D-Animal
The metallic smell of blood still hung heavy in the air when Elara made a short, firm gesture with her hand, without hesitation.
— "Lúpus."
The single word was enough.
The white wolf responded in absolute silence, approaching the man stretched on the ground with an almost reverent precision. Unlike Fenrir or Kaiser, there was no urgency in his movements — only control. Every step was calculated, every adjustment of posture made it clear that this was not just strength… it was procedure.
With a soft click, almost too delicate for the brutal setting, two lateral plates along Lúpus's flank slid outward, opening like metallic petals. From within, two robotic arms extended, articulated, flexible, alive in their own mechanical logic.
One rotated slowly, emitting a low, constant whine as a thin needle emerged from its tip, gleaming in the filtered forest light. The other positioned itself above the stump of the torn leg, hovering in the air as if it were… thinking.
The man tried to move.
He couldn't.
His body responded with a weak spasm, the scream trapped in his throat, only a hoarse sound slipping between teeth stained with blood and saliva. His eyes rolled back, pure panic stamped into every tensed muscle.
The needle descended.
It pierced the flesh with surgical precision, and within seconds a powerful anesthetic began to circulate. The man gasped — not in pain, but in abrupt, confusing relief, almost offensive in the face of the terror still raging in his mind.
The sound of a pneumatic system activated.
Fshhh… fshhh…
The second arm wrapped around what remained of the leg, tightening with controlled firmness, forming a mechanical tourniquet that nearly stopped the flow of blood instantly. The ground, once soaked, now received only spaced droplets.
The needle retracted.
A third arm projected from Lúpus's flank, thicker, ending in a short tube. It positioned itself against the man's face, and with another soft click, a translucent mask formed, sealing nose and mouth.
The steady hum of an oxygen system filled the space, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.
The man cried.
Not from pain.
From forced survival.
Meanwhile, six more mechanical arms extended in sequence, each specialized. One held tissue, another manipulated exposed nerves with a delicacy impossible for human hands, a third applied a silvery sealant that reacted upon contact with living flesh, closing microfissures.
The smell changed.
Blood was still there, but now mixed with antiseptic, sterilized metal, and faint ozone — the familiar scent of advanced medical technology.
Lúpus worked like a surgeon who did not need to think.
Because he already knew.
Arteries were reconnected with conductive microfibers.
Nerves were stabilized, not restored — yet.
Flesh was sutured layer by layer, and finally a cold, smooth silver plate was pressed against the man's chest, releasing a wave of neuromuscular containment that prevented him from thrashing.
The body relaxed by force.
The crying faded into irregular sobs.
Elara remained still throughout the entire process, mismatched eyes attentive, receiving constant streams of information directly into the back of her mind. Biometric data. Chemical history. Cellular wear patterns.
She frowned slightly.
— "Hmpf…" — she muttered quietly. — "Long-term chemical dependency. Heavy stimulants… then depressants. Prolonged use."
Rafael cast her a quick look.
— "Addict?"
— "Was." — she corrected. — "Not anymore. But the body remembers."
Lucas swallowed hard, watching the man now motionless, breathing steadily, suspended between life and consequence.
— "Will he survive?"
Elara nodded once.
— "He will."
She paused briefly, her gaze dropping to the man's deplorable state.
— "Unfortunately."
The silence that followed was dense.
Kaiser remained a few meters back, unmoving, his core still pulsing with residual energy from the hunt. Cooling plates hissed softly, releasing cold vapor. Fenrir watched from the shadows, invisible to ordinary senses, but alert.
Lúpus slowly retracted his arms, each one disappearing back into his body with soft clicks, as if sealing compartments of a secret. The lateral plates closed, and the white wolf stepped back, positioning himself beside Elara.
Procedure complete.
The man opened his eyes.
They focused slowly, blurred, until they found Rafael's face crouched in front of him. Cold gaze. Tired. Absolutely devoid of empathy.
— "You have two options." — Rafael said, voice low, controlled. — "Talk… or wake up again without anesthesia."
The man tried to swallow. His throat failed. Only a groan escaped.
Elara crossed her arms.
— "Consider this your only chance to remain human."
She tilted her head slightly.
— "Because next time… we won't call Lúpus."
The wind passed between the trees.
And for the first time since he had entered that forest, the man understood something with absolute clarity:
He wasn't dealing with monsters.
He was dealing with people who had chosen not to be merciful.
And that…
was far worse.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating.
Elara looked first at Rafael, then at Lucas. Her mismatched eyes held no doubt — only decision. There was something she wanted to test, something that had been maturing long before that day, ever since she had learned that brute force was not always the most efficient path.
— "Lucas… go inside."
Her voice was firm, but gentle.
— "I'll stay." — he shot back immediately, stepping forward. — "I've seen worse today."
Elara shook her head.
— "No. This isn't for you."
She approached, placed her hands on her brother's shoulders, and gently pushed him toward the bunker entrance. — "Trust me. Go."
Lucas hesitated, green eyes full of conflict. Finally, he gave in. He walked inside, casting one last worried glance at Rafael before the door closed behind him with a heavy click.
Now, only three remained.
Elara.
Rafael.
And the broken man on the ground.
Rafael crossed his arms, attentive. There was no provocation in his gaze, only contained curiosity. He had seen torture. He had practiced it. But something in Elara's posture suggested this would be… different.
Fenrir and Lúpus stepped forward, standing side by side. Their eyes met for a brief second — and then it happened.
A metallic cable slid silently from the side of Fenrir's neck, thin, flexible, pulsing with bluish energy. From Lúpus's flank, a compatible port opened. The connection was perfect.
Click.
The motors of both D-Animals purred in unison. Not loud. Not aggressive. It was a stable, continuous sound, like a mechanical heart beating in two separate bodies.
Both sets of eyes locked onto the man on the ground.
Elara knelt.
From Lúpus's flank, cardiac connectors projected, still attached by thin cables. Elara took them carefully, lifted the man's filthy shirt — the stench of urine, old sweat, and feces made her stomach churn, but she didn't recoil.
With clinical precision, she placed the connectors on the man's chest. One on the left. One on the right. A third below the sternum.
— "Lúpus, monitors."
The white wolf's eyes glowed softly. In Elara's mind, graphs began to appear: heart rate, neural response, micro-variations of stress, adrenaline spikes.
Everything there. Exposed.
She placed her hand on the man's forehead, leaning close enough for him to feel her presence.
And then…
she smiled.
A sweet smile. Gentle. Almost maternal.
— "Breathe…" — she said softly, calmly. — "Everything will be fine if you cooperate."
The man swallowed, eyes wide. The anesthesia still numbed his body, but his mind was fully awake.
— "Let's start slowly, okay?"
Elara's voice was velvet-soft.
— "What's your name?"
The man opened his mouth.
— "M-Miguel…"
The graphs remained stable.
— "Very good, Miguel." — she praised, like speaking to a child. — "Who do you work for?"
— "I—"
His heartbeat spiked slightly.
Fenrir reacted.
A minimal electrical charge ran through the cable into Lúpus, who redirected it to the connectors. A weak, controlled shock — enough to cause immediate discomfort.
Miguel's body contracted with a dull groan.
— "Ah—!"
Elara tilted her head, concerned.
— "Hey, hey… that happens when you get nervous." — she explained gently. — "Try again. No rush."
Rafael felt a chill run down his spine.
This wasn't violence.
It was conditioning.
— "I-I work for… for an intermediary."
Heart rate stable.
— "Name?"
— "Silva. Code… K-19."
Elara nodded slightly.
— "Good boy."
She continued.
— "Are you with the FIS?"
Miguel hesitated. His heart raced.
Zzzzt.
Another shock. Slightly stronger.
— "Y-Yes! Yes! I'm with the FIS!" — he screamed, panic shattering any remaining resistance.
Rafael's eyes widened slightly. He had broken people with bones, blades, raw fear. But this… this was elegant. Cruel in an intelligent way.
He moved closer, crouching beside Elara.
— "Where's the post that sent you?" — he asked, voice deep, cold.
Miguel didn't even try to lie.
— "North Zone… mobile base… three blocks from the old hospital…"
Each answer came fast, desperate, honest. His brain had already learned the association: lying hurts.
Elara kept her hand on his forehead the entire time. Not as a threat. As an anchor.
— "Life story?" — she asked, almost in a whisper. — "Why did you take this job?"
Miguel cried.
— "Debt… hunger… I didn't want to—"
His heart rate rose, but not from lying. From trauma.
Elara raised her hand.
— "No shock."
Fenrir stopped immediately.
She sighed, her gaze hardening just a little.
— "Thank you, Miguel."
Rafael watched in absolute silence.
He had seen monsters.
He had been one.
But there, kneeling on the ground, using kindness as a weapon, Elara revealed something far more dangerous:
Control.
And for the first time, Rafael realized that the girl before him wasn't just strong.
She was terrifyingly prepared to survive the world they were building.