Captain Sayid strode along the familiar marble-paved streets, his right hand instinctively resting on the revolver tucked inside his coat pocket.
Dressed in full naval regalia over a bulletproof vest, he knew that—if all went according to plan—the vest wouldn't be necessary. Still, there was comfort in its weight, a silent assurance of protection.
He stopped in front of the illuminated sign bearing the image of a crocodile, bold letters spelling out "Caiman Tavern." Two plainclothes soldiers flanked the entrance, their posture casual yet vigilant. As he approached, they acknowledged him with a brief nod.
Sayid returned the gesture before pushing open the door.
Inside, the bar was nearly deserted. The few remaining patrons lay slumped over their tables, lost to the embrace of sleep—or intoxication.
His target was among them.
Holland lay sprawled against the wall, boots propped up on a table, surrounded by empty bottles of wine.
Sayid stepped closer, casting his shadow over the man.
"You look like hell, Captain Holland."
"And you look like trouble, Captain Sayid." Holland replied without opening his eyes. Despite the overwhelming stench of alcohol, he wasn't drunk. "So tell me—what brings you here in full Egyptian naval dress, with a sidearm, and a dozen undercover agents tailing my every move? I'm dying to know."
"It's not my call." Sayid sighed. "It's an order."
"It's always 'an order' with you." Holland sat up, rubbing his temple. "What do you want?"
"We lost four submarines, Holland. Irretrievable losses. We now have only seven vessels left in our fleet." Sayid's voice was measured, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable. "You know as well as I do that we can't build new ones."
Holland exhaled, eyes narrowing. "You want the Washington."
"Our government is prepared to offer your crew relocation, housing, resources to help them start over—everything they need. In return, you hand over the Washington to us."
Holland rose to his feet, his expression unreadable.
"My crew just saved your damn city."
"And I'm saving yours," Sayid countered. "You blew up the dam beneath Giza. People will die when the dry season comes. I'm giving you an out—an option where none of you have to die. The Washington is one of the few remaining submarines still fit for military use. My superiors want us to announce that your crew perished at the hands of 'something' to avoid war with the United States. You get to walk away with new identities. A new life."
Holland's eyes darkened, his gaze hollow. "I'm not handing over my ship."
Silence settled between them.
Then, all around the bar, bodies stirred.
Men who had seemed unconscious just moments ago now sat upright, hands slipping into coats, reaching for concealed weapons.
"You're making this difficult," Sayid muttered, shaking his head. He had expected as much.
Holland grabbed a nearby bottle and smashed it against the counter, the jagged remains glinting in his grip.
Sayid turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, ignoring the growing tension behind him. "Restrain him." He murmured to the soldier standing at his left.
As the door swung shut behind him, the sounds of a brawl erupted within the bar.
A soldier at his right stepped closer. "Father."
Sayid glanced at the young man. "What is it, Safir?"
"We have an intruder." His son's voice was sharp with urgency. "The port guard reported unauthorized entry aboard the Washington."
Sayid frowned. "The crew's been alerted?"
"Unlikely. It's only two or three individuals."
That wasn't enough to be a full-scale response. Probably crew members retrieving forgotten belongings.
"And the target?"
"The girl is still in her quarters. Likely asleep."
Sayid checked his watch. "Retrieve her. Have her brought to me."
They were past negotiations.
It was time to seize the ship.
"Double the guards at the hotel. No one from the Washington gets in or out without clearance." He looked over the soldiers assembled before him. "The rest of you—follow me. We take the Washington tonight."
…
Sayid arrived at the docks, where his assault team was already assembled, clad in black urban camouflage.
"We've secured the first deck," Lieutenant Cortez reported, his voice steady and composed. "Awaiting orders to advance."
"Good work, Lieutenant." Sayid nodded. "Remember—no excessive force. If you encounter crew members, I want them removed from the vessel without harm."
Cortez scoffed, hoisting his cumbersome automatic rifle, the underslung shotgun giving it an almost grotesque bulk. "The Underricans slaughtered us in the Open Sea War." He spat onto the wooden planks beneath his feet.
"And we repaid them in New Hawaii." Sayid's voice was sharp. "Shut up about politics. Your job is to extract the crew safely. Tell them it's a final security sweep to check for remnants of 'something.' Their captain has already approved it. Understood?"
"Too many words, sir," Sergeant Yaden chimed in, locking a magazine into his sidearm while sliding a katana into its sheath with the other hand. "Anything else we should know?"
"Standard protocol. Your helmets are equipped with cameras and microphones. I'll be monitoring your visuals and communications from the command post outside the ship."
Sayid turned to the burly woman assembling a high-caliber sniper rifle. "Annie, you're on overwatch. Yaden takes one team. Cortez, another. Remember, this is an operation to secure the ship without force. No one is to fire a shot aboard that vessel. Understood? You're my best assault team, and once we sail this vessel back to New Cairo, this mission is done."
"This damn helmet's suffocating," Cortez grumbled as Yaden yanked the chin strap into place.
"It'll keep your dumb ass alive." Yaden snarled as he fastened the strap, keeping Cortez's head still.
Sayid let out a weary sigh. They were elite operators, the best he had. But professionalism? That was another matter entirely.
Annie approached, her sniper fully assembled. "Sir, I have a question. Didn't this crew just save our city?"
Sayid exhaled through his nose. "I don't like it any more than you do, but the government has made its decision. Our job is to follow orders. Any other concerns?"
Annie hesitated, then opened her mouth—closed it—and finally spoke again.
"If we aren't supposed to use force, why are we so heavily armed? Why bring in an assault team for a simple cleanup operation?"
Sayid admired her intuition.
"Let's hope you don't have to find out."
…
Sayid sat inside a repurposed warehouse near the docks, now functioning as a makeshift command center.
Monitors lined the walls, each linked to a control panel, displaying dimly lit feeds from the helmet cameras of his men.
"This is Cortez. I'm heading down to Deck Three." The voice crackled through the speakers. Sayid pressed the mic to his lips and gave his approval.
The submarine, bathed in darkness, was an eerie sight. "Cortez, locate the power source and get the lights on."
"Couldn't agree more, sir. A dead submarine in pitch black? Gives me the creeps." Yaden's voice chimed in, his camera feed showing him pacing through the crew quarters on Deck Four.
Sayid shifted his focus back to Cortez's feed. The camera trembled slightly as he descended the ladder.
"Cold as hell down here, boss."
"Engine rooms usually have coolant systems. That's normal."
"Coolant, my ass! This is a damn icebox! " Cortez grumbled. "Don't talk about something you don't know about, Yaden."
"You both shut up," Sayid cut in. "Yaden, regroup with Cortez. I see a connecting stairwell from Deck Four—take that and meet him at the engine room entrance."
Cortez's camera tilted toward a half-open pressure door. A faint glow seeped through the gap.
"Well, would you look at that. Someone's home." Cortez chuckled under his breath before pressing himself against the bulkhead beside the door.
"Cortez! Wait for backup before you move in!" Sayid nearly shouted into the mic.
"Relax, boss. Just a little recon."
Cortez leaned in, peeking through the sliver of an opening.
Sayid stiffened as the feed flickered, revealing what lay inside.
A lantern flickered dimly on the floor, illuminating a circular chamber lined with control panels. At the room's heart stood a monolith—its surface a pure, lightless black that swallowed all illumination. It looked like stone, polished to an unnerving smoothness, but the base was riddled with tubes and conduits, each one disappearing into its impenetrable mass.
Obelisk?
The old legends about the ancient technology aboard the Cleopatra—the pride of their navy—were something Sayid had heard whispers of before. Whether those tales held any truth, he never knew.
Yet now, standing before him, aboard a United States submarine, was undeniable proof of its existence.
Two figures stood before the black monolith, their voices rising in a heated argument that Sayid could barely make out.
"What exactly are you trying to do?" A man's voice, tense and disbelieving.
"If you don't believe me, then read the engineers' log yourself! They've been draining six liters of blood from this thing every single day!" A woman snapped back—a voice that struck Sayid as oddly familiar.
"Fine, I'll admit that Heisenberg wiped our memories. But what does this—this mysterious engine—have to do with saving Rain?"
That was when Sayid noticed the motionless figure on the floor. Squinting through the dim light, he confirmed it wasn't his primary target. It was a young man, his body wrapped in thick layers of bandages.
Through Cortez's feed, Sayid saw the girl—Sonia—pick up an IV tube. With a deliberate motion, she connected one end to the base of the obsidian-like stone at the room's center.
"Wait—what the hell are you doing!?" The man beside her recoiled in alarm as Sonia pressed the other end of the needle against the unconscious boy's wrist.
"You have to trust me."
As she spoke, a slow stream of crimson began to pulse through the tube, flowing from the monolith into the injured boy's veins.
"Orders, sir?" Cortez's voice crackled through the radio.
"Extract them. Now."
Cortez moved.
His camera jolted as he lunged into the room, weapon raised, aiming straight at the two.
"Don't move! Get down on the ground!"
The girl gasped in shock, while the boy, oddly enough, looked relieved.
"You guys got here just in time. My friend here was about to do something completely insane."
"You said you believed me!"
"Shut up!" Cortez growled in frustration. The two of them were ignoring his very existence. "I said get down. Now. Let my men take you out of here quietly."
Sayid exhaled as the two slowly complied, lowering themselves toward the ground just as Yaden's team appeared on the monitor.
"I've found the power controls. Flipping the lights on now."
A moment later, the entire room was bathed in stark illumination.
Cortez's eyes flicked to the bandaged figure sprawled on the floor. "And just what the hell were you two playing at?"
"She said she was going to give him blood through that rock."
"Shut up, Will." The girl—Sonia—glared at the boy. Then her sharp gaze turned on Cortez. "Who are you? I don't remember seeing you on this ship."
"We're military personnel from the Egyptian government," Yaden answered before Sayid had to. "Your captain authorized us to inspect the vessel for any lingering traces of 'the Entity'."
Sonia's expression darkened with suspicion. "Funny. The captain never mentioned anything about that to me."
"He must've forgotten." Yaden shrugged, stepping forward. "Come on. We'll take you to him."
Sayid watched as Sonia edged backward, the color draining from her face. "You're here to take the ship, aren't you?"
Smart girl. Too smart.
"If you don't want to die, Underrican, do as you're told and leave." Cortez raised his rifle again—
The screen flickered, darkening for a brief second before stabilizing.
Power surge?
"Relax. We're not here to hurt you," Yaden's voice filtered through the comms, though his steps halted abruptly. "What the hell is that?"
Cortez turned. Sayid saw it too.
The black stone in the center of the room was glowing.
A crimson light pulsed from deep within its smooth, impenetrable surface—flickering, dimming, flaring bright again in erratic succession.
Then the ship's lights cut out.
In the dim glow of the monolith, Sayid could barely discern what was happening through the soldier's helmet cameras. The comms filled with overlapping voices—shouts of confusion—then gunfire, firing blindly in the dark.
Then the power surged back on.
Sonia and the boy were gone.
"One of them fled the engine room," Yaden reported swiftly. "Annie's team has all exits locked down. Cortez's squad is pursuing. The other one is still hiding in here—I'll track them down."
"And the third?" Sayid asked.
Silence.
Then, as one, the helmet cams tilted down.
Where the bandaged boy should have been, there was nothing.
Only an abandoned IV tube and a trail of blood leading deeper into the ship.
…
"Judging from the blood trail, the bandaged boy was the one who fled the room. The other two never exited the engine chamber. There's a possibility that this room contains hidden mechanisms—some kind of concealed passage." Yaden summarized, his voice calm despite the growing tension. "Meanwhile, Cortez is tracking the runaway."
"Stay on guard. If that kid was the one who took down 'the Entity,' then assume he's an experienced seafarer." Sayid cautioned.
"Come on, Chief. He's just a kid." Cortez chuckled dismissively.
Sayid pinched the bridge of his nose. This operation was spiraling out of control. It should have been a simple task. Now they had fugitives, missing personnel, and an unpredictable variable loose on the ship.
That was when he noticed one of the helmet cameras had gone completely dark.
"Cortez, is your squad accounted for?"
He saw Cortez glance over his shoulder at the men following behind him. "Anyone missing?" he asked, still in a joking tone.
His men exchanged glances. Then one of them stiffened. "Looks like… Maath's gone, sir."
"That idiot." Cortez's voice shifted from amusement to irritation. "Sorry, Chief. The bastard likes sneaking off for bathroom breaks."
"Find him. Now. His camera's completely offline."
Cortez let out a frustrated sigh. "You heard the man. When we find Maath, you're all doing a hundred push-ups for losing track of your teammate."
The squad doubled back down the corridor. Sayid watched the camera feeds in absolute silence, his breath slow and steady.
Then they found him.
Maath's body lay sprawled at the base of the stairwell leading to the third-deck engine room.
His upper torso was still clutching the railing in a death grip.
His lower half was severed, lying meters away.
Between the two halves, his intestines stretched like rotting cables, spilling out in thick, glistening coils.
"That bastard was hiding behind the staircase, waiting to ambush Maath—the last one in line." Cortez snarled. "We split into two squads. The target could be on any deck by now. We'll clear from the top down simultaneously from both sides, pinning him in the center—then we kill him."
The plan was sound. Sayid had no objections.
"Chief, I think I've figured something out." Yaden's voice crackled through the comms. "Every control panel in this room is covered in dust—except one. A keypad. Someone's been using it recently. It could be the trigger for a hidden passage."
A secret door in an engine room? Odd. But then again, nothing about this submarine had been normal from the start.
Sayid had seen many engine rooms in his time—whether steam-powered or nuclear—but this? This was something else entirely. It was too clean, too still. There was no heat from machinery, no droning hum of turbines, no rhythmic clatter of pistons and gears.
And then there was that thing.
The obelisk.
A myth whispered in the halls of the Egyptian government—half history, half folklore. There was no doubt that the Cleopatra had existed, but it had been lost to the abyss before he was even born. Could the stories be true? Had it really possessed an engine that defied the laws of energy?
Yet here it was—installed in a submarine that did not belong to Egypt.
If this truly was an operational obelisk, then its rediscovery would change the world.
But his thoughts snapped back to what he had witnessed only moments ago.
He had confirmed their identities—Sonia Kasparov, communications officer. Will Warren, a military officer. And the third... Rain.
Three of the very people credited with slaying the mysterious Entity from the abyss and saving them all.
He had watched as Sonia inserted a tube—one connected to the obelisk—into Rain's arm.
But Rain was supposed to be unconscious, bedridden at the hotel. The doctor's report had confirmed he had no clear timeline for recovery.
And yet, within less than half an hour, that boy had risen, disappeared during the blackout... and killed one of his men.
What the hell had Sonia done?
A triumphant shout crackled through Yaden's feed.
"I got the hidden door open! Looks like a narrow passage, single-file. A prime spot for an ambush." He reported with his usual meticulousness.
He turned to his men standing behind him. "Max, Paddy—you two handle this."
"Ah, there it is—another job the sergeant doesn't want to do himself," Max grumbled as they both stepped past Yaden, disappearing into the shadowed passage. The darkness swallowed them whole within moments.
Sayid switched his focus to their helmet cams. The corridor was pitch black. Even with the mounted lights on their helmets, the beams barely cut through the suffocating dark.
"Stay alert. I don't care if it's just a kid." He reinforced the warning.
"You mean the bandaged one that took out Cortez's man? Yeah, sounds about as clumsy as his boss." Yaden quipped, earning a round of laughter from his squad.
"Shut the hell up, Yaden! I'll come kill you myself once I deal with this little shit!" Cortez barked back.
Sayid shifted his attention to Cortez's feed. His squad stood before the control room door. One soldier cautiously stepped forward, reaching for the handle.
And in an instant—he was gone.
A split second. No struggle. No scream. Just gone, yanked into the darkness beyond the threshold.
Gunfire erupted as the squad unleashed a hail of bullets into the doorway, but the metal walls sent rounds ricocheting wildly in every direction.
"I said no gunfire on the sub!" Sayid roared into his mic, barely restraining himself from crushing it in his grip. "This isn't a damn disposable warship!"
Cortez, cursing under his breath, lunged forward and kicked the door open.
A figure stood beyond the doorway.
The control room's backlights cast them in silhouette, their face obscured, body outlined in a stark, inky black.
Cortez's breath hitched. "Shit—"
He squeezed the trigger.
The underslung shotgun roared, and a body crumpled.
But it was his own man.
The missing soldier—the one who had been pulled inside. He had been propped up against a chair, his unconscious form carefully positioned to stand upright in the dim light.
A decoy.
A trap.
And Cortez had just executed one of his own.
Before Sayid could even bark a warning, Cortez's feed spiraled—spun violently—before slamming against the floor.
The last image his camera captured was his own body collapsing.
Headless.
A figure wrapped in bloodstained bandages emerged from the shadows behind the control room door.
They knelt, fingers closing around Cortez's fallen rifle— the assault weapon modified with an underslung shotgun.
"Target is in the control room! Target is armed! I repeat—TARGET IS ARMED!"
Sayid's voice cracked through the comms as he barked orders to the squad outside. The remaining soldiers didn't hesitate—rifles snapped up, boots pounded against metal floors as they stormed into the control room.
But by the time their barrels swept the room, the figure was gone.
A shadow disappearing into the stairwell at the far end of the chamber.
"They've moved to the fourth deck!" One of the three surviving members of Cortez's team reported, voice trembling. "Orders, sir?"
"Chase them, you damn cowards!" Sayid's patience frayed, his teeth clenched. "It's just a goddamn kid!"
A voice crackled through the radio—Yaden, stationed at the engine room. "You need backup, sir? Cortez… he's down, isn't he?"
"He's dead." Sayid exhaled, forcing himself to stay composed. "But you stay put. The other two are holed up down there. That bandaged brat will have to come back for them. Just watch your back."
Everything was still under control.
His men had the ship locked down—every exit, every corridor, every bulkhead. There was nowhere for the three of them to escape from the sub unnoticed. It was only a matter of time before they were flushed out.
And then—
"Uh… sir?"
Yaden's voice cut through the comms again, uncertain. "I've lost contact with Max and Paddy."
Sayid straightened, eyes snapping to their monitors.
The two soldiers were still in the hidden corridor. But they weren't moving.
No, that wasn't right. They were facing the wall.
Standing perfectly still, staring at the blank metal surface ahead of them.
Sayid's fingers tensed around his console.
"What the hell are you two doing?!"
Silence.
Then—
A sound.
A muffled, wet gurgle.
And then Paddy turned to face Max.
Sayid's breath hitched.
On Paddy's feed, Max's body was no longer his own.
Flesh.
A tumorous mass of grotesque, pulsating tissue had coiled around his limbs, engulfing his torso like a second skin. The corridor was infested with it— thick, writhing growths covering the floor, the walls, the ceiling.
The mass shivered, pulsed, expanded— tendrils swelling and creeping toward Max's mouth.
And it wasn't just flesh.
Teeth. Hair. Eyes.
A shifting, nightmarish amalgamation of human remnants woven into the living meat.
Max's wild, pleading gaze darted around in terror as the flesh coiled tighter, sealing around everything—everything except his head.
And then—it began to feed.
A swollen tendril pushed past his lips. His throat convulsed.
And that was why—
They hadn't answered the radio.
What in the name of God… is this?
Sayid had no idea how long he sat there, frozen.
The grotesque images from the screen were burned into his mind, lingering like an afterimage of something his soul refused to process.
Then, the door to the mobile command center swung open.
A soldier stepped in, his face tense. "From your son, sir."
He extended a radio.
Sayid took it, pressing down on the receiver. His fingers trembled.
"Report."
"Father… she's not in the room."
And then—another voice crackled through the radio, overlapping his son's transmission.
"Commander, we've got movement. There's a girl approaching the docks."
The radio slipped from Sayid's grip.
It hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling listlessly to the side.
"Sir?"
The soldier who had handed it to him eyed him in confusion.
Sayid didn't answer.
Truth be told—he had never agreed with the orders handed down to him by the government.
Holland was a capable captain, worthy of respect. His crew had risked their lives to save the people of this nation.
But Sayid had still followed through with this mission.
Because it was the only way.
The only way to stop that monster.
He still remembered—when he had carried Esther's bloodied body back to the hotel, he had seen it.
For the briefest moment, when her eyelids fluttered open—
Her eyes glowed amber.
And that was when the thought first struck him.
What if the creature hadn't lured her there to kill her?
What if it had used her—to survive?
And if that were the case—
What if a piece of it was now inside her instead?
The rational part of his mind told him it was absurd. That he had no concrete evidence—only a lingering suspicion. A shadow of doubt in his own memories.
But what if it was true?
What if that girl—
Was no longer human?
What kind of enemy would that be?
It would be far more terrifying than any monster they had ever faced.
The government's insistence on acquiring her was no coincidence. They wanted her alive—a test subject to be studied. She was the only known human to have been physically attacked by an abyssal beast and lived.
That was why Sayid had agreed to this operation.
Cruel as it seemed, if the girl was contained, she posed no threat to humanity.
The radio flared with static. Annie's voice rang through.
"Target confirmed—visual match!"
"Take the shot!"
Sayid didn't hesitate. Not for a second.
The distant crack of a sniper rifle echoed through the air.
For a moment, silence followed. But then—a new sound rose, filtering in from the radio. A noise overlapping the gunshot.
A scream? A voice? No—panic.
Sayid's eyes snapped to the monitors.
His breath hitched.
Cortez's remaining men lay sprawled in pools of their own blood. The last survivor cowered behind cover, his hands shaking violently as he fumbled to reload his weapon.
"Help… help… help…"
The man whispered the same word, over and over, like a prayer.
Finally—his trembling fingers locked the magazine into place.
He exhaled, straightening, raising his rifle—
He peeked from behind his cover.
And then—
A flash of light erupted from the darkness.
His monitor went black.
"Yaden! Cortez's squad is gone! The target is coming for you!"
Sayid's voice nearly broke.
Everything—everything was slipping through his grasp.
Outside, the gunfire had ceased.
When had it fallen silent?
He didn't know.
All he knew was that the air was too quiet.
"Annie… respond. Annie, report your status!"
He tried the comms, but deep down, he already knew the answer.
He didn't want to believe it.
He needed to hear it.
But the response didn't come from his radio.
A voice spoke from behind him.
"They're all dead."
Sayid shot up from his seat, spinning around.
Standing before him was Esther.
A girl dressed in a simple white shirt and shorts.
Her left eye was the only one open.
And it glowed amber.
"You must be the one who killed me."
Inside that golden luminescence—
There was nothing.
A void.
An abyss.
Sayid's hand lowered to his holster, his fingers loosening the strap securing his revolver.
"You're that 'thing,' aren't you?" His voice was steady. Cold. "What have you done with that girl?"
"She saved me," Esther tilted her head, voice utterly devoid of emotion. "So I helped her."
"Helped?" Sayid's grip tightened. "By murdering everyone?"
"She wanted to protect this ship. And you wanted to take it from her." Esther's stare didn't waver. Didn't blink. "So I helped her by eliminating you."
Sayid's breath came slow and even. "And what if I kill the rest of your friends on that ship? Would you still be fine with that?"
Esther said nothing. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the monitors behind him.
Sayid heard it then—
The sounds bleeding through the radio at his back.
Screams.
Gunfire.
The unmistakable tear of flesh rending under steel.
Then, silence.
A voice crackled through the comms—breathless, ragged.
"You're a damn good opponent... I've been wanting to cross swords with someone like you for a long time." It was Yeden's. "Let's settle this."
The clash of steel against steel rang through the speakers—
Then, nothing.
The radio fell deathly still.
Slowly—too slowly—Esther turned her amber gaze back to him.
Sayid drew his gun.
Aimed it at her head.
"You want to talk to your son one last time?" She tilted her head. Paid no attention to gun pointed at her. "Go ahead."
Sayid licked his lips.
He reached down and picked up the fallen radio.
"Commander! Commander, respond!" His son's voice—panicked, desperate—filled the static. "We're heading to the docks now, Father!"
"Don't come here." His own words felt distant. Detached. "Live a good life. Forget this wretched ship."
A pause.
"I love you, son."
Then, he let the radio fall from his fingers. His revolver was still aimed at the girl before him.
Then—Esther whistled.
A continuous note, rising and falling in an unnatural, tuneless rhythm.
Sayid's hand moved.
Higher.
Higher.
Until the barrel was pressed beneath his own chin.
And then—
His thumb pulled the trigger.
…
I stepped over the lifeless bodies of my enemies.
Though I had yet to fully master this body, I had at least gained control over the fundamental movements of their kind.
Not only that, I had learned their language.
Their speech.
Their accents.
Even the way their tongues curled to shape their words.
Through the memories of past prey, I had acquired a wealth of knowledge—
Knowledge I now found essential for this moment.
I had long been fascinated by this species, even before my death.
They were rare among sentient life, possessing an intelligence that towered above most others.
But that was not what had intrigued me about them in the first place.
What fascinated me about humans… was their individuality.
No two of them ever responded to the same situation in the same way.
Even when faced with identical stimuli, they displayed an array of behaviors, emotions, and reactions that defied pattern.
It compelled me.
I wanted to observe them further.
To experiment with their choices, their instincts—
To study the endless variations of their free will.
Perhaps it was that very curiosity that led me to him.
In my final experiment, I encountered a human unlike any other.
He stood before me, facing certain death.
He fought, not for his own survival—
But to protect another human.
A girl.
The same girl whose body I now inhabited.
And despite the odds, he defeated me.
I turned toward the monitor, where the enemy's cameras fed me the last moments of their fallen men.
And there he was.
Wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, sword in hand—
Standing amidst the ruin of corpses he had cut down.
My fingers lifted, pressing against the screen.
Something in this body's instincts compelled me to trace my fingertips over his image.
Longing.
A quiet need.
Before I realized it, my lips had curled upward—
A human expression.
Satisfaction.
But it was not just a mimicry.
I felt it.
I meant it.
Just as she had once said—
"When the moment you've sought for a lifetime finally stands before you… Even if it costs you your life—
You won't regret it."
I won't regret it.