Chapter 7: Thoughts and Nightmares

Vykhor was roughly escorted back to his cell, his wrists bound by restraints he could have easily broken—if he had the strength. The throbbing pain from his injuries only fueled his anger, but something else was occupying his mind: Evelyn Ashcroft. She was nothing like the unflattering image he'd amused himself with to pass the time and dull his rage. No, she was different, profoundly different from all the humans he'd encountered so far.

It wasn’t just the gentle way she had tended to his wounds, though that had struck him. Unlike the others, she didn’t treat him as just another subject to study or, worse, a threat to be neutralized. She had avoided those dull and invasive questions the military had pelted him with, not seeking to break or probe him. But there was something more subtle, something he had immediately recognized, even if he hadn’t fully understood it at the time: intelligence, hidden behind a facade of calm professionalism.

The first thing he had noticed about her, long before her precise movements, was her voice. A soft but lively voice, a tone that contrasted sharply with the cold, mechanical atmosphere of the medical room. She talked far too much for his liking—that was undeniable—but despite himself, Vykhor had found himself listening to every word. He had watched her think out loud, sharing fragments of her thoughts, reasoning things through almost unconsciously. It might have seemed distracted or unnecessary to others, but to him, it revealed a remarkable ability to analyze and solve complex problems in real-time. Every word, every thought showed that she operated at an impressive mental speed. She was anything but ordinary.

She wasn’t like the other doctors or scientists he’d encountered since his capture. The others were too often prisoners of their arrogance, convinced of their superiority despite their obvious ignorance of advanced Kael'tarien technology. Evelyn, however, showed a quiet respect for what she didn’t yet fully understand, and that’s what made her different. Her curiosity wasn’t driven by a desire to dominate, but to understand.

When she worked on his prosthetic, Vykhor had been caught off guard. That prosthetic wasn’t just a machine. It was a masterpiece of Kael'tarien engineering, a fusion of technology and biology so advanced that even the best human engineers had never known how to approach it. He had seen other doctors try—and fail miserably—getting tangled up in systems they couldn’t grasp. But Evelyn... in just one session, she had managed to restore some basic functions. It was simply baffling.

Vykhor couldn’t deny the truth: she had accomplished in a few hours what others had deemed impossible. She had touched his prosthetic with an almost instinctive precision, as if she understood the subtleties of this alien technology. That intrigued him, more than he cared to admit. The idea that a mere human could unravel the mysteries of this technology disturbed him, yet he couldn’t ignore the evidence.

Sitting in the darkness of his cell, Vykhor found himself wondering what other skills Evelyn might be hiding behind her calm and focus. She wasn’t like the other humans, that much was certain. And that made him suspicious... but also curious.

On the other side of the base, after a meager meal, Evelyn collapsed heavily onto the only chair in her room. The sterile white walls gave her the unpleasant feeling of being back in the lab where she had grown up, and it weighed on her. She sighed, rubbing her forehead slowly, trying to push away the dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm her. Carefully, she pulled out her notebook and, calling upon her hypermnesic memory, began sketching Vykhor’s prosthetic with meticulous precision. Every detail, every line of that alien artifact took shape under her pencil strokes.

It was a masterpiece. An engineering marvel that fascinated her completely, far beyond anything she’d seen in human technology. She found herself making connections between her own knowledge and this complex structure, her brain breaking down each part with astonishing speed. However, despite her expertise and immense curiosity, one reality remained: she likely wouldn’t be able to fully repair it. This technology was far too advanced, even for someone like her. But she knew she could do enough to give Vykhor a chance to escape. A small tweak here, a partial reactivation there... it would be enough for him to regain mobility, strength, and perhaps autonomy.

But one question haunted her: when would Kane intervene? She recalled his impassive face as he watched her work on the prosthetic. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t moved, but she knew he wasn’t fooled. It was clear that Kane wouldn’t allow that prosthetic to regain full functionality. The military needed to keep Vykhor under control, no matter the cost. And if she crossed the line? If she did too much, too fast? Kane would act. She knew it. And she would be in danger.

Evelyn paused for a moment, letting her mind wander over the image of Vykhor. A Kael'tarien. Tall, with a body built for combat, every muscle sculpted for war. His yellow eyes still fixed on her, those piercing pupils seeming to see more than she wanted. His cobalt-blue skin, traced with thin glowing lines, hinted at an organic technology she didn’t yet fully understand. This being, with his mysteries and scars, came from a world she could only imagine—a planet likely filled with towering structures, an empire of advanced technology whose secrets were as unfathomable as they were fascinating.

She scribbled for a few more minutes, fine-tuning the details of the prosthetic drawing, adjusting every curve, every piece. Her critical eye scanned the final result. The essentials were there. There were still details to perfect, but for now, it had allowed her to relieve some of the overload in her brain, to channel the excess information running through her.

But time was ticking, and fatigue was slowly setting in. It was time for her to rest. Or, at least, try. Evelyn dragged herself to the narrow bed in the center of the room. She lay down with a sigh, the coldness of the sheets amplifying that sense of confinement. The white walls reminded her too much of the lab, and she already felt the anxiety creeping in.

As she closed her eyes, repressed memories flooded her mind, invading her with a force she couldn’t contain. Nights spent in an almost identical room. The sound of machines, the murmurs of scientists passing behind closed doors. The tests, the pain. Evelyn tossed in her bed, trying to push the images away, but it was too late. The memories consumed her.

Quickly, her mind plunged into a nightmare. She was a child again. The lab was all around her, oppressive. The walls, the clinical lights, the cold faces of the scientists... everything was there. They surrounded her, scrutinizing her with empty gazes, as if waiting for her to make a mistake. Her arms were restrained by straps, and she could feel the needles pricking her skin, the endless whispers of researchers discussing her "potential." Panic rose within her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. She was trapped, once again.

She woke up with a jolt, gasping for air, her chest tight as if an invisible weight was crushing her. The white room surrounded her, almost identical to the one from her nightmare. Her forehead was drenched in sweat. She jumped out of bed, unable to stay lying down any longer.

She began pacing in her cramped room, her thoughts tumbling into a chaotic mess. The walls, the austere furniture—everything reminded her of a past she was desperately trying to escape. "Come on, get it together, Evie," she muttered to herself, trying to calm the anxiety building inside her. "The years have passed now. You can do this." But the reality was different. Just being in this cold, impersonal environment was stirring up memories she had worked hard to bury. Easier said than done.

Her slow steps quickened, betraying her growing nervousness, and soon the space in her room felt suffocating, like a cage closing in on her. In desperation, she went to her desk and opened her notebook again, seeking to channel her hypermnesic mind into something more concrete. This time, she jotted down her impressions of Vykhor. It wasn’t much. He had been silent during their entire interaction, unreadable, and that unsettled her. But what stood out to her the most was his gaze. A gaze that pierced through her, as if he saw beyond her actions, beyond her words. Just thinking about it sent a shiver down her spine. She felt foolish for letting it affect her, but that gaze haunted her. And even though she knew it didn’t matter, she couldn’t help but wonder: what did he think of her?

She pushed the thought aside with an irritated gesture. She didn’t have time for that. Yet the image of Vykhor kept resurfacing in her mind. His hard features, his imposing silhouette, but most of all, the silent strength he exuded—a mix of power and control. Evelyn sighed, setting her pen down on the notebook. What she was writing wasn’t enough to quiet her mind, not tonight.

Meanwhile, across the base, Jonathan Kane found himself in a very different environment. Far from the cold quarters of Evelyn, he enjoyed the relative comfort of his assigned apartment, far more pleasant. The walls were tastefully decorated, and the furniture, though simple, offered a certain comfort that sharply contrasted with the military rigidity of the base. But even this soothing setting couldn’t relax him. Not with the call he was about to make.

He sat at his desk, staring at the communication device with palpable tension. With a quick motion, he initiated the call, and almost instantly, the cold voice of his contact filled the room. "Report, Kane."

The icy tone sent an unpleasant chill down Kane’s spine. He instinctively straightened, taking on a rigid, professional posture, as if he were standing face-to-face with his superior in the flesh. "I’ve been observing Evelyn Ashcroft," he began, his voice firm but carefully measured. "She’s started working on the prosthetic. As you predicted."

He made sure not to show any weakness, fully aware that his contact, invisible though he was, was a man capable of detecting the slightest crack. He knew what this man expected of him, and failure was not an option.

A heavy silence followed, then the voice on the other end resumed, now tinged with cold, calculated satisfaction. "Perfect. She is perfect." Kane furrowed his brow slightly, uneasy with the man’s evident enthusiasm.

He knew the plans—at least on the surface—but what he still didn’t understand was the full extent of the expectations placed on Evelyn. And that word, "perfect," carried a weight he didn’t yet fully grasp.

As Kane mentally prepared to continue the mission, a fleeting thought crossed his mind: Evelyn Ashcroft was far more than just a doctor in this operation. But how far was she willing to go?