The elevator descended in absolute silence. Anton Marsol watched the red digits on the overhead screen as he sank into the bowels of the F.Y.D.: -66, -67, -68...
Upon reaching level -70, the last security filter activated. Under the panel, a metallic cylinder emerged with a hiss. Anton inserted his finger into the illuminated slot; he felt the microscopic prick of the needle extracting blood.
The doors opened with a pneumatic whisper.
"Welcome, Doctor Marsol, stay still a moment," said a woman in tactical uniform and completely white eyes. Anton felt the intense gaze scanning him up and down. They were X-ray vision eyes.
Anton limited himself to nodding and continued down the hallways, passing laboratories full of humming equipment, until reaching a large gray door. He took a deep breath before entering.
The room had lead-lined concrete walls and a faint electric hum in the air. In the center, a long rectangular table with a few chairs. At the back, only Dr. Marcos Baruj, a middle-aged man with curly hair and a thick grayish beard, was hunched over the table, leafing through several documents.
"Greetings, Dr. Baruj."
The man gave a start.
"Oh. Marsol," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Thanks for coming so fast."
"You sounded urgent," Anton took a seat next to him. "Is it about the Zone 7 thing?"
Baruj didn't look up from the papers.
"I suspect so. But let's wait for the others."
The F.Y.D. again... thought Anton, leaning back in the chair. Hopefully they aren't coming to look for culprits.
At that moment, four F.Y.D. agents entered the room, two of whom Anton knew. The first, known simply as Agent 1, was the current leader of the entire F.Y.D.: an elderly man, with gray hair slicked back, a prominent nose, and a gray suit without a tie. Beside him, Agent 21, whom Anton assumed was second in command, wore his characteristic black jacket over a shirt of the same color, which differentiated him from the rest.
Everyone in the room wore an inmo embedded in their temple; small metallic circles glowed with a faint flicker. Anton put his on "do not disturb" mode.
Someone was missing. Dr. Pelt Thatch, another 25-year-old collaborator. Redhead, kind, focused, and somewhat introverted. Baruj insisted on waiting for him, but after five minutes of uncomfortable silence, Agent 1 drummed his fingers on the table.
"Let's begin. Thatch will join when he arrives." His voice was grave and admitted no replies. "This meeting has two points: the incident in Zone 7 and... the unstable performance of Compound A."
Perfect... so it was complaints. Hopefully they talk about Compound T, thought Anton, crossing his arms.
"Yesterday's incident is worrying," continued Agent 1. "An attack in the forest of Zone 7. It is the first time a bear has come down so far from Zone 9."
"Did you find tracks?" asked Baruj, frowning. "A bear doesn't migrate that far without food. It is unlikely."
Agent 1 gestured to his subordinate. Agent 21 took the floor.
"We swept the forest. Zero tracks. Zero trace of the subject. We found a female bear with cubs on the border of Zone 7 and 9, but it is just a convenient hypothesis for the press. We need to know if our subject 'LOB-C' was there."
"And on the victim?" insisted Baruj.
"Yes. We found a slimy, transparent liquid."
"Slime," corrected Baruj.
"It was already sent for analysis... although I don't understand why it has taken so long," said Agent 21, consulting the notifications on his inmo.
"Excuse me," intervened Anton, raising his hand.
"Go ahead," replied Agent 1.
Everyone's eyes settled on him.
"Standard genetic analysis takes time, but in this case it will take longer. We hid the animal genes in subject LOB-C too well. The machines will take between two and three days to separate the human variant from the animal one."
"Shit..." muttered Agent 1. "That is too much time."
"Why didn't you bring the sample to us?" interrupted Baruj.
"We wanted to take the matter into our own hands, Doctor," answered Agent 21.
"It's nonsense, but fine," answered Baruj. "How do you plan to retain the subject? Or are you going to eliminate him?"
Agent 1 sighed, rubbing his temples.
"After the disaster with the LOB-C..."
"It wasn't a disaster," snapped Baruj, raising his voice. "The subject had unforeseen genetic variations that altered the effects of the compound, plus the AXO-A variant in the inmate was a success."
"Call it what you want, Doctor. The fact is it failed, the subject mutated and went out of control. We will use the stable subjects to capture him," said Agent 1 with a serious look.
"Good Lord..." exclaimed Baruj, leaning back in his seat. "That can be dangerous for the city."
"We have it under control. What we need from you is to know if there is a way to reverse that state of loss of control."
"It cannot be done. The compound is already linked to his genes. It is death or isolation," sentenced Baruj.
"Damn..."
"We could use a genetic cleaner," intervened Anton.
Silence returned to the room.
"A genetic cleaner?" asked Agent 1, narrowing his eyes.
"It is theoretical," Anton hastened to say. "It is designed to cure hereditary diseases. It could, in theory, purge the mutations of subject LOB-C and restore him to his human form."
"How much time do you need to develop it?"
"With my current equipment... five years."
"Why so long?" barked Agent 1. "You have almost unlimited budget."
"It isn't money, it is technology. The machinery I need doesn't exist. I have the blueprints, but I need to build them. That requires time and human hands."
"Then build it. Buy what you need. We want it ready in two years."
"I have a condition," said Anton, holding the gaze of the F.Y.D. leader. "The cleaner must be public. It must be available for civilian hospitals."
Agent 1 looked at him with disdain, but nodded.
"Fine. We have a deal," he replied, annoyed.
Anton smiled. I will be able to cure him, he thought, and hope warmed his chest for the first time in years.
In that instant, the gray doors opened with a crash.
It wasn't a discreet entrance. Dr. Pelt Thatch entered as if he owned the place, but something about him was... wrong. His red hair, always impeccable, was messy. He wore black leather gloves that clashed with his lab coat. And his smile. It wasn't his usual shy smile; it was a grimace of superiority.
Pelt is very weird, thought Anton.
Thatch dropped into an empty chair, spreading out with arrogance.
"What did I miss?" His tone was insolent.
Agent 1 suppressed a sigh of irritation.
"We were discussing how to avoid another LOB-C incident. Dr. Baruj insists there is no way to control the side effects if the subject has prior genetic defects."
"Not even some form of mind control?" intervened Agent 21.
"No, even after having administered the compound, they might suffer a loss of control over time," Dr. Baruj frowned.
"The compound is defective!" proclaimed Agent 1, tapping the table with his fingers.
"It is not! You pressured us to use it ahead of time!" replied Baruj.
"Yes it is, dammit, yes it is!" grunted Agent 1 while scratching his head, frustrated.
"We can control them," interrupted Thatch. His voice cut through the discussion like a knife.
"What?" Anton looked at his colleague.
"Mind control," repeated Thatch, looking at the ceiling as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Genetic manipulation linked to the cerebral cortex. We control their instincts. If they get out of control, we 'turn them off,' although of course, it is only my theory."
"Mind control," whispered Agent 21, smiling slowly.
"It is... theoretically possible," admitted Baruj, pensive. "We could consult a neurosurgeon."
"With this, would we have control of the following test subjects?" asked Agent 1.
"Yes, with this, if they go out of control they could be controlled," said Baruj.
"Then, let's carry it out. Consult and begin to develop it."
The agents started to gather their things, but Thatch hadn't finished.
"One question, boss," said Thatch, without standing up. "Compound A... was for super soldiers, right? None of that 'rescuers' stuff."
Agent 21 stopped, his hand near the holster.
"That does not concern you, Doctor."
"Leave him," said Agent 1, making a gesture of calm. "He is right, mainly they were for rescues. Then we saw the potential."
"Weapons of destruction," said Thatch.
"The world is a dangerous place, son. Sarac has enemies. Other countries envy us and fear us. They are developing their own monsters. We need better monsters. And with crime rising in San Cristov... we need to clean house."
"I understand," said Thatch. "Thanks for the honesty."
"Anything else?" asked Agent 1.
"Me." Anton raised his hand. He had to know. "What about Compound T? It could save thousands of lives right now. Why keep it a secret?"
"Because health is also a weapon, a weapon I will not give to my enemies, Marsol," said Agent 1, approaching him. "If we release Compound T, sooner or later they will have it. And there the war will begin. I don't want bloodshed, not again."
"But there are people dying..."
"And there will be more dead if we lose superiority." Agent 1 leaned over the table, looking Anton in the eyes. "Tell me, Doctor: What is better? Saving a few and condemning our own, or sacrificing a few to save the nation?"
After these words, the agents left, followed by a Thatch who didn't even look at Anton as he passed.
Anton remained alone, with the echo of those words bouncing off the lead walls. Saving a few by condemning our own... The F.Y.D.'s morality was a dark labyrinth.
The electric hum of the laboratory, previously barely perceptible, now seemed deafening. The lead-lined concrete walls oppressed him.
Sitting in the chair, with elbows on the table and head between his hands, Anton tried to process everything. Although he was strangely happy about the genetic cleaner deal, his own morality now felt like a heavy chain.
With a sigh, Anton reached out and deactivated the "do not disturb" mode of his inmo.
As soon as he did, the floating screen in front of him lit up with an urgent notification from his brother. His heart skipped a beat. Seconds later, his inmo vibrated again, this time with an emergency call.
Anton answered immediately, bringing the device to his ear. Only an unintelligible murmur was heard on the other side of the line, but Anton's expression transformed. His eyes opened disproportionately, color abandoned his face, and an uncontrollable trembling began to run through his hands. The words on the other side were confused, a mixture of medical jargon and a description of what seemed like a tragedy.
He lowered his hand, the inmo still vibrating weakly. His voice came out broken, barely a whisper, as if the words refused to form. The image of Joseph, climbing happily, crumbled.
"So... what happened to Joseph?" articulated Anton with a broken voice.