planted the charges three hours ago, when the facility had changed guard shifts. Small explosives, but placed strategically. Enough to cause chaos. Enough to create an opening.
Florencia pressed the button.
Inside, Pranit was mid-sentence, saying something about the quality of the wine, when the world exploded.
The windows shattered inward. The floor buckled. Fire bloomed in the hallway, rolling toward them like a living thing. The sound was impossibly loud a physical force that threw everyone from their seats.
Angela screamed. Eve threw herself over Angela instinctively, shielding her with her synthetic body. Carmilla rolled under the table, already reaching for her weapon. William, blind but trained, flattened himself against the wall.
Pranit stood calmly in the center of the chaos, still holding his wine glass. Not a drop had spilled.
He smiled wider, looking genuinely delighted.
"Well," he said to no one in particular, his voice somehow audible over the roar of flame and collapsing architecture. "This just got interesting."