CHAPTER NINE — OBSERVATION
The newer children were guided down one corridor.
The older ones were directed down another.
No announcement. No explanation. Just a silent fork in the path.
Keil didn’t look back.
He couldn’t.
The door ahead of them was heavier than the others—sleek metal, reinforced seams glowing faintly at the edges. One of the researchers stepped forward, pressing their ID to the panel. A low mechanical hum answered. The lock disengaged with a muted click.
The door slid open.
Cold air spilled out.
They stepped inside.
Dr. Althea Morvane followed just behind Keil, close enough that he could hear the faint rhythm of her heels against the polished floor.
He had seen this wing before.
That didn’t make it easier.
The hallway stretched impossibly long, lit by sterile white lights that hummed faintly overhead. The walls were lined with observation rooms—large panels of reinforced glass inset into each door and wall. Not ordinary glass. Thick. Treated. The kind that wouldn’t shatter even under force.
Even under gunfire.
Inside those rooms—
Keil’s stomach dropped.
Children.
Or what used to be children.
Some were restrained to tables—straps securing wrists and ankles while researchers hovered nearby, adjusting devices, injecting fluids, monitoring readings on glowing screens.
Some were sitting upright, breathing heavily, eyes glassy, bodies altered in ways that felt wrong to look at for too long.
Wings that didn’t match bone structure.
Scales creeping unevenly across skin.
Claws that had grown too far, curling back into flesh.
In one room, a girl with elongated ears and scaled shoulders trembled violently while a researcher attempted to stabilize her vitals. The monitor beside her flickered red, then yellow.
In another—
A scream cut through the corridor.
High. Raw. Not entirely human.
Further down, something slammed against reinforced glass hard enough to make the metal frame vibrate. A boy—if he was still a boy—had grown beyond proportion. Muscles swollen unnaturally, veins dark beneath translucent skin. His restraints strained under the pressure of his movements.
And in one of the farther rooms—
Keil couldn’t look away fast enough.
A subject—fully gone, no longer recognizable as human—had torn free from one wrist restraint. Its arm was elongated, bone structure warped, fingers stretched into hooked shapes. A researcher lay on the floor inside the room, motionless, uniform soaked dark. The subject’s jaw moved with wet, uneven sounds as it dragged what remained of the body across the tile.
Blood streaked the white floor.
The reinforced glass held.
Outside, researchers watched from a distance, waiting for sedation to take effect before re-entering.
More screams echoed.
Some from children.
Some from staff.
The hallway didn’t stop.
It went on and on, each room another variation of possibility—successes, failures, progress reports written in flesh.
Keil’s breathing slowed on its own, forced into something controlled. Quiet. Small.
His fingers curled into fists at his sides.
Is it finally it?
Is it my turn?
Are they going to turn me into one of them?
His throat felt tight.
Will I wake up different? Will I wake up at all?
The thought of Rin seeing him like that—
Of Leaf looking at him with that silent, furious understanding—
Of Huika…
His chest hurt.
Dr. Morvane noticed.
She didn’t smile. She didn’t need to.
She slowed her steps until she was beside him. Then, with deliberate grace, she bent slightly—just enough that her voice would only reach him.
“Don’t worry, my dear Subject K3R5,” she murmured.
Her tone was soft.
Almost affectionate.
“You won’t be turned.”
A pause.
“Yet.”
Her breath was warm against his ear.
“Think of what Subject L4R2 would feel,” she continued lightly. “Or Subject R2R3.”
Another pause.
“And especially my favorite… Subject H1R1.”
She let the designation linger.
“They would be devastated, wouldn’t they? Watching their ‘older brother’ lose his mind first.”
Her lips curved faintly.
A small laugh escaped her—quiet, controlled, entirely pleased.
She straightened and walked ahead of him as if she hadn’t said anything at all.
At the end of the corridor, another reinforced door opened.
The older subjects were directed into a secondary chamber—brighter, cleaner. Less chaotic. Rows of medical stations arranged with precision. Restraint chairs built into the flooring. Monitors suspended from articulated arms overhead.
Clinical.
Controlled.
Efficient.
Dr. Morvane glanced toward one of the researchers.
“Include Subject K3R5 in today’s checkup procedure,” she said calmly, tapping something onto her advanced screen. “Full review.”
No further explanation was needed.
Keil swallowed.
He stepped forward when instructed.
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And behind the glass walls, something screamed again.
Half of them were escorted away toward the procedure wing.
The rest were guided toward the general check-up stations.
But Keil wasn’t sent with either group.
Two guards stopped him before he could follow the others. One of the researchers leaned down slightly, scanning the tablet in their hand before nodding toward a different corridor.
“Subject K3R5. This way.”
Keil didn’t resist.
He had already learned that resisting rarely helped.
The corridor they led him through was quieter than the others. The harsh fluorescent lights were softer here, the walls smoother, cleaner. Less crowded. Less chaotic.
But that only made it worse.
Because it meant this part of the facility belonged to someone important.
Someone with authority.
Someone who didn’t need noise or crowds to do their work.
At the end of the hall stood another advanced door—sleeker than the others, sealed with multiple locking mechanisms. One of the researchers tapped their ID against the panel. A low electronic hum followed as the locks disengaged one by one.
The door slid open.
Behind Keil, the muffled chaos of the research wing continued.
A child screamed somewhere down the corridor.
A child’s panicked voice.
“I don’t want to—!”
Another voice shouted.
Footsteps—running.
“Stop!”
Then—
A gunshot.
The sound echoed sharply through the hall.
Keil instinctively flinched, his shoulders tightening.
He turned slightly just in time to see a younger boy from the line stumble forward, collapsing onto the floor as two guards rushed toward him. The boy had tried to run.
Tried.
The guards dragged him away without ceremony.
Before Keil could see anything else, the door behind him slid shut with a heavy mechanical seal.
The outside noise disappeared instantly.
Silence.
Cold, sterile silence.
When Keil looked forward again, he saw her.
Dr. Althea Morvane sat comfortably across the room, already absorbed in the glowing surface of her advanced clipboard. One leg was crossed neatly over the other as she scrolled through lines of data, her expression calm, almost bored.
The room itself was noticeably different from the other laboratories Keil had seen.
This one was… personal.
The equipment was organized with meticulous precision. Instruments arranged perfectly on polished counters. Several monitors floated above a central workstation, quietly displaying biometric charts and neurological scans.
A reclining examination chair stood in the middle of the room.
There were no restraints visible.
But Keil knew better than to assume they weren’t hidden somewhere.
The guards nudged him forward.
“Sit.”
Keil hesitated for half a second before lowering himself into the chair.
The material was cold against his back.
He sat upright, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the woman across from him.
“.....”
His face was calm.
But it was the kind of calm that came from being constantly alert.
Guarded.
Waiting.
“Why… am I here?” he finally asked.
Dr. Morvane didn’t respond.
Her finger continued sliding across the glowing surface of her clipboard as she reviewed file after file.
Keil’s jaw tightened slightly.
“What’s going to happen to the others?”
Still nothing.
The only sound in the room was the faint tapping of her stylus against the screen.
Keil inhaled slowly through his nose.
His patience was already wearing thin.
“What are you going to do to Huika?” he asked, his voice firmer now. “What ‘special treatment’?”
It wasn’t a shout.
But the anger behind the words was clear.
This time—
Dr. Morvane paused.
Her finger hovered over the screen for a moment before she slowly lowered the clipboard onto the nearby counter.
Then she looked at him.
And smiled.
It wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t kind.
It was the sort of smile someone might give while observing an insect pinned under glass.
“Oh?”
A small laugh escaped her lips.
“Haha…”
She leaned back slightly in her chair, studying him with quiet amusement.
“She won’t get hurt,” she said lightly.
A brief pause followed.
“Not yet, anyway.”
She stood up gracefully, the sharp click of her heels echoing softly against the polished floor as she moved toward one of the counters.
Her movements were practiced. Efficient. Almost elegant.
She slipped on a pair of medical gloves with casual familiarity, stretching the material snugly over her fingers as though she had repeated this routine thousands of times.
Keil’s gaze followed her every movement.
Being alone in her personal laboratory made his skin crawl.
“Ah, Subject K3R5…” she continued casually, reaching for a syringe and inspecting it under the light.
“Your little attachments will be your greatest weakness.”
She turned slightly, her voice dripping with a false gentleness that felt more unsettling than open cruelty.
“You’ve been quite the… hassle lately.”
Her eyes flicked toward him briefly.
“A very noncompliant child.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“I’m honestly surprised Dr. Vaelor hasn’t placed you in isolation yet.”
Keil didn’t respond.
His face remained calm.
But the tension in his shoulders gave him away.
Dr. Morvane drew a small vial closer, preparing the syringe with precise movements.
“But then again…” she murmured thoughtfully.
“That’s exactly what makes you interesting.”
She approached him slowly, syringe in hand.
“You think too much.”
Her eyes studied him carefully now.
“Far more than the others.”
She reached for his arm without asking permission.
“You already have the mind of an adult,” she continued, tightening a band around his arm to find the vein. “And at such a young age.”
Her lips curved slightly.
“If that weren’t the case… you’d probably look like some of the things we passed in the hallway.”
The needle slid into his skin.
Keil felt the sharp sting immediately.
His arm twitched slightly despite his effort to stay still.
Dark red filled the syringe.
“IQ matters here too, you know,” she continued conversationally while collecting the sample. “Intelligence is a valuable resource.”
She pulled the needle out smoothly and placed a small pad against the puncture.
“Who knows?”
She turned away toward the counter, sealing the vial with practiced efficiency.
“You might even be given the opportunity to become a researcher here someday.”
For a moment, the room was quiet again.
Keil’s hand slowly curled into a fist.
His jaw tightened.
“I’ll never be like them,” he murmured under his breath.
The words were quiet.
But the hatred inside them was unmistakable.
Dr. Morvane peeled off her medical gloves slowly, the thin latex snapping softly as she removed them from her fingers. She dropped them into a nearby disposal tray with careless precision before setting the small tube of Keil’s blood beside several labeled containers.
It would be collected later.
Filed.
Studied.
Used.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Keil said.
His voice was controlled.
But the anger was there.
His expression remained composed, the calm face he had learned to wear inside this place, yet his eyes betrayed the frustration building beneath it.
Dr. Morvane turned toward him again.
That same smile remained on her lips.
Cold.
Measured.
Almost amused.
“Do you know why…” she began softly, her head tilting slightly as if she were asking a curious riddle.
“…she’s my favorite?”
Before Keil could respond, one of the guards near the door stepped forward.
“Doctor Morvane,” the guard said quickly, his voice low but firm. “You mustn’t.”
There was hesitation in his tone.
Not fear exactly.
But caution.
As if he knew she was about to say something that wasn’t meant to be spoken aloud.
Dr. Morvane didn’t even glance at him.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said lightly.
Then she looked directly at Keil.
Her eyes met his.
Lifeless.
Empty.
The kind of gaze that made it difficult to tell whether she was looking at someone… or simply through them.
“It’s because,” she said slowly, the corners of her lips curling faintly, “she reminds me of my late husband.”
The smile stayed on her face.
But there was no warmth in it.
None at all.
Husband…?
Keil’s thoughts stumbled for a moment.
He hadn’t expected that answer.
The word echoed strangely in his mind.
Husband.
Someone she had loved.
Someone she had lost.
It didn’t fit.
Not with the woman standing in front of him.
Not with the coldness in her eyes.
Dr. Morvane had already turned away again as if the statement meant nothing.
She walked back toward her chair and sat down with effortless composure, crossing one leg over the other while retrieving her advanced clipboard.
Her fingers resumed scrolling through lines of data.
“Still,” she continued casually, as if the conversation had never strayed, “at least you’ve been quite compliant lately during your regular schedules.”
Her tone sounded almost approving.
Almost.
“But that could change.”
The door behind Keil slid open with a quiet mechanical hum.
A researcher stood outside, waiting.
“Subject K3R5,” they said, gesturing toward the hall.
It was time for him to leave.
Dr. Morvane didn’t look up from her clipboard.
“I suggest you behave yourself during checkups,” she said, her voice carrying just enough to reach him as he stood.
Her lips curled slightly.
“You wouldn’t want to end up like Subject K7R3.”
A brief pause.
“…or your other old friends.”
Her smile sharpened.
“Now would you?”
She still hadn’t bothered to look at him.
Keil stopped at the doorway.
The words tightened something inside his chest.
Slowly, he turned his head halfway back toward her.
“Stay Kaylani out of this,” he said quietly.
The room went still for a second.
Dr. Morvane didn’t respond.
She didn’t even acknowledge him.
The clipboard screen reflected faintly in her eyes as she continued reviewing her files.
Then—
Hsss.
The door slid shut.
Cutting the room away from him completely.
The researcher escorted him back through the corridor.
Keil walked silently beside them, his hands at his sides, his thoughts heavier than before.
Your other old friends.
The phrase lingered.
Most of them were gone now.
Some had been transferred.
Some had been “contained.”
And some…
He never saw again.
Kaylani was the only one he knew was still alive.
At least, the last time he saw her.
They turned a corner and re-entered the main research wing.
The atmosphere was just as oppressive as before.
Cold.
Sterile.
Unforgiving.
When Keil was returned to the line, he immediately noticed something.
There were fewer children now.
Far fewer.
His stomach tightened.
He slowly scanned the area.
Several faces he remembered from earlier were missing.
Gone.
A bead of sweat formed at his temple and slid slowly down his cheek.
His eyes lowered toward the white flooring.
And he saw it.
A faint smear of red.
Dried blood.
Near the place where the boy had tried to run earlier.
The stain hadn’t even been cleaned yet.
Keil quickly looked away.
He shook his head slightly, forcing the image out of his mind.
There was no point thinking about it.
Not here.
Not now.
The guards began moving the remaining group forward again.
“Line up.”
The children obeyed immediately.
No one spoke.
No one questioned it.
They simply fell into place.
The line slowly began moving toward the exit corridor—the same one that had led them out to yard time earlier.
But the walk back felt heavier now.
The quiet was different.
Everyone knew what had happened.
Even if no one said it.
Step by step, they were guided back toward the sector halls where they had entered from.
The artificial lights above flickered faintly.
And the white floors beneath their feet reflected the silence of the ones who never returned to the line.
