Prototype Dorian

6.

Five days before the Selection

After the bots return to normal, the medical bots are dispatched throughout the floor. They give all of us a quick scan before sending Morgan and Ariandelle to the medical facility for further follow-up tests. I want to follow Morgan to check on their arm, but Ariandelle tugs on my sleeve.

"Come with me, Lara." Her voice croaks, as though her throat is still parched from the burns.

"Yes, General Caelum."

I follow the medical bot as it wheels Ariandelle to an examination room. She sits on a bed while a larger medical bot scans her body.

"I'm glad you're alright," Ariandelle says, combing a hand through her frizzy auburn hair. My ponytail must be a mess too, but I'm too tired to tidy it up. "Were you practicing in the shooting range before the attack?"

My head dips. "Yeah," I mutter.

It feels like ages since the morning practice at the shooting range. Now, my mind is miles away from the daily practices, from the Selection... from everything I cared so much about.

But I will never admit this to Ariandelle. Not when she looks at me with such pride in her eyes.

"Very good, Lara. It's unfortunate the attacks stopped your practice sessions. Those terrorists, whoever they are, need to be brought to justice."

"Didn't you, uh," —I struggle to find the right words— "stop them, um, permanently, General Caelum?"

Ariandelle waves her free hand. Her other hand is getting blood drawn by the medical bot. "There's more of them wherever they came from. I also have intel that one aircraft got away before we could take it down. We need to figure out who they are and ensure this does not happen again." She lets out a breath of annoyance. "I can't believe they hacked our systems. I need to speak to our engineering team about rectifying this issue. It's going to take so much money to repair the damage in the wall."

"They killed people too," I mumble.

"Yes, that's terrible. They're not even merciful to their kind." She tilts her head towards the door, while a smirk tugs on her lips. "Your little rival is not doing so well."

Morgan's charred cyberarm flashes through my mind. Their pained expression. Their labored wheezes. The 'pop' sound as I pulled the arm off. The way it crumbles away into a lifeless pile of ash.

I blink rapidly. "Sánchez is not with them."

"I know, but hey, at least they're the least of your worries now. There's no way that mutant can even pass the initial screenings with one arm, let alone compete in the Selection."

"But they can get a new cyberarm."

"Oh, that's not possible," Ariandelle dismisses as she removes her arm from the medical bot. It begins dispensing pills into a small bowl.

"Why?" I ask, frowning. "Is it too damaged to be repaired?" But Ariandelle did not so much as look at Morgan just now, so how would she know...

Ariandelle takes a pill and swallows it. "Our mechanics do not work on bodies of Ground Earth dwellers."

"What? Why?"

"Being born and raised in a nuclear wasteland has significant effects on the human body, Lara. Their DNA differs completely from ours."

"But it has been a century after the Last World War, General Caelum. S- Surely it's not that bad now, is it?" And I cannot fathom Morgan being that different from me.

Ariandelle's brows furrow as she fixes her gaze on mine. "Lara, over five thousand nuclear bombs were set off during the war. Do you know how destructive that is? Do you think one century is enough to clean that up? Everything on Ground Earth is tainted, Lara. Don't be deceived by your anecdotal interactions with that one mutant. They are let into the Tower after all, so they are the exception, not the rule."