Chapter 26 – Permission

By evening, the Center had almost emptied out. After the quay, the quiet felt especially strong. Only a few hours earlier vendors had been shouting around them, someone had been trying to feed Gobby, someone had kept looking at Number One, and now the only sounds beyond the room were the ventilation and the occasional footsteps of security in the hall. Gobby dropped his bag beside the bed, sat down, and immediately reached into the paper bag he had brought back from the market. Two rolls, a piece of smoked cheese, and several sweets wrapped in paper were still inside. German set his backpack beside the second bed, took off his jacket, and began arranging his things on the chair. You’re eating again? Gobby had already bitten into one of the rolls. No. I’m checking what’s left. German looked at him. You just reduced the amount left. Gobby chewed. Then the check is working. German said nothing. He took out his charger, notebook, and a spare shirt and placed everything neatly beside him. Gobby watched for a few seconds, then pulled off one shoe without untying it and pushed it under the bed. The other stayed on his foot. We’re only staying one night. And? You’re unpacking like you moved in. German sat on the edge of the bed and started taking off his shoes. At least in the morning I’ll know where everything is. Gobby kicked the second shoe under the bed after the first. I know where mine are too. German looked under the bed. For now.

Gobby finished the roll and stretched out on top of the blanket. German sat at the desk, opened his notebook, and returned to the notes he had made during the day. Several lines were about the market. A separate note concerned people’s reactions to Number One. German reread it, added a few words, and turned the page. You’re still writing things down today? German did not look up. There were a lot of observations today. Five-zero. The pen stopped. That was not a proper experiment. Five-zero. The control group consisted of one person. Five-zero. German looked at him over his glasses. Gobby was already lying with his eyes closed, reaching blindly toward the bag. His fingers swept over the blanket several times and found nothing. Right. The hand immediately moved in the right direction and found the cheese. I knew that. No. Intuition. German silently returned to his notebook.

The room grew darker. German eventually finished writing, plugged in his phone, and folded his clothes over the back of the chair. Gobby had already changed, although his shirt was lying about a meter from the open bag he had clearly tried to throw it into. German looked at the shirt, then at Gobby. Pick it up. Morning. It’s right next to you. Even better. I’ll deal with it fast in the morning. German picked it up himself and placed it on the bag. Thanks. I didn’t do it for you. Still, thanks. The light went out, leaving only a thin strip from the hallway beneath the door. Gobby rolled onto his side, pulled the blanket up, and almost immediately stopped moving. German lay on his back for another few minutes, then turned his head toward the other bed. Gobby. Silence. Are you asleep? Nothing happened for several seconds before a voice came out of the dark. No. Why didn’t you answer? Testing. What? Whether I’d fall asleep if I didn’t answer. German closed his eyes. And? There was no reply. Gobby’s breathing had already become deeper and steadier. German lay there a little longer, then turned toward the wall. The room went completely quiet.

The Center was already running the next morning. When Gobby and German left the room, staff were moving through the corridors, sections were opening, and equipment behind glass partitions was coming online. Gobby walked ahead, fastening his hoodie as he went. German carried his notebook under one arm. At the entrance to the cafeteria, Gobby slowed, drew in a breath, and immediately turned inside. You’re doing it again. Gobby looked at him. What? Locating food by smell and calling it hearing. I didn’t call it anything today. You did yesterday. Yesterday was yesterday. A few minutes later Gobby had two plates in front of him. German had one. Gobby had already eaten almost half of the first when Number One appeared in the doorway.

Number One stopped and looked first at Gobby, then at German. The phone in his hand vibrated once. He read the message, put the phone in his pocket, and came inside. German noticed first. What happened? Nothing. Number One sat across from them. German kept looking at him. Then why are you here? Gobby lifted his head from the plate. Number One looked at him. Finish breakfast. Gobby chewed. Now something definitely happened. Eat. Gobby watched him for several seconds, then picked up his fork again. German did not ask anything else.

In the administrative block, the Center director stood in front of a screen with the head of security beside him. Most of the swelling had gone down, but a dark line still ran along the man’s cheekbone. An order from the Presidential Chancellery was open on the screen. Professor Holt’s name appeared at the top. Below it was a request for an in-person examination of the source of autonomously viable cardiac tissue. Farther down, Gobby’s name appeared for the first time. The security chief finished reading. They found the connection. The director was already dialing. Yes.

Mark answered almost immediately. We received an order from Voss. Holt connected the material to Gobby. They want to examine him at the clinic this morning. The line stayed quiet for several seconds. Where is he? Here. He and German stayed overnight. Number One is with them. Do not send Gobby anywhere until I get there. The director looked at the screen. The request was filed under yesterday’s presidential order granting full access. I understand. Mark’s voice remained calm. When do they expect him? This morning. Holt is ready to see him now. Fine. Don’t reject anything. Don’t argue with the Chancellery. Just don’t send Gobby without me. Understood. I’m on my way. The call ended. The director lowered the phone while the head of security kept staring at the name on the screen. If Voss already knows who the source is, this may not end with an examination. The director closed the document. Mark gets here first.

Number One received the message less than a minute later and read it at the table without any change in expression. Gobby had already moved on to the second plate. Mark is coming, Number One said. Gobby’s fork stopped. Here? Yes. Why? To talk to you. Gobby frowned. Did I do something? No. Then why me? Number One paused. He’ll explain it himself. Gobby looked at German. German was no longer eating, his right hand resting on the closed notebook. Do you know? No. Gobby looked back at Number One, but German spoke this time. Is this connected to the people who came to the Center? Number One met his eyes. Finish breakfast. German looked down and never touched his fork again. Gobby watched Number One for a few more seconds, then pulled the plate closer and kept eating, only slower now.

Twenty minutes later the outer checkpoint opened the gates. Mark’s car entered and headed toward the administrative block. German noticed it first through the window. Gobby had his back to the glass and saw nothing. German followed the car with his eyes until it disappeared around the building, then opened his notebook. The pen remained motionless between his fingers.

Mark entered the cafeteria alone. Number One stood first. German closed the notebook, still blank since the car had arrived. Gobby remained at the table with only a few bites left on his second plate. Mark approached, looked at the plate, then at him. Finished? Gobby quickly put the last bite in his mouth. Now I am. Mark nodded. Come on. We need to talk. Gobby stood. German started to rise too, but Mark looked at him. Not now, German. He stopped and looked at Mark for several seconds, then at Gobby. Gobby gave a slight shrug. German sat back down. Number One remained beside him.

They went upstairs and entered a small meeting room. Mark closed the door. Gobby sat first. I definitely didn’t do anything? No. Some of the tension left his shoulders immediately. Then okay. Mark took the chair across from him and was silent for several seconds. Remember the tissue they found after you recovered? Gobby nodded. The piece that kept working separately. Yes. They studied it. There’s someone it may be able to help. The smile disappeared from Gobby’s face. What’s wrong with him? His heart is barely functioning. He needs a transplant, and there’s no suitable donor yet. He could die? Yes. When? Today. A week from now. A month. No one knows. Gobby looked down at the table. And my tissue could save him? Possibly. His head came up immediately. Then let them take it.

Mark did not answer. Gobby waited. What? They already have the tissue that separated from you. Now they need you. Gobby frowned. Why? They want to understand why the tissue appeared, how your body regenerates, and whether more tissue like it can be produced. That may require additional samples. They may need to see how your body responds to damage. Gobby watched him for several seconds. Is it dangerous? No one knows. But it could help that man? It could. Gobby answered almost immediately. Then I want to try.

Mark put both hands on the table. Listen first. Gobby went quiet. There is an adult man who may die. And then there’s you. To have a chance of saving him, the doctors may need to do things to your body when they do not yet understand the consequences. Maybe nothing serious will happen. Maybe it will be different. Gobby looked straight at him. Could I die? I don’t know. Mark did not look away. Neither do they. Gobby stayed quiet for a while, then asked, What’s his name? Elias. Do I know him? No. Mark hesitated briefly. He is very close to the President. Gobby blinked. The President? Yes. That’s why they’re in such a hurry? Partly. Gobby rubbed his knee with one hand. Mark continued in the same even tone. But that changes nothing. Elias being important to the President does not make his life more important than yours. And you being important to me does not make your life more important than his. Gobby looked at him. What if I want to help? Then you decide. You won’t object? I may be against the risk. That does not give me the right to decide for you.

Gobby watched him for a long time, then slowly nodded. Then I’ll go. Mark did not argue. All right. But remember one thing. As long as you agree, they can continue. If you change your mind, you say so. If you want to leave, you leave. Saying yes once means nothing after you say no. Gobby nodded and looked down at his hands. If it were German, I’d want someone to try to help him too. Mark said nothing.

Gobby’s right hand tightened. At first he did not notice. His fingers slowly curled, as if the tendons inside them had shortened. Vessels rose sharply beneath the skin of his forearm, remained visible for a second, then sank deeper. The muscles compacted without increasing in size. Everything seemed to draw inward toward the bone as darkness began spreading upward from the wrist. Gobby looked down at his arm. Deda? Mark raised his eyes. Who? Gobby did not answer. The change reached the elbow. His shoulder tightened, and the line of his chest shifted beneath the shirt. Gobby pressed his free hand against it. His heart was beating heavily and evenly. Too evenly. The familiar voice appeared inside him. No. Gobby frowned. I already decided. I heard you. Then what? They will not damage the body. Maybe they won’t. You just heard that they might.

The skin over the old injury became denser. Mark stood, but Gobby raised his free hand. Wait. Mark stopped. Gobby closed his eyes. Deda, the man could die. I know. I want to help. Deda was quiet for a moment before answering. Help him. Gobby opened his eyes. Then stop this. No. Why? Because you can help. The body does not belong to them. Gobby looked back at the darkened forearm. You’re not going to stop me from going? Go. The answer came immediately. Gobby blinked. And if I let them take something? If it does not harm you. And if it does? Then I stop them. Gobby opened and closed his hand. It still obeyed him, though the movement felt heavier. Even if I say they can? Deda did not answer at once. You can risk yourself. I can protect you.

Gobby fell silent. Mark had remained standing across from him the entire time, watching. The change had stopped at the shoulder. It was no longer spreading, but it was not fading either. Gobby finally looked up. This isn’t me. I figured that out. Deda. Mark looked at the arm, then back at him. He’s with you right now? Gobby frowned slightly. He’s always with me. And he talks to you? Yes. For how long? Gobby shrugged. As long as I remember. Mark’s gaze returned to the darkened skin. He’s doing this? Yes. Gobby tried to relax the hand. His fingers opened, but the tissue barely changed. He watched it for a few seconds, then said, I’m still going. Deda was quiet for a moment before answering. I know.

The tension began to leave the shoulder. The darkened tissue lightened slowly from the top down, vessels reappeared beneath the skin, and the fingers began moving freely again. Within seconds the arm looked almost normal. Mark followed the change until it ended. Will he interfere with the examination? Gobby listened. No. Not as long as they don’t hurt me. Mark nodded. Good. He sat down again, but got back up almost immediately when Gobby stood. Number One will go with you. Okay. If anything changes, do not wait. You say stop, it means stop. Gobby nodded and headed toward the door.

With his hand already on the handle, Gobby stopped. Mark. What? He did not turn around. Don’t tell German yet. Mark looked at his back. Why? He’ll be against it. Nothing happened for several seconds. You didn’t tell him anything? No. Mark remained still a moment longer. Gobby waited with his hand on the handle. All right. I won’t tell him yet. Gobby opened the door and left.

Number One was waiting by the inner exit. By the time Gobby came downstairs, he was already wearing his jacket and holding the car keys. Mark followed several steps behind. We going? Gobby asked. Number One looked at Mark. Mark nodded. Professor Holt is waiting for you at the clinic. You go with Gobby and stay there until he comes out. Understood. Mark looked at Gobby. Phone? Gobby patted his pocket. Yes. Charged? Gobby checked the screen. Thirty-seven percent. Number One was already opening the door. Charge it in the car. Gobby put the phone away and they went outside.

The asphalt was still damp from the night. The car stood at the edge of the inner lot. Gobby reached the passenger door, put his hand on the handle, then looked back. Mark remained beneath the awning. They watched each other for several seconds. I remember, Gobby said. Good. He got in. Number One walked around the car, took the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Once they were moving, Gobby plugged his phone into the charger. The screen lit up. German’s name was near the top of his messages. His finger hovered over it, but Number One kept his eyes on the road and said nothing. Gobby turned off the screen and rested the phone on his knee.

The car passed through the gates and turned onto the road. Mark remained by the entrance until it disappeared around the corner, then went back inside. German was still sitting in the cafeteria. The breakfast in front of him had long gone cold. His notebook lay open, several short lines now written across the page. Hearing footsteps, he looked up at Mark, then past him. Where’s Gobby? He left. The pen stopped between German’s fingers. Where? Professor Holt’s clinic. German did not move for several seconds. Why? Mark sat across from him and briefly explained Elias, the tissue study, and the examination Holt had requested. German did not interrupt. He wrote down the professor’s name, the purpose of the examination, and several words in the margin. Gobby agreed to this himself? Yes. You explained the risk? Everything we can explain right now. And he still went? Yes. The pen touched the page again. Why didn’t anyone tell me? Mark paused. He asked me not to tell you until after he left.

The pen stopped. German did not raise his head. The tip remained against the paper for several seconds, leaving a small dark spot between the neat lines. Why? Because he decided you would be against it. German lifted the pen. His expression barely changed. I see. He watched the ink spot for a few seconds, then asked, What else? Mark hesitated. There was a new transformation before he left. German’s eyes came up immediately. What kind?

Mark described what he had seen. The change had started in the hand. The vessels had surfaced, then seemed to retreat deeper. The tissue had compacted and darkened up to the shoulder and partly across the chest. There had been almost no increase in mass. German wrote fast. Combat form? No. Did Gobby trigger it himself? No. The pen slowed slightly. Deda? Yes. German looked at Mark. Gobby told you? Himself. That held German’s attention for another second before he looked back at the page. What caused the response? The discussion of possible injury during the examination. Gobby decided to go. Deda did not stop him, but made it clear he would protect the body himself. German added several more lines, drew a short line beneath them, and studied the resulting diagram. Then this isn’t amplification before an attack. No. The body closed itself off in advance against possible damage. Looks that way.

German added one final note and stopped. And Gobby knew all of this before he left? Yes. Mark added, And he specifically asked me not to tell you. German stopped writing. The pen simply rested between his fingers for several seconds before he closed the notebook. He could have told me himself. Mark did not answer. German placed the pen on the cover, stood, and picked up the notebook. His movements remained normal and precise, but he no longer looked at Mark. Where are you going? To change. He left.

German never reached the residential wing. At the first intersection he turned the other way, crossed the training sector, and stopped at the armory. He pressed his pass to the reader. The lock clicked. Inside, the air smelled of metal, gun oil, and dry tactical fabric. German turned on the light, walked to his locker, and opened it. He set the notebook on the bench beside him and stared inside for several seconds before he began getting ready.

The clinic was in the central part of the city. Number One stopped the car at a service entrance and shut off the engine. Gobby looked up at the tall windows, unplugged his phone, and slipped it into his pocket. We’re here? Yes. They got out and went inside. Staff were already waiting in the restricted admissions area. A nurse verified Gobby’s name, referral, and information in the system, then fastened an identification band around his wrist. Number One showed his escort credentials, but they did not allow him beyond registration. Medical area beyond this point. Companions wait here. Number One looked at the door behind the desk, then at Gobby. Leave the phone with me. Why? You’ll be changing clothes anyway. Gobby pulled out the phone. Thirty-eight percent. I’ll remember. Why do you need to remember that? You told me. Gobby watched him for several seconds, then handed it over. Don’t lose it. I’ll try to survive the responsibility. Gobby snorted and followed the nurse.

In the preparation room they gave him a hospital gown, lightweight pants, and disposable socks. He placed his clothes, watch, and remaining belongings in a labeled bag that went into an individual locker. A few minutes later he was sitting on an exam table in the diagnostic room, studying the wristband. Without his own clothes or phone, it finally felt less like another trip with Number One and more like being a patient. Professor Holt entered carrying a tablet. He wore dark blue scrubs, his glasses hanging from a cord against his chest. He set the tablet aside and held out a hand. Edward Holt. Gobby. That’s what you want me to call you? Yes. Holt sat across from him. Did Mark explain why you’re here? Yes. Elias’s heart barely works. My tissue might help. Possibly. First we need to understand what the tissue is and where it came from. Today we’ll start with normal tests: blood, heart, vessels, the area of the old injury. Gobby nodded. If we need anything else after that, we discuss it first. You don’t want it, you say so. You want to stop, we stop. Mark said the same thing. Then we agree.

The first procedures were no different from a normal examination. Blood pressure, temperature, oxygen saturation, EKG. Holt listened to his heart several times and examined his chest with ultrasound. Then the nurse tightened a tourniquet around Gobby’s arm and prepared the tubes. Gobby watched until the needle entered the vein, then turned his head away. Holt noticed. Needles? No. Blood? I don’t like mine. Holt looked at the tube slowly filling. You like other people’s better? No. But at least their blood stays with the other person. Holt almost smiled. Gobby carefully looked back, saw the blood, and immediately turned away again. No. I’m still not watching. Reasonable.

Next came the CT scan. It took longer. Gobby was repeatedly told not to move and to hold his breath. Holt stayed in the control room with the radiologist, reviewing the images as they appeared. He stopped on one series, went back, and enlarged the area of the old injury. The tissue around it differed from the surrounding structures in both density and vascular pattern. Holt had several slices repeated, then opened the data from the Center sample and compared them in silence. When Gobby returned to the diagnostic room, one electrode was still stuck to his side. He noticed it, peeled it off, and placed it on the edge of the table. You forgot one. Holt took it. Thank you. Gobby sat down. Well? The professor opened an image and turned the tablet toward him. This is the old injury. This is the area around it. Gobby stared at it for several seconds. I don’t see anything. You’re not supposed to. The tissue density and the arrangement of the vessels are different here. Several features in this region match the material recovered at the Center. Gobby touched his chest through the gown. Is that good? For now, it’s simply a connection.

Holt studied the images a little longer. I want to test one thing. A very small superficial puncture near this area, then compare the response with the site where we drew blood. Gobby looked at the bandage on his arm. Another hole. Smaller than that one. Skin only. Why? To see whether the skin heals the same way in different areas. Gobby was quiet for a moment. Deda? The answer came immediately. I hear you. Skin only. For now. Gobby grimaced. You’re starting again. I have not started anything yet. Gobby looked up at Holt. Okay. The professor did not reach for an instrument immediately. You’re sure? Yes. If you feel anything unusual, tell me. Okay.

Holt cleaned the skin near the boundary of the altered region and made a quick shallow puncture. Gobby felt a sting. A tiny bead of blood appeared, and the instrument was removed immediately. Nothing happened for several seconds, then the skin around the point turned pale and thin vessels rose beneath it. Gobby tilted his head. Is that normal? No. Holt brought the light closer. The vessels remained visible for several seconds, then began retreating deeper. The edges of the puncture slowly came together and the bleeding stopped. Within moments only a small red point remained. Holt removed the bandage from Gobby’s forearm. The blood-draw mark was still clearly visible. Then he examined the chest again. Pain? No. Anything underneath? Pressure? Heat? No. Holt pressed lightly around the site. Nothing else happened. Gobby looked down. So I repair faster here. It means the skin here regenerates significantly faster. Holt moved the light away. I’m not going to argue with “repair.” Gobby smiled, but the professor had already returned to the images.

For several minutes Holt compared the scan data with the puncture response, then sat across from him. That almost confirms the connection. But we are only seeing the result. Meaning? The skin closed. The vessels changed. I do not know what tissue initiates that process or what happens deeper inside during the first few seconds. Gobby lowered the gown. How do you find out? Holt enlarged the image and pointed to a narrow area between normal and altered tissue. We need a small sample from here. Blood? No. Tissue. Gobby’s fingers stopped on the edge of the gown. Not the heart and not heart muscle. But deeper than skin. We need a piece from the boundary where the altered vascular network transitions into normal tissue. Then we can compare it with the material from the Center. Is that surgery? A small invasive procedure. But there’s one complication an ordinary patient doesn’t have. Holt showed him the vascular map. We just saw that even superficial damage changes the local blood supply. I do not know what the deeper tissue will do. So I will not perform a routine biopsy in this room.

Where, then? Gobby asked. In an operating room, under imaging guidance and full monitoring. He was no longer smiling. You’ll numb it? Yes. Local? Holt hesitated briefly. I recommend brief general anesthesia. Gobby looked at him more closely. Why general? The piece is tiny. Not because of the size. If the tissue suddenly changes blood flow or closes the access path, I need you completely still, with an anesthesiologist managing your breathing and monitoring your blood pressure and circulation. After what we just saw, I do not consider local anesthesia alone safe enough. Gobby was silent for several seconds. General means I’ll be unconscious? Yes. His answer came immediately. Then no. Holt did not try to persuade him. He simply closed the image. All right. Then we do not do the procedure. Gobby watched him. That’s it? That’s it. I can leave? Yes. We need to finish the paperwork, then they’ll return your belongings and take you back to admissions.

Gobby visibly relaxed. Holt opened the medical record and documented the refusal. You’re actually writing that I refused? Yes. Why? Because you were offered a procedure, you were told why it was needed, and you did not authorize it. That belongs in your chart. Gobby thought about that and nodded. Logical. Holt called the nurse, asked her to prepare the patient’s belongings, and left the medical area.

Viktor was waiting in an office assigned to the presidential medical team, his old leather briefcase on the table in front of him. When Holt entered, Viktor raised his eyes. What did you find? The altered region around the old injury is connected to the material from the Center. A superficial injury near it heals abnormally fast. Mechanism? Not yet. What comes next? A biopsy from the boundary of the altered tissue. When? It won’t. Viktor watched him. Why? I recommended doing it under general anesthesia. Gobby refused. The procedure itself? Once he understood he would be unconscious, he said no. That is enough for me. Viktor was quiet briefly. Any other way to get the material? Not a safe one I am willing to offer right now. The refusal is documented? Yes. What can we do without the sample? Describe the anomaly. Possibly obtain more information from blood and imaging. But we will not identify the regeneration mechanism, and I cannot reproduce the tissue from that data. Viktor leaned back slightly. So this approach stops here. Until another method exists, or until the patient changes his mind.

Viktor looked at the closed tablet in Holt’s hands. Do not complete his discharge for a few minutes. I am requesting an urgent medical and legal opinion. Holt raised his eyes. Request whatever you want. He has already refused. I understand. Good. Holt left.

The emergency meeting took place in the medical director’s office. In addition to the director and Holt, a representative of the Presidential Medical Service and the clinic’s attorney joined by secure video. Viktor sat across from the director with Gobby’s chart open in front of them. The director reviewed the latest entry. The patient understands the nature of the procedure? Yes, Holt said. He understands why it is needed? Yes. Any concern about his capacity to make the decision? No. Does his age change anything? The attorney shook his head. Even if additional consent from a legal representative is required for the procedure, it does not override the patient’s direct refusal. Any immediate threat to his own life? No. The attorney looked at the order. Then the existing Chancellery authorization for examination does not permit a new invasive procedure after the patient has refused it. Viktor turned toward the screen. Even if that makes it impossible to continue Elias’s treatment? That does not change the fact that another patient refused the procedure. The medical director closed the record. Within this clinic, the procedure is canceled.

No one spoke for several seconds. Viktor took out his phone. Holt looked at him. If you are reporting to the President, tell him everything. Not only that we cannot continue without the sample. Viktor paused with the phone in his hand. Holt finished, Including the fact that Gobby refused. I will. Viktor stood and left. Holt watched him go, then turned to the director. Return the patient’s belongings. His examination is over. The director nodded.

Outside the office Viktor was already dialing. He walked to the end of the service corridor and stopped. Someone answered almost immediately. He identified himself and asked to be connected to the President on a medical matter. A few seconds later, Adrian came on the line. Adrian. The initial stage is complete. The connection between the Center tissue and the altered region has been confirmed. To identify the mechanism we need a deep sample. He listened to a short question. Holt believes the safest way to obtain it is under general anesthesia. Gobby refused. A pause followed. Yes, he understands why the sample is needed. No, there is no immediate threat to his own life. Without the sample, this approach effectively stops. This time Viktor listened longer before answering. Understood. We’ll continue looking for an option with minimal risk. I’ll pass that on. The call ended. He stared at the dark screen for several seconds, then selected another number.

When Viktor returned, the medical director and Holt were still in the office. The Presidential Medical Service representative remained on the secure connection. Viktor placed his phone beside the notepad. The President ordered us to continue this approach. The Presidential Medical Service is to determine whether the necessary information or material can be obtained with minimal risk. The clinic attorney answered first. They may evaluate alternatives. The patient’s refusal of general anesthesia and biopsy still stands. I understand. Viktor turned toward the screen. Is your team prepared to assume responsibility for the additional evaluation? The representative paused briefly. Yes. We will assume medical responsibility for our actions. The medical director shook his head. Clinic personnel will not participate in a biopsy after a documented refusal. They will not be required. Holt had been silent until then. My decision has not changed either. I will not perform a biopsy without his consent. Viktor looked at him. I heard you. But I will be present during any further evaluation. The medical director turned toward him. Holt rested one hand on the tablet. These people did not see how the tissue reacted. I did. If the body does something unexpected again, I want to be there. Viktor nodded. Holt held his gaze. Observe. Not perform the biopsy. Understood.

The presidential medical team was already at the clinic as part of the work on Elias, so transferring the data took little time. A physician, an anesthesiologist, and two nurses received the images, blood-flow measurements, and description of the response to the superficial puncture. Officially, the next step was an additional evaluation of the vascular response without collecting deep tissue. Gobby remained in the preparation room, still wearing the hospital gown, lightweight pants, and disposable socks. The bag containing his clothes sat on a chair by the wall. When Holt came in, an unfamiliar physician was with him. Gobby looked first at the stranger, then at the professor. Something else? Holt sat across from him. The biopsy is canceled. My decision has not changed. Gobby relaxed a little. Good. But after what happened to the vessels, there is value in looking at blood flow around the altered region one more time. No tissue collection. The presidential physician continued. During the puncture, the vessels surfaced and then moved deeper. If we record that response dynamically with contrast, we may obtain additional information.

Gobby looked at Holt. Could that actually show something? Yes. Not the whole mechanism, but more than we have now. Gobby thought. I’ll be conscious? The presidential physician answered immediately. Yes. No general anesthesia? Not for this study. Gobby looked at Holt again. Holt nodded. The imaging itself does not require anesthesia. Then okay. If you’re only looking.

They moved him into an advanced imaging room. Gobby lay on the table, electrodes attached to his chest and a blood-pressure cuff placed around his arm. Ultrasound equipment and continuous blood-flow monitoring stood nearby. A standard observation window separated the room from the control area. A nurse prepared a peripheral IV. Gobby looked at the clear tubing. What’s that for? Contrast, the presidential physician said. And IV access in case of an unexpected reaction. Gobby looked at Holt. That’s normal for contrast imaging, Holt said. Gobby held out his arm. The voice inside came immediately. I don’t like this. Gobby watched the nurse secure the IV. Deda, they’re just looking. I know. Then what? The answer took a moment. I don’t know. Gobby frowned slightly but asked nothing else.

The study began exactly as promised, with contrast. Warmth traveled up his arm. On the monitor, the vascular network around the old injury became much clearer. Holt moved closer to the screen and pointed out several regions. Small vessels near the altered zone behaved differently from the surrounding network. Their diameter changed faster, and part of the blood flow redistributed deeper almost immediately. He asked for the series to be saved and the measurement repeated from another angle. The presidential physician watched beside him. Gobby lay quietly and after several minutes began to look bored. Much longer? Almost done.

The anesthesiologist approached the IV line. Holt caught the movement at the edge of his vision and understood immediately. His first impulse was to step forward, block the line, stop the injection. Holt did not move. He frowned and flexed his fingers. His body was working normally. He decided again to step forward, but his leg remained where it was. Then he tried to say stop. His lips did not open. Holt slowly raised his eyes toward the control room and found Viktor standing behind the glass.

The presidential physician looked at Holt too. The professor was standing by the monitor, watching everything and not intervening. To the others, Holt was simply watching, with no visible sign of an immediate medical objection. The physician looked back at the anesthesiologist, who connected the syringe to the line. Gobby noticed. What’s that? The presidential physician answered calmly. A medication to make the rest of the study easier for you. Holt looked at Gobby. Gobby caught his eyes immediately. Professor? Holt tried to shake his head, but the movement did not happen. The drug entered the line.

Gobby felt the warmth almost immediately. It was different, traveling up his forearm faster than the contrast and reaching his shoulder and chest. He frowned. That’s not the same thing. No one answered. Gobby turned sharply toward the anesthesiologist. What did you give me? The presidential physician stepped closer. Gobby, stay calm. Gobby started to sit up and did. Viktor’s gaze fixed on him from behind the glass. Gobby grabbed the tubing near the IV and began pulling at the tape. The movement continued. Viktor kept watching as Gobby pulled at the catheter. The anesthesiologist tried to catch his wrist, but Gobby knocked the hand away. Don’t touch me! The man stepped back. Gobby swung his feet off the table. I said I didn’t want to be unconscious. The presidential physician raised his hands and stayed where he was. The medication is already in your system. Don’t stand up. You may fall. Then why did you give it to me?

Gobby stood. His legs held, and he took one step, then another while Viktor continued to watch him. Nothing happened. Holt looked from Viktor to Gobby. Holt had decided to stop the injection, and the action had never happened. Gobby had decided to leave, and he was walking. Only on the third step did the floor shift beneath him. Gobby caught the edge of the table. Deda. I’m here. They lied to me. Yes. Gobby blinked heavily and looked toward the control room. Is that Viktor? Not on you. Then why can I barely stand? The drug.

Gobby reached for the IV again. His fingers were responding more slowly now. He managed to tear away part of the tape before his arm became heavy. The presidential physician came closer. Don’t, Gobby said, trying to push him away. His arm rose more slowly, but he still completed the push. His palm struck the physician in the chest and forced him back. Viktor never looked away. Gobby continued to act until his knees finally stopped supporting his weight. Holt moved instantly. This time the movement worked because he was not trying to stop the presidential medical team; he was catching a falling patient. He got an arm beneath Gobby’s shoulders while a nurse helped lower him back onto the table. Don’t hold me, Gobby managed. I’m not holding you. You’re falling. Gobby raised an already unfocused gaze toward him. Did you know? Holt froze. No. The word came without resistance. Gobby watched him for several seconds and gave the smallest nod. Okay.

His eyelids began to fall. Deda. Yes. I’m not going to stay awake. I know. Can I still do anything? No. After a brief pause Gobby asked, Can you? Yes. The sounds in the room became muffled. He could still feel the cold sensors on his chest, Holt’s hand near his shoulder, and the weight of his own body. I wanted to help Elias. I know. Not like this. I know. Then the room disappeared.

A black surface spread beneath Gobby’s feet in every direction. Here his body obeyed him again. Deda stood in front of him. Gobby looked at his hands. They put me under. Yes. They’re going to take the tissue now? Yes. Gobby was quiet. I told them no. I heard you. Can you stop them? I can. He lowered his eyes. But Elias is still dying. Yes. If they take a piece, maybe nothing bad happens? Maybe. And maybe something does? Yes. Gobby looked up. I could die? Yes. They simply looked at each other for several seconds before Gobby said, Then stop them. Deda nodded. All right.

Outside, the anesthesiologist checked the readings and confirmed loss of consciousness. Gobby was prepared for transfer. Holt walked beside the stretcher without being asked. They transferred him to an interventional suite for the deep sample, with continuous imaging and the control room behind protective glass. Viktor remained there. The presidential medical team connected full monitoring and brought the images of the altered region onto the large screen. Holt stood to one side. One of the physicians looked at him. Professor, where is the safest entry point? Holt studied the vascular map for several seconds. He did not agree with the procedure, but choosing the wrong point could hurt Gobby even more. Do not go medial to this line. The network is denser here. If you are going deeper anyway, stay lateral. Any change in blood flow and you stop. The physician nodded. Holt stayed beside the monitor, already knowing that deciding to stop the procedure did not necessarily mean he would be able to do it.

The instrument had not yet touched the skin when Gobby’s heart rate began to slow, not suddenly but beat by beat, while normal heart-rate variability disappeared. Holt looked at the monitor, then at Gobby. A vascular network surfaced beneath the skin of his chest. Within seconds the vessels began retreating deeper. Tissue around the old injury compacted and darkened, the change slowly spreading toward the shoulder. Do not touch him, Holt said. The presidential physician stopped his hand. The anesthesiologist checked the readings. Depth is adequate. There should be no conscious response. Holt kept watching Gobby’s body. Then this is not a conscious response.

The fingers of Gobby’s right hand slowly closed. Inside, Gobby looked at Deda. That’s you? Yes. You’re already controlling the body? Yes. Gobby hesitated. Just don’t kill anyone. Deda looked at him. If they stop. Outside, Gobby’s head slowly turned toward the people standing near the table. In the control room, Viktor leaned closer to the glass. He had already seen several minutes earlier that his influence could not stop Gobby while Gobby was conscious. Now the person in front of him was pharmacologically unconscious. Gobby’s fingers opened, his palm settled against the edge of the table, and his elbow bent. His body began to rise. Viktor focused on him, but the movement continued. Holt looked toward the control room and caught a tiny change in Viktor’s face, barely visible but enough. Viktor tried again. Nothing changed. Gobby continued rising until he sat upright.

The anesthesiologist looked first at the readings, then at the patient. That’s impossible. Holt did not answer. Gobby’s eyelids slowly opened. Seconds earlier his eyes had been normal. Now a deep, dark swamp color filled them completely. For several seconds no one in the interventional suite moved. Gobby sat on the table with his head slightly lowered, detached electrodes hanging from their leads and the blood-pressure cuff slipped toward his elbow. The anesthesiologist looked from the monitor to the patient, then checked the readings again as if hoping to find an error. His fingers were shaking. He can’t be sitting. At this depth he shouldn’t be making any voluntary movement at all. The presidential physician did not answer. Holt stood closest. For the first time, he had no medical explanation for what he was seeing.

Gobby slowly turned his head toward the exit, lowered one foot from the table, then the other. The leads tightened and electrodes tore away from his skin one after another. He stood. The IV line pulled taut as he moved, and the catheter slid out of his forearm and fell to the floor. Blood appeared, but the vessel almost immediately retreated deeper beneath the skin and the edges of the puncture began closing. A nurse stepped back, struck a cabinet with her shoulder, and dropped a metal tray. The crash filled the room. Everyone flinched except Gobby. He took one step, then another, slowly and evenly, his head slightly lowered and his arms hanging loosely at his sides. There was no shouting, no heavy breathing, no anger. Holt swallowed. No one goes near him.

The anesthesiologist was between Gobby and the door. He backed away until his hip struck the equipment. Gobby kept coming. The man looked toward the presidential physician, then Holt, received no answer, and instinctively put out a hand. Gobby. Stop. His palm touched Gobby’s shoulder and the body stopped. Muscle compacted beneath the hand. The shape of the shoulder joint shifted slowly and bone began showing beneath the skin. Tension moved down the forearm and the fingers curled. The anesthesiologist tore his hand away. The change stopped immediately and Gobby resumed walking. The man pressed himself against the equipment to let him pass. Holt stared at Gobby’s shoulder for several seconds, then at the others. You saw that. No one touches him again. The presidential physician had gone pale. We cannot let someone under general anesthesia simply walk out of a restricted medical sector. Holt turned his head. That is no longer our biggest problem.

Gobby entered the service corridor. There were no civilians here, only restricted-sector medical staff, the presidential medical team, and internal security. Two employees farther ahead had already been warned about an abnormal patient response, but they were clearly expecting a confused teenager. One stopped talking into his radio. The other remained in the middle of the corridor. Gobby. Everything’s okay. Just stop. Gobby kept walking. The man backed up once, then again, until a cart blocked him. He glanced behind himself and finally grabbed Gobby by both forearms. Gobby’s body jerked, not to strike him but simply to break free. The man spun sideways, hit the cart with his hip, and went down as instruments scattered across the floor. Gobby never looked down. The medical worker tried to crawl away but remained across the path. Gobby’s foot came down on his forearm. The crack was short. The scream filled the corridor. A nurse covered her mouth with both hands while another staff member stepped sharply backward. Gobby shifted his weight, stepped over the broken arm, and kept walking without turning his head.

Holt stopped beside the injured man, who was clutching his forearm against his chest and struggling to breathe through the pain. Until then, Holt had still been trying to fit what he was seeing into a medical explanation. The broken arm ended that. Inside the black space, Gobby was staring at Deda. You broke his arm. Deda answered calmly. He tried to hold us. You could have gone around him. I am taking the body to the exit. I will not look for another path for people who are trying to stop us. Gobby tensed. I told you not to kill anyone. He is alive. Don’t do more than you need to. Deda paused. Then they should not do more than they need to either.

Outside, Gobby’s right arm was already changing. The forearm had grown denser and the joints stood out more sharply beneath the skin. At the next internal checkpoint, four security officers appeared. The first stopped immediately. The second rested a hand on his holster without drawing. A third saw the injured man behind Gobby and asked quietly, What happened to him? Holt followed at a distance. Clear the corridor. Do not touch him. One guard obeyed immediately. Another stayed where he was. As Gobby was nearly past him, the man grabbed both shoulders from behind. Holt barely had time to inhale. Gobby’s back folded, his center of gravity dropped, and the shoulder girdle compressed hard enough to tear the hospital gown along one seam. The guard went over his shoulder and hit the floor on his back, unable to breathe for several seconds. Gobby did not continue the attack. He simply kept moving, only lower now. His left palm touched the floor for a moment and his right arm began to grow heavier and thicker. The guard on the floor saw the body changing and crawled toward the wall. Gobby passed without looking at him.

Holt watched the changing arm. Sweat had appeared across his forehead. Every contact makes the transformation worse. Viktor appeared behind them and stopped, silently taking in the torn hospital clothing, the dark dense tissue across the chest and shoulder, the people on the floor, and the medical staff and security officers who no longer wanted to approach. Then he asked, Did he attack anyone first? Holt looked at him. No. He is going to the exit. Everything else starts when someone tries to stop him. That answer seemed worse than if Gobby had simply lost control.

A security officer farther ahead raised a stun device. Holt saw the movement. Don’t. The man was frightened enough to press the trigger before he had time to reconsider. The current hit Gobby in the chest. His body arched and stopped for one second. The guard froze with his arm extended. Gobby slowly lowered his head and put his left hand on the floor. The skin across the forearm pulled tight. Fingers lengthened and began fusing. Bone shifted inside, extending the limb forward. His right arm moved in the opposite direction, becoming larger, the hand losing its human shape as the joints disappeared into a dense mass of bone and muscle. The stun device fell from the guard’s hand. Holt said, Back. No one moved. Gobby lowered himself farther. Back! This time Holt shouted, and people moved away.

Gobby was nearly on four points of contact now. The left limb extended into a crude spike, while the right rested heavily against the floor, forming a massive, hammer-like striking limb. His back curved and his head stayed below his shoulders. The dark swamp eyes lifted. The guard who had used the stun device took one step back, tripped, and fell. His face went white. He tried to crawl away until his back hit the wall, then covered his head with both hands. No… Gobby moved toward him. The man tucked his head down, but Gobby did not strike. His heavy foot came down on the man’s thigh. The guard screamed. Gobby shifted his weight, stepped across his body, and continued. A nurse by the wall was already crying. The presidential physician stood several meters back with shaking hands. The anesthesiologist no longer looked at the equipment. No one approached Gobby again.

An order came over the radio to seal the sector. A fire door ahead began descending. Holt’s head snapped up. Keep it open. Too late. The metal closed across the corridor. Gobby reached it and stopped. Holt shut his eyes for one second. Open it. No response came. Open the door. Viktor stared ahead. The internal escort lobby is on the other side. Holt turned toward him. His voice was shaking now, and not only from anger. Look at what happens every time you put an obstacle in front of him.

Gobby raised the massive right arm. The first strike dented the metal and made everyone around him flinch. The second tore loose an upper mount. The third twisted the entire door. The left spike entered the new gap and the metal began to spread apart. One of the guards backed away several more steps. Open it! Holt shouted. The lock released and the door separated. Gobby stopped immediately. The right arm stopped growing and the spike stopped extending. A few seconds later he moved again. Holt exhaled heavily. The obstacle is gone. The reaction stopped. Viktor said nothing.

Beyond the door was a closed internal escort lobby with a security desk, several chairs for authorized companions, a service elevator, and the last controlled exit from the medical sector. There were no patients, only two security employees and Number One, who had been waiting there the entire time with Gobby’s phone still in his hand. He had heard the first impact through two closed doors. After the second he had stood. After the screams he had moved closer to the corridor. Now the door opened and he saw Gobby.

Number One froze, not for the fraction of a second he normally needed to assess a situation but longer. His eyes widened and his breath stopped halfway in. That morning he had spoken to Gobby, listened to an argument about a phone battery, and driven him here. Only a few hours earlier, the person in front of him had been an ordinary teenager annoyed that his phone was at thirty-eight percent. Now a creature was moving toward him almost on all fours. The hospital gown hung in torn strips. The left arm had become a crude spike of bone and tissue, the right a heavy striking mass. Dense dark patches covered the chest, shoulder, and part of the neck. The deep swamp-colored eyes looked ahead.

One of the guards at the desk automatically started to draw his weapon. Number One caught his wrist. Put it away. His voice remained quiet, but his fingers tightened harder than necessary. The guard obeyed. Gobby kept coming. Number One slipped the phone into his pocket and did not step into Gobby’s path. Instead, he let himself disappear from the situation.

Nothing changed physically. Number One remained beside the desk, exactly where he had been, but people’s attention began sliding past him. The guard beside him looked only at Gobby. Holt entered the lobby, swept his eyes across the space, and did not stop on Number One. Even Viktor, who knew exactly where he was standing, looked straight through him for a moment. Number One had not become invisible. He had stopped mattering: not a threat, not an obstacle, not someone anyone needed to account for.

He shifted slowly toward Gobby’s path. No one reacted. Gobby kept moving. Three meters. Two. He was almost beside him. A trace of relief appeared on Number One’s face. It was working. He waited until Gobby’s shoulder came within reach and began to move, without anger, fear, or any internal intent to attack. Just one fast interception. Gobby’s head snapped directly toward him. Number One stopped. The dark swamp eyes were looking straight into his face. His ability was still active and the people around them were still barely registering his presence, but Gobby was.

Inside the black space, Deda turned his head at the same moment. Gobby felt it immediately. What? Deda was looking somewhere past him. Someone is close. Who? For a moment, a familiar face appeared in Gobby’s perception. Instructor. Deda continued watching. He hid himself. Gobby frowned. From you? Deda paused. Tried to.

Outside, the spike began to lengthen. Number One saw it first and the relief vanished. He stepped back. Gobby turned his shoulders after him. Only then did the others notice Number One again. Gobby’s attention had pulled theirs with it. The guard beside the desk snapped his head around and flinched, as if Number One had only just appeared beside him. Holt stopped. Viktor slowly looked from Gobby to Number One. Number One pushed the ability harder and his presence began slipping out of everyone else’s attention again, but Gobby kept looking directly at him. Number One went pale. Genuinely pale. He took a step sideways. Gobby changed direction and followed him, no longer toward the exit but toward him.

Holt’s breath caught. Stop. Number One did not answer. Holt raised his voice. Whatever you are doing, stop doing it. The spike lowered toward him and the massive right limb lifted from the floor. Number One automatically shifted into a fighting stance and realized the mistake at once. Gobby lowered even farther. Inside, Gobby stepped closer to Deda. That’s Instructor. He is interfering. He isn’t an enemy. He is trying to stop us. Gobby looked at him. Don’t kill him. Deda remained silent. Deda. The answer came calmly. Then let him step aside.

Outside, Number One slowly straightened, lowered his hands, and released the ability. Everyone in the lobby immediately registered him normally again. He stepped aside and cleared the route completely. Gobby stopped with the spike still aimed at his chest. Number One stared into the dark swamp eyes. A drop of sweat appeared at his temple. For the first time, he had no idea what would happen in the next second. Then the spike slowly lowered and Gobby turned back toward the exit. Number One exhaled hard enough for the guard beside him to look over. Gobby passed within inches of him, the edge of the spike nearly brushing his chest. Number One did not move. Only after Gobby was behind him did he turn his head to follow.

Viktor stood farther down the corridor. Their eyes met. That was enough. Several minutes earlier Viktor had failed to stop Gobby. Now Number One’s ability had failed to produce the expected result as well. Number One walked over to him. His face had nearly returned to its usual expression, but his voice remained unusually quiet. He saw me. Viktor kept watching Gobby. Yes. Number One shook his head. No. People can see me. That’s different. Viktor turned toward him. Number One searched for the right words for several seconds. He kept accounting for me. The entire time. Viktor did not answer immediately. Holt stood nearby, looking from one man to the other. He understood even less than he had in the procedure room.

Gobby reached the last controlled door of the medical sector. The employee behind the desk stared at him, one hand suspended above the lock controls, then looked toward Viktor. No one spoke. Viktor nodded. The door opened and Gobby walked through without any new transformation. Viktor looked after him, then at Number One. One control mechanism had failed minutes earlier. Now a second had failed. No one tries to detain him again. Holt slowly exhaled. Number One said nothing. Viktor added, Not in any way. Then he took out his phone. Lock down every recording from this sector. Immediately. Number One looked at him. Viktor met his eyes. Number One asked nothing else and went after Gobby.

Beyond the last door of the medical sector, a short service corridor led to an outer checkpoint and a separate exit to the parking area. Gobby moved toward it with the same slow, heavy gait. The left limb remained extended into a crude spike, the right barely resembled a human arm. The torn hospital gown hung from one shoulder, while dense dark tissue climbed across the chest toward the neck. His dark swamp eyes remained forward. No one behind him tried to stop him anymore. Holt stayed near the entrance to the corridor, the presidential medical team farther back. Viktor stood beside him. Number One followed closest, but after his failed attempt he no longer reduced the distance. Gobby’s phone remained in his pocket.

The outer checkpoint had already received a warning. Two security employees stood beside the glass doors without drawing their weapons. Someone else waited behind the glass. They had allowed him as far as the outer checkpoint only after checking his Center ID and calling the Center, but they had refused him access to the restricted medical sector. At first he was only a dark silhouette. Then he came closer: slight, thin, dressed in dark training clothes. German had left his bag outside in a recess beside the service ramp.

German saw Gobby and stopped. Fear hit before Logic did. His eyes moved over the torn clothing, the altered body, the spike, the massive right limb. Then he looked at Gobby’s face and saw the dark swamp eyes. Logic followed almost immediately. Gobby was not responding. The movement was purposeful. The eyes had changed. Mark had already described the defensive response. The conclusion formed at once: not Gobby. Deda.

German looked at the guard at the control panel. Open it. The man did not move. The sector is locked. German looked through the glass at Gobby approaching. Then in a few seconds you won’t have a door. The guard glanced at the other man, then farther down the corridor where the twisted fire door was visible behind Gobby. The lock clicked and the glass doors opened.

German stepped through. Number One turned sharply. German. Don’t approach him. German did not even look at him. He stopped about five meters from Gobby and straightened with both hands clearly visible. Gobby kept walking. German swallowed. His pulse hammered in his throat, but Logic was already ruling out anything Deda might read as interference: do not block the route, do not touch him, do not give commands, do not try to return control to Gobby. He spoke quietly. Deda.

Gobby stopped. Even the radios in the corridor went silent. Holt raised his head. Viktor stopped looking at Number One. The guards at the checkpoint froze. The dark swamp eyes focused on German. Inside the black space, Deda had already turned his head. Gobby understood immediately. German? Yes. Gobby looked in the same direction. He came. He did. A barely visible smile appeared on Gobby’s face. Is he scared? Yes. Badly? Deda paused. And he is still coming.

Outside, German remained exactly where he was. It’s me. I’m not going to stop him. I want to take him out of here. Gobby did not move. German waited before asking, Can I come closer to him? Holt turned his head slightly. After everything that had happened inside the restricted sector, the question sounded almost impossibly simple. Doctors had grabbed the patient. Security had ordered him to stop. Viktor had tried to suppress his actions. Number One had tried to disappear from his perception. No one had asked.

Inside, Gobby looked at Deda. He’s asking. I hear him. Then answer him. Deda watched Gobby for several seconds. Outside, Gobby’s head tilted almost imperceptibly. Logic registered the movement at once: permission. German took one step and nothing happened. He took a second. The spike stayed lowered. By the third, Number One had gone completely still. Holt never took his eyes off German, waiting for a reaction to every step.

German came within arm’s reach. From this distance the changes looked worse. He could see where bone continued beneath altered tissue, the changed line of the shoulder, the slow movement of muscle around the massive right limb. At this distance, one swing of the right arm could kill him. German raised his hand and stopped it inches from Gobby’s shoulder. Can I touch him? The dark swamp eyes lowered toward the hand, then returned to German’s face. A short nod followed. German placed his hand on Gobby’s shoulder.

Nothing changed. Holt exhaled slowly. Number One did not look away. The dense tissue beneath German’s hand remained still, with no defensive contraction and no new restructuring. After several seconds, some of the tension in the shoulder actually eased. Only slightly, but German felt it beneath his palm. Under German’s palm, the body did something it had done for no one else. It relaxed. German lowered his eyes. I’m here. Inside, Gobby closed his eyes. Tell him I am too. Deda did not answer. Deda. He knows. Gobby opened his eyes. How? Deda looked at him as if the question itself were strange. Because it’s German.

Outside, German still had one hand resting on his friend’s shoulder. Holt was watching that hand. Number One was too. Gobby’s body continued relaxing under German’s touch. Viktor watched them longer than anyone else. Number One spoke first. We need to get him out of here. German turned his head without removing his hand. Yes. Logic was already mapping the route. Instructor was one of their own, but Deda had just reacted to his ability. Separate permission.

German looked back at Gobby. Deda. Instructor is coming with us. He won’t try to stop you again. The spike lifted slightly. Number One froze, then understood what was required. He slowly raised both empty hands. I won’t. The dark swamp eyes stayed on him for several seconds. Number One held the gaze, though the tension in his jaw showed what it cost him. The spike lowered. German gave a short nod. Okay. Then let’s go.

German turned toward the exit and walked beside him, keeping his hand on Gobby’s shoulder. He never pulled or steered him. Number One took position on the other side, a little farther away, and did not use his ability again. No one followed. Holt remained near the medical-sector doors, watching the three of them move away. Viktor stood beside him with his phone already in hand, but for the moment he called no one.

They passed the outer checkpoint. The employee behind the desk pressed himself against the wall as Gobby approached. No one asked for documents, demanded that they stop, or tried to lock the exit. Number One opened the final door and cold air came in. Gobby stopped on the threshold, and German immediately felt the change beneath his hand. The dark tissue along the neck began to recede. The right limb slowly shrank. The spike shortened. Deda knows we’re out, German said quietly. Number One watched the arm returning toward its normal shape. Looks that way. German turned toward Gobby. The car is close. A little farther.

They went outside. German retrieved the bag from the recess beside the service ramp. Number One saw the two smoke grenades when he unzipped it. This is a medical facility. German nodded. That’s why they’re smoke grenades. Number One looked at the bag. You really went to the armory. Yes. Alone? Yes. Does Mark know? He will. German waited for the door to close, activated the first smoke grenade, and placed it near the edge of the service ramp. He handed the second to Number One, who set it down without question on the other side of the exit, between the doors and the parking lot. Dense smoke quickly swallowed the service entrance and its cameras while barely entering the building. Number One watched it spread. A few minutes. Enough. To get away? German looked at the entrance disappearing behind the smoke. Long enough for them to decide whether following us is worth it. Number One said nothing.

A light cold rain was falling across the parking lot. Gobby’s disposable socks soaked through almost immediately. He moved between them, his body becoming more human with every few steps. The spike withdrew, the fingers separated, the right arm lost mass, and the shoulders returned to their normal position. Only the eyes remained dark and swamp-colored. At the car, Number One opened the rear door. German stopped beside Gobby. Deda. Can I sit him down? A nod followed. German took Gobby by one arm. Number One approached from the other side and stopped without touching him. German looked into the dark swamp eyes. Him too. After a pause, another nod came. Number One touched Gobby for the first time since what had happened inside. Nothing happened. Together they helped him into the back seat.

The moment Gobby’s back touched the seat, all tension left his body. His head dropped. Number One caught it in time while German steadied him by the shoulders. The dark swamp color began fading from his eyes and his hands finished returning to human form. Gobby remained unconscious. Inside the black space, everything gradually grew quiet. He looked at Deda. We’re out? Yes. German is here? Here. Instructor? Also here. Gobby was silent for a moment. German’s still mad? Deda looked somewhere into the darkness. Very. Gobby exhaled. Then everything’s fine. He lay down directly on the black surface and closed his eyes. I’m going to sleep. Deda remained beside him. Sleep.

Outside, German carefully adjusted Gobby’s head. When Gobby began tipping sideways, German automatically shifted closer and caught him against his shoulder. Gobby’s head came to rest against German’s shoulder, just below the collarbone. German froze for only a second, then shifted until Gobby was supported comfortably. Number One closed the rear door, walked around the car, and took the driver’s seat. Through the windows, smoke still covered the clinic’s service entrance in the distance. No one had come outside after them. Number One started the engine and looked into the rearview mirror. You understand Mark is going to ask about the grenades. German never looked away from Gobby. Yes. And what are you going to tell him? German was quiet for a moment. That Gobby asked him not to tell me because he decided I’d be against it. Number One watched him in the mirror. German lowered his eyes toward his friend. He was right.

The car started moving. For several seconds there was only the sound of rain against the roof and the steady engine. On the first turn Gobby leaned more heavily into German. German caught him by the shoulder and did not let go again. But that doesn’t mean he should’ve gone without me.