Page 31

A week after the Unity patrol incident, and I still can't decide which is stranger, my new body or my new reality.

I've been awake for hours, studying the changes in my hands—the slightly altered bone structure, the subtle shift in skin texture, the way tiny blue veins map beneath the surface in patterns that weren't there before.

These modifications aren't just enhancements anymore.

They're…me.

A knock at my door breaks my concentration. Dr. Reid stands in the hallway, a data tablet tucked under his arm and dark circles beneath his eyes suggesting he's been up all night.

"Sorry to disturb you," he says, "but we've made some discoveries about your mother's research that I thought you'd want to see."

My stomach tightens. I still can't think of Elara Thorne as my mother without a surge of complicated emotions—anger, curiosity, grief for a connection I can barely remember.

“Give me a minute,” I tell him. He nods and exits the room as I slip on the same clothes I was wearing yesterday and step out into the hall .

"What kind of discoveries?" I ask, following Reid down the corridor.

"We've been analyzing the data recovered from the old research facility," he explains. "And we've found detailed records of the Haven children project—including specifics about your modifications."

The research lab occupies what was once a pre-collapse medical facility, its equipment salvaged and repurposed from various sources. Nothing matches, unlike Unity's perfectly standardized technology, but somehow it all works together—a metaphor for Haven's Edge itself.

Nora and several other researchers are already there, clustered around a central display table. Trent stands slightly apart, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. His eyes meet mine briefly as I enter, then slide away.

We've maintained careful distance since the patrol incident, our interactions limited to necessary communications.

The anger I felt at his deception has cooled from scalding rage to a persistent ache, but trust once broken isn't easily repaired.

Still, I find myself subtly swiping the sleep away from my eyes, wishing I spent more time getting ready.

I could have at least looked in a mirror.

"Zara," Nora greets me. "We were just reviewing your mother's design specifications."

That phrase—design specifications—makes my skin crawl. Like I'm a product, not a person.

"And what do they say about me?" I ask.

Reid taps the display, bringing up complex genetic diagrams swirling with data markers. "Your modifications are unlike anything we've seen in other Splinters. Most adaptations occur in response to specific environmental pressures—radiation resistance, temperature regulation, toxin proccesing."

"But yours," Nora continues, "were designed for adaptive versatility rather than specialized function. Your mother called it 'evolutionary acceleration'—the ability to develop appropriate modifications in response to changing conditions."

I stare at the display, tracing the intricate patterns with my eyes. "So I'm not just modified. I'm designed to keep modifying?"

"Essentially, yes," Reid confirms. "Your base DNA includes what Elara called 'adaptive nodes'—genetic triggers that activate specific changes based on environmental input."

"Like your enhanced vision developing infrared capabilities after exposure to low-light conditions," Nora adds, "or your skin adapting to filter toxins after environmental exposure."

"So I'm just going to keep changing?" The thought is both thrilling and terrifying. "For how long?"

Reid and Nora exchange glances. "That's unclear," Reid admits. "Elara's notes indicate the process should stabilize once your body achieves optimal adaptation to your environment."

"And if my environment keeps changing?"

"Then theoretically, so would you," Nora says. "Within certain parameters."

Just fucking great. Not only am I a genetic experiment, I'm an open-ended one.

"There's more," Reid says, his expression turning grave. "Elara didn't just hide you in Unity for your protection. You were placed there specifically to eventually bridge the division between Unity and Splinter populations."

"Uh huh. And how exactly was I supposed to do that?" I ask skeptically.

"Your modifications were designed to demonstrate that genetic adaptation could be controlled, beneficial, and—most importantly—reversible if necessary," Reid explains. "Elara believed Unity's fear of genetic modification was primarily fear of irreversible change beyond their control. "

"So I'm...what? A walking advertisement for the benefits of controlled modification?"

"More like proof that humanity's future lies in balanced adaptation rather than either extreme—Unity's rigid control or unregulated Splinter evolution," Nora says. "You're literally designed to bridge those worlds."

The weight of expectation settles over me like a physical burden. "Well gee. No pressure or anything."

Trent speaks for the first time since I entered. "You don't owe them anything, Zara." His voice is quiet but firm. "Not Unity, not Haven, not even your mother. Whatever purpose they designed you for, your life is your own."

His words trigger a flicker of the old connection between us. For a moment, I see the Trent I trusted completely, the man who always had my back.

Then I remember he knew all this before I did, and the moment shatters into pieces.

"Easy for you to say," I reply coolly. "You weren't engineered with a destiny."

His expression doesn't change, but something flashes in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or resignation.

"There's something else you should see," Reid says, breaking the tension. He adjusts the display to show what appears to be a map. "We've identified eleven other Haven children placed in different arcologies. Each carries unique modification patterns."

I study the glowing markers spread across what was once called Europe and North America. "Are they all still in Unity?"

"As far as we know," Nora answers. "Though without direct contact, we can't be certain."

"If they're experiencing activation like I did, Unity will hunt them down," I say, the implications hitting me. "They'll dissect them to understand the modifications."

"Which is why we need to find them first," Reid says. " Your mother built a communication protocol into all Haven children—a genetic recognition system that would allow you to identify each other if you ever made contact."

The thought of others like me—people carrying hidden modifications, their bodies waiting to transform—creates an unexpected sense of connection. I'm not alone in this experience.

"So what's the plan?" I ask. "Break into every arcology looking for people who might be changing?"

"Not exactly," Nora says. "We've been monitoring Unity communications. There are reports of 'contamination incidents' in at least three arcologies that match the activation patterns you experienced."

"They're starting to change," I realize. "Like I did."

"And Unity is taking notice," Reid confirms. "Which means we're running out of time."

Trent steps forward, looking at the map with the tactical assessment of a Sentinel. "Extraction would be nearly impossible with current resources. Unity will have increased security protocols after what happened with Zara."

"We're not suggesting a direct extraction," Nora clarifies. "But we need to establish contact—warn them what's happening, help them understand the changes."

"And how do we do that?" I ask.

"The sympathizer network extends into most arcologies," Reid explains. "We believe we can send a message through those channels that would reach the Haven children—if we craft it carefully enough that only they would recognize its significance."

"And if Unity intercepts it?"

"Then we've exposed our intentions," Trent says bluntly. "And made their hunt even more focused."

The room falls silent as we contemplate the risk. Eleven lives hanging in the balance—people like me, carrying modifications they don't understand, isolated within Unity's rigid structure.

"I'll do it," I say finally. "Whatever message we send, it should come from me. Someone who's been through the transition."

Reid nods. "We'll need time to establish secure communication channels. In the meantime, your continued training is essential. The more you understand your capabilities, the better guidance you can offer others."

"Vex has agreed to continue your adaptation training," Nora adds. "He has experience helping others through difficult transitions."

At the mention of Vex, I notice Trent's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. The tension between them has only increased since our arrival, though both maintain careful professionalism when forced to work together.

"Speaking of Vex," Reid continues, "he suggested taking today's training to the eastern valley. The varied terrain will provide good challenges for your sensory adaptations."

"Fine," I agree, relieved to escape the lab and its reminders of my designed purpose. "When?"

"He's waiting at the eastern gate," Nora says. "And Zara—" she hesitates, "remember that whatever your mother intended, you still have choice in how you proceed."

It's the same message Trent tried to convey, but somehow it feels different coming from her—less personal, more academic.

As the meeting breaks up, Trent catches my eye, signaling he wants to speak privately. I hesitate, then nod slightly and wait as the others file out.

When we're alone, he speaks in a low voice. "I meant what I said. You don't owe anyone your cooperation."

"Why do you care what I choose?" I ask, the question sharper than intended.

"Because I've watched Unity use people as tools my entire career," he says simply. "I don't want to see Haven do the same to you."

"Is that why you didn't tell me the truth from the beginning? To protect my freedom of choice?"