"We've isolated the parameters of the sterile field and are prepared to initiate contact with the subject," said a man clad head-to-toe in a pristine white biosuit. He addressed a tall, dark-skinned woman whose braided hair framed a face etched with cold detachment, her gaze fixed on the grotesque scene before her.
When she gave no response, the man tried again, his voice tinged with unease. "Commander Valda?"
The woman slowly turned her amber eyes toward him—eyes that burned with a harsh, quiet intensity. "Proceed. Breach the membrane and establish contact. I want a comprehensive report on her condition the moment your assessment is complete."
"Yes, Commander," the man replied, then turned and rejoined a cluster of similarly suited specialists, their movements methodical as they approached the translucent barrier.
The chamber was divided into two distinct zones. On one side, the sterile field—an enclosed, meticulously maintained quarantine designed to keep a dying woman barely tethered to life. On the other, a shadowed gallery—less a medical facility and more a morbid theater. It had clearly been constructed by the perpetrators as a voyeuristic display, a viewing box for the grotesque suffering that had been orchestrated within.
Commander Valda remained on the viewer's side, her long, black overcoat flowing down to her boots, the edge of a shield-shaped insignia glinting from beneath the lapel of her formal uniform. She stood as if carved from stone—silent, watchful, unflinching.
Flanking her were two subordinates. To her right was an older man with deeply lined skin and silver-threaded hair, his blue-collared uniform crisp despite the room's oppressive aura. He stood a full head shorter than the six-foot Commander.
On her left was a strikingly unusual woman with seafoam-blue hair and spiraling goat-like horns. Gills fluttered along the sides of her neck, shimmering with scales like polished opal, and bioluminescent fins emerged from her wrists and back like delicate wings. Her bright, horizontally slitted eyes flicked nervously across the scene, barely masking her discomfort.
The older man fidgeted with a glassy screen, clearly eager to avoid looking directly at the figure on the other side of the membrane.
Commander Valda broke the silence. "Lieutenant Barro. Has the tech team finished canvassing the building?"
The man startled, eyes snapping back to her. "Oh—uh, yes, Commander. I was just reviewing the report."
"Then let's hear it," she said, voice even but commanding.
"Yes, right… So, according to the scan, this room is saturated with some of the most sophisticated counter-espionage tech we've ever seen. Programmed insulation, multi-layered soundproofing, perceptual distortion fields, spatial phase blockers, energy dampeners… there's even a high-density psionic compression barrier—likely to prevent telepathic intrusion or psionic and kinetic phasing."
"To power all of that, they installed a low-tier QAF Reactor—"
The mutant woman cut him off with a sharp scoff. "You're listing this off like it's a damn shopping list. That's not tech, you just stroll into the South Ring and buy. Even central command doesn't have half this gear."
Barro bristled. "I'm reading the report, not appraising it. If your patience can't keep up, Captain, you're welcome to read it yourself."
"Watch it, you decrepit fuc—"
"Captain Nala." The Commander's voice cracked like a whip. The glare she leveled at the blue-haired woman was enough to still the room.
After a beat of tense silence, Valda continued, "Do we know who tipped us off?"
Captain Nala glanced at her own device and responded, "Yeah. Name's Jerry Quill. A journalist—well, more like a chronic eavesdropper. His ability lets him hear across entire districts. Naturally, he became a reporter. Imagine that."
The Commander narrowed her eyes. "Even with an ability like his, he shouldn't have been able to hear anything in here. Not through this level of suppression."
Barro spoke again. "Right. That's the interesting part. The QAF reactor ran out of power. The entire system was programmed to wipe all data and functions once the energy dropped below one percent."
Valda's expression turned grim. "So they anticipated discovery... or they wanted it."
A moment passed in contemplation. Then, "Provide the BVA with the report."
Barro nodded. "Already done. They've dispatched an agent."
"Good." Her tone was clipped. "I was told Sergeant Kael was one of the first on the scene, and that he brought a rookie. I want the rookie's file—and I want to speak to him."
Nala handed her the device with a flick of her wrist and gestured toward the corridor. "This way."
—
Steven sat in the back of an ambulance, his uniform stained and rumpled. A medic scanned him with a diagnostic visor, fingers brushing over his wrist.
"Vitals are stable. Minor energy depletion, but otherwise you're in good shape," the woman said, her voice kind. "Eat something, get some rest—you'll be fine."
"Thanks," Steven murmured, hopping down from the vehicle and heading toward Sergeant Kael, who stood in quiet conversation with another EMT.
Before he reached them, he caught sight of a tall, imposing woman in a dark coat moving toward him, flanked by the same blue-haired mutant he had glimpsed earlier.
Kael noticed and straightened. "Commander Valda. Captain Nala."
The Commander offered a nod. "Sergeant Kael. Officer Steven. You've had a long day, so I'll be brief."
Her gaze settled on Steven, measuring, unwavering. "I've read your file. Exceptional theoretical scores, near-perfect physicals. A natural sense for combat and instinctive decision-making. Impressive."
Steven stood straighter. "Thank you, Commander. I worked hard to be here—and I intend to keep proving myself."
"There is one detail I need clarified." Her eyes sharpened. "Both your statements say you were the first to detect the woman. Yet your BVA profile does not list a sensory or perception-type ability."
Steven hesitated only a moment. "It's something I only recently discovered, Commander. I hadn't identified the function until today."
She regarded him a moment longer, then nodded. "Noted. But you'll need to update your BVA records immediately. See to it."
"Yes, Commander."
"Good. You'll undergo a standard psychological debrief, but since you're one of Teresa's, I suggest you see her first."
Steven blinked. "You know Matron Teresa?"
Valda's tone shifted—just slightly. "We've crossed paths. Briefly."
Before he could ask further, she moved on. "You'll both report for the night shift tomorrow. Use the day to recover."
Just then, an officer jogged out from the building. "Commander, the doctor has completed his preliminary report. He's ready to brief you."
"Inform him I'll be with him shortly," she replied, then turned back to Kael and Steven.
"Sergeant, I expect your full report first thing tomorrow. Officer Steven"—her gaze lingered—"I expect great things from you."
With that, she turned and walked away, the Captain falling into step beside her.
Steven watched them disappear into the building before Kael nudged him. "Well, well. First day on the job, and you're already making impressions."
Steven looked at him, deadpan. "That's an ass I'd kiss any day."
Kael barked a laugh and leaned in with a conspiratorial smirk. "You know she can hear you, right?"
Steven's blood ran cold as he whipped his head around. But the Commander was already gone.
Kael doubled over laughing. "Relax. I'm just fucking with you. You should've seen your face."
Steven groaned. "And to think I'm stuck with you for the next six months."
"Come on," Kael chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Let's hit the station, get changed, and I'll drop you off."
The two walked off together in silence, the laughter lingering like a brief reprieve from the darkness behind them.
Back inside the building, Commander Valda had just arrived at the scene of the crime when a figure in a pristine white biosuit approached her, manipulating a sleek, glass-like device in his gloved hands.
His voice, filtered through the mask, trembled faintly with disbelief. "Commander, I have the report prepared."
Sensing his unease, she asked sharply, "What is it, Doctor Kane?"
He cleared his throat, his composure faltering. "We initially suspected this was the result of an ability backfire—or perhaps the targeted use of a Vestige on the victim. But…we've now confirmed that this wasn't caused by any ability at all."
Commander Valda's eyes narrowed. "You're telling me someone did all this... by hand?"
Her voice was calm, yet it radiated a chilling precision. Captain Nala, standing beside her, was less composed—rage pulsed just beneath her skin.
"Yes," The Doctor confirmed. "That's what the preliminary scans indicate. There are a number of critical findings I need to walk you through, but before that, you need a baseline understanding of what makes this situation... unnatural."
Valda nodded, silent.
"A normal human body, without direct mutations, functions as a tightly integrated system. Organs, tissues, blood vessels—everything depends on precise alignment and proximity to maintain life.
Take the brain, for instance. It requires a continuous, exact supply of oxygenated blood and electrical signals. Even a minor disruption can cause irreversible damage or death."
Captain Nala interjected, frowning. "So what you're saying is, this kind of procedure should be impossible?"
"Yes," The Doctor replied. "Even if the subject had mild to moderate enhancements to vitality, life force, or regeneration, it still wouldn't be survivable. The issue isn't just blood flow or oxygenation. It's the nervous system, metabolism, immune responses... all of it. The body would shut down long before completion. And that's ignoring the sheer brutality of the procedure itself."
"Then how is she still alive?" Valda asked.
"From our scans, she was likely paralyzed during the process. No anesthetics were used—possibly because they would have interfered with other administered substances or... for more sinister reasons." He hesitated before continuing. "They used advanced medical equipment to keep her alive during the operation. But her survival is largely due to her mutations. She possesses extraordinary regenerative capabilities and a vitality rating far beyond normal parameters.
I couldn't access her full file—her identity and ability classification are sealed under the Bureau's Violent Crimes Victim Protection Protocol—but based on the scans, I estimate her Vestige to be somewhere between Class 6 and Class 7."
Captain Nala's eyes widened. "Class seven?! That's restricted-level. We should've been informed of her presence! She shouldn't even be in the Undercity!"
"She's still alive. Can she be saved?" Commander Valda asked, voice unreadable.
"Yes. But there's a complication," The Doctor said gravely. "Most of her vitality, every ounce of her regenerative energy, is focused on maintaining a mass of tissue in her abdomen. If we don't remove it, she won't survive."
"Then why haven't we removed it already?" Valda demanded.
The doctor's voice became strained. "Because the scans have detected life within the mass. I believe... I believe it's her uterus."
Both the Commander and Captain stiffened. Nala's expression twisted in shock.
"Are you telling me that woman is pregnant? And the child—children—are still alive?!" Nala blurted.
"She's not carrying a child," The Doctor said slowly. "She's carrying twins."
"Fuck," Captain Nala cursed, raking a trembling hand through her bluish-green hair. The Commander remained silent, her amber eyes locked on the twisted remnants of humanity that lay on the table before them, her expression carved from ice.
"So what you're saying," Valda said slowly, "is that we can't save her without harming the children?"
"Yes. Her body is using every ounce of energy to keep them alive. Her regeneration is teetering on the edge of overdrive—if the children were removed carelessly, her Vestige would likely surge and kill her outright.
If we choose to save her, the children would almost certainly die—either from the trauma of separation or the backlash from her ability rebounding unchecked. However, saving the children is more straightforward. We'd extract them and place them in an artificial womb immediately. That's a low-risk procedure."
"And if we tried to save both?" Valda asked.
"It would be possible—but only with significant time and resources. And we don't have much of either. The power for her life support is running low—we have hours, not days."
Valda turned toward him slowly. "If this was so urgent, why are you only telling us now?"
The Doctor's voice dropped. "Because I needed you to understand what you're choosing between. Not just numbers, not just bodies—lives. And the consequences of choosing wrong."
Valda's gaze returned to the woman. Her breathing, shallow and mechanical, came from the ventilator connected to her mask. Her body was broken beyond recognition, yet it still clung stubbornly to life.
"So those are the choices," Valda said, voice heavy. "We either save the mother… or the children. Or lose them all."
"Yes, Commander," The Doctor said.
Valda turned to Nala. "When will the BVA agent arrive?"
The Captain blinked as if pulled from a trance. "They should be here... in an hour or two."
Valda didn't respond. Her stare remained fixed on the mutilated woman, calculating. Then the Doctor, gently, asked the question that lingered like a blade in the air.
"Commander Valda... do we save the mother—or do we save her children?"