"These primitives—" she gestured toward the glass partition where the captives huddled, their eyes wide and wild, "—might hold the answers we've been bleeding for. A cure. A way to reverse the infertility plaguing the men." Her voice dropped, the words laced with something raw, something almost like desperation. "Without that, survival is just a slow march to extinction. We'll die out, one barren generation at a time."
The silence that followed was suffocating. I could hear the hum of the ventilation system, the distant drip of water from a leaky pipe. Angela's fingers twitched at her side, the only sign of the storm raging beneath her ironclad control.
"We don't have time for hesitation," Angela said, her voice slicing through the quiet like a scalpel. The finality in her tone left no room for argument. "We need that cure. Now."
