02:00 PM | N.P.U. Headquarters, Briefing Room
The briefing room had the particular ambiance of a place where hope went to fill out paperwork in triplicate before dying quietly in a filing cabinet. Fluorescent lights hummed their monotonous dirge overhead, casting everyone in the kind of unflattering white that made even the innocent look guilty.
Elias spread three manila folders across the table with the ceremonial gravity of a priest distributing last rites.
"Three names left from Marcus's journal," he said, tapping each folder like a judge passing sentence. "Dr. Sarah Chen. Miguel Santos. Yuki Tanaka."
Adrian leaned forward, already doing the mental calculus that came with choosing which thread to pull in a conspiracy that might unravel them all.
Dr. Sarah Chen: Virologist. So deep in Nexo's executive hierarchy she probably had her own personal circle of hell. Constant surveillance, building security that would make Fort Knox look quaint, personal detail, encrypted communications. Risk assessment: suicide with extra steps.
Miguel Santos: Maintenance supervisor with access to every building on campus. Undocumented, which meant Nexo had him by the throat without even squeezing. Terrified of deportation, wouldn't talk even with witness protection guarantees and a lifetime supply of hope. Risk assessment: high, with a side of humanitarian crisis.
Yuki Tanaka: Data analyst. Marcus Varias's friend, mentioned in his journal with the kind of frequency that suggested actual human connection, a rare commodity in their line of work. Still employed at Nexo, which meant either very brave or very oblivious. Lived alone in Metro City's neutral zone. No family, no security detail, no idea she was likely already on a list. Risk assessment: moderate. Emotional leverage via Marcus connection.
Adrian's finger stopped on Yuki's file. "Tanaka. She knew Marcus personally. That matters."
"Agreed." Aveline's response came with the speed of someone who'd already run the scenarios and was merely waiting for everyone else to catch up.
"Emotional connection creates motivation. Chen's surveillance makes her suboptimal. Santos's immigration status creates compliance barriers that exceed our resource allocation."
Elias frowned, which was his resting state but somehow looked more pronounced. "She's still employed. If Nexo traces her connection"
"They will eventually," Aveline interrupted with the casual certainty of someone announcing the weather. "Timeline favors immediate contact. Probability of discovery increases exponentially with each day. Current window: optimal."
Adrian looked at Elias. "We move now. Before they realize Marcus wrote her name in a journal that might as well have been his suicide note."
Elias hesitated, mouth opening for what was undoubtedly going to be a very reasonable objection. "Fine. But if this goes sideways"
"It won't," Aveline said.
The confidence in those two syllables could have powered a small city or possibly started a cult.
02:47 PM | Yuki Tanaka's Apartment, Metro City
The building was modest but maintained, the kind of place where people lived actual lives instead of merely existing between catastrophes. Fourth floor. Clean carpet that had seen better decades but was trying its best. Soft lighting that almost made you forget the world outside was a nightmare wrapped in corporate letterhead.
Aveline scanned the hallway with the clinical precision of someone cataloging a crime scene before the crime had technically happened.
"No external surveillance. Building security minimal. Egress routes: three. Optimal for extraction if necessary."
Adrian glanced at her. "We're not extracting her. We're asking."
Aveline tilted her head with the curious precision of a surgeon contemplating an interesting incision. "Semantics."
They stopped outside Apartment 412. Adrian knocked gently, the kind of knock that said I'm dangerous but I'm trying not to be.
"Ms. Tanaka? My name is Adrian Cole. Nemesis Protocol Unit. I knew Marcus Varias." He paused, letting the name land. "I need to speak with you about him."
Silence.
Then a voice, muffled and trembling like a violin string pulled too tight: "Marcus is dead."
"I know." Adrian's voice dropped, soft as a confession. "I was there. I tried to help him. That's why I'm here. To finish what he started."
Long silence. The kind where you could hear someone's entire world recalibrating behind a door.
Then: click.
One lock.
Click.
Two.
Click.
Three.
The door opened like a held breath finally released.
Yuki Tanaka stood in the doorway, backlit by the warm glow of a life not yet destroyed. Petite, black hair in a messy bun held together by what looked like optimism and a single hair tie, glasses slightly askew, oversized sweater and leggings, the uniform of someone who'd stopped pretending the world made sense. Eyes red-rimmed from crying.
She looked at Adrian with the kind of recognition that hurt. "You're him. The agent Marcus talked about."
"He mentioned me?" Adrian felt something twist in his chest.
Yuki nodded. "He said you were stubborn. Wouldn't quit even when you should." A ghost of a smile. "He said you were either going to save the world or die trying, and he wasn't sure which one was stupider."
She stepped aside, gesturing them in with the resignation of someone who'd already accepted the inevitable.
The apartment was small but lived in, actual books on shelves, plants that were mostly alive, a laptop on the coffee table surrounded by work files like a fortress of responsibility. A mug of cold coffee sat abandoned, a monument to a morning that had started normally.
But the photos stopped Adrian cold.
Yuki and Marcus. Office party, both laughing at something off-camera. Hiking trip, Marcus mid-eye-roll at something Yuki was saying. Lunch at what looked like a terrible food truck, both grinning like idiots.
They had been friends. Real ones.
Yuki followed his gaze, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "We were close. He was good. One of the only good people left in that place." She swallowed hard. "Maybe the only one."
Adrian gestured to the couch. Aveline remained standing, because of course she did, cataloging everything with the quiet intensity of someone running database queries in her head.
Adrian explained it all, the illegal human experimentation, the bodies stacking up like cordwood, the need for witness testimony, evidence collection, someone willing to stand up and say this happened and it was wrong.
"We need someone still inside," he said carefully. "Someone who knew Marcus. Someone who understands what he died trying to expose."
Yuki was already shaking her head. "No. I can't"
"I understand it's dangerous," Adrian began.
"Dangerous?" Yuki's laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "Marcus testified and they killed him. Dursley tried to help and" She stopped, eyes finding Adrian's. "He's dead too, isn't he?"
"Yes," Adrian said quietly, because lies were useless at this point.
"Everyone who talks to you dies," she whispered, and it wasn't an accusation. Just an observation. A fact presented for the record.
Aveline stepped forward, and Adrian felt his stomach drop because he knew that tone.
"Emotional response understandable." Aveline's voice was flat as a heart monitor after the patient had left. "Also irrational."
Yuki looked at her like she'd just announced the earth was flat and had charts to prove it. "Excuse me?"
"You're already a target. Marcus documented your name. Nexo will trace connections eventually. Survival probability decreases daily regardless of cooperation."
Aveline paused, and Adrian wondered if she was accessing empathy protocols or just buffering. "Testifying doesn't change your risk profile. It changes whether your death serves a purpose."
The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.
Yuki stared at Aveline, face pale. "You're saying I'm already dead."
"Probability analysis suggests yes," Aveline confirmed with the casual certainty of someone reading a weather forecast.
"Current survival timeline without intervention: two to six weeks. With testimony and protective measures: variable, but higher utility output."
Yuki turned to Adrian, eyes wide. "Is she always like this?"
"Unfortunately," Adrian said with the weariness of a man who'd had this conversation before. "Think of her as brutally honest crossed with a particularly grim actuarial table."
Aveline tilted her head. "Accuracy is kindness. False comfort merely delays inevitable emotional processing."
"Jesus Christ," Yuki muttered.
She sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, staring at nothing. Adrian watched her face, the fear, the grief, the anger cycling through like seasons. Then something shifted. Something hardened.
"Marcus believed in you," she said finally, looking at Adrian with the kind of resolve that came from having nothing left to lose. "He died believing you could stop them. So I'll do it." Her jaw set. "For him."
Adrian set up the camera and audio equipment with practiced efficiency. Aveline monitored encryption protocols, fingers moving across her tablet like a concert pianist playing a particularly ominous sonata.
Yuki sat on the couch, small, fragile, brave in the way that only truly terrified people could be.
"Whenever you're ready," Adrian said softly.
Yuki took a breath like a diver going under. "Okay."
Yuki's Testimony
Her voice shook at first, then steadied into something harder.
Human test subjects confirmed: janitors, disposal workers, low-level staff. The invisible people. The ones no one would miss until it was far too late. Abducted from night shifts, logged out in the system, never seen again. Families told they'd quit, moved, disappeared of their own accord.
Serum VX-1.089: yellowish-green, viscous, injected directly into the brainstem. Violent mutations within minutes. Organ failure within hours. Fatality rate: 99.7 percent. The survivors, and Yuki's voice cracked here, the survivors wished they'd died.
Executives involved: Serena Kovacs (CEO), James Vale (CFO), Damien D'Aramond (Head of R&D), Cassian Rhein (Legal Counsel). All aware. All complicit. All sleeping just fine at night, presumably on mattresses stuffed with blood money.
Mass distribution imminent: police departments, federal agencies, private security firms. Timeline: two to three weeks before rollout. They were calling it a "performance enhancement package." Marketing had gotten creative.
"Here's the part that'll really make your day," Yuki said, voice hollow. "The buyers don't know about the failure rate. Police departments think they're getting a super-soldier serum. Something to make their officers stronger, faster. Nexo's telling them it's been extensively tested." She laughed, bitter as burned coffee. "997 out of 1000 die screaming. But sure. Extensively tested."
Adrian's blood ran cold. "If that hits the streets"
"It's not if," Yuki interrupted. "It's when. Unless you stop them. That's the only variable left."
Encrypted File Transfer
Yuki's fingers flew across her laptop, pulling files, copying directories, creating a digital paper trail that would either save lives or get her killed. Probably both.
Files transferred through seven proxy servers, encrypted six ways to Sunday, bouncing through enough international servers to confuse three intelligence agencies and a particularly motivated hacker.
Aveline watched the progress bar with the intensity of someone watching a bomb timer. "Transfer complete. Data integrity: confirmed. Encryption: adequate." No acknowledgment. No thank you. Just facts.
Adrian made a mental note to thank her later. He'd been making a lot of those notes lately. The list was getting concerningly long.
Adrian looked at Yuki, who looked about ten years older than she had an hour ago. "Stay inside. Don't go to work tomorrow. We'll have protective custody arranged by tonight."
"How do I know you can protect me?" she asked, and it wasn't accusatory. Just tired.
"I can't guarantee it." Adrian met her eyes. "But I'll die trying."
Yuki studied his face, looking for the lie, finding only exhaustion and determination in equal measure. "Marcus said you were reckless."
"He wasn't wrong," Adrian said bitterly.
Hallway
The door closed behind them with the finality of a coffin lid. Adrian exhaled, long and slow.
"We move her tonight. Safe house. Full security detail."
"Agreed," Aveline said, already three steps ahead in the hallway. "Nexo's response time: six to twelve hours once they detect data access. Estimate six hours for planning, four for tactical caution, two for human unpredictability variables."
Adrian caught up to her, which felt metaphorical. "Could you try to be reassuring? Just once?"
Aveline blinked, processing this request like it was written in a foreign language. "Why provide false comfort? Counterproductive to operational efficiency and long-term trust metrics."
"Never mind."
Elevator
They descended in silence, the kind that felt heavy, weighted with implications and unspoken concerns. Adrian broke it because someone had to.
"You really don't feel anything, do you? When you told Yuki she was already dead?"
Aveline considered this with the careful attention of someone examining an interesting specimen. Her head tilted fractionally. "I feel satisfied when accurate assessments lead to optimal outcomes. She agreed to testify. The objective was achieved. That's... pleasing."
"She's up there crying. Terrified. Mourning Marcus and her own probable death."
"Yes. Emotional state was evident. Pupil dilation, respiratory rate, vocal tremor, all indicated significant distress." Aveline said this like she was reading a weather report. "But emotions don't change probability matrices. Her fear doesn't make her less dead. Her agreement doesn't make her more dead. The variables remain constant regardless of feelings."
Adrian stared at her, really looked at her, this woman who wore humanity like a perfectly tailored suit. "You're terrifying. You know that?"
Aveline tilted her head, genuine curiosity flickering across features that moved just slightly wrong, like an animation rendered at 59 frames per second instead of 60. "Is that observation or criticism?"
"Both."
"Acknowledged." A pause. "For the record, humans frequently mistake emotional suppression for emotional absence. I do feel. I simply prioritize operational utility over emotional expression. It's more... efficient."
"That's somehow worse."
"How interesting," Aveline said, and sounded like she meant it.
The elevator doors opened. They walked to the car in silence, Adrian processing, Aveline presumably running calculations, both preparing for whatever came next.
En Route to North Metro Safe House
City lights blurred past the windows in streaks of neon and sodium vapor, signs advertising lives being lived by people who didn't know how close they were to catastrophe. Didn't know that somewhere in a corporate tower, someone had decided their lives were worth less than quarterly profits.
Adrian's hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only solid thing in a tilting world.
"We'll move Yuki tonight. You and I, rotating shifts until we can get her to federal witness protection."
"Inefficient use of primary operatives," Aveline replied, because of course she did. "Should delegate to security detail. Optimal resource allocation suggests"
"She agreed because I asked," Adrian interrupted. "I'm not handing her off to strangers with badges. She deserves better than becoming another file number."
Aveline processed this, and Adrian could almost hear the whirring of whatever passed for her conscience. "Emotional obligation. Suboptimal for operational efficiency but..." She paused. "I'll comply."
Adrian glanced at her, surprised. "Thanks. I think."
"Compliance isn't gratitude. It's tactical flexibility." Aveline looked out the window. "Also, your emotional state impacts performance metrics. Protecting you from guilt-induced cognitive impairment serves operational interests."
"You have such a gift for making caring sound like a cost-benefit analysis."
"Thank you," Aveline said, missing or possibly ignoring the sarcasm. "I practice."
Adrian almost laughed. Almost. But the sound died in his throat because ahead of them, somewhere in the darkness, Nexo was moving pieces on a board they couldn't see. And they were running out of time.
Two witnesses dead. One still alive.
For now.
The city lights streamed past, indifferent and beautiful, and Adrian drove faster.