The night air was freezing, but Anton didn't feel it.
He sat on the edge of the sidewalk, behind the hospital, his back against the cold concrete wall.
In his hands, he held an old camera — a heavy, outdated model that looked almost ridiculous in an age ruled by holographic Inmos.
A deep voice broke the silence.
"Mind if I join you? This is where I usually smoke."
Anton looked up.
Jacob Hunt, still in his wrinkled white coat, approached slowly. His face carried the exhaustion of an endless shift.
"Are you smoking tonight?" Anton asked quietly.
Jacob let his shoulders drop.
"Not tonight, thank God," he replied, leaning against the same wall beside him. His gaze drifted toward the cloudy sky.
"The sky's beautiful. Even with no stars, it still looks good with the clouds."
Anton nodded and looked back at the camera.
His long, pale fingers brushed across the scratched metal body.
"It's big and heavy, but I still use it," Anton murmured more to himself than to Hunt. "I like that it's old and imperfect. The photos aren't great… but I can't let it go. I love it. I like to keep memories through it."
"I know. You've always said that," Hunt replied with a tired smile.
"And I've always told Joseph the same thing," Anton added softly.
Jacob sighed. The silence between them thickened again.
"Speaking of Joseph… look, I know it's not my decision to make, but I can give you my professional opinion."
Anton stayed quiet, lost in thought.
"What are you going to do about Joseph? If I were you, I'd recommend—"
"Joseph was always a fool," Anton interrupted, his voice trembling with anger and grief.
"He never had a normal childhood—always hospitals, tests, doctors. My parents wouldn't let him do what normal kids did. I had to look after him, always. Mom understood him the most—she was so gentle, always watching over him. She'd leave him in my care. I was the oldest—the responsible one—the protector. But he… he was always the brave one. The reckless one. He even wanted to protect me."
Anton raised the camera and aimed it toward the sky.
Through the clouds, a faint star flickered weakly, half-hidden by the shifting mist. The hospital lights reflected in his eyes, catching the tears that had begun to fall.
"One time," Anton continued, his voice cracking, "when we'd already found out about his condition, we were playing in a park. I was thirteen; he was eight. We were building sandcastles. I was great at it. Joseph got mad because I always finished first and he'd ask for help—he wasn't good at it…"
He stopped to breathe, his voice trembling.
"Then a huge dog came running toward us. Fast. I froze. I couldn't move. Fear completely took over—I couldn't even scream. But he… the younger one… he jumped in front of me. Put his little arm up to protect me. The dog bit him, hard. There was blood everywhere. I just stood there, useless, watching."
Anton broke down, shoulders shaking. Jacob placed a hand on his head, waiting patiently until he calmed.
When Anton finally spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper.
"The only thing he said was, 'It's okay, brother. It doesn't hurt. Are you okay?'"
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand.
"Why did Joseph do that?" Hunt asked quietly.
"I don't know. Maybe he thought that because he couldn't feel pain, he was invincible or something. I don't know… it was stupid," Anton said bitterly. "He risked himself for me. I never understood it. I never asked. I was too ashamed… too afraid he'd remember how cowardly I was that day."
He gripped the camera tightly.
"He was always that brave. That's why he could climb cliffs and do crazy things that would terrify me. He's… incredible."
"He is," Hunt said softly.
"I don't want to see my brother built out of metal, Jacob. And I know he'd hate me if I chose that for him."
"Then what will you do? Let him stay paralyzed? You know there's no other way," Hunt said, lowering his head and clenching his fists.
Anton turned to him, his eyes burning—not with anger, but with fierce resolve.
"Do you know why I became a bioengineer?"
Hunt frowned. "No."
"When I saw that dog nearly tear my brother's arm apart, I swore I'd cure him. I'd find a way to fix that disease so he'd never have to risk himself again. So he'd be safe," Anton said, his voice rising with intensity. "I swore that he—and our mother—would live a normal life."
"And are you succeeding?" Hunt asked.
"I will," Anton said firmly. "I'll make him feel again. I'll make him human again. So, Jacob, I can't let my brother be trapped inside a cage of metal, not even to save his life. I'll find another way. And Mom… she would've wanted the same for him."
"Would she?" Hunt murmured, his gaze heavy with sorrow.
At that moment, Anton's Inmo pulsed faintly at his temple.
Only he could see the holographic notification hovering in the air for a brief moment:
"Meeting scheduled with Agent 1 — Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m."
Anton nodded, eyes fixed on the dark sky.
"Yeah… the sky is beautiful."
That night, silence weighed heavier than the cold.
But dawn would bring something worse—answers.
The next morning
Jacob Hunt sighed, glancing at his watch. His shift had already started, though he'd barely slept.
He'd stayed up late talking with Georg and Anton, who had finally been allowed to see Joseph. The boy still hadn't woken up since the trauma bay.
Now, Hunt sat alone in his small, brightly lit office. The sterile white light reflected off the monitor before him.
A new message blinked onto the screen:
Priority Mail — Central Biogenetic Analysis Lab.
His Inmo vibrated as well, confirming the same alert: the DNA test results were ready.
"Finally…" he muttered.
He opened the email.
Genetic Analysis Report – 202122
Sample origin: unidentified biological tissue.
Results:
Human DNA (52%)Canis lupus DNA (48%)Anomalous molecular interaction: evidence of active cellular symbiosis.
Conclusion: hybrid structure — genetically impossible by current scientific standards.
Hunt stared at the screen, motionless.
"This… this is insane," he whispered.
The dying words of Mr. Martínez echoed in his mind:
"Werewolf… in the forest…"
A chill hit his stomach. The image of the torn body, the blood—the horror—flashed before his eyes.
"This can't be happening. It's impossible," he told himself, clinging to logic.
His hand trembled as he scrolled down to the end of the report.
A note had been added:
Sender: Center for Applied Biology
Note: "Dr. Hunt, can you confirm the origin of this sample? Its composition is highly irregular. Does it belong to a laboratory-created specimen?"
Hunt swallowed hard.
He typed a quick response:
"The sample belongs to an archived synthetic DNA experiment from years ago. Case closed. No current activity. —Dr. Jacob Hunt."
A lie.
He knew he couldn't reveal that the substance had come from the body of the supposed "animal attack" victim.
Leaning back in his chair, he took a deep breath to calm the nausea.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card — the one Agent Carter had given him. The number shimmered faintly under the office light.
Just then, the door opened.
"Doctor, here's your coffee."
It was Nurse Manuela Díaz, smiling as always.
Hunt quickly pocketed the card and turned toward her, forcing a smile.
"Thanks. I needed that."
"Are you okay, Doctor? You look pale."
He chuckled softly. "Just tired… and low on caffeine. Long night."
"For your friend, right?"
"Yes," he replied, nodding slightly.
"Don't worry. I'm sure he'll pull through," she said, leaving the cup on his desk. "I'll be in the trauma ward if you need me."
"Thanks, Manuela."
As soon as she left, Hunt activated his Inmo and dialed the number on the card.
"The results are in," he said quietly.
11:05 a.m.
The wind rustled through dry leaves.
Hunt leaned against his Chevrolet Silverado 3500HD, smoking a cigarette with a brown folder in hand.
He'd parked by a deserted park on the outskirts of the city — no people, no noise, just wind and silence.
He glanced at his watch.
"Eleven already… He said he'd be here by now. I hate people who are late."
A black Dodge Charger SRT pulled up a few meters away.
Two men stepped out. One, wearing a dark suit and white shirt, stayed by the car.
The other, in a matching suit but black shirt, walked toward Hunt with confident steps.
Agent Carter.
As usual, his badge gleamed with the letters F.Y.D. — Agent 21.
"You're late," Hunt said, stubbing out his cigarette.
"Traffic. My apologies, Doctor," Carter replied with a half-smile, leaning casually against Hunt's truck.
Hunt frowned. What an arrogant bastard, he thought.
"I took a risk meeting you, so this better be worth it."
Carter ignored the jab. "What did the report say?"
Hunt handed him the folder. Carter flipped through the pages, his expression tightening.
"I see… so it's true," he muttered. "Damn."
"That's what attacked Martínez?" Hunt asked.
Carter looked at him but didn't answer.
"Good work, Doctor. You won't be hearing from us again."
"Wait, what?"
"Erase all files. Don't keep any copies. Don't mention this in any report."
"The victim said he saw a werewolf in the forest. What did he mean by that, Agent?" Hunt demanded, his voice rising.
Carter ignored him again.
"And his family? They deserve to know what really happened."
"There's no need. For them—and for the media—it was a bear," Carter said coldly, jaw tightening.
Hunt's fists clenched.
"Was this your experiment? A government creation?"
Carter slowly turned his head, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"You're asking the wrong questions, Doctor. And we don't have patience for the curious."
He stepped closer, pulling something from his coat pocket. Hunt's pulse spiked.
"What a shame it has to end like this, Doctor…"
Carter—Agent 21—pressed the object against Hunt's forehead.
For a split second, time froze. The gray sky, the rustling leaves, even the wind—everything stopped. He felt the cold steel against his skin. A Glock 19M.
"Wait, let's not do anything rash," Hunt said, his voice trembling.
"I told you, Doctor, we don't like curious people. Forget what happened—and live your life. Forget… or we'll make you forget."
"I can't," Hunt said, shaking. "I can't forget knowing something like that is out there—something that could kill again."
Carter's face stayed emotionless.
"Really? What a pity," he said, finger sliding toward the trigger.
"You're afraid of exposure, aren't you?" Hunt said quickly. "What if I told you that if I don't make it home today, a full report with the DNA data goes public? It links the Martínez case directly to the F.Y.D."
Carter's expression darkened—annoyance mixed with reluctant respect.
"So you planned for this, huh?" he said, pressing the gun harder against his forehead.
"I don't trust men in black suits," Hunt whispered hoarsely.
Carter exhaled and lowered the weapon.
"Damn it… I don't have time for this."
"Please, don't kill me," Hunt pleaded.
"I won't," Carter replied coolly. "You want money?"
"No. I just want to know why you can't tell the truth. If you did, people wouldn't have to die."
Carter held his gaze.
"What's better, Doctor? Saving a few and dooming everyone… or saving everyone by condemning a few?"
Hunt fell silent.
"Exposing the truth wouldn't save anyone," Carter continued. "It would destroy trust—cause panic, riots, maybe even a coup. And if that data reached our enemies, what do you think they'd assume?"
Hunt's eyes widened. "They'd think Sarac is developing a biological weapon…"
"Exactly. And they'd strike first. Sarac's peace would crumble."
"But… people deserve to know."
"Maybe. But peace is built on half-truths. One day the truth will come out—but not today."
Carter took a step back, eyes locked on Hunt.
"So tell me, Doctor… will you risk everyone to save a few, or save everyone by condemning a few?"
Hunt swallowed hard.
"The information… won't be released. This never happened. The files don't exist," he said quietly, fists trembling.
Carter smiled faintly, holstering his weapon.
"Good. Thank you for your discretion, Doctor. Perhaps we'll speak again."
Hunt didn't respond.
Carter walked back to the black car, folder in hand.
Hunt stayed frozen against his truck, staring at the cigarette butt on the ground—he didn't even remember dropping it.
The wind picked up, carrying it away into the cold.