A father mourns the sudden loss of his wife, promised hope but left with ashes. In the present, Evah reveals a buried truth—what they called treatment was murder, and the ashes returned to grieving families were never their loved ones. Mercy was a lie… and Erion may have been part of it.
"What do you mean she's dead?"
Mr. Li's voice cracked as if the words themselves betrayed him. They slipped from his lips like a secret not meant to be heard.
The office was too white. Too still. The walls hummed with quiet sterility, as if the space itself rejected anything human — especially grief.
Doctor Way stood a few feet away, his back straight, hands clasped before him. A gentle mask of regret painted over his otherwise unreadable face.
"You said there would be several treatments," Mr. Li continued, his words fraying with disbelief. "You said… even if it didn't work… we'd still have time. That we could be there for her."
He wasn't looking at the doctor anymore. His eyes were locked to the floor.
"She was smiling," he whispered. "She was smiling this morning."
A breath shuddered through him.
Doctor Way stepped closer, placing a light hand on Mr. Li's shoulder. "There was a complication," he said, gently. "We… don't know why, but her body rejected the treatment. It happened quickly. There was nothing we could do."
"No…"
It was barely a sound. A lost thought that slipped into the void.
"Why…?"
Way crouched beside him, voice steady, soft. "It's rare. We've never seen it before. I'm… I'm so sorry."
The words tried to reach Mr. Li, but they fell like feathers into an endless well.
"How do I tell Nari?" his voice broke again. "He was waiting. He thought… he thought she was going to get better."
Tears blurred his vision. His shoulders trembled as silent sobs overtook him.
Way didn't speak. He stayed beside him, unmoving — not as a doctor, but as another soul who understood loss.
Then—
Click.
The door creaked open.
It was the nurse. The one always trailing behind Way, clipboard hugged tightly to her chest.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Doctor. Mr. Li," she said gently, "but we need to prepare the room. We're short on space."
Way stood. His eyes darkened.
"Not now."
"Doctor, I understand, but—"
"I said not now," he snapped, then caught himself. "...Please. Just give us time."
Thsse nurse hesitated, visibly torn, then gave a reluctant nod.
Mr. Li sniffed, pulling himself together, though the grief clung to him like wet cloth. "Doctor… it's okay. We already owe the hospital too much. I… I don't want to trouble anyone more."
Way turned toward him, startled by the man's calm.
"No, Mr. Li. This isn't about—"
But the father gave a weak smile. One that said: I have nothing left.
"These are the most affordable funeral homes," the nurse said quietly, passing over a thin stack of leaflets. "We'll assist with transport to reduce costs."
Mr. Li looked down. The numbers didn't make sense. None of it did. Even the cheapest option felt unreachable — another mountain after losing the world.
Way knelt again. "I'll speak to the director. We'll cover the funeral… cremation is all the hospital can provide, but it will be free."
Mr. Li's throat tightened.
Cremation. That was it. The final, irreversible goodbye.
He nodded slowly, broken. "Thank you… thank you, Doctor."
And then, silence. A silence filled with everything he had lost.
The memory faded, like smoke in the air—dragging the reader back to the stark cold of the Major General's office.
Evah sat bound, wrists raw against the metal cuffs, the weight of the past still pressing against her ribs. Erion stood in front of her, his voice like steel.
"You're saying they're killing them?"
Evah didn't look up. "They won't say it that way. They sign a waiver… then they're hooked up to the machines. Injected with something. I saw the footage. They test substances, raise the dosage again and again. The patients seize… then flatline."
Her voice was quiet, hollow. But beneath it—rage. Memories she couldn't unsee.
"Hundreds of videos. Labeled by experiment numbers, not names. Not people. Just data." Her fists clenched. "They target the vulnerable—the poor, the desperate. They make it sound like mercy."
Erion's jaw tightened. "And no one noticed?"
"They paid people to speak about successful recoveries. They donate to charities, sponsor hospitals… They buy trust."
She finally looked up, eyes burning. "When you have money like that, truth doesn't matter."
Erion stepped back, stunned. This was beyond unethical—it was monstrous. Erion's mind was ablaze with anger. Everything Evah had just exposed wasn't just evil — it was cruel.
Newfangled Inc. was one of the leading organizations in medical research and innovation, long regarded as a helping hand to people not only across the country but around the world.
Evah went on. "And then comes the final cruelty—funerals the families can't afford. The only option left? Cremation. Free. Because it costs less."
"There's government assistance—"
She laughed bitterly. "You really believe that? That it works the way it's supposed to?" Her voice cracked.
Erion's face went blank. He couldn't show what he was feeling. Anger like this could ignite wars. And as Major General, he couldn't afford rage. Not now.
But Evah wasn't done.
"And you know what is fucking annoying, Erion?" It was the first time she had ever spoken to him like that. The first time she didn't care who he was.
He didn't flinch. He didn't speak.
Her voice dropped. "The ashes they receive…" she said, "aren't even their loved ones."
The silence turned brutal.
"They cremate whatever's left… but the usable body parts? The ones not ruined by the experiments? Those get sold. On the black market. The families get a jar of powdered lies."
Her voice was flat. Empty. But the weight of her words was unbearable.
Erion stared at her. Still. Silent.
"They call it mercy," she said softly. "They say they're helping. And everyone believes it."
Silence followed—thick with grief and fury.
He finally unlocked her cuffs. They clattered to the floor.
"Are you going to kill me now?" Evah asked, her voice low, her spirit exhausted.
Erion sighed, voice suddenly softer. "Bunny, you broke into my building."
That familiar nickname cut through the tension, catching her off guard.
Her glare returned. "I told you everything. What do you still need from me?"
"You came here for help," he replied, calm and tired. "You hacked CGO and flagged me. Don't act like it was an accident."
"I didn't know you would get the message. For all I knew, you were behind it—"
She stopped mid-sentence, realizing what she'd said.
Erion's eyes narrowed. "You thought I what?"
He stepped forward.
Evah looked away.
"Bunny," his voice dropped into something darker, something commanding. "Tell me everything. Now."
She hesitated, but the words came anyway—quiet, raw.
"It was you, wasn't it? The Chairman… the woman in red… and the Major General. I saw it. The uniform. You were there."
And for the first time, Erion's expression cracked.
Evah started, heart pounding.
Am I right?