Gates' head snapped up. "That's experintal."
"So is everything else about this situation."
Gates paced the small room, mind racing. Protocol Lazarus—a radical cell-regeneration treatnt combining nanobots and genetic reconstruction. Dangerous. Illegal. And possibly Charlotte's only chance.
"Don't do anything. Wait until Arthur wakes up, then imdiately notify . Understood!"
The doctor nodded.
"Don't do anything," Gates ordered, surprising the dical team. "Wait until Arthur wakes up, then imdiately notify . Understood?"
The doctor blinked in confusion. "Sir, if we delay treatnt—"
"Just do as I say." Gates' tone left no room for argunt.
The doctor nodded reluctantly. "Understood."
Gates stepped into the hallway, pulling his security chief aside.
"Double the guards on both rooms. No one enters or leaves without my express authorization."
"Yes, sir. Should we be concerned about—"
"About everything," Gates cut him off.
"Yes, sir!"
Donald's car screeched to a halt outside the military facility that had housed Arthur for the past weeks.
Donald's car screeched to a halt outside the military facility that had housed Arthur for the past weeks. Tires smoking, he barely rembered to grab his security badge before sprinting toward the entrance.
Guards snapped to attention as he passed—not out of respect, but tension. News traveled fast.
Donald entered the facility and made a beeline for the conference room, his perfectly tailored suit now rumpled and stained with sweat. His mind raced with excuses, explanations, anything to save his skin.
Inside the conference room sat four people: Warner, the hospital administrator whose facility now resembled a slaughterhouse, Jas, who'd been responsible for Arthur's psychological profiling, Adam, and at the head of the table, the Director Hawthorne himself, the one who was responsible for the whole facility.
"Sir..." Donald began, his usual confidence evaporated.
"Sit down." Hawthorne's voice was a frozen wasteland—utterly devoid of emotion or rcy.
Donald nodded, gulping as he took the only empty chair. He was no longer the composed handler who'd made Arthur Fate fear him. Now he was prey.
Hawthorne didn't waste ti. "You woke a slumbering beast. You've made us an enemy that will cause us trouble until his death—or ours."
The accusation hung in the air like a death sentence.
Donald gritted his teeth, panic rising. "Sir, I really couldn't do anything about it! Everything was going well! Everything seed fine—ask your son." He looked desperately at Jas, who sat with a grim expression.
"The boy didn't show anything that would indicate he had such powers," Donald continued. "All tests were normal, all interactions standard. He was compliant!"
"He played us all from the beginning!" Adam's voice cracked, rage barely containing his terror. "He must've lied about his imprisonnt, lied about everything! He set up, and after that, we lost our foothold in the village. You think that's coincidence? Impossible!"
Adam's hands shook visibly on screen. He understood his position better than anyone—trapped in an Armageddon prison when the rge happened, he'd be a helpless target for Arthur's vengeance. Or if he was lucky, the prison sentence would be nullified and he would remain in his real-world location.
"Gentlen." Hawthorne raised a hand, silencing them. "Assigning bla doesn't solve our imdiate problem. Fate has his sister. Fate has abilities that shouldn't be possible yet. And who knows in how long the rge will happen."
He tapped a tablet, bringing security footage to the wall screen. Arthur, moving like a vengeful ghost through the hospital corridors. Bodies flying without being touched. Space itself tearing open at his command.
"This is what he accomplished with one minute of power and a mission to save his sister," Hawthorne continued. "Imagine what he'll do with unlimited access."
The room fell silent as the implications sank in.
Warner cleared his throat. "Do we have any idea where he is?"
"None," Hawthorne admitted. "He vanished after retrieving his sister. Our tracking implant went offline simultaneously."
What Arthur didn't know was that his constant teleportation had malfunctioned the tracker that they had planted inside his body.
"He'll co for us," Adam whispered, face pale. "He'll co for all of us."
Donald's mind raced, survival instinct kicking in. "Then we use that. Set a trap."
Hawthorne raised an eyebrow, interested despite himself. "Elaborate."
"He's emotional, focused on his sister. We can use that. Make him think we've developed a cure for her condition—sothing only available through one of our companies."
"And when he cos for it?" Jas asked.
Donald's eyes hardened. "We'll be ready. Special forces, experintal weapons, everything we've got."
"You're suggesting we fight an awakened with guns?" Warner scoffed.
"I'm suggesting we fight him before he becos a full-fledged awakener," Donald snapped.
Hawthorne considered this for a mont before shaking his head, dismissal clear in his cold eyes.
"No. If Fate could use his powers again so soon, this facility would already be a smoking crater." His fingers tapped thodically on the polished table. "He expended his pre-rge capability. He won't be able to teleport or manipulate space until the full rge happens."
Donald cursed under his breath. There went his best chance at redemption.
"Then what's the plan?" Warner asked, tension evident in his voice.
Hawthorne's gaze fixed on Donald, calculating and rciless. "You will be the bait."
Donald's blood ran cold. "What?"
"When the rge happens, you will be on live television. A public appearance that Fate can't possibly miss. We'll have our teams ready to strike the mont he appears."
"Bu-but I'll die!" Donald's voice cracked, composure completely shattered. "He'll kill on sight!"
"You'll die if you don't cooperate," Hawthorne replied with chilling finality. "At least this way, you serve a purpose."
Jas leaned forward, eyes gleaming with the confidence of soone who'd never tasted failure. "With my abilities and our tactical teams in position, Arthur won't stand a chance. He's strong—definitely S-Rank material like —but he can't fight all of us alone."
Donald looked desperately around the room, finding no allies. "You're using as sacrificial bait," he whispered.
"Precisely." Hawthorne smiled for the first ti—a razor-thin expression devoid of warmth. "Consider it your final service to the project."
Adam's laughter crackled, tinged with hysteria. "Better you than , Donald. Better you than ."
Donald slumped in his chair, defeat written in every line of his body. He'd orchestrated Arthur's suffering for so long, and now the bill had co due...from his own allies.
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