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ONE

OLIVIA

I punched my timecard with the last bit of strength in my fingertips.

Sixteen hours in the maternity ward had left me hollow-eyed and aching.

Three births, one emergency C-section, and a terrified first-time mother who gripped my hand so hard I thought my fingers might break.

But it was worth it. This job was always worth it.

“Heading home, Dr. Parker?” Nurse Chen glanced up from her station, the dark circles under her eyes matching mine.

“If my legs remember how to walk that far.” I managed a smile while gathering my things. “Any more surprises hiding in triage?”

“All clear. Go before someone’s water breaks in the parking lot.”

The hospital corridors stretched endlessly before me as I shuffled toward the exit.

My reflection in the darkened windows showed a woman I barely recognized some days—brown hair escaping what had once been a neat ponytail, scrubs wrinkled beyond salvation.

Two years ago today, I’d been a different person entirely.

The night air hit my face. April in New England still carried winter’s bite even in the year 3036. I wrapped my jacket tighter and fumbled for my car keys, the parking lot nearly empty at this hour.

“Perfect timing, Ben. Just like two years ago.” I whispered to no one.

My throat tightened as I slid into my car. Benjamin would have made some ridiculous joke about the weather or complained about hospital coffee. He could have been here.

I didn’t realize I was crying until the tears splashed onto my hands.

“Damn it.” I pressed my palms against my eyes. “Not in the parking lot, Liv. Just get home first.”

The dashboard clock read 2:17 a.m. Exactly two years ago since that field hospital collapsed under artillery fire. Two years since I’d dragged Benjamin’s body from the rubble, his blood soaking through my uniform while I screamed for help that never came.

My phone buzzed. A text from my friend Naomi: Thinking of you today, Olivia. Call when you can.

I started the car but couldn’t bring myself to drive yet. Instead, I opened my glove compartment and pulled out the worn photograph—Benjamin and me at medical school graduation, his arm slung around my shoulders, both of us laughing like we had all the time in the world.

“Should’ve been faster,” I whispered to his frozen smile. “Should’ve made you leave when the first shells hit.”

The guilt swept through me like a physical pain. I’d survived. I’d come home. I’d built this new life delivering babies into a world still rebuilding after the war while Benjamin would forever be thirty-two.

“Olivia? You okay?”

I jumped at the tap on my window. Dr. Matthews from pediatrics stood there, concern etched across his face.

I wiped my eyes hastily and lowered the window. “Fine. Just tired after that shift.”

“You sure? You don’t look?—”

“It’s the anniversary,” I said, the words tumbling out. “My friend. From the military.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Benjamin, right? You mentioned him before.”

I nodded, somehow touched and surprised he remembered.

“Want company? There’s a diner down the street still open.”

For a moment, I considered it—the comfort of not being alone tonight. But Benjamin’s face stared up at me from the photograph, and I knew I needed to face this by myself.

“Another time. But thank you.”

I pulled into my driveway twenty minutes later, the headlights briefly illuminating my small bungalow before darkness swallowed it again.

The familiar porch light wasn’t on. I’d forgotten to set the timer again.

Exhaustion weighed me down as I killed the engine.

Benjamin’s face still swam behind my eyelids every time I blinked.

Some days I believed it should’ve been me instead of him.

“Just get inside,” I muttered to myself, grabbing my purse and keys. “Hot shower. Tea. Bed.”

My cheeks were still damp as I stepped out of the car. The neighborhood was silent at this hour—no traffic, no dog walkers, just the distant hum of the city and the whisper of wind through the trees lining the street. I fumbled with my house key, still sniffling.

“He would laugh if he saw me now,” I whispered. “Standing in the dark, crying in my driveway like?—”

The crunch of footsteps on gravel was my only warning.

Two shadows detached from the darkness beside my garage. Before I could scream, a gloved hand clamped over my mouth. Another pair of hands gripped my arms, wrenching them behind my back.

“Target secured,” a deep voice murmured, oddly flat through a tactical helmet.

I thrashed violently, my keys and purse dropping to the concrete. My heel connected with someone’s shin, but it felt like kicking steel.

“She’s resisting,” the second figure stated, as if reporting the weather. Something was eerily familiar about them—something I had heard during the war.

“Let me go!” I managed to yell when the hand briefly slipped from my mouth. I twisted my body, using the self-defense moves I had learned during combat training. “Help! Someone help!”

The streetlight caught on their tactical gear—matte black with subtle blue piping.

Their behavior seemed unusual, yet oddly recognizable at the same time, their movements precise and coordinated.

My stomach dropped as recognition flashed.

That distinctive armor design. CyberEvolution’s handiwork, yet somehow different.

“Why?” I gasped as they dragged me toward a van I hadn’t noticed before. “I’m just an obstetrician!”

One of them pressed something cold against my neck. “Administering sedative.”

“No!” I bucked wildly, years of combat medical training screaming warnings in my head. “I’m nobody! I’ve been out for two years!”

The needle pricked my skin. Warmth spread through my veins.

As they loaded me into the van, my thoughts fragmented. Why would CE want me? I’m nobody special. Just a retired combat medic turned obstetrician.

The sedative soon hit my system like a freight train.

My limbs went from thrashing to useless in seconds.

Through half-lidded eyes, I watched the van’s interior ceiling swim above me, dimly lit by blue-tinged display panels.

My mind floated, untethered from reality, as I struggled to process what was happening.

“Vitals stabilizing,” one of them reported, his voice unnervingly calm. “Estimated full sedation in forty seconds.”

I tried to spit out a retort, but my tongue felt swollen and uncooperative. The vehicle lurched forward, sending me sliding across the metal flooring. One of my captors adjusted my position with efficient movements.

“W-why...” I managed to slur.

Neither answered. Despite my disoriented state, I registered their tactical gear—black composite armor with integrated technology I had never seen before.

Blue light pulsed along thin channels in the material.

Combat medics noticed everything, and this wasn’t standard military issued.

This was beyond anything I had encountered, even on the battlefield.

My gaze drifted to a weapons rack secured to the van’s wall.

The rifles mounted there were sleek, almost organic in design.

No visible magazines, just strange glowing power cells.

One looked like it had been pulled straight from a sci-fi film—all curved lines and pulsing energy signatures.

Definitely not government issued. Definitely not what I remembered from my time with the military.

“Parameters acceptable. Initiating transport protocol,” the driver announced from the front.

Something about their cadence and their economy of movement... it triggered memories. The field hospital. The cyborg soldiers we treated for six months—CE’s “enhanced warriors” with their unnervingly precise speech patterns and identical mannerisms.

But that was impossible. CE’s cyborg program had been dismantled after the war. All their cyborgs were supposedly deactivated.

My consciousness flickered like a faulty light. In one moment of clarity, I noticed the subtle insignia on one soldier’s shoulder plate—not CE’s familiar logo, but something similar. A mutation of it. Evolution beyond evolution.

“Not...” I fought against the sedative. “Not possible... you were...”

“Silence is recommended,” one stated, placing a hand against my shoulder. The touch was firm but not painful. Precise yet oddly tender.

These beings had found me. But why? I was nobody important—just a doctor who delivered babies now. My war service had been unremarkable except for...

Benjamin’s face suddenly flashed in my mind. Our last moments together where Benjamin refused to leave without trying to save the cyborg soldiers in the field hospital as shells fell around us.

“Benjamin knew something,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure why. The drugs were making connections my conscious mind couldn’t follow.

The two figures exchanged looks. My heart raced despite the sedative.

What had Benjamin discovered? What had I missed?

As darkness threatened to pull me under, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Careful what you wish for,” I murmured. Just an hour ago, I’d been drowning in survivor’s guilt, wondering why Benjamin died instead of me.

Now, it seemed the universe might’ve been correcting its mistake.

“Target displays unusual cognitive resistance to sedative,” one noted clinically.

“Good,” the one next to me replied, and something in that single word sounded almost... human.

My consciousness then slipped completely. The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was the one beside me removing his helmet, revealing a face that was human but not quite—eyes too bright and features too perfect.

They were indeed CE creations.

My final thought: Benjamin died trying to save cyborg soldiers just like these for a reason.