—Part Eight —
Gren walked along a dimly lit corridor deep within Tedan Tippedai's sprawling science labs, his footsteps muffled against the polished floors. Night had fallen on Myce City, and much of the staff had begun to wind down for the evening. Through the glass-paneled walls of various lab rooms, he glimpsed the last of the scientists packing away the tools of their experiments. Interns shuffled back and forth, rushing to finish their tasks, eager to escape into the crisp night air. Gren couldn't help but smirk. Hunters weren't exactly regular visitors to these hallowed halls, let alone without formal business. But then again, Gren had always found a way to get where he needed to go—especially when charm was a viable tool.
A quick-witted exchange with the sharp-eyed receptionist had earned him a visitor's pass, though not without its cost. Her raised brow and skeptical glance had been formidable obstacles, but Gren's silver tongue prevailed. A promise of drinks "to be determined later" sealed the deal, her slight smile betraying the satisfaction of besting a Hunter in verbal sparring. Gren, of course, had no intention of losing that particular match—it was just postponed.
Iria had stayed back at home—reluctantly, of course—after he'd given her the excuse that he needed to tie up a few loose ends for business. He wasn't lying, or so he rationalized to himself. Her eagerness to join Gren on his excursion had been met with a firm rebuff, bolstered by a colorful description of the dullness involved. Iria, as impressionable as she was ambitious, had agreed to settle into her new home on the outskirts of the city, though not without a few sharp words of protest. Gren had reassured her with a half-hearted smile, knowing full well she'd forgive him by morning.
As he moved deeper into the labs, the hurried forms of lab-coated scientists passed by in white blurs, paying him little mind. Their focus was elsewhere, either on preparing for the next day or escaping the building as quickly as possible. It suited Gren just fine—his presence blended into the chaotic rhythm of the Corporation's clockwork routines.
However, as Gren turned a corner, he noted the guards stationed at strategic points throughout the hallways. Unlike the heavily armed and battle-ready Tedan Tippedai forces from earlier, these guards seemed more relaxed, their posture casual. Some sipped from steaming cups of a warm drink or nibbled on light snacks, their stations illuminated by the glow of video-comm monitors. Yet their relaxed demeanor didn't fool Gren. They weren't expecting trouble here tonight, but they weren't blind either. He'd have to tread carefully.
Gren slowed his pace as he approached a cross-section where a guard leaned casually against the wall, chatting with a colleague. Their laughter echoed faintly down the hall. Sliding into the shadow of an adjacent storage room, Gren pressed his back against the cold wall, his hand instinctively brushing against the hilt of his weapon for reassurance. He peered around the corner, watching their movements, timing the moment when they glanced away.
When the conversation turned to a shared joke, Gren moved swiftly. He darted across the hall in silence, his cloak sweeping behind him, and pressed himself into an alcove just beyond their line of sight. A security camera loomed above, its lens slowly panning across the corridor. Gren ducked low, slipping beneath its sweep, his movements fluid and finespun.
His heart quickened as he rounded another corner and spotted a lone scientist heading toward him, her arms laden with a stack of folders and a datapad. She glanced up, startled, but before she could react, Gren raised a finger to his lips in a silent plea.
"Just passing through," he whispered with a charming and disarming grin, his voice low and steady. "No need to sound the alarm."
The woman blinked, hesitated, then nodded nervously before shuffling past him without a word. Gren exhaled softly, stepping back into the shadows as the sound of her retreating footsteps faded.
The next checkpoint was more challenging. Two guards stood at opposite ends of a brightly lit corridor, their attention split between their surroundings and the glowing screens of their handheld devices. Gren assessed the situation quickly. A set of storage crates lay stacked against the far wall, just low enough to crouch behind. Waiting until the nearest guard turned to address his colleague, Gren moved like a shadow, slipping behind the crates and pausing to steady his breathing. Gren crouched low behind the stack of boxes, carefully peeking over the top just enough to remain concealed. His eyes scanned the area and caught sight of a large bay door at the far end of the corridor. Above it, illuminated in faint, sterile light, was a sign that read: BioMass Science and Engineering. The words loomed like a quiet declaration.
There, Gren thought to himself.
The second guard's gaze swept the area, lingering briefly on the crates before returning to the conversation. Gren used the momentary distraction to edge closer to the access door at the far end of the corridor. His hand hovered over his visitor's pass as he approached the scanner, praying the receptionist's credentials would hold up.
Gren slapped the face of the card against the access panel as his eye remained trained on the oblivious guards. The scanner beeped softly, and the door slid open with a quiet hiss. Gren slipped inside, the faint hum of the labs' machinery greeting him as the door sealed behind him.
The new hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before Gren, dark and humid, the faint scent of something metallic lingering in the air. He moved cautiously now, the echoes of his footsteps bouncing off the flat walls as he glanced at the cryptic markings above each door he passed. The dashed letters and numbers meant nothing to him, but through the narrow windows, he caught glimpses of the labs' interiors—rows of elaborate instruments, tubes filled with brightly colored liquids, and massive vacuum-like chambers streaked with an ominous black sludge. Whatever experiments had been conducted here, the remnants were inscrutable to Gren, their purpose veiled in scientific jargon and machinery far beyond his understanding. Not that it mattered—he wasn't here to unravel the mysteries of the labs.
He was here for something far simpler and infinitely more elusive: answers.
At last, he came to a door that seemed out of place, almost deliberately nondescript, as though its purpose was meant to be overlooked. Unlike the other rooms, there was no window into its interior, no brightly lit signage or bustling activity to announce its presence. Gren paused, glancing over his shoulder to ensure he was still alone. Satisfied, he pressed his hand against the door's edge, and it slid open with a wispy hiss.
Inside, the room was dim and sparse, illuminated only by the cool glow of holo-screens and terminals lining the walls. The air was heavy with the faint hum of machinery, and seated before one of the screens was an elderly man, his face bathed in pale blue light as he typed away with methodical precision. The soft tip-tap of keys was the only sound in the room, steady and unbroken. Gren studied him for a moment. The man's hunched posture, grey hair and weathered features suggested years spent under the artificial glow of screens, and his worn lab tunic hung loosely over his slight frame. He appeared entirely engrossed in his work, oblivious to the world around him.
Gren took a slow, deliberate breath before stepping further into the room. "You're Touka, yes?" His voice was calm but firm, breaking the stillness with an edge that demanded attention.
The old man didn't flinch. He merely glanced up from the corner of his eye, peering over his glasses toward the source of the voice. Without missing a stroke, he returned his gaze to the screen and continued typing. "Visiting hours are over," he said dismissively, his tone sharp and clipped. "Not that this lab has visiting hours. How did you even get in here?"
Gren smirked faintly but kept his tone neutral. "Would you believe me if I said charm?"
"No," Touka replied curtly, not bothering to look up again. "In fact? Don't answer that." He waved a dismissive hand, his fingers twitching as though brushing away an annoying fly. "If I had half a mind to care, I'd have a full mind to call security by now—" He stopped mid-sentence, swiveling in his chair to get a better look at Gren. His keen eyes narrowed as he studied the figure standing just beyond the room's faint light.
Gren stepped forward, his features coming into sharper focus. "I take it you are Dr. Touka, then?"
The doctor hesitated, then nodded brusquely. "I know you."
The words unsettled Gren more than he expected. He tilted his head slightly, assessing the man's reaction. "Good. That makes this easier." Gren reached into his collar and pulled his blue pendant from under it and into the doctor's view. "I'm Hunter Gren, apprenticed by—"
"I said I know you, not that I want to get to know you," Touka interrupted, spinning back to face his monitor, his small purple hairbeads that lined the nape of his neck flying wildly. His fingers hovered over the keys before he continued, his tone growing sharper. "That Ghomvack lackey sent you, didn't he?"
Gren folded his arms, the faint glint of amusement fading from his expression as he tucked the necklace back into his cloak. "I came here on my own. No one sent me. I have no contract." Gren deemed it wise not to mention that Bob had warned him earlier in the day to steer clear of this business—yet here he was, digging deeper all the same.
"Hmm," Touka murmured, his hands pausing mid-motion. He swiveled back around to face Gren, his eyes narrowing. "So you're freelancing now? Or is this some misguided attempt at heroism? You're not the first of your kind to try to throttle me in the dark, you know?"
Gren ignored the jab, stepping closer. "I'm just looking for information, not a fight."
Touka snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Spare me. You're are all the same. Always looking for something, thinking you deserve solutions."
"This isn't about me. It's about a pair of Hunters that had a Link due today." Gren said sharply, his voice cutting through Touka's sarcasm. Gren, perceptive as ever, notice the doctor wince slightly at the mention of them. "And whatever you've got buried in here that made this Corporation tear through Administration to keep it quiet."
Touka's expression darkened, his casual demeanor shifting into something colder. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice low and guarded. "And you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
"Then enlighten me," Gren countered, his voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're the only one left in this place who can tell me what's really going on."
For a long moment, Touka said nothing. His gaze locked on Gren, measuring him, weighing the risk of speaking against the danger of silence. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he leaned forward, his fingers steepled under his chin.
"What exactly do you think you'll find here, Hunter?" Touka asked, his tone softer but no less wary.
"Enough to understand why one of them is missing and why the kid is in chains," Gren replied, his pale eyes meeting the doctor's unflinchingly. "And why you're still here, working, when the rest of this building is practically empty."
Touka hesitated, then slowly leaned back in his chair. "Fine," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "But if you want answers, you'd better be ready for what they'll cost you."
Gren felt his throat tighten at the weight of Touka's warning, but he forced himself to take a few more steps into the room, his resolve steady.
"So," Touka began, his tone sharp and laced with pragmatic scrutiny, "how exactly does a Hunter on a quest for answers stumble across my name? And more importantly, what makes you think the old man is going to serve up those answers to you on a platter?" he added, each word deliberate, calculated to test Gren's intentions.
"The super-soldier…"
Gren said, his tone plain but firm enough to cut through the room's uneasy hum. The words landed with weight, and Dr. Touka's fingers froze mid-keystroke. Slowly, the old man turned his attention back to Gren, his expression shifting from annoyance to something far more guarded. Gren caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes—a tell that confirmed he was on the right track.
Confident that he now had the doctor's undivided attention, Gren pressed on. "The unkillable butcher," he said, his voice unwavering. "You know anything about it?"
Touka's agitation was immediate and unmistakable. The old man expelled a deep, gravelly sigh, his brow furrowing deeply as he leaned back in his chair. He regarded Gren with a mix of disdain and weariness, like someone being pestered with a question they'd long tried to forget. "Came to spin tales from the dockhands with me, did you?" he growled, his tone sharp and derisive.
Gren didn't wince at the rebuttal, though his mind briefly flickered back to the winding path that had brought him here. Finding Dr. Touka's name hadn't been easy. After leaving Iria in Bob's care—much to her vehement protest—he'd pieced together a trail through Myce City's underbelly, using scraps of information gleaned from fragmented conversations and offhand remarks.
His first lead had come from a TranSat tech specialist back at Administration, a jittery woman whose nervous glances made her a poor liar. Gren had cornered her shortly after Kazon's arrest, once he'd left Bob to handle the bureaucratic details of Iria's apprenticeship. She stood frozen in the hallway, her trembling fingers clutching a data board as if it might shield her from his questions.
"Tedan Tippedai was already here before the Link," Gren had said, his voice low and steady, measured to cut through her nerves without sending her into a full panic. "Someone knew that Kreper was coming. Who?"
Her lips had tightened, and she shook her head, her silence an attempt to deny him. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking down to her data board realizing it was flipped with the screen toward him. For a split second, Gren caught a glimpse of the words glowing on its digital display: BIO/MASS Contract Taowajan with the corresponding Transit time. Her face paled as she realized the slip, quickly turning the device away before scurrying down the hall in an unconvincing attempt to escape the conversation.
It was a small clue, but it was enough. Gren had latched onto it, piecing together the fragments as he delved deeper into Myce City for answers. The next several hours had been spent navigating the underbelly of the bustling metropolis, pressing anyone who might have information.
A dockworker at the TranSat Gate outside Tedan Tippedai's central campus had been his first stop. The man leaned on a cargo crate, recounting rumors he'd heard—whispers of a black creature from a far-off system, supposedly unkillable. His tone had been skeptical, dismissing it as a fanciful tale spun by desperate and bored workers. Another dockworker, however, had insisted otherwise. He spoke of an old drinking buddy who'd been slaughtered by the very same monster a year ago, though his colleagues had laughed off the story as drunken madness.
Gren had pushed on, following a trail of half-truths and speculation. At a nearby noodle shop, he'd encountered a pair of shifty interns sharing a meal in hushed tones, a Tedan Tippedai science department patch emblazoned on their sleeves. One of them, dressed in a now-stained white tunic, had spilled broth all over himself and his partner in his flustered state. "That old bastard's going to kill me for this," the intern had grumbled, referring to someone who apparently ran a tight ship at the labs. When Gren pressed him for clarification, offering to cover the cost of cleaning his uniform, the name Touka and a few other tendrils of information had slipped out.
A janitor stationed outside a nearby security outpost had provided another piece of the puzzle. The man spoke with a mixture of frustration and resignation about a scientist named Touka who never left his desk, even when the rest of the building shut down for the night. "Makes my job harder," the janitor had muttered. "I've got hours away from home because of that old man."
Each scrap of information had come together like pieces of a puzzle, leading Gren step by step to the heart of Tedan Tippedai's labs. To this dark, sterile unmarked room hidden in the maze of corridors. To the cantankerous scientist hunched over his terminal, typing away with methodical accuracy. As Gren stood there, recalling the hours of legwork it had taken to get here, he couldn't help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. He was close now—closer than he'd been all night.
Now, standing face-to-face with the elusive Dr. Touka, Gren was certain the man knew more than he let on.
"You're not going to sit there and tell me you've never heard of it," Gren pressed, stepping closer. His voice remained steady, but there was an edge to it now, a challenge. "The stories. The experiments. The monster your Corporation tried to bury. This whole 'soul survivor' deal I keep hearing?"
Touka's lips thinned into a hard line, his eyes narrowing. "And if I did know something, what then? What's a Hunter like you planning to do about it?"
"That depends on how much you're willing to tell me," Gren replied evenly. "Or how much I'm going to have to find out on my own."
The doctor snorted, shaking his head. "You Hunters think everything can be solved with brute force, the barrel of a gun and a sharp blade. You have no idea what you're digging into, boy. You're out of your depth."
"Maybe," Gren admitted, his gaze unwavering. "But you're not. And that's why I'm here."
Touka's glare lingered, the air between them heavy with tension. For a moment, Gren wondered if the old man might simply call for security and have him thrown out. But instead, Touka sighed again, this time deeper, as if he were resigned to something he'd been avoiding for far too long.
"Fine," Touka muttered, spinning his chair back toward the terminal. "But if you want answers, you're not going to like them. No one ever does."
Gren stepped closer, his pulse quickening as the doctor's words sank in. He didn't know where this trail would lead, but he was certain now that he was finally getting somewhere.
"That pair of Hunters left off-planet a few days ago on a science contract for the Corporation," Gren began, his tone steady, ignoring the doctor's latest quip. His brow furrowed, and his dark eyes locked onto Touka's with unrelenting focus. "This department logged the time and approved the contract for the Taowajan sector." He tilted his chin up slightly, a subtle challenge in his posture.
"That contract wouldn't have come from you," Gren added, his words pointed, "would it?"
Touka recoiled slightly, his lips curling into a faint sneer. "No," he replied discourteously. "But clearly, you're not as well-versed in the inner workings of this place as you think."
Gren's expression darkened, a flicker of ire flashing across his face. His arms folded across his chest, his stance tightening as he fought back the unwelcome intrusion of old memories. "I know exactly what this place is and what it does."
"Do you?" Touka shot back, his tone sharper now, his own frustrations slipping through the cracks of his composure. "Then you should know this place is never what it seems—or what it pretends to be."
Gren's eyes narrowed, studying Touka carefully. That brief slip of veiled frustration with his employer hadn't gone unnoticed, and Gren's mind made note. Maybe the old man wasn't as loyal to Tedan Tippedai as he let on…?
"Only one of them came back. The apprentice claims they were attacked."
"By...?" Touka interjected shortly, his tone dripping with skepticism.
"…Something," Gren replied, tilting his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His response felt deliberately vague, almost mocking, as if daring the old man to challenge him further.
Touka held Gren's gaze, his sharp eyes narrowing as though he were trying to unravel the younger man's intentions. The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the nearby test chambers in the room. Finally, with a long, weary sigh, Touka pushed himself up from his chair, his movements deliberate and slow. His ornate tunic unraveled slightly as he straightened, his hands clasping tightly behind his back.
"And I suppose you think I might know something about it, don't you?" Touka asked, his tone a mix of disdain and resignation.
Gren let his arms fall loosely to his sides, softening his posture slightly, though his resolve remained intact. He gave a measured nod, altering his tone to one of calm persuasion. "I thought we might be able to help each other."
"Bah!" Touka spat, turning abruptly and striding toward a row of chambers along the far wall. One, in particular, caught his attention—a tall cylindrical tube filled with a luminous, viscous liquid. Suspended within was a black mass, its amorphous form shifting lazily in the glowing fluid. Touka gestured toward it with a sharp motion of his hand. "You think you would understand any of this? You're wasting your breath. You only bring me rumors—tales that, even if they were true, would be classified at the highest levels this Corporation could enforce!"
"Too high for dockhands and tale spinners, I take it?" Gren quipped, a wry smirk crossing his lips. He observed Touka closely, noting the subtle shifts in his demeanor. The doctor's words carried an air of defensiveness, and his obvious disdain for the conversation disclose something deeper. Gren knew a deflection when he saw one. Touka might have been trying to mask his knowledge, but his irritation made it clear that the old man wasn't as uninvolved as he wanted Gren to believe.
Gren's thoughts drifted momentarily to Iria. She had always excelled at this kind of sparring, knowing exactly how to press the right buttons to pry open secrets he'd worked hard to keep buried. It was a tactic Gren had come to admire—albeit reluctantly. Now, he was employing it himself, carefully gauging Touka's reactions, prodding just enough to unsettle him without pushing him too far.
Touka's shoulders sagged slightly, and he let out another exasperated sigh, this one tinged with defeat. He glanced back at Gren, his expression shifting from annoyance to something more resigned.
"Whatever you may think," Touka began, his voice softer but no less guarded, "the extent of my involvement in anything resembling a project you're hinting at is limited to this facility and these experiments." He turned back to the glowing chamber, his hand hovering over the tube as he stared at the black mass within. "I've been assigned to study cultured cell bodies in this lab—their reactions to various stimuli, their potential for controlled adaptation. That's the scope of my work. Anything else, any idea of a controlled super-being operating outside these walls, is information I am not privy to."
Gren's gaze followed Touka's hand to the enclosure. The black mass inside swayed gently, its form undulating in the fluorescent liquid like a creature in slow motion. The sight was unnerving, alien in its movements, and yet there was something strangely deliberate about it, as if it were aware of being observed.
"You're telling me this is all you've got?" Gren asked, his tone laced with skepticism. "A bunch of floating sludge?"
Touka bristled at the remark, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "That sludge, as you so eloquently put it, is the product of years of research—research that could change the way we understand biological engineering. Its capabilities are still being assessed. But if you're expecting me to confirm the existence of some mythical super-soldier running amok, you're mistaken."
Gren stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "And yet, whatever's in this lab seems awfully connected to those stories. Two Hunters went out there, Touka. Only one came back. If your department's name is on the contract and somehow this 'research' of yours isn't related, then what is it doing here at all?"
Touka's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on the shifting mass in the tube. He remained silent for a long moment, as though weighing how much he was willing to share. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter, almost reluctant.
"Believe what you will," he said, his words heavy. "But if there is a connection, it's beyond me. This Corporation has layers—far more than you can peel back with a few clever questions." He turned to face Gren fully, his expression hardening. "And the truth? The truth is far messier than you'll ever be ready to hear."
"What I'm hearing, Doctor," Gren mimicked Touka's measured cadence, "is that your own people inside Tedan Tippedai don't even trust their best man with all the information. Maybe I should head back to the docks—since they seem to know more about what's going on than the expert?"
Touka's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a scowl. "Careful, Hunter," he snapped, his tone more on edge than before. "You're not the first overconfident outsider to come through these halls thinking they can make sense of what they don't understand. And you won't be the first to leave with nothing to show for it."
Gren smirked faintly, Touka's defensiveness only confirming his suspicions. He shifted his weight slightly, letting the moment simmer before pressing forward. "And what about the Hunters that took the contract?" Gren asked, pivoting in an attempt to keep the conversation moving. Again, Gren picked up the faintest of chink in the doctor's armor upon mentioning the pair.
"The apprentice was taken here under the direct order of a Tedan Tippedai executive." Gren canted his head to the side, his tone light but laced with a sharp edge. "Those gangly new red toys your Corporation deployed seemed a bit excessive for an apprehending a kid, don't you think?"
"He's not some ordinary kid," Touka shrugged with a hint of defeat in his voice that took Gren aback. "He's one of your kind… unfortunately."
Touka turned to him sharply, peering over the rim of his glasses. His posture straightened, and his tone took on a renewed fervor. "He is being held here," the doctor confirmed, his voice clipped. "And no, before you ask," he solemnly shook his head, "I had nothing to do with his capture. Despite whatever delusions you may be suffering from, I did not issue the boy's contract to Administration and nor from my people. That contract came directly from the science department in name only."
Gren unfolded his arms beneath his cloak, his expression unreadable as he watched Touka closely as he absorbed all this information. "Then what happens to him now?" he pressed, his voice quieter but no less demanding.
"That," Touka replied, his gaze hardening, "depends entirely on your position. But I'll warn you again—whatever you're hoping to accomplish here, don't expect the answers to be clean, convenient, or without cost." He motioned toward the chamber behind him, the black mass within swaying ominously in the glowing liquid. "This Corporation doesn't operate in absolutes. Everything has a price."
Gren felt his throat tighten with a growing unease swelling within him as Touka continued.
"The Corporation's official stance," Touka said, his tone detached, almost clinical, "is that Kazon acted alone. That he attacked and killed his instructor before abandoning the body on that planet."
Gren grimaced at the thought, the scenario twisting uncomfortably in his mind. The idea was absurd, far removed from anything he considered plausible, yet Touka pressed on, his tone heavy with resignation.
"They'll hold one of their little sham trials," Touka said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen this play out before. "Ghomvack will send a team to investigate. They'll comb through whatever remains on that forsaken rock, but they'll find nothing. No evidence. Where would they even know to look?" He paused, his expression growing darker. "And then Administration will step in, dragging your so-called Code into the spotlight, questioning its validity. The Corporation proves nothing, Administration proves nothing, and another day on Myce slips by like all the rest—silent, unremarkable, and unresolved."
Touka nodded slightly, his face unreadable. "At the very least, your friend will be charged with the attempted assault of a Tedan Tippedai ambassador, along with whoever else he attacked during the incident. That alone will be enough to blacklist him from your Administration and Ghomvack, severing any ties he had left. And then they'll send him off—to some remote rock so far from civilization that they might as well have killed him outright. As far as his friends like you are concerned, it will make little difference."
Gren clenched his fists, his fingertips biting into his palms as he tried to suppress the ire welling up inside him. Touka's words were calculated, cold in their logic, yet Gren couldn't shake the truth they carried. It was a fate worse than death—a slow erasure of a life reduced to nothing by the grinding machinery of bureaucracy and corporate greed.
"And you're just fine with that?" Gren asked, his voice low and taut. "Standing by while they destroy someone's life?"
Touka's gaze hardened, though a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—passed through his eyes. "Fine with it? Hardly," he said. "But if you're expecting me to weep over a system I've spent decades navigating, then I'm sorry to let you down. My role here isn't to save people, Hunter."
"And if something were at work," Gren said, leaning slightly forward, his tone growing more inquisitive, "just for the sake of argument, Doctor—of course; how stupid do your bosses have to be even think they could control something like the rumors say?"
Touka arched a brow incredulity. "Aren't you, in your professional position, doing the same thing?" he asked coolly.
The question caught Gren off guard. His brow wrinkled, but he held his tongue, allowing Touka to continue.
"You follow the will of others, don't you?" Touka pressed, his words deliberate and cutting. "Contracts, deals, handshakes and curtsies—all for a quick Kem?"
Gren shifted uncomfortably, Touka's observation striking a nerve he wasn't prepared to confront. He tried to mask his doubt, keeping his features neutral in the dim light of the lab, but the doctor was tone was unrelenting.
"You are just as you condemn. Controlled greed and orders scribbled on sheets of paper. You and your friend and all of your kind were prisoners and long before that old fool took that nonsense contract," Touka said, his tone heavy with finality. "One just trades for something tangible. Your kind trades in their own freedoms to choose."
Gren felt his breath grow shallow at the realization as the doctor lectured him, the weight of the questions and biting comments settling deep in his gut. He searched for a retort, a clever remark to deflect the point, but none came. The doctor's words had landed too squarely, leaving Gren with nothing to say.
Images of Kazon flashed through his mind, the young apprentice's once quiet and stoic demeanor now fractured and unrecognizable. Gren's gaze fell to the floor, his thoughts spiraling. What if it had been him instead? Or Iria?
This was it, Gren at long last reconciled. This was that gnawing feeling.
The thought chilled him. He saw himself in Kazon's place, a pawn trapped by forces beyond his control, his actions twisted into something unrecognizable. And worse, he imagined Iria—her boundless enthusiasm and hunger for adventure extinguished, replaced by the same haunting emptiness he'd seen in Kazon's eyes.
Gren's pause lingered, his thoughts churning as he weighed the cost of responsibility against the allure of freedom—two forces that had always warred within him. Responsibility demanded sacrifice, the weight of choices made for others, while freedom promised a life unbound but at the risk of detachment and selfishness. In that moment, Gren reconciled the truth he couldn't avoid: everyone bore a price for the paths they walked, himself included.
"Well…" Gren began, his voice carrying a mix of reflection and defiance as he met Touka's gaze. He surprised even himself with the words that left his mouth, still raw and unpolished. "Everyone falls off the wagon at some point or another. The motivation? That depends on what feeds your greed."
He could see Touka's expression sour immediately, the scientist's disdain evident before Gren even finished speaking. It was clear that his rhetorical response wouldn't satisfy a man like Touka. But Gren wasn't interested in justifying himself to someone so deeply entrenched in the Corporation's mire. Before Touka could formulate another scathing retort, Gren denied him the opportunity.
"Thank you, doctor," Gren said briskly, turning on his heel and striding toward the door. "But I think I've wasted enough of our time."
He had barely taken a few steps when Touka's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Your friend?"
Gren paused, glancing back over his armored shoulder, his expression cautious, guarded. Touka's tone had shifted again—less dismissive, more deliberate—and Gren noted the change with keen interest. He said nothing in return, waiting for Touka to continue. The doctor shifted slightly, as if weighing his next words.
Touka began, his sharp eyes narrowing behind the glint of his glasses, "I heard the boy had something with him when he returned—something that once belonged to his instructor." Touka's gaze dropped briefly to Gren's side, though the weapon was no longer there.
Gren's jaw tightened at the mention, his fist instinctively clinched at his sides, though the sword had long since been left with Bob. "I carried it from there, yes," Gren replied evenly though oozing with caution. "What of it?"
Touka's lips pressed together with an understated firmness. "If that's true, then you know its significance. That blade is more than a weapon to that Hunter; it's a symbol. One that doesn't belong to you."
"I know what it means," Gren shot back, his tone measured but with an edge of irritation, "and I carried it because it's owner wasn't there to do it himself. Nor his apprentice..."
Touka took a slow, deliberate breath. "That sword belongs to Ouspi—or it should be passed to Kazon. If you truly care about what happens next, I ask that you return it to me and I will see to it that either of those scenarios happens."
Gren let out a soft, bitter laugh. "You're asking for it back? You expect me to just hand it over and trust you to do the right thing?"
Touka's gaze steeled, but his voice remained calm. "Not for me. For them. I'll make sure it gets to the boy. If he's released, it will be waiting to be returned to him."
Gren tilted his head slightly, suspicion flashing in his eyes. "What's it to you, doc'?" he asked, his tone sharp with genuine confusion. "And how do you even know their names if you or your people didn't put out the contract?"
Touka sighed, his shoulders slumping as if weighed down by an unseen burden.
"I know the boy," he admitted, nodding slowly, as though confirming it for himself. "I've dealt with him and his foul-mouthed guardian more times than I care to count." He paused, adjusting his glasses with his middle finger in a gesture that carried both irritation and unease. "That's probably the only reason dolt took the contract—because my department was attached, even if only in name."
Gren's sneer deepened as he stared at the doctor, his confusion mounting. The revelation left him genuinely perplexed, the pieces of the puzzle refusing to fit together.
Touka's expression didn't waver, his voice steady and deliberate. "If Kazon has any hope of walking out of this alive, that won't be the end of this for him. However, if he has any hope of surviving, it will be because that blade reminds him of who he is—of what still matters." Touka straighten himself again with a tug as the hem of his tunic. "You don't see it now, but I can."
The words hung heavily in the air, laden with implications Gren couldn't yet unravel. His mind raced, pulling up fragments of memory: Kazon's fiery, tortured eyes, his trembling grip on the katana, and the desperation that seemed to radiate from him. He thought of Ouspi—the absent mentor who might have kept Kazon grounded but whose disappearance had left an unfillable void.
Just as quickly as Touka's seriousness had surfaced, it receded. His demeanor shifted back to the dismissive banter Gren had come to expect from him. He turned back to his chair, spinning it casually before seating himself and resuming his work. "And don't meddle any further in this business," Touka added, his tone cold and detached once more, "unless you aim to share his fate in a cell somewhere—or worse."
Gren stood there for a moment, the doctor's warning hanging in the air like a dark shade.
Touka's gaze hardened as he continued, his voice growing quieter but no less stern. "Let rumors be rumors. This project… it reserves no place for your horde of miscreant Hunters."
Gren turned fully, his tense shoulders loosening as an amused smirk spread across his face. His voice, when he spoke, carried a sharp edge of mockery. "…As if such a project even existed, right?"
Touka's body stiffened, his discomfort visible in the way he shifted in his seat, his fingers fidgeting on his keyboard slightly. His earlier composure, for all its condescension, seemed to falter under Gren's scrutiny. The silence that followed was telling—more than any words Touka might have spoken.
Satisfied, Gren gave a short wave of his hand and stepped out of the dimly lit testing room, leaving the doctor to wrestle with his own unease.