"To heal the world, she first had to dissect herself."
The lab smelled faintly of ozone and sterilized glass — a scent Florence had come to associate with safety, though it still whispered of other rooms and colder hands.
She stood by the workstation, sleeves rolled to her elbows. The light above her cast her reflection in the steel table, golden lines beneath her skin flickering like caged constellations.
Tesla watched from across the room, a cup of lukewarm coffee in hand. "You sure you want to use your blood again? We've got enough samples to drown a horse."
Florence smiled without looking up. "And yet, none of them are as cooperative as I am."
Einstein raised an eyebrow. "You're remarkably cheerful for someone about to stab herself."
Florence twirled the scalpel between her fingers. "Occupational hazard."
The needle pricked. Her blood slid into the vial — not red, not gold, but a strange shimmer between both, alive even after leaving her veins. She held it up to the light. "You'd think Otto would've at least made it glitter."
Tesla muttered, "He probably tried."
The centrifuge hummed quietly as Florence leaned against the counter, watching the machine spin her blood into layers. Plasma separated from deeper gold, faint energy fields pulsing at the edges like trapped breath.
Einstein approached with her datapad. "We've analyzed hundreds of MANTIS subjects from the previous era — none display regenerative efficiency this refined. Your Holy Blood integration might have stabilized the synthetic pathways."
Florence tilted her head. "Translation: I'm less of a disaster than my ancestors."
"More like you're rewriting their mistakes," Einstein said gently.
Florence didn't reply. Her gaze stayed fixed on the spinning vials, transfixed by how something so small could hold so much consequence.
"I keep wondering," she said finally, "if Otto ever realized he made something that could undo him."
Tesla set her mug down. "He probably did. He just didn't think you'd care enough to try."
Florence smiled faintly. "Then let's prove him wrong."
She spent hours studying her samples — analyzing cell adaptation, mapping out MANTIS-coded DNA structures, and comparing their behavior under stress.
Her hands moved like someone remembering an old dance. Equations unfolded effortlessly; diagnostics became language; every observation carried a whisper of memory from a life that once understood anatomy as poetry.
"Look here," Florence murmured, gesturing to the screen. "The synthetic junction between MANTIS pathways and natural regeneration — it's efficient, but it burns energy exponentially under stress. That's why most augmentations destabilize."
Einstein leaned closer. "Can you stabilize it?"
Florence's grin was sharp and certain. "Of course. You're just not supposed to do it with biology."
Tesla sighed. "Please tell me this doesn't involve setting yourself on fire."
"Only metaphorically," Florence said.
Hours passed in golden silence. Data scrolled, energy readings danced across screens, and Florence moved between instruments like she'd built them herself.
She extracted another vial and placed it in the field chamber, activating a mild Honkai simulation.The sample pulsed, flared—then quieted.
Einstein's eyes widened. "It adapted. Instantly."
Florence leaned forward. "It didn't fight the corruption. It learned from it. That's the missing step."
Tesla looked up from her notes. "You're saying your blood evolves?"
Florence shrugged. "Doesn't everyone?"
"Not like that," Tesla muttered.
Einstein's voice softened, almost reverent. "This… could change everything. If your Holy Blood teaches the body to harmonize with Honkai energy instead of rejecting it—"
"Then maybe it stops being poison," Florence finished quietly. "Maybe it becomes a language."
Einstein met her eyes. "And you're the first person fluent in it."
Later, when the lab lights dimmed to evening mode, Florence sat at the bench surrounded by her notes.Dozens of vials glowed faintly on the table — small worlds suspended in glass.
She rested her chin on her hand, exhausted but peaceful. "Funny. For all his genius, Otto never figured out that fixing people would've made him a god faster than breaking them."
Tesla chuckled. "That's the problem with tyrants — they always flunk empathy."
Florence smiled, but her eyes stayed on the samples. "Empathy's just data you don't need a microscope for."
Einstein placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You're doing good work, Florence."
"Feels strange, doesn't it?" Florence said softly. "Making something that helps instead of hurts."
"Strange," Einstein agreed. "And necessary."
When they finally left her to rest, Florence lingered behind, the hum of the machines keeping her company.She picked up a vial, holding it against the light. The faint gold shimmer danced between her fingers.
"Not bad for a monster," she murmured.
The reflection in the glass smiled back — tired, alive, and learning.
And for the first time since she'd been created, Florence wasn't looking for a cure. She was becoming one.