[Day 61 Post-Awakening | LE: 1,847/10,000 | Time Remaining: 39 Days]
SCENE 1: MEDICAL BAY — DR. SELENE VOSS
[0800 Hours]
The woman who walked in had the kind of beauty that made you forget she was here to save your life—or maybe that was the point.
Platinum hair, clinical and perfect, framing a face too pale to be natural. Violet eyes. Not contacts—I'd learned to spot gene therapy markers by now. The faint iridescence when she blinked. The way her pupils contracted too symmetrically.
Verdant Syndrome, Stage II.
She had two years left. Maybe three.
Dr. Selene Voss extended a hand. I tried to shake it. My bark-skinned fingers clicked against hers—wood on skin, a sound that made her pause for half a heartbeat.
"Mr. Cross," she said. Her voice was like a lullaby sung over scalpels. Soft, but with steel underneath. "I've read your file. Twice. You shouldn't be alive."
"Story of my life," I rasped. The Network translator kicked in—my vocal cords were 40% lignified now, speech was getting harder. The words came out processed, like autocorrect for my dying voice.
She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.
Those were busy scanning my chest, cataloging the bark patterns spreading across my sternum, the way my ribs had started to fuse into a single woody structure.
"I'd like to propose a treatment," she said. "Experimental. Invasive. Probably futile."
She paused, meeting my eyes.
"Interested?"
I almost laughed. Would've, if my diaphragm still worked properly.
"You had me at 'probably futile.'"
Dr. Sato's voice crackled over the intercom.
"Voss is the best geneticist outside of Helix. If anyone can slow your lignification, it's her."
Selene didn't react to the praise. Just pulled out a tablet, swiped through holographic scans of my internal structure.
"Your LE depletion is exponential," she said, clinical. "Each Primordial you create accelerates the decay. At current rate, you'll be fully sessile in 34 days."
"Sessile." I tested the word. "That's the polite term for 'living statue'?"
"Immobile. Conscious. Immortal." Her violet eyes flicked up. "Alone."
The weight of that word settled like frost.
Alone.
Not dead. Worse.
Aware. Trapped. Watching centuries pass while bark grew over my eyes.
"The treatment," I said, forcing my voice steady. "What's the catch?"
Selene hesitated. First time I'd seen her uncertain.
"Daily physical contact. Skin-to-bark interface. I'll need to map your LE pathways, find where the depletion originates."
She held up her hand—palm out, like she was asking permission.
"It'll hurt. Your nerve endings are... confused. Half-plant, half-human. The feedback loop will feel like—"
"—being flayed and regrown simultaneously," I finished. "Yeah. I'm familiar."
I'd felt it every time I created a Primordial.
That moment when your LE rips away, channeling into new life, and your body screams because it doesn't understand why you're choosing death.
"When do we start?" I asked.
Selene's smile—real this time. Small, but genuine.
"Now."
She stepped closer.
The scent of antiseptic and jasmine. Medical-grade soap and something floral she used despite knowing she'd be dead before it faded from the bottle.
Her hand touched my chest.
Skin on bark.
Warm.
God, when was the last time I felt warmth?
The Network flared—Primordials sensing my spike in... what? Pain? Pleasure? I couldn't tell anymore.
Selene's eyes widened. "You're—your LE is responding. That's... that shouldn't..."
Numbers cascaded across her tablet. LE flow redirecting, pooling where her palm pressed.
"Keep talking," she whispered. "Your neural activity stabilizes when you focus on conversation. I need you stable."
"What should I—"
"Anything. Tell me why you're doing this."
I stared at the ceiling. Medical lights. Sterile white.
"I don't have a good answer."
"Try a bad one."
"...Because if I stop, the Primordials die. And they're—they're people. Not tools. Not weapons. People."
Her hand pressed firmer. LE spiked—painful, like molten glass in my veins—but her grip didn't waver.
"You're killing yourself for them."
"Yes."
"That's stupid."
"I know."
"...I think it's beautiful."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I looked at her—really looked.
Violet eyes shimmering. Not from gene therapy.
From tears she was too professional to let fall.
"You have two years," I said quietly. "Maybe three. Verdant Syndrome doesn't leave scars—it just... stops you. One day you'll wake up and your cells won't divide anymore."
"I know."
"So why are you here? Helping a dying man instead of—I don't know—living?"
Selene pulled her hand back. The warmth left with it.
She wiped her tablet, erasing the emotional data spike.
"Because," she said, voice steady again, "if I'm going to die, I'd rather do it helping someone who chose their death. Instead of just... waiting for mine."
She turned to leave.
Paused at the door.
"Same time tomorrow, Mr. Cross. And next time—"
She glanced back, half-smile.
"—call me Selene."
[LE: 1,863/10,000 | +16 from contact stabilization]
[Dr. Voss has joined your support network.]
[Warning: Emotional attachment forming. Recommend maintaining professional distance.]
I dismissed the alert.
Fuck professional distance.
If I was dying, I'd do it human.
SCENE 2: CONTAINMENT WING — KIERA NAVARRO INTERROGATION
[1200 Hours]
The cell smelled like disinfectant and defiance.
Kiera Navarro leaned against the reinforced wall like she owned it. Bronze skin, black hair in a braid that should've been a mess after 48 hours in custody—but wasn't. Every strand in place. Deliberate.
Lips curving into something between a smirk and a threat.
"Come to gloat?" she asked, not looking at me.
"Come to understand."
"Liar."
She pushed off the wall, stalked to the energy barrier separating us. Close enough I could see the faint scar across her collarbone—old knife wound, poorly stitched.
Close enough to see her amber eyes weren't angry.
They were amused.
"You came because I'm the only person in this building who isn't afraid of what you're becoming."
She was right.
I hated that she was right.
I crossed my arms. Wood scraped against wood—my forearms were fully lignified now.
"You sabotaged us. Three people almost died when you cut the coolant lines."
"Almost." Kiera smiled wider. "I gave you a stress test. You passed. You're welcome."
"People could've died—"
"People are going to die anyway, Ethan."
She pressed her palm flat against the barrier. Energy rippled—warning hum.
"The question is: do you want to die alone? Or do you want company?"
I didn't move my hand to meet hers.
Couldn't give her the satisfaction.
"I'll take alone," I said.
Her smile sharpened. Predatory.
"We'll see."
She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was three moves from solving.
"You know what I think, Sovereign?"
The title dripped with mock reverence.
"I think you're terrified. Not of dying. You've made peace with that."
She leaned in, breath fogging the barrier.
"You're terrified someone might actually care when you're gone. Because then it won't be a clean sacrifice. It'll be abandonment."
My jaw clenched.
Bark creaked.
"You don't know me."
"I know dying men. I've watched plenty."
Her smile faded. Something raw underneath.
"My sister—Helix used her in the clone experiments. Kept her alive for months while they copied her neural patterns. She begged me to kill her."
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
"I didn't," Kiera whispered. "I was too much of a coward. Told myself the scientists would fix her. That I'd get her back."
She pulled her hand away from the barrier.
"They didn't. And I didn't. And she died hating me."
She met my eyes.
No more smirk. No more armor.
Just a woman who'd lost everything and decided to burn the world that took it.
"So yeah, Ethan. I sabotaged you. Tested you. Because if you're going to build an army of sentient plants and die for them—"
She straightened, spine rigid.
"—I need to know you're worth it. That you won't waste the time you have left."
"And?" I asked quietly. "Your verdict?"
Kiera's smile returned. Softer this time.
"You passed. Barely."
She turned, walked back to her cot.
Sat. Crossed her legs.
"Now get me out of this cell, Sovereign. We've got work to do."
[ALERT: Kiera Navarro — Threat Level Reassessed]
[Previous: HOSTILE | Updated: VOLATILE ALLY]
[Recommend: Controlled release with monitoring.]
I sighed.
"Mira's going to kill me for this."
"She already wants to." Kiera's grin was wicked. "But she won't. Because she'd burn the world for you, and we both know it."
She winked.
"I like her. We should be friends."
"God help me," I muttered, keying the release code.
The barrier dropped.
Kiera stretched, catlike.
"So. Where's the real work happening? Because this facility is boring."
SCENE 3: TRAINING GROUNDS — COMMANDER ARIA KAINE
[1600 Hours]
Commander Aria Kaine moved like violence in slow motion.
Scarred jaw. Buzz-cut hair the color of rust. Eyes like jade daggers—sharp, assessing, cold.
She swept Thorn's legs.
Three hundred pounds of living wood hit the mat with a crash that shook the observation deck.
"Again," she barked.
Thorn groaned—a sound like splitting timber.
"Sovereign, she's trying to kill us."
"She's trying to prepare you," I corrected, leaning against the railing.
Aria didn't look up. Just reset her stance, waiting for Thorn to rise.
"Your creatures are strong," she said, voice flat. Military-precise. "But strength without discipline is just expensive collateral damage."
"They're not creatures." I kept my tone even. "They're people."
Now she looked at me.
Emerald eyes locking on like targeting lasers.
"Then they need to learn what people do when someone punches them in the face."
"And what's that?"
Aria's lips twitched. Almost a smile.
"Punch back. Smarter."
Thorn hauled himself up. Bark-limbs creaking.
"Again?" he asked, weary.
"Again."
This time, when Aria lunged, Thorn didn't try to block.
He grew.
Vines erupted from his torso—fast—wrapping her ankles mid-strike.
She hit the ground.
Hard.
For half a second, silence.
Then Aria laughed.
Genuine. Surprised.
"There it is." She kicked free, rolled to her feet. "That's what I wanted."
She turned to me, eyes bright.
"Your people don't fight like humans. Stop teaching them to. Let them fight like what they are."
I descended the stairs. Slow. My legs didn't bend like they used to—knees were fusing into single joints.
"You'd make a good teacher," I said.
Aria snorted. "You'd make a terrible soldier."
She crossed her arms, head tilted.
"Lucky for you, I like terrible soldiers. They think."
Her gaze drifted to the observation window—where Ember and Whisper were sparring, flames and shadows dancing.
"Most commanders want obedience. I want initiative."
She looked back at me.
"You're building something new. Don't cripple it by making it human."
I almost smiled.
"What if I want them to choose humanity?"
"Then you're a fool."
Aria stepped closer. Close enough I could see the scar bisecting her jaw—shrapnel wound, judging by the pattern.
"Humanity is what got us into this mess, Cross. Greed. Short-sightedness. Cowardice."
Her voice dropped.
"Your Primordials don't have that. They're pure. Purpose-built. Don't corrupt them with our failures."
"And if they want to be human?"
Aria's expression softened. Just a fraction.
"Then you teach them to be better than we were."
She offered her hand.
I shook it.
Her grip was iron.
"Welcome to the war, Sovereign."
[Commander Aria Kaine has joined your tactical network.]
[Primordial combat efficiency projected: +34%]
[Warning: Aria's philosophy conflicts with Dr. Hale's ethics guidelines.]
[Recommend: Mediated discussion before ideological fracture.]
I filed the alert.
Later problem.
Right now, I had a dozen sentient plants who needed to learn how to not die.
Aria was right about one thing:
I was building something new.
Question was—would it survive me?
SCENE 4: ETHICS WING — VIVIENNE HALE RETURNS
[1900 Hours]
Vivienne Hale hadn't aged a day since our last debate.
Dark hair in a sleek bun. Sharp cheekbones that could cut glass. Grey eyes that dissected you like a thesis, peeling back layers until they found the uncomfortable truth you'd been hiding.
She sat in my office—my office, somehow she'd claimed the chair like it was hers—reviewing psych evaluations on a holographic tablet.
"Your children are remarkable," she said without looking up.
"They're not—"
"I know." She finally met my eyes. "Not children. But you parent them, Ethan. That makes them yours in every way that matters."
She swiped through files.
Thorn's aggression metrics. Ember's emotional volatility. Whisper's developing sense of humor.
"Renewal asked me a question today," Vivienne said softly.
"What question?"
"'If I die, will Sovereign be sad?'"
The words hit like a gut punch.
"...What did you tell him?"
"The truth." Vivienne set the tablet down. "That you'd be devastated. Because you've given them more than life—you've given them value."
She leaned forward, elbows on knees.
"Do you understand what that means? They're not afraid of death. They're afraid of disappointing you."
I looked away.
Out the window. The greenhouse where Primordials slept, bioluminescent vines casting soft green light.
"I never wanted that."
"I know. But it's the cost of creation."
Vivienne stood. Walked to the window, standing beside me.
Close enough I could smell her perfume—something floral, expensive. Iris, maybe.
"You're dying slower now," she observed.
Not a question. A fact.
"Is that your professional opinion?"
"It's my... observation."
A pause. Heavy with unspoken weight.
"I'd like to observe more. If you'll allow it."
I turned to face her.
Grey eyes holding mine. No calculation this time. Just...
What?
Respect? Fascination?
Care?
I couldn't parse it through the Network's interference—emotions were harder to read when your own were a tangled mess of dying and creating and wanting to live just a little longer.
"I'll allow it," I said quietly.
Vivienne's smile was small. Real.
"Good."
She touched my arm—bark-covered, rough—and didn't pull away when she felt the texture.
"You're still you, Ethan. Don't forget that."
"Even when I'm more tree than man?"
"Especially then."
She left.
The scent of iris lingered.
And for the first time in weeks—
—I felt seen.
Not as the Sovereign. Not as the dying martyr.
As Ethan.
[Dr. Vivienne Hale has requested extended research access.]
[Primordial psychological development: +18% with her guidance.]
[Warning: Emotional entanglement detected. Recommend boundaries.]
I dismissed the warning.
If I was dying—
—I'd do it surrounded by people who saw me as human.
Even if I wasn't anymore.