The chamber did not return to normal.
It couldn't.
Emergency systems sealed the space in layered containment, the walls dimming to a muted obsidian gray as residual neural static bled harmlessly into insulated sinks beneath the floor. The screens that moments ago screamed warnings now hovered frozen, each one locked on the final data fragments—BTM–Ω, SS Rank, Hexa Barrier, Ghost Division—as if unwilling to let them disappear.
Sophia did not move.
Her body lay slack in Dr. F's arms, weight real, fragile, human. Blood streaked her face, her neck, the collar of the DNA obsidian suit that had once looked pristine. Her breathing was shallow but present—irregular, faint, yet stubbornly alive.
Dr. F lowered her carefully onto the chair, then immediately thought better of it.
"No," he muttered.
With a precise gesture, gravity softened beneath her, the metallic seat dissolving into a medical support field that cradled her body horizontally, reducing spinal and neural strain to near zero. The chamber responded faster than command, recognizing priority override in his presence.
Vitals bloomed across a central display.
BRAIN ACTIVITY: CHAOTIC BUT STABLE
NEURAL BLEED: SUPPRESSED
CONSCIOUSNESS: UNRESPONSIVE
STATUS: COMATOSE — INDUCED / NON-INDUCED OVERLAP
Dr. F stared at the last line longer than the others.
"That shouldn't be possible," he said quietly.
He reached up and dismissed the frozen red screens with a sharp motion. They vanished reluctantly, leaving only her data—her life—hovering before him.
Sophia's eyes remained closed.
Her face, now still, looked younger than it had hours ago. Vulnerable. Stripped of the defenses that had held even under torture. Without the screams, without resistance, she appeared almost peaceful—an illusion he did not trust.
She didn't wake up, he noted.
She didn't even try.
Dr. F straightened slowly, hands folding behind his back again, but the familiar posture did not restore equilibrium this time. Something inside him refused to settle.
He replayed the extraction in his mind—not emotionally, but structurally.
She had not resisted at first.
She had endured longer than projected.
And the words that surfaced—
They were not accessed through conscious memory.
They were buried.
"Someone sealed you," he said softly, looking down at her. "Layered you. Locked you beneath protocols even you don't know exist."
The chamber hummed faintly, adjusting atmosphere to prevent further neural irritation. Micro-drones emerged silently, cleaning blood from her skin, stabilizing capillaries, sealing ruptured vessels with soft blue light.
Dr. F did not stop them.
He watched.
ISA didn't just train her, he realized.
They hid something inside her.
His jaw tightened.
"And I almost killed you trying to prove it."
The thought was… unfamiliar.
He activated a secure channel.
"Medical unit," he said. "Priority Alpha. Induced coma stabilization. No memory reinforcement. No extraction attempts. I want her exactly as she is."
A pause.
"Full isolation," he added. "No one enters without my authorization."
The confirmation chimed softly and cut off.
Dr. F remained standing beside her for several seconds longer than necessary.
She did not wake.
Did not stir.
Did not respond when he adjusted the field, when he recalibrated the oxygen, when he lowered the ambient light to mimic human rest cycles.
Her mind was somewhere else entirely.
"Whatever ISA buried in you," he said quietly, almost to himself, "it's not meant to be accessed."
He turned toward the exit, stopping only once.
"I won't touch it again," he said. "Not like that."
The chamber lights dimmed further as he left, sealing behind him with a soundless finality.
Sophia remained suspended in the medical field, breathing softly, unconscious—
her mind locked behind barriers even Dr. F could not yet breach.
And for the first time since DNA's creation, Dr. F was not planning his next move.
He was waiting.