The Extra's Rise

The administrative wing of the Slatemark facility buzzed with nervous energy as I reviewed the files Deputy Commander Sereth had provided. Each document was more disturbing than the last—clinical reports detailing the creation and development of what they called "Project Genesis," the Red Chalice Cult's attempt to cultivate their own supreme-tier combatant.

"The other major cults each possess young talents of extraordinary potential," I read aloud from one particular report, keeping my voice carefully neutral for Reika's benefit.

Cordelia sat across from me in our temporary office, her purple Bishop robes arranged carefully as she maintained the illusion of reviewing regional intelligence reports. To anyone observing, we appeared to be conducting routine administrative work. In reality, we were piecing together the full scope of what this facility represented.

"Project Genesis was initiated to address this deficiency," she read from another file, her voice tight with controlled anger. "Through careful genetic manipulation and essence integration, we have successfully created a being capable of matching any young talent produced by rival organizations."

'Their ace in the hole.' It made sense from a strategic perspective—the magical world operated on a delicate balance of power, and having supreme-level combatants was essential for maintaining influence. But understanding the reasoning didn't make the reality any less horrific.

"Matthias," Reika said quietly, using my cover name even in private. "Look at this medical report."

I leaned over to examine the document she'd highlighted. The clinical language couldn't disguise the horrific details: surgical procedures performed on a developing child, essence integration processes that had a sixty percent fatality rate, psychological conditioning designed to ensure absolute obedience.

"Forty-seven previous attempts," I murmured, noting the casualty statistics. "Subject Zero is the first to survive the complete enhancement process."

Forty-seven children. The number hit me like a physical blow. This wasn't just about one victim—it was about an entire program of systematic murder disguised as research. How many families had lost children to feed this project? How many innocents had died so the Red Chalice Cult could have their weapon?

A soft knock at the door interrupted my growing rage. "Enter," I called, arranging my features into the appropriate expression of Cardinal authority.

Sereth stepped inside, his vampire features arranged in a mask of deference. "Your Eminence, I wanted to inform you that Subject Zero's afternoon conditioning session has been completed. If you'd like to conduct another inspection..."

Perfect. "Actually, I believe regular observation will be necessary to properly evaluate the project's viability. I'll be conducting daily assessments for the remainder of our stay."

"Of course, Your Eminence. Shall I have the security escort prepared?"

"That won't be necessary. I prefer to conduct my evaluations without... external interference."

Sereth's pale features flickered with uncertainty. "Your Eminence, protocol requires—"

"Protocol," I interrupted coldly, "requires that you follow the directives of a Cardinal without question. Are you suggesting that my authority is insufficient to ensure my own safety?"

"No! No, of course not, Your Eminence. I simply..." He swallowed nervously. "The subject can be... unpredictable when not properly supervised."

Unpredictable. As if any eight-year-old wouldn't be traumatized by the treatment this child had endured. "I believe I can handle one small girl, Deputy Commander. Have the containment chamber prepared for my arrival in one hour."

After Sereth left, Reika fixed me with a questioning look. "What are you planning?"

"Information gathering," I replied honestly. "We need to understand exactly what we're dealing with before we can formulate any kind of rescue plan. And that means talking to her directly."

An hour later, I stood outside the containment chamber again, but this time the circumstances felt entirely different. Without the clinical demonstration and Sereth's nervous explanations, the space felt more like what it actually was—a prison cell disguised as a bedroom.

The little girl—Subject Zero—sat in the same cross-legged position as before, but now she was working on what appeared to be a jigsaw puzzle. The pieces were scattered across a small table, and she was methodically fitting them together with the kind of focused concentration that reminded me painfully of how children should be spending their time.

She looked up when I entered, and I saw wariness flash across her features before she quickly schooled her expression into neutral compliance. 'She's learned to hide her emotions. At eight years old.'

"Hello," I said gently, making no sudden movements as I approached. "May I sit down?"

Her dark eyes studied me carefully. "You're the Cardinal from yesterday. The one who watched me break the training dummy."

"I am. My name is Matthias." I settled into a chair across from her small table, noting how she tensed slightly at my proximity. "What are you working on?"

"A puzzle," she said simply, her voice carrying the careful modulation of someone who had learned that wrong answers carried consequences. "It's supposed to help with pattern recognition and strategic thinking."

Even her recreational activities are designed around making her a better weapon. "What's the picture?"

For the first time, a hint of genuine emotion crept into her expression. "A garden. With flowers and trees and... and butterflies." She picked up a piece that showed part of a bright yellow bloom. "I've never seen a real garden."

The simple statement hit me harder than any of the clinical reports had. This child had been created in a laboratory, raised in sterile chambers, and trained to be a living weapon. She had never experienced the most basic joys of childhood—sunlight on her face, grass beneath her feet, the simple pleasure of watching butterflies dance among flowers.

"Would you like to?" I asked quietly. "See a real garden, I mean."

Her hand froze in the act of placing the puzzle piece. For a moment, her carefully maintained composure cracked, revealing the desperate longing of a child who had never been allowed to dream of anything beyond these walls.

"I'm not supposed to want things," she whispered, so quietly I almost didn't hear her. "Wanting things makes the tests harder."

The tests. I'd seen references to psychological evaluations in the files, but hearing her speak about them in that defeated tone made my chest tight with fury. They weren't just torturing her body—they were systematically breaking her spirit.

"Everyone wants things," I said carefully. "It's part of being human."

"I'm not human," she replied with matter-of-fact certainty. "I'm a weapon. Weapons don't want things."

'Who told her that?' The clinical detachment in her voice when referring to herself as a weapon was perhaps the most disturbing thing I'd encountered yet. Someone had deliberately taught this child to dehumanize herself, to think of her own desires and emotions as flaws to be corrected.

"What if I told you that you're wrong?" I asked. "What if you're both?"

She looked at me with confusion. "Both what?"

"Both human and something more. Being powerful doesn't make you less human—it just means you have more choices about how to use that humanity."

For several minutes, we sat in silence while she continued working on her puzzle. I could see her processing my words, trying to reconcile them with everything she'd been taught about herself. Finally, she spoke again.

"The Doctor says I'll be ready for real missions soon. That I'll get to leave this room and prove my worth to the Cult." She placed another piece, completing a section that showed a butterfly's wing. "But I don't want to hurt people."

The Doctor. Probably Cardinal Akasha, though the child wouldn't know her real name. "What do you want to do instead?"

"I want to finish my puzzle," she said simply. "And maybe... maybe see if the real butterflies are as pretty as the ones in the picture."

I made a decision that would change everything. "What if I told you that might be possible?"

Her hands stilled completely. "You're lying."

"I never lie to children."

"Everyone lies to children. They say it's for our own good."

Smart girl. She'd already learned one of the harsh truths about the adult world, even if she'd learned it in the worst possible way. "You're right. Adults do lie to children sometimes. But I'm going to make you a promise right now, and I want you to remember it, okay?"

She nodded slowly.

"I promise that I will never lie to you, no matter how difficult the truth might be. And I promise that if there's any way—any way at all—for you to see real butterflies and real gardens, I will find it."

Tears began to form in her dark eyes, and for the first time since I'd met her, she looked like what she actually was—a frightened, lonely child who desperately wanted to believe that someone cared about her wellbeing.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why would you help me?"

"Because everyone deserves to see butterflies," I said simply. "Even weapons. Especially weapons."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and returned to her puzzle with renewed focus. But I noticed that she kept glancing at me, as if trying to determine whether I could possibly be telling the truth.

'Step one,' I thought as I watched her work. 'Establish trust.'

Now I just had to figure out how to keep the promise I'd just made.