Convenience of Marriage

Buried deep beneath the fog and alpine cold of Country S was a lab located in a remote location away from prying eyes. Sterile white lights buzzed overhead. The walls pulsed softly with the rhythm of machines breathing life into wires and data, into fragile flesh suspended in glass.

Dr. Conrad Weiss, indicated by the name written on his scrubs, stood over the operating table, sweat clinging to his temples. Blonde strands of hair, usually kept back, now stuck to his forehead. His gloved hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from focus. 

When he took on this challenge, everyone mocked his decision, whether that be to his face or behind his back. It was probably unimaginable for those old stuck up people with one foot in the grave that a thirty year old could lead a mission so sensitive. 

The subject, a child no older than six, lay unconscious in a sealed, temperature-controlled pod. Electrodes crawled like ivy across her temples and spine. Her nerves shimmered beneath translucent skin, lit faintly, unnaturally, as if something beneath was learning to awaken.

"She's stabilizing," murmured one of the technicians, eyes flicking to the biometric graph.

Conrad nodded, but didn't speak. His ice-blue eyes remained locked on the pulse data, his finger hovering above a command button. The next injection would begin the neurological adaptation phase. The real test of the mutation's endurance.

Then it happened.

A bone-rattling explosion split the room apart. The side of the lab facing the mountain burst into flame and debris, hurling steel and glass like shrapnel through the air. Sirens shrieked. Power flickered.

Everyone was airborne.

Everyone except the child.

Encased in a reinforced glass chamber suspended above the floor, she remained untouched. Still breathing. Still asleep.

When the smoke cleared enough to see through, he stood there, panting heavily and wiping some dirt from his face. Tall, muscular, dressed in matte tactical black. His hair was obsidian, unkempt, damp from snow. Deep grey eyes scanned the carnage without flinching.

Behind him flooded a cadre of men in formation, each holding advanced rifles. Their movements were swift and in sync to a shocking level. Every doctor in the lab threw up their hands in instinctive terror.

Conrad rose slowly, blood running from a cut near his brow. His eyes didn't leave the child. Not until he turned slightly… and saw the main terminal glowing, still active.

He hesitated.

The black-haired man was moving toward the pod now.

That was when Conrad slipped backward, taking his time to make sure the pin drop silence was maintained, and reached the terminal.

A single keystroke.

DELETE

A warning flashed.

This action cannot be undone.

Are you sure?

He pressed yes.

The screen flickered once, then went dark.

"Hey!" one of the gunmen shouted, raising his weapon.

Conrad didn't wait. He ducked, sprinted through the haze, yanking two of his dazed colleagues with him. Another doctor followed, limping, half-collapsed. A deafening chorus of shouted commands chased them.

"Do not engage," the lead intruder growled. "We need him alive!"

Outside, snow sprayed in gusts as the doctors piled into a black utility car parked near the helipad. Conrad slammed the door shut, his voice clipped:

"Drive."

Gunfire echoed, but the bullets missed as the engine roared and the car peeled away, tires shrieking on frost. The convoy behind them took up the chase.

Twisting mountain roads followed, sharp turns taken blind. But the terrain was uneven, and Conrad knew it better. A planned route. A fallback point.

The chase lasted for twelve minutes.

Then the lead vehicle lost sight of them at a fork veiled in trees and fading light.

They were gone.

Back in the lab, the brooding intruder stood before the child's pod, fists clenched.

He turned to his second-in-command.

"They wiped the data."

A pause.

"But the girl remains."

"Boss, she...but she is a ticking bomb!"

"Do we have another choice?" The man howled, "Until Dr. Vale is found, she is our only hope."

—----

The inside of the car was stifling. Despite the cold outside, sweat still clung to Conrad's back, drying slowly as adrenaline drained from his veins. The vehicle bounced over uneven ground, the engine growling as it tore through slush and pine-dark terrain.

"Conrad," gasped one of the doctors, clutching their ribs. "Where the hell are we going?"

"Somewhere they can't follow," he said tightly, gaze fixed ahead.

But then he shifted in his seat, just a slight movement, and his breath caught.

He froze.

His hand slid to the inner pocket of his lab coat. It was empty.

His expression changed so quickly the others noticed.

"Dr. Weiss?" the driver called, glancing at the rearview.

"Is something wrong?" asked a technician beside him.

Conrad said nothing.

He was already patting his chest, his sides, then leaning forward to check under the seat. Panic flickered across his features, though not to too loud yet striking. As though something irreplaceable had just vanished.

"What is it?" another voice asked. "Is it data? Is it evidence? Tell us—"

"Silence," Conrad snapped back.

He pressed a hand to his scrub pocket, moving slowly this time, almost not daring to hope. Then he felt it.

A shape. Small. Cool to the touch.

His fingers curled around it.

Relief flooded him visibly. His posture softened, his jaw unclenched. A shaky but full breath escaped from his lips.

No one said anything after that.

The car continued on, cutting through the edge of the forest until it reached the back entrance of a decaying villa, hidden beneath old trees and moss-covered stones. The group filed out, half-collapsing from exhaustion, others immediately checking comms and rations inside.

Conrad said nothing to anyone. He moved into one of the back rooms which was windowless, dim, lined with old furniture and a single lamp humming in the corner.

Only then did he sit down.

Only then did he pull it out.

From his pocket, he retrieved the object, a single clip-on emerald earring. Oval-cut, set in antique gold. It caught the low light and flickered like a living thing.

One of a pair.

His thumb brushed over the gem's surface, slowly, like a habit formed long ago. His eyes didn't blink. His mind was elsewhere, in a place that didn't smell of gunpowder and sterilized blood. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere... human.

He closed his hand around it tightly, breathing through his nose, jaw tense again but this time not from fear.

Then, silently, he tucked it back into his pocket.

And he didn't speak of it to anyone.