"Remember to fight your instincts, alright?" Yve said.
Jenkins stood beside her, bare feet shifting nervously against the smooth floor. "Well…" He gave a strained breath. "Am I gonna have a tail?"
Yve glanced at him and gave a small shrug. "One problem at a time, Doc."
Jenkins blinked, raising his hands in the air. "Alright sorry."
Despite herself, Yve smiled faintly.
He looked toward the sealed chamber doors, then back at her. "Can I even survive the pressure?"
"You can't yet," Yve said honestly. "But once we condition your body, you'll be able to."
Jenkins nodded slowly. "Alright." He began jogging in place, shaking out his arms and forcing himself to breathe. "Okay. Okay. I'm ready."
Yve stepped to the control panel and pressed a sequence of glowing symbols.
A low hum filled the room. Water began pouring into the chamber in a smooth, controlled stream. It rose around their ankles. Their calves.
When it reached just above their knees, Yve stopped the flow. She turned to him. "How does it feel?"
Jenkins frowned. He shifted his feet experimentally. "I… kind of feel it and kind of don't."
He slid one foot forward through the water.
The motion was effortless.
His eyes widened. "No, seriously." He looked at her, incredulous. "It feels like air."
Yve tilted her head. "Water has always felt that way."
"I know what water feels like," Jenkins said, almost laughing. "I spent my entire life avoiding drowning in it." He swept his leg through the water again. There was almost no resistance. "Do you see this? There's practically no drag."
Yve folded her arms. "Jenkins, I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about."
He stared at her for a moment, then let out a breath. "Damn!." He immediately winced. "Sorry. Damn!."
Yve laughed softly.
Jenkins looked down at his reflection in the water. He grimaced. "When is my hair gonna grow back? I really don't like being bald."
Yve bit back another smile. "Well, considering you just shed every strand on your body yesterday, I'd say give it a few days. Maybe a few weeks."
Jenkins groaned. "Fantastic. Well its better than constantly vomiting black goo."
Yve stepped closer. "Alright. Let's start." She clasped her hands together and slowly lowered herself into a kneeling position, shoulders relaxed, breathing deep and steady. "In through your nose," she said softly. "Out through your mouth."
Jenkins mirrored her movements. Awkwardly at first, then more steadily.
The water lapped gently around them as they knelt face to face in the quiet chamber.
Jenkins closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. For the first time since waking up, his shoulders loosened.
Yve watched him carefully. "Good," she murmured. "Just breathe." Yve kept her voice soft and steady. "Now lower yourself slowly. Hold your breathing pattern. Don't change anything once you're under."
Jenkins nodded, though the tension in his jaw made it clear he was far from calm.
Yve placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Easy. Follow the rhythm."
Together, they sank. The water rose over his chest. His neck. His chin.
Then, at last, his head slipped beneath the surface.
For a few seconds, everything was still.
Jenkins remained, eyes closed, body steady.
Then instinct took over.
His eyes flew open. Panic detonated. He jerked upward violently, water exploding around him as he shot to the surface, gasping.
Air tore into his lungs in ragged bursts.
His eyes were wide, almost wild.
Yve moved to him immediately. "Doc. You okay?"
Jenkins braced his hands on his knees, breathing hard. "I'm sorry," he said between breaths. "I just—" He swallowed. "For a second, I felt like I was drowning."
Yve nodded. "That's normal." She waited until his breathing slowed enough for him to focus on her. "That's your human instinct. Millions of years telling you that being underwater means death."
Jenkins let out a shaky laugh. "Good to know my body didn't get the memo."
Yve smiled faintly. "But your body can survive down here now. You have to convince your mind of that."
Jenkins wiped water from his face. "Do we really have to do this?"
"Yes, Doc." Her voice was gentle, but firm. "You do."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he inhaled deeply.
Held it. Exhaled. Again.
His shoulders loosened by a fraction. "Okay," he muttered, forcing a thin smile. "Cool."
Yve squeezed his shoulder. "We'll try again."
Jenkins nodded, still nervous, but no longer resisting. "Alright."
They tried again.
And again.
And again.
Each attempt ended the same way.
Jenkins would lower himself beneath the surface, hold steady for a few seconds, and then his instincts would seize control. His body would jerk upward as if dragged by some ancient survival reflex, bursting through the water in a frenzy of splashing and panicked breaths.
Every time, Yve was there. Every time, she reset him.
"Slow your breathing."
"Relax your shoulders."
"Don't think about drowning."
"Trust your body."
It was easier said than done.
On the eight attempt, Jenkins shot upward so abruptly that the top of his head collided with Yve's.
The crack echoed through the chamber.
"Ow!" Yve recoiled, clutching her forehead.
Jenkins surfaced, horrified. "Oh my God. Yve, I'm so sorry."
She rubbed the sore spot and glared at him for half a second before exhaling. "I'm fine."
Jenkins winced. "I headbutted a siren."
"Yes."
"And lost."
"Obviously."
That earned a weak laugh from him.
Several attempts later, Jenkins surfaced again, coughing and frustrated. "Maybe," he said, panting, "maybe we should start with a bowl."
Yve blinked. "A bowl?"
"Yeah. A large one." He gestured vaguely. "I put my face in it, prove to my brain that I won't die, and then we work our way up from there."
Yve stared at him for a moment. Then she sighed. "Doc, you are literally submerged in a room designed for this purpose. This is your big bowl."
Jenkins threw up his hands. "And my brain still thinks I'm committing suicide."
That was difficult to argue with.
So they kept going.
Again.
And again.
Each failure chipped away at Jenkins' confidence, but he kept trying.
And though Yve's patience was clearly thinning—her sighs growing heavier, her instructions a touch sharper—she never once told him to stop.
Because beneath the irritation was understanding.
He was trying to override an entire lifetime of instinct. And for all his fear, he kept coming back under the water.
By the end of the session, Jenkins surfaced once more, breathing hard, hairless head gleaming under the chamber lights.
Yve crossed her arms.
Jenkins looked at her, exhausted. "On a scale of one to ten," he said, "how disappointing am I?"
Yve fought a smile. "About a six."
Jenkins groaned. "That's worse than I expected."
Yve stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. "For what it's worth," she said softly, "you're doing better than I thought you would."
Jenkins looked at her. "Really?"
Yve nodded. "Your body already knows how to survive." She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Now we just have to convince your brain."
Jenkins braced his hands on his knees, chest rising and falling with each breath. "Let's… try this again tomorrow." His voice was strained, but steadier than before.
Yve studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright." There was no disappointment in her tone—only practical concern. "I wouldn't want to push your body too hard on the first day."
Jenkins let out a tired breath of relief. "Thank God."
That earned a faint smile from her. Yve stepped over to the control panel and pressed a series of symbols.
The water began to recede, draining from the chamber in a smooth spiral until the floor was left slick and glistening.
When the last of it disappeared, Jenkins sank down onto the edge of the platform, utterly spent.
Yve turned back to him. "I'll bring you something to eat."
Jenkins looked up, still breathing heavily. "Okay."
Yve walked to the door, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Stay here."
Jenkins managed a weak smile. "Trust me. I don't think I can move."
Yve gave a small nod and stepped out, the chamber doors sliding shut behind her.
~~~
The group gathered around the long table in the manor's dining room.
At its center lay a hand-drawn map of the factory compound, sketched from memory by Dylan. Guard towers, fences, storage buildings, patrol routes, and the generator shed were marked in dark pencil, lines and arrows crisscrossing the page like veins.
Lucas stood at the head of the table, one hand braced against the wood as he pointed to the map. "We move tonight."
Every conversation in the room died.
His finger tapped the eastern side of the compound. "Dylan, Maurice, Harry, Emily, Derek, Ysa—you'll ambush the east tower. Quiet and controlled. Eliminate anyone in the tower before they can raise the alarm."
He shifted to the southern perimeter. "David, Esteban, Ethan, Ava, and I will come in from the south."
Then his finger moved to the main entrance. "Victor, Duncan, Joan—you create a disturbance at the front gate. Draw as many of them forward as possible, then break off and circle to the generator."
He tapped the small building near the rear fence. "Kill the lights."
The room remained silent as everyone absorbed the plan.
Then Dylan, arms folded across his chest, muttered from the side of the table. "'Bout damn time." His eyes stayed fixed on the map. "Can't believe it took y'all a week to come up with somethin'."
Lucas straightened and looked at him evenly. "Because I'm being strategic, Dylan." His voice was calm, but carried enough authority to still the room. "We cannot afford to lose a single person."
A pause.
"Do you understand?"
Dylan met his gaze. His jaw worked once. Then he gave a curt nod. "Yeah."
Lucas looked over the hand-drawn map one final time, then lifted his gaze toward Duncan. "Duncan," he said, "how are the weapons coming?"
Duncan's mouth curved into a confident smile. "Oh, they will not stand a chance."
He reached to his side and drew what looked like an ordinary pistol—at least at first glance. The frame was sleeker, etched with faint lines that pulsed with a soft internal glow.
Without warning, he raised it and aimed at a ceramic vase sitting on a nearby shelf. He pulled the trigger.
There was no gunshot. No deafening crack.
Only a sharp whoosh of compressed air.
The vase exploded into fragments.
Several people flinched.
Duncan lowered the weapon with obvious satisfaction. "No bullets," he said. "Only concentrated aerial energy compressed within the chamber and released with a single trigger pull."
He turned the pistol in his hand, showing the modified internals. "Regrettably, I have only been able to convert a limited number of this. The remainder will have to rely on more conventional designs."
Lucas nodded, impressed despite himself. "Show us."
Duncan's grin widened. "Gladly. Follow me."
The group made their way outside to the large tent set up in the manor's yard.
Inside, rows of weapons lay neatly arranged on long folding tables—rifles, pistols, magazines, and components spread with almost surgical precision.
Duncan picked up a sniper rifle. "At first glance," he said, "a standard long-range rifle."
He worked the action.
The weapon emitted a soft glow as the internal components activated.
"But with a few improvements."
Lucas folded his arms. "What does it do?"
Duncan smiled. "Think of it as a stun weapon."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Why would we want to stun them?"
Duncan adjusted a setting on the rifle. "Excellent question."
Before Lucas could react, Duncan raised the weapon and fired. A bolt of blue energy struck Lucas square in the chest.
Lucas convulsed violently. His body locked up. Then he collapsed to the ground like a dropped marionette.
For half a second, there was stunned silence.
Then David doubled over laughing. "Oh my God." He was practically wheezing. "I wish somebody had a camera."
Ava slapped his shoulder, though she was struggling not to laugh herself.
Lucas lay on the ground twitching.
After several seconds, the current dissipated.
He sucked in a ragged breath and pushed himself up onto his elbows. "What the fuck was that for?!"
David was now leaning against the table, tears in his eyes.
Duncan crouched beside Lucas, completely unfazed. "I lowered the voltage considerably," he said. "At full power, your internal organs would have been irreversibly damaged."
Lucas stared at him in disbelief. "That was not necessary."
Duncan straightened with theatrical dignity. "It was absolutely necessary. You questioned my craftsmanship."
Ysa, standing nearby with her arms crossed, chuckled.
Duncan extended a hand to help Lucas up. "Well? What do you think?"
Lucas took the hand and rose unsteadily, his muscles still twitching. He braced himself against the table, breathing hard. "You sirens are all psychos."
Ysa and Duncan exchanged amused smiles.
Lucas looked back at the glowing rifle. Then he nodded. "But it's good." He drew a deeper breath and turned toward the group. "Looks like we have snipers now." He tapped the table with his fingers, still recovering. "Alright."
Another breath. "Let's redo the plan."
Duncan set the rifle back on the table and raised a cautionary finger. "Before any of you start imagining yourselves invincible, there are limitations."
The room quieted.
Duncan noticed the doubtful looks and gave an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, they have limitations," he said. "So do your conventional firearms. The difference is that mine are better."
He lifted one of the modified rifles and held it up for everyone to see. "This weapon fires using compressed elemental energy. No cartridges. No magazines. No gunpowder."
He tapped the side of the receiver. "That means it is nearly silent. To human ears, you will hear little more than a whisper. A siren—or perhaps a dog—might detect the discharge, but your cannibal friends certainly will not."
Dylan gave a low grunt of approval.
Duncan continued. "It also has significantly less recoil, which improves accuracy, and it is considerably lighter to carry because you are not burdened with ammunition."
He rotated the rifle in his hands. "On full output, the projectile can penetrate reinforced concrete, steel plating, and, under favorable conditions, light armored vehicles."
David blinked. "You're telling me that thing can shoot through a tank?"
Duncan tilted his head. "A small tank, perhaps. Let us not become unreasonable."
A few chuckles passed through the group.
He pointed to the grip. "The weapon is keyed to the fingerprints of authorized users. If one of your enemies takes it, it will not fire."
Lucas folded his arms. "And the downside?"
"The energy chamber holds a finite charge," Duncan said. "Once depleted, the weapon becomes an elegantly engineered club until it is recharged which takes about an hour or two. Repeated firing may also overheat the internal conduits." He set the rifle down carefully. "That is why you will still carry your conventional firearms. These are not replacements. They are force multipliers."
Lucas nodded slowly. "So we use these when stealth and precision matter most."
"Precisely," Duncan said, clearly pleased.
He smiled and spread his hands over the table. "Your weapons were designed to kill. Mine were designed to kill quietly, more efficiently, and with considerably more style."
Duncan continued, turning the bottle in his hand as if it were nothing more than a teaching aid. "If I still had access to proper fabrication arrays and core stabilizers," he said, "I could convert your weapons entirely into fluid-state matter on command."
A few heads lifted at that.
He tipped the bottle and let the water spill outward. Then, with a subtle motion of his fingers, the liquid stopped falling.
It reversed. The water circled on his hand and gathered into a precise shape.
A bow.
Solid, defined, hovering in space as if it had always existed there.
Emily blinked. "That… never stops being insane."
Victor stared. "What the fu—"
Duncan didn't even look at him. "Yes. That reaction. Standard."
He exhaled through his nose. "As I have explained—repeatedly—everything is matter. And if you add energy to that which you humans call, air."
Victor frowned. "Air? Air is just… air. Oxygen, right?"
Duncan tilted his head slightly, like a teacher watching a student refuse basic arithmetic. "Yes. Oxygen is part of it. But that is a reductionist view."
He gestured upward. "What you call air is a layered medium of usable matter and energy substrate. You are simply too biologically limited to perceive it in full resolution."
Victor squinted. "That sounds like bullshit."
Duncan nodded immediately. "It does. That is your limitation, not mine."
Lucas cut in, arms folded. "Then why use water to form your weapon?"
Duncan finally looked at him, almost approvingly. "That is a good question."
He let the bow dissolve back into droplets. "We are sirens," he said calmly. "Advanced in your eyes, yes. But in the context of the wider universe…" A faint pause. "We are still primitive."
He looked at the group, then added more quietly, almost matter-of-fact. "It's like humanity's Iron Age. That's how primitive we are compared to what the universe actually offers."
Silence settled over the group.
Even Victor didn't speak this time.
Duncan glanced around at their faces and sighed. "Yes. That is the correct reaction."