Slowly, as she looked around and saw the young soldier lying on the bed, completely motionless, not even hinting at movement, a sudden sense of panic began to grow inside her. Toria slowly widened her eyes at the sight of his total stillness. She gasped abruptly, letting out a sound of desperation and fear, bringing her hands up to her face, covering it from the nose down. She began to have mild asthma-like attacks, releasing quick, hot breaths into her hands, which soon felt damp from the condensation.
"Victor…!" Toria rushed toward him. Her heart began to pound wildly. A heavy weight pressed against her chest, as if it were crushing and tearing it apart from both the outside and the inside. Her breathing became more and more labored and intense. At the same time, it felt blocked—choked by the overwhelming anxiety flooding her body, cold sweat forming across her skin.
At first, she froze. She did nothing but look at him. She scanned him from head to toe, then from toe to head. Again. And again. Five, maybe six times. Her vision was frantic. Each glance felt like a flashing pulse, beating in sync with her heart, as if her field of view expanded for a split second, then snapped back, only to expand again.
"What the fuck am I doing?!" she said out loud. "Get a grip, you idiot!"
She moved closer to Victor. His skin was completely pale. For a moment, fear gripped her again as she saw his half-open, lifeless eyes.
"Hey… Vic…" Toria started shaking him—gently at first, then harder, more desperately. When he didn't respond, she began slapping his cheek lightly with her fingers, careful not to scratch near his eyes.
"Hey! Answer me!" She was on the verge of crying. She grabbed his right arm to check his pulse, almost yanking it in panic. Once she held it, she felt only the faint warmth of his skin. She placed her index and middle fingers against his wrist.
Victor's pulse was weak. She felt a beat roughly every second and a half. It wasn't strong—barely there. It felt like it was fading away, like a drumstick weakly tapping a drum, the motion too soft to even carry the vibration across the surface, dying out just before impact.
"No… no!"
Toria screamed. Tears burst out almost instantly. She started shaking, her chest tightening again, her throat closing so violently she could barely breathe. Cold sweat poured down her forehead like a waterfall, mixing with her warm tears. Her face was exhausted, broken, almost unrecognizable—pale, nearly as pale as his.
She trembled frantically. And yet, she was stuck.
She couldn't do anything but let the most horrifying, desperate thoughts her mind could produce flood her head. She wondered if saving Victor had been a mistake. If taking on this responsibility had been wrong. If it had ever been her place.
"He's dying anyway. Just leave him here. With the other one."
"Why do you even care? You don't even know him."
"You could just burn him or cut him apart and blame the soldier. You're alone—no one would see you."
Toria pressed her hands against her ears, squeezing them tightly, eyes shut as hard as she could. She hated those voices. She hated herself.
"Stop!"
She screamed. She screamed so hard her body couldn't take it. Slowly, she collapsed to the floor, dropping to her knees against the cold, polished surface, stained with blood and dust—stains she herself had added to. She cried in agony. Her voice nearly broke with every sob. Her face, burning red—especially her cheeks, eyes, and lips—was soaked in tears that streamed down her neck, soaking into her clothes. She grabbed her hair, clutching it tightly, her grip both firm and weak at the same time, sobbing uncontrollably like she was losing her mind.
"Stop! Please—I don't want him to die!"
A few seconds later, footsteps interrupted her—many of them, getting closer. Fast. Running.
"Is anyone there?!" a male voice called out, heavily distorted, almost electric, echoing faintly through the corridor and into the room—just enough for Toria to hear. She stopped crying and listened.
"What were those screams?!" another voice joined, with the same tone.
"They came from that door!"
The door burst open.
Four soldiers entered, fully covered in the standard black suits of the Zmij Extermination Division—worn, dirty with mud and debris. Their armor had matte metallic plating on the chest, bearing both the Bryte-Rodak symbol—a dove holding a crimson olive branch outlined in dark blue—and the ZED emblem below, encircled by the white halo of the United Nations. Their limbs showed dents and cuts from both recent and past battles. Their helmets had two pairs of red, lens-like eyes, and over the mouth and nose area was a metal mask resembling a gas mask, with three elongated vents on the front.
All four soldiers carried KBW Beretta rifles—short, bulky weapons from 2041, with dual barrels and two curved magazines mounted beneath.
Toria remained silent. At first, she flinched at their sudden arrival, staring at them with wide, tear-filled, bloodshot eyes.
"It's a doctor!" one of them said.
"Doctor, what are you doing here?!" another demanded, his voice even harsher through the robotic distortion. "You're supposed to be in the bunkers treating the wounded!"
Toria didn't answer. She felt cornered—threatened—as if a long, sharp blade were pressed against her throat, just millimeters from her jugular, where even swallowing would be dangerous.
"What's going on?"
Toria's expression changed instantly at the sound of that familiar voice—robotic, electric, authoritative… almost parental. For the first time, the cold stench of oil and metal brought her comfort.
The metallic footsteps grew louder.
As soon as the Automaton entered the room, emitting its usual electronic creaks with every movement, Toria nearly gave in, as if releasing all her stress at once, on the verge of collapsing.
"Lieutenant Abner…!"
For a moment, she faltered. The hand she was using to support herself slipped, unbalancing her. Abner instinctively stepped forward, arms reaching toward her shoulder and head to catch her—but stopped when she managed to steady herself.
"Doctor Skylar!"
Abner approached again, helping her to her feet.
"Lieutenant…" she murmured, completely drained, her body giving in to exhaustion.
"What happened, my girl?" he asked, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.
But his gaze kept drifting toward Victor, lying cold on the bed.
"What happened to Hackett?!"
Toria didn't answer immediately. She couldn't. She looked at Abner as if through fog, distant, detached. The tension inside her began to rise again, like a sponge soaking everything back in.
She started speaking—her words broken, disjointed.
"I was here… and then… the Ijo came. It was… it was like it was playing with me. I felt sick… then I heard screams, more screams… and he was dying… I tried to save him… and now he won't wake up…"
Each sentence grew more desperate than the last.
Abner cut her off gently, helping her stand fully, offering his cold, rough metal hand, faintly reflecting the ceiling light.
"That's enough. We need to get you to the bunkers. Now."
He turned toward Victor.
"Right now, Soldiers Hackett and Pettirossi," he said, referring to the girl inside the Kariudo, still unconscious with the Inhibitor on her face, "and Doctor Skylar are our top priority. You four—take Hackett and escort the doctor. I'll handle Pettirossi. Move!"
Immediately, they all exited the room, heading toward the bunkers.