The metallic clank of boots echoed through the hallways, mingling with the frantic shuffle of doctors moving between rooms, their gloved hands slick with blood. The sterile scent of saline and antiseptics mixing so well with the air, that it was hard to tell which you breathed in.
Sabrina made her way toward the infirmary, now a full-scale operating room. She stopped outside, peering through the glass as a team of doctors worked over Massiah, monitoring the steady drip of his blood transfusion. Others surrounded Gran, closely tracking his vitals.
She sighed, stepping inside.
Gran hated needles. Massiah hated the infirmary.
And though it was her job, though she knew this was the risk they all accepted, she hated it.
They had put their lives on the line because she ordered them to.
"How are they?" she asked, lowering herself into the seat beside Massiah's bed.
A doctor approached, his nurse peeling away his bloodied gloves before he tugged down his face mask.
"They'll survive," he said, turning softly. "But I wouldn't recommend either of them continue this line of work."
Sabrina's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
The doctor exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Grant Dawkins—Gran, as you call him—developed a severe bacterial infection. His bones had already started rotting inside his arms. We had no choice but to amputate before the infection spread further."
Sabrina swallowed hard. However, she had already known. The decision had been hers to make after all. But hearing it aloud—making it real—was something else entirely.
"And Massiah?"
"He's in better shape than Gran, though that's not saying much." The doctor gestured toward the sleeping figure. "He took a direct impalement through the torso—what the team described as the myutant's hand. It punctured his stomach and severed a small portion of it." He hesitated. "Frankly, his mutation saved him. If he were any taller, the attack would've torn through his large intestine. He wouldn't have made it."
Sabrina's fingers tapped against the armrest.
"Anything else?"
"Nothing else too concerning," the doctor said. "They should wake up in a few days. For now, we just need to monitor their vitals."
"Thanks, doc," Sabrina muttered, watching as he exited the room, followed by the two nurses. The door swung shut behind them, leaving her alone with the steady, repetitive beeping of the heart monitors.
"I wouldn'trecommendtheycontinueinthislineofwork."
The doctor's words echoed in her head, the same ones she'd heard after she lost her eye.
She hadn't hesitated to step away from the field back then. The old CEO had already lined her up as his successor. But even after giving up active duty, there was one thing she couldn't let go of.
Revenge.
The thought of never driving her blade into the gut of another myutant, of never avenging the ones she'd lost, had been unbearable.
And now she was expected to tell Gran that his fighting days were over. To tell Massiah to step away—after everything. After taking those two new recruits under his wing, after losing Quem.
She leaned back, letting her head hit the wall.
"Fuck."
She knew what leading Dead End Solutions entailed. Difficult decisions. Hard choices. That was the job.
But when she looked at her exterminators, all she could see were the faces they had before they enlisted.
Massiah—filthy, half-starved, barely alive in the slums.
Gran—a ball of excitement, naive but determined.
Quem—just as eager, just as desperate to prove herself.
She remembered the day the two of them stormed into her office, declaring they wanted to be exterminators because of Massiah. How much they admired him.
Now, she wished she had sent them home.
She clenched her jaw, biting down on her lip to stop the burning in her eyes.
"Fuck," she whispered again.
But there was no time for grief. Not now.
Diamantis's existence changed everything. Whatever was happening, whatever this was, she needed to put a stop to it before it escalated. Before it became another disaster her exterminators would be forced to clean up.
That was her job.
She exhaled sharply, straightened, and stepped out of the infirmary, pressing a hand to her earpiece. A call was already coming through.
"Ms. Khusanov, how is your day?"
The voice was rough, grainy. Haj Dehlani—leader of Khankar Haven.
Sabrina sighed. She'd just finished dealing with Gallio's leadership problem, and the team she'd sent out hadn't even returned yet. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now.
Still, she answered.
"What's the problem?"
"Our haven is conducting a prisoner exchange in two days. We need your exterminators to escort them safely through the depths."
Sabrina scoffed. "Do I have to remind you that we only handle myutant-related requests? Border security can deal with this."
"Except they can't, Khusanov."
"And why is that?" Sabrina asked, already sensing something deeper at play. "If you're withholding details, I wouldn't count on my help the next time you call."
"Do you remember the Jackal case?" Haj said.
Sabrina frowned. "EthanJackal Wallflower. A contract killer responsible for a string of high-profile assassinations in Khankar. A year after his capture, it was revealed he'd been working for the Hallian government." She paused, realization dawning. "Wait... don't tell me—that's the prisoner?"
"Yes," Haj confirmed. "And Hallian wants their man back."
Sabrina stopped walking, fully focused now. "You're actually considering this? The Jackal slaughtered your leaders families. Sons, wives—he nearly assassinated one of them himself before you finally caught him. I get that we've moved past capital punishment, but..."
"Hallian wanted to take over our haven," Haj cut in. "We refused their merger, so they tried taking it by force. That was the situation, but the situation has changed, now they've found an oil reserve in the depths. They're offering us half in exchange for him."
"And you think that'll stop them from trying again?" Sabrina asked. "Oil is great and all, but handing back the man who massacred ten of your people is insane. Why do they even want him?"
"I don't care, Khusanov," Haj said flatly. "I'll pay you well, like I always have. Get your exterminators to Khankar."
The line went dead, static crackling in her earpiece before she pulled her hand away.
Sabrina exhaled, walking down the hall.
The Jackal was a hitman. In her world—where they fought creatures ten times their size, with teeth that could shred steel—there was still something uniquely terrifying about fighting another human.
Raval had proven that much.
This was a bad deal. A dangerous job. And while she didn't give a damn about Khankar's internal affairs, she couldn't ignore the bigger picture.
Dead End Solutions wasn't just a company—she was a government official, responsible for maintaining good relations with other havens.
She sighed. She had no choice.
Still, most of her exterminators had just returned from the depths, exhausted. Unlike Massiah and Vladimir, they weren't on a weekly schedule—she couldn't just deploy them at a moment's notice.
She'd have to wait for Vladimir's team to return from Gallio. If they managed to take down the myutant without too much trouble, they might be able to handle Khankar as well.
Not the ideal scenario. But right now, it was the only option she had.
She exhaled, dragging a hand down her face. "I hate this job." Then she laughed—soft, bitter.
"I sound like Massiah."