12:47 PM | Yuki Tanaka's Apartment, Metro City
The building was modest but maintained, the kind of place where people lived actual lives instead of merely existing between catastrophes. Fourth floor. Clean carpet that had seen better decades but was trying its best. Soft lighting that almost made you forget the world outside was a nightmare wrapped in corporate letterhead.
Aveline scanned the hallway with the clinical precision of someone cataloging a crime scene before the crime had technically happened.
"No external surveillance. Building security minimal. Egress routes: three. Optimal for extraction if necessary."
Adrian glanced at her. "We're not extracting her. We're asking."
Aveline tilted her head with the curious precision of a surgeon contemplating an interesting incision. "Semantics."
They stopped outside Apartment 412. Adrian knocked gently, the kind of knock that said I'm dangerous but I'm trying not to be.
"Ms. Tanaka? My name is Adrian Cole. Nemesis Protocol Unit. I knew Marcus Varias." He paused, letting the name land. "I need to speak with you about him."
Silence.
Then a voice, muffled and trembling like a violin string pulled too tight: "Marcus is dead."
"I know." Adrian's voice dropped, soft as a confession. "I was there. I tried to help him. That's why I'm here. To finish what he started."
Long silence. The kind where you could hear someone's entire world recalibrating behind a door.
Then: click.
One lock.
Click.
Two.
Click.
Three.
The door opened like a held breath finally released.
Yuki Tanaka stood in the doorway, backlit by the warm glow of a life not yet destroyed. Petite, black hair in a messy bun held together by what looked like optimism and a single hair tie, glasses slightly askew, oversized sweater and leggings, the uniform of someone who'd stopped pretending the world made sense. Eyes red-rimmed from crying.
She looked at Adrian with the kind of recognition that hurt. "You're him. The agent Marcus talked about."
"He mentioned me?" Adrian felt something twist in his chest.
Yuki nodded. "He said you were stubborn. Wouldn't quit even when you should." A ghost of a smile. "He said you were either going to save the world or die trying, and he wasn't sure which one was stupider."
Sounds about right.
She stepped aside, gesturing them in with the resignation of someone who'd already accepted the inevitable.
The apartment was small but lived in, actual books on shelves, plants that were mostly alive, a laptop on the coffee table surrounded by work files like a fortress of responsibility. A mug of cold coffee sat abandoned, a monument to a morning that had started normally.
But the photos stopped Adrian cold.
Yuki and Marcus. Office party, both laughing at something off-camera. Hiking trip, Marcus mid-eye-roll at something Yuki was saying. Lunch at what looked like a terrible food truck, both grinning like idiots.
He looked happy. He actually looked happy.
They had been friends. Real ones.
Yuki followed his gaze, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "We were close. He was good. One of the only good people left in that place." She swallowed hard. "Maybe the only one."
Adrian gestured to the couch. Aveline remained standing, because of course she did, cataloging everything with the quiet intensity of someone running database queries in her head.
She'd probably already memorized the floor plan, clocked the exits, and assessed Yuki's threat level. All before taking her coat off. Terrifying. Useful. Terrifying.
Adrian explained it all, the illegal human experimentation, the bodies stacking up like cordwood, the need for witness testimony, evidence collection, someone willing to stand up and say this happened and this was wrong.
"We need someone still inside," he said carefully. "Someone who knew Marcus. Someone who understands what he died trying to expose."
Yuki was already shaking her head. "No. I can't—"
"I understand it's dangerous," Adrian began.
"Dangerous?" Yuki's laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "Marcus testified and they killed him. Dursley tried to help and—" She stopped, eyes finding Adrian's. "He's dead too, isn't he?"
"Yes," Adrian said quietly, because lies were useless at this point.
"Everyone who talks to you dies," she whispered, and it wasn't an accusation. Just an observation. A fact presented for the record.
Yeah. I'm aware.
Aveline stepped forward, and Adrian felt his stomach drop because he knew that look.
Oh no.
"You're scared," Aveline said, voice matter-of-fact, the way someone might note the weather. "Understandable. Also not particularly useful right now."
Yuki blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You're already a target." Aveline said it the way a doctor delivers a terminal diagnosis not unkind, just honest in the way that leaves no room for argument.
"Marcus documented your name. Nexo traces connections. They're methodical like that. Annoying, but thorough." A slight pause. "Testifying doesn't make you more of a target. It just means your being one actually counts for something."
The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.
Yuki stared at her, face pale. "You're saying I'm already dead."
Aveline tilted her head, considering. "I'm saying you're already in the game. Whether you play or not doesn't change that." She glanced at her nails, briefly, the way someone does when they're choosing their next words carefully. "Two to six weeks, unprotected. Longer with us. Not a guarantee, but." A faint shrug. "Better odds than doing nothing."
She's not wrong. God, she's never wrong. It's deeply annoying.
Yuki turned to Adrian, eyes wide. "Is she always like this?"
"Unfortunately," Adrian said, with the weariness of a man who'd had this conversation in one form or another before. "Think of her as a fire alarm. Alarming. But probably right."
Aveline considered this. "I've been called worse."
That landed almost like a joke. Almost.
"Unbelievable," Yuki muttered. But something in her face had shifted. The pure fear cycling into something harder. Something that looked like Marcus, actually. That same reluctant, awful bravery.
"Marcus believed in you," she said finally, looking at Adrian with the kind of resolve that came from having nothing left to lose. "He died believing you could stop them. So I'll do it." Her jaw set. "For him."
Adrian exhaled slowly.
Adrian set up the camera and audio equipment with practiced efficiency. Aveline monitored encryption protocols, fingers moving across her tablet like a concert pianist playing a particularly ominous sonata.
Yuki sat on the couch, small, fragile, brave in the way that only truly terrified people could be.
"Whenever you're ready," Adrian said softly.
Yuki took a breath like a diver going under. "Okay."
Her voice shook at first, then steadied into something harder.
Human test subjects confirmed: janitors, disposal workers, low-level staff. The invisible people. The ones no one would miss until it was far too late. Abducted from night shifts, logged out in the system, never seen again. Families told they'd quit, moved, disappeared of their own accord.
Serum VX-1.089: yellowish-green, viscous, injected directly into the brainstem. Violent mutations within minutes. Organ failure within hours. Fatality rate: 99.7 percent. The survivors and Yuki's voice cracked here the survivors wished they'd died.
Executives involved: Serena Kovacs (CEO), James Vale (CFO), Damien D'Aramond (Executive Head), Cassian Rhein (Deputy Executive Head). All aware. All complicit. All sleeping just fine at night, presumably on mattresses stuffed with blood money.
Mass distribution imminent: police departments, federal agencies, private security firms. Timeline: two to three weeks before rollout. They were calling it a "performance enhancement package." Marketing had gotten creative.
"Here's the part that'll really make your day," Yuki said, voice hollow. "The buyers don't know about the failure rate. Police departments think they're getting a super-soldier serum. Something to make their officers stronger, faster. Nexo's telling them it's been extensively tested." She laughed, bitter as burned coffee. "997 out of 1000 die screaming. But sure. Extensively tested."
Adrian's blood ran cold. "If that hits the streets—"
"It's not if," Yuki interrupted. "It's when. Unless you stop them. That's the only variable left."
No pressure then. None at all.
Yuki's fingers flew across her laptop, pulling files, copying directories, creating a digital paper trail that would either save lives or get her killed. Probably both.
Files transferred through seven proxy servers, encrypted six ways to Sunday, bouncing through enough international servers to confuse three intelligence agencies and a particularly motivated hacker.
Aveline watched the progress bar with the intensity of someone watching a bomb timer. "Done. Encryption held. Your proxy routing was sloppy on the fourth server but I fixed it."
Of course she did.
Adrian made a mental note to thank her later. He'd been making a lot of those notes lately. The list was getting concerningly long.
Adrian looked at Yuki, who looked about ten years older than she had an hour ago. "Stay inside. Don't go to work tomorrow. We'll have protective custody arranged by tonight."
"How do I know you can protect me?" she asked, and it wasn't accusatory. Just tired.
"I can't guarantee it." Adrian met her eyes. "But I'll die trying."
Yuki studied his face, looking for the lie, finding only exhaustion and determination in equal measure. "Marcus said you were reckless."
"He wasn't wrong," Adrian said bitterly.
The door closed behind them with the finality of a coffin lid. Adrian exhaled, long and slow.
"We move her tonight. Safe house. Full security detail."
"Six to twelve hours before Nexo clocks the data access," Aveline said, already three steps ahead in the hallway. "Probably six. They're paranoid and well-funded, which is a deeply irritating combination."
Adrian caught up to her, which felt metaphorical. "Could you try to be reassuring? Just once?"
She glanced at him sideways. "You're upright, breathing, and nobody's shot at us in four hours." A beat. "That's reassuring."
It really wasn't. And yet.
Elevator
They descended in silence, the kind that felt heavy, weighted with implications and unspoken concerns. Adrian broke it because someone had to.
"You really don't feel anything, do you? When you told Yuki she was already dead?"
Aveline was quiet for a moment. Genuinely quiet, not performing consideration actually thinking. "She agreed to testify," she said finally. "That's what I wanted. So yes, something. Satisfaction, I suppose." A pause. "It's not nothing."
"She's up there crying. Terrified. Mourning Marcus and her own probable death."
"Yes." Aveline's eyes stayed forward. "I noticed."
That was almost soft. Almost.
"And?"
"And I told her the truth instead of something comfortable." She said it simply, without defense. "Comfortable lies have a terrible survival rate. I've seen it."
Adrian stared at her. This woman who wore humanity like a perfectly tailored suit that almost fit. "You're terrifying. You know that?"
Aveline tilted her head, genuine curiosity flickering across her face. "Is that observation or criticism?"
"Both."
"Mm." The ghost of something crossed her expression. Not quite a smile. "I've been told."
That's new. That's different from 'acknowledged.' File that away somewhere.
The elevator doors opened. They walked to the car in silence, Adrian processing, Aveline presumably running calculations, both preparing for whatever came next.
En Route to North Metro Safe House
City lights blurred past the windows in streaks of neon and sodium vapor, signs advertising lives being lived by people who didn't know how close they were to catastrophe. Didn't know that somewhere in a corporate tower, someone had decided their lives were worth less than quarterly profits.
Adrian's hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only solid thing in a tilting world.
"We'll move Yuki tonight. You and I, rotating shifts until we can get her to federal witness protection."
"Inefficient," Aveline said, because of course she did. "You have a security detail for exactly this."
"She agreed because I asked," Adrian interrupted. "I'm not handing her off to strangers with badges. She deserves better than becoming another file number."
Silence. The kind where you could almost hear someone recalibrating.
"Fine," Aveline said. Just that. No qualifier, no cost-benefit breakdown.
Adrian glanced at her, surprised. "That's it? Just fine?"
"You're going to do it regardless." She looked out the window. "And you'll be useless if you don't." The faintest pause. "So. Fine."
That's the closest she gets to 'because I care.' I'll take it.
"You have such a gift for making caring sound like a logistical concession."
"Thank you," Aveline said, and whether she caught the sarcasm or simply didn't care was genuinely impossible to tell. "I've refined it over the years."
Adrian almost laughed. Almost. But the sound died in his throat because ahead of them, somewhere in the darkness, Nexo was moving pieces on a board they couldn't see. And they were running out of time.
Two witnesses dead. One still alive.
For now.
The city lights streamed past, indifferent and beautiful, and Adrian drove faster.