Lab 7B was colder than the others.
Not in temperature, but in feeling.
Rows of glass chambers lined the far wall, each one glowing faint blue. Inside, samples floated in liquid suspension, tagged with numbers that meant nothing to anyone outside this room. The hum of the machines filled the silence. It was a steady, mechanical heartbeat, the sound of AlphaCorp's control.
I'd dreamed of walking these halls once. Back then, I thought this place was where science met hope. Now I knew better.
It was where they learned how to own people.
I moved between the tables, scanning the screens. Data scrolled fast, pheromone breakdowns, DNA strand sequences, control ratios. Every file carried the same purpose: containment.
Everything they did here wasn't to understand us.
It was to limit us.
"Dr. Ren?" The voice startled me slightly. A young technician stood by the main console, Beta designation by the scent. "Do you want me to calibrate the scanners?"
"Yes," I said quickly, hiding the flash of irritation in my chest. "Make sure the recording logs are off for now. I need a manual check."
She nodded, tapping the panel. "Done."
"Good. You can take a break."
Once she left, I was alone again. I closed the system's external feed and connected my own small, illegal device.
The screen blinked to life, showing layers of code beneath AlphaCorp's security net. Years of stolen access keys, encrypted pathways, and buried archives. I'd spent half a decade preparing for this.
I found the files faster than I expected: Omega Suppression Trials. The label made my stomach tighten.
I opened the first report.
Date-stamped. Clinical. Detached.
It described test subjects who had been dosed with early versions of pheromone inhibitors. Their markers faded, their instincts dulled, their health deteriorated. No names. Just numbers.
I scrolled farther and froze.
There it was.
Project designation: V-01.
That was me.
Five years ago, the Council had quietly approved a "voluntary compatibility experiment." They'd used my pairing with Kael as a data point a way to measure the emotional stability of mixed hierarchies. The rejection hadn't just been political.
It had been planned.
I stared at the line of text until the words blurred.
He knew. Or at least, his father did. Maybe both.
The thought hit harder than I wanted it to. I'd told myself I didn't care anymore, that Kael's betrayal was just fuel. But this… this was proof I'd been a test subject, not just a mistake.
The anger came once, burning through my veins.
They'd taken everything, my place, my choice, my name and turned it into data.
I closed the file and hid the device back under my coat just as the lab door hissed open.
Kael stepped inside.
I turned slowly, forcing my face into calm. "Director."
"Dr. Ren," he called, glancing around. "Working late?"
"Always," I said.
He walked closer, studying the screens. "You've already run the full sequence?"
"Yes. The data's stable."
He nodded slightly, but his eyes didn't leave me. "Efficient."
I felt the weight of his gaze. For a second, I wondered if he could hear how fast my heart was beating.
"What is it?" I asked quietly.
"I know I already said it but you seriously remind me of someone," he said. His tone was careful, almost too soft.
I forced a faint smile. "Someone important?"
"Someone who disappeared," he said simply.
For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
He turned away before I could respond, looking over one of the sample chambers. "This place has changed since then," he added. "We like to think we're building something better."
"Are you?" I asked.
He looked at me again, and for a moment, I thought he'd see it, the truth behind the mask. But then the wall went back up.
"I hope so," he said. "For everyone's sake."
He left soon after, his footsteps fading down the hall.
When the door closed, I finally let out the breath I'd been holding. My hands trembled slightly as I turned back to the computer.
V-01.
I'd found the proof I needed.
This wasn't just revenge anymore.
It was justice.
I saved the files to my device and shut the terminal down. The lights dimmed automatically, leaving the lab in darkness.