Ozan turned from the sink, his gaunt face still bruised, black blood staining the collar of his expensive synth-silk shirt. He hadn't noticed the tablet. Hadn’t seen her expression twist. He just saw the quiet. That was enough for him.
“Done with your meal, Jezra?” His voice, usually a cold rasp, held a peculiar softness when addressing her dietary intake. “The nutritional profile for the steak was optimal, but you barely touched the hydroponic greens.”
Zekal, perched on a cracked island unit, watched them with narrowed eyes, anticipating the explosion. He knew. He’d seen the file too.
Jezra’s gaze snapped from the screen to Ozan. Her hands clenched, the edge of the device digging into her palm. “Optimal, huh? Is that what you call a death sentence?”
Ozan’s dark brows, usually set in a permanent scowl, arched slightly. “A death sentence for what, exactly? A folate deficiency? I assure you, my diagnostics are precise.”
“Not for *my* folate,” she retorted, shoving the console across the scorched prep surface. It slid past the half-eaten steak, stopping abruptly near Ozan’s wrist. “For the baby. And for me. This ‘cure’ of yours. Your stem cell harvesting protocol.”
His eyes dropped to the glowing screen, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he simply stared at the text. Then, a muscle in his jaw twitched. His posture, already ramrod straight, seemed to stiffen even further. He picked up the tablet, his fingers steady, almost delicate, considering the force with which he’d dismantled assassins minutes earlier.
His gaze scanned the lines, specifically the projected outcome section she’d focused on. *“Fetal viability during extraction: 0%. Maternal viability post-extraction (due to bio-link trauma): Less than 5%.”*
A strange, guttural sound escaped his chest. It wasn’t a cough, nor a gasp, but something deeper, more raw. The cold, impenetrable CEO of Vex Munitions looked up, his eyes devoid of their usual chill, replaced by a searing, disbelieving fury.
“This isn’t my protocol,” he stated, his voice tight, each word clipped. “This is a falsified entry. An alteration. My mandate was explicit: non-lethal cord blood extraction, post-birth. A minimal invasive procedure. This… this is an outright murder schematic.”
Zekal whistled low. “Looks like someone’s been messing with your paperwork, boss-man. Real inconvenient, that.”
Ozan ignored Zekal, his eyes fixed on the slate. “This was signed off by Dr. Kordax. My lead bio-engineer. He was the only one with access to override the primary parameters without my direct authorization.” His voice was low, dangerous. “He handles all bio-vault access within the Vex labs. He would know the exact timing of the Matriarch’s infiltration attempts.”
Suddenly, a harsh klaxon blared through the ruined kitchen. Red warning lights pulsed, casting the room in a bloody glow. A heavy thud echoed from the entry archway as a set of thick blast doors, previously hidden, slammed shut with a finality that shook the entire section of the spire.
“Kordax,” Ozan snarled, dropping the terminal. “He’s initiating a lockdown.”
A disembodied voice, calm and mathematically measured, crackled over the intercom system. “Apologies, CEO Vex. Matriarch Sabina’s orders supersede your current directives. The asset must be secured, and the threat neutralized. You have become… compromised.”
The air around them began to shimmer, a faint, sickly green haze seeping from the emergency vents. A sweet, metallic scent, subtly floral, invaded Jezra’s nostrils. It was a familiar aroma from her street-runner days—the signature of a highly potent neurotoxin, designed to bypass rebreather filters.
“Paralytic,” Zekal coughed, already pressing a scrap of cloth to his mouth. “Fast-acting.”
Ozan was already reacting. He moved, not towards the blast doors, but towards Jezra, his arm reaching out. His cellular degradation, already advanced, meant his body was a fragile balance of advanced tech and failing biology. The toxin was designed to exploit such weaknesses.
His eyes, once filled with fury, glazed over. His movements became sluggish, his arm dropping heavily as if suddenly weighted with lead. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the stainless island, then slid. The sub-dermal armor, designed to deflect bullets, did nothing against a gas that attacked the nervous system. His knees buckled. His massive, armored frame, which had seemed invincible moments ago, swayed precariously.
Jezra watched, horrified, as the CEO, who had just physically carried her through a war zone, collapsed. He hit the floor with a dull, heavy thud, his eyes still open but vacant, a low groan escaping his lips as his body convulsed once, then went utterly slack.
“Ozan!” she yelled, her own head beginning to spin from the encroaching toxin. Her limbs felt heavy, the edges of her vision blurring. Zekal was slumped against the chrome baseboards, coughing violently, already losing coordination.
The voice on the intercom returned, calm as ever. “The ventilation system has been repurposed. Paralysis will be total within ninety seconds. Retrieval units will follow to collect the biological asset.”
Ninety seconds. Jezra stumbled, pushing off the workstation. Her legs were weak, but a surge of pure, unadulterated panic ripped through the haze. She couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let them take the baby. And she wouldn’t let Ozan die, not if his death meant hers. Not if he truly hadn’t intended the lethal protocol.
Her eyes darted around the room, desperate. The emergency ventilation shaft. It was small, barely wide enough for one person, let alone a heavily armored CEO. But it was the only way out. She clawed her way to Ozan, her muscles screaming in protest. His weight was immense, his armor unforgiving. She grabbed a fistful of his synth-silk shirt, ignoring the black blood on his collar.
“Come on, you piece of high-tech junk!” she grunted, pulling with all her might. He didn’t budge. Not an inch. The air grew thicker, the floral scent sickly sweet, suffocating. Her vision narrowed, her own panic now battling the insidious toxin.
She looked at the inert, dying man, the man who had just risked his life to save hers, who had meticulously cooked her a meal, who was now utterly helpless. A stark, terrifying realization crashed over her, sharp as a shard of ice through the gathering fog: she was the one protecting him now.