Chapter One
The clicking of cold, metal surgical instruments echoes in the room, blue, translucent blood covering the gloves hands of the doctor checking over the development of the new organism.
"...Why is it blue?" She hears a quiet mumble from one of the technicians around her, two of which are helping to gently shift the organs of the creature around for a better look.
"Our blood is iron based, so it's red." Tawny states without breaking her concentration, furrowing her brows as she spots a possible abnormality, "So, if it's blue...?"
"It's copper based." Cyn pipes. "Crustaceans and Octopus are copper based, for example." It's added, and she's awaiting a small smile from Tawny as confirmation she's correct.
"I'm glad someone has been paying attention." Tawny replies, the small grin falling from her face under her mask when she sees the dark colored organ. "Mr. Dovecote?" She calls to the young man peering over the body next to her.
His older sister, Clemensia, had been one of the best students at the Academy, and University alike.
She'd discovered Clemensia's baby brother was just as intelligent — though much more unsure of himself.
"Dr. Crane," He replies to her sheepishly.
"What is that?"
She moves aside slightly, allowing him to get a good look.
"Her liver." He answers correctly.
"What color should it be?"
He thinks a moment.
"Well, a healthy, iron-based liver is dark, reddish brown. Copper-based should be a pale yellow."
"Is she iron-based?"
"No, Dr. Crane."
"Which means?"
"...Her liver has somehow gotten too much iron."
It's a polite way of telling his teacher she fucked up somewhere.
"So, what do we do?" Looking at all of them, now, they act as though they're waiting for the other to answer.
"Dr. Crane?" The sliding of the glass door followed by the sweet voice of Dayla Shoemake interrupts her.
"Yes, Mrs. Shoemake?"
"Your husband is wanting to speak to you."
The words lull Tawny's eyes in a roll.
"Please, tell him I'm elbow deep in a glorified carcass and I'll be there momentarily." It comes out far more bitter than she intends, capturing the attention of her students.
"Yes, ma'am." She leaves.
"The liver is failing, so what do we do?" Tawny questions once more.
Again, no one answers. No one wants to, feeling the frustration rolling off of Dr. Crane in large waves as she finally states, "Cut our losses and pull the plug."
"Pull the plug?" Bellamy questions suddenly, furrowing her red brows, the action complimenting the downward pull of her lips. "That's a waste."
"Its failure to execute a successful mutation, Miss Von. If you'll go to the morgue and look at the dozens of subjects just like her, you'll see it's a fairly common thing that occurs here." Tawny snips, glaring at the woman. "We pull the plug, put her away and return to it when we have the time to trace back what exactly went wrong and refuse to repeat it the next trial. It's how all our successful alterations have been made. Being good at one's job doesn't mean everything we touch turns to gold. It means we waste and learn from it."
Bellamy only offers a small nod, keeping her lips sealed.
"Now, there is a syringe beside you, inject it into her IV."
She does so, administering the lethal barbiturate just as Tawny begins withdrawing her instruments, preparing to sew their failed project back up.
"Dr. Crane?" Dayla asks once more, having returned.
"Yes?"
"He's very adamant that he speaks to you." She cautiously says, Tawny running her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip.
"Mr. Dovecote, can you please finish this?" She asks him, to which he nods. "Nothing fancy, and it doesn't have to be perfect. She's going to die, anyway."
She peels her gloves off, and her mask, leaving her bloodied surgical robe on as she walks toward Dayla, softly ordering, "Is something wrong?"
"He wouldn't disclose details. Only that he needed to speak to you."
"Okay, can you quickly see if Dr. Lithe can step in here to keep an eye on them? I don't trust them not to be imbeciles while I'm away."
"Yes, Doctor." Dayla hurries down the hall turning the corner, and in a few moments, returns with Dr. Cardew, instead.
"Good evening, Dr. Crane. You were in need of my assistance?"
Livia Cardew had interned under Tawny, a know it all shark who stepped on her peers if it meant she got ahead.
An insufferable student to teach, and an even more maddening peer to tolerate.
Tawny's brown eyes flicker to Mrs. Shoemake, who stands off behind Livia and mouths, "I'm sorry."
"Yes, can you watch them for a moment? I'll be back in just a second." Livia's perfectly lined lips twitch a moment.
"Dr. Gaul said we dedicate every moment in the lab, to the project and our students. We've no room to worry about what's outside until we've reached our conclusion." She says it as if Tawny wasn't there when her aunt announced it.
It came after far too many failures — due to simple mistakes — had been revealed in the monthly ratios of successful projects to failed projects.
She can't fathom how Tawny would leave in the middle of her lab time, with her students waiting.
"It's been concluded."
Her blue eyes light up upon hearing this.
"Successful?" She pipes, curious for herself.
Everyone knew Tawny Gaul had been on a losing streak over the last couple of months.
Everything kept dying on her.
When Tawny refuses to give her the satisfaction of an answer, she flatly says, "Keep an eye on them," and starts down the hallway with Dayla on her heels, murmuring, "Livia Snow? Of all people?"
Her professional name had been kept at Cardew, but her husband, Coriolanus Snow, was a Gamemaker himself and was closer to Dr. Gaul than her own niece — and by extension, his wife.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Lithe wasn't in his office." Dayla whispers.
"It's alright, Mrs. Shoemake." Tawny assures her gently, her stomach twisting, her palms beginning to sweat as she grows closer to her husband's office, taking in a deep breath and knocking once they reach the heavy door. "If this isn't life or death I'm going to scream." She mutters and it swings open.
She barely has time to look at her husband before the loud pop of a champagne bottle jolts her nerves and he's bringing his lips to hers chastely.
"Surprise!" He shouts, handing her a crystal flute, the golden alcohol overflowing, drenching her hand and the marble floor at their feet.
"What's the occasion?" She tries to play along, struggling to keep the facade of cheer in her tone despite the lump forming in her throat.
"I am on a roll." He proudly informs her. "Every single mutt I have concocted is flourishing. Two have already been picked for this years Games." He gushes, kissing her again.
"That's wonderful, Dyess!" Again, she grapples to be happy — to be proud — just as proud of him as she would be for herself.
His wins are her wins, after all.
"And you know what, T, I think you've got this one in the bag. I checked on it before I left last night. It had good color, it was acting normally — as normal as one could — it was incredible. It was—"
"—Dead." Tawny cuts him short, admitting her shortcoming once again. "Her liver was in failure. I pulled the plug. She failed. I failed. Again."
Dyess' brows knit together slightly as a defeated, "Oh," comes from his lips before he sets his champagne aside, along with hers, and grasps at her shoulders.
"You're going to break this streak. I know you are. Everyone gets in a mess sometimes with this stuff. It's inevitable. Everyone has at least one off year in this profession." He says, calmly.
"It's been an off ten years." She mumbles. "In fact, I'm surprised I still have a job at all."
The comment exposes the inkling of an expression to his features before it fades as soon as it appears — but she catches it.
"What?" She asks him, and he looks at her as if nothing is the matter.
"What do you mean?"
"That face."
"What face?"
"That face you made."
"I made a face?" He plays dumb, grabbing his glass and taking a few swigs of champagne with a shrug.
"Dyess."
"Tawny."
"What do you know that I don't know?" She outright asks, commands, really.
All playfulness and ease has been sucked from the room, Dayla, having been lingering in the hallway, braces for impact.
"...There's been discussions being had, but it's handled, now." He promises her.
"Discussions?" She questions, confused...until..."They were going to fire me?!" Dyess watches as the beauty slips from her face to replace it with a venomous creature, bitter and biting as she repeats, "They were going to fire me?!"
"I told them if you went, I went." He speaks it like it's a consolation. "It was handled, darling. I handled it. Nothing but a misunderstanding." He continues to try to calm her.
After all the years she poured into this, all the defeat and pressure she had to sift through, sleepless nights, exhausted mornings, tears, frustration, irritation, defeat...just for them to wipe their hands clean of her dedication.
The thought of her husband, who had only been hired in the first place due to her overzealous bragging of his genius, having to talk out a deal to keep them from getting rid of her, infuriates her.
Her feet are turning and she's walking with an angry fire lit under her with each step.
"Tawny!" Dyess follows after her as Dayla slowly slips back to her desk to call ahead to Dr. Gaul and give her a warning that an angry Tawny Crane was stomping her way.
"I know you're mad, but making a spectacle of yourself is not the answer, Tawny." Dyess pleads as he walks beside her just as rapidly as she is.
"They had to find something for you to do when they hired you to begin with. I was everything. And now I'm the one being treated as a thoughtless moron while you get worshiped?" She doesn't realize she's crying until a sizzling tear falls down her face, her teeth gritting together. "Don't get me wrong, Dy, your achievements are my achievements and I'm proud of you but..." She can't even finish the sentence, too engorged in emotion.
"I'm only good at what I do because you've helped me so much along the way — and I told them that. Besides, the students that are under you have the highest incline of improvement. You're making damn good Gamemakers."
"I'm just not one, myself." She harshly throws out.
It's now that Dyess grasps her hand, forcing her to stop her trek to Dr. Gaul, to her aunt, to pick a fight with her that would probably end in her immediate termination.
"Tawny —"
She's ripping from him and tearing through the doors of her aunt's office.