The black trucks rolled over the dark road, tires humming against the asphalt. Inside, Lola clutched Amara, holding her as tightly as she could. The metal walls pressed cold against their backs, shadows stretching across their faces.
The trucks stopped. Panels slid open, and strong hands yanked the girls out, one by one. They stumbled under the blinding white lights of the Sanctuary courtyard.
Inside the cell, the girls were shoved into place. Rows of narrow steel beds lined the walls, empty and perfectly made.
Each girl huddled on the floor, trembling. Amara buried her face in Lola's chest, sobbing silently.
Above, in the observation room, the man in white armor stood silently, arms folded. Behind him, a shadow loomed—tall, imposing, exuding authority.
The man turned toward the shadow.
"Fifty-two girls secured, sir," he said, voice controlled.
The shadow's presence was like ice. A simple nod. "Good. Start the experiments."
"Yes, sir," the man replied immediately.
He turned back to the glass wall, looking down at the girls one last time. Huddled together, small and fragile, crying. Their fear was complete.
The higher figure remained silent. A presence of absolute command. No discussion. No hesitation.
The man's hand rested lightly on the glass edge. And then he walked away, leaving the girls below, waiting for what would come next.
The white doors clanged shut behind them, sealing the girls inside a room that smelled of antiseptic and metal.
Harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting coldly off stainless steel tables.
Rows of girls were lined up, trembling, eyes wide, clutching each other or the walls. Their cries filled the air, bouncing off the walls, a chorus of terror.
A team of scientists in lab coats moved among them, their faces hidden behind masks and goggles. They carried syringes, clamps, tubes, and strange devices that hummed with power.
No one spoke. No one comforted them.
A girl was strapped to a table. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat glistening on her skin.
A syringe plunged into her arm. A cold, burning serum spread through her veins.
Screams erupted. The muscles in her face twitched uncontrollably. Her eyes rolled back.
The scientists recorded numbers, adjusted dials, and made notes.
Then the serum overloaded her system. Her body spasmed violently. Her heart stopped.
The team worked quickly, pronouncing her dead, and dragged the body aside.
Another girl was restrained. The serum was modified slightly, temperature adjusted, another injection.
At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then… her skin blistered, small bubbles of tissue forming under the surface.
She cried out in pain, clawing at her restraints. Her fingers tore at the metal, leaving bloody scratches.
The scientists worked coldly, increasing the dosage. Her body shattered from the inside, her screams echoing long after the last convulsion.
Again, failure.
A different girl was next. This time, electric stimulators were attached along her spine. The current surged.
Muscles tore, bones cracked. Her face contorted in madness, eyes wild with fear.
She screamed, but her voice quickly gave way to ragged gurgles. The scientists noted reactions, scribbled formulas, adjusted parameters.
Her body failed again. They pronounced it useless.
The next one: serum plus controlled laser stimulation.
Her body shook violently. Flesh burned where the beams struck.
She screamed not just from pain, but from panic—senses overloaded. Madness set in fast, her mind fracturing.
By the time the scientists were done, her body was a twisted, broken mess. They moved her aside without hesitation.
A girl was strapped into a mechanical frame. Neuro-inhibitors, chemical accelerants, physical restraints.
The serum ran hot. Sparks flew from the frame. Flesh smoked. Screams tore the room apart.
Her eyes, wide and terrified, saw nothing but the metal ceiling. Every nerve screamed, every sense betrayed her.
The scientists watched, unflinching.
Adjust. Retry. Fail.
One girl's heart beat steady under the serum, under the devices. For a moment, it seemed… different.
The scientists leaned closer. They nodded. Adjusted parameters.
Then a sudden convulsion—flesh torn, veins popping, mind burning in agony. Her body collapsed. Madness, pain, death.
Not ready. Not perfect. Failure again.
One by one, attempt after attempt. Failure after failure. Each experiment is slightly different, each ending in pain, death, or madness.
The screams never stopped. Echoed down the sterile corridors.
Even the scientists, efficient and cold, moved like a machine — taking notes, adjusting formulas, preparing the next attempt.
The lab was silent except for the low hum of machines. Glass tanks lined the walls, filled with the broken remnants of the failed experiments.
Steam hissed from instruments, and the air smelled metallic, sharp.
In the observation room above, a figure in dark robes leaned over the edge of the balcony. His presence alone pressed down on the lead scientist like gravity.
"I gave you money," the shadow said, voice flat and cutting. "State-of-the-art equipment. Girls. Everything you asked for. And what do I get?"
The lead scientist swallowed, glancing nervously at the tanks below. "Failures, sir?" he said cautiously.
"Failures?" The shadow's voice sharpened. "All they do is die. We've gone through more than one thousand girls. One thousand. And not a single hint of success. You've even started to breed them, for a stable supply. And yet, nothing."
The scientist nodded quickly, scribbling notes on a clipboard. "We're walking uncharted territory, sir," he said. His voice was calm, practiced, but the tension was clear. "It's like trying to find a needle in a hayfield… in the dark. Almost impossible."
The shadow straightened. "It's been four years. Four years. How long do you need?"
The scientist adjusted his goggles and cleared his throat. "We… would have to keep trying. There's no telling what combination might make us succeed. The variables are—"
"Variables?" the shadow interrupted, voice low but lethal. "You were given everything. Girls, technology, funds. Every tool at your disposal. And you're telling me this is just luck? Time?"
"Yes, sir," the scientist said, voice steady, careful. "It's all about time, trial, and precision. We cannot predict the outcomes. Every failure teaches us something, even if it's… painful."
The shadow's hand clenched into a fist. "I don't care about 'painful.' I care about results. I do not fund death experiments for death alone."
The scientist bowed slightly, never taking his eyes off the tanks below. "I understand, sir. We continue. Every girl, every attempt, every parameter—we refine, we iterate. One day, we will succeed."
The shadow turned away from the glass, voice dropping to a whisper as he walked toward the exit:
"See that you do. Success is not optional. And remember… I gave you everything. Do not waste it."