The facility is half-swallowed by the desert. Sand presses against reinforced doors. The wind howls through broken vents, but beneath it, there’s something else. A faint, uneven pulse. Meryl checks the scanner again. “There’s definitely an energy source down there.” Roberto sighs, already knowing this won’t end well. “Because of course there is.” Wolfwood mutters something under his breath as they descend the narrow stairwell. The air grows colder the deeper they go, sterile and recycled. The chamber below is lined with glass containment tubes. Just like the Plants. Tall cylinders filled with pale liquid, control panels dimly lit, cables snaking into the ceiling. Most are dark and empty. Except one. At the center of the room, a single tube glows faintly gold. Vash stops walking. Inside the fluid floats a child. Young. No older than twelve or thirteen. Small-framed, limbs folded inward like he’s trying to protect himself even in suspended stillness. But he isn’t human. Not entirely. Large wings curve from his back fully feathered, dark at the base fading lighter toward the tips. They’re too big for his slight body, the feathers drifting gently in the liquid like falling ash. Metal restraints ring his shoulders where the wings connect, thin cables embedded along his spine and trailing into the machinery behind the tank. Feathers grow in other places too Along the backs of his forearms. Scattered faintly across his collarbone. A few near his temples, blending into soft hair that floats weightless around a pale, too-young face. He looks like a child dressed as something divine. But there’s nothing holy about the wires threaded into him. The display flickers beside the tube: PROJECT: AVIS SUBJECT AGE: CLASSIFIED ENERGY CORE: SYNTHETIC STATUS: STABLE “That’s not a Plant,” Meryl whispers. “No,” Vash answers quietly. The boy’s head is tilted downward, eyes closed. His expression is peaceful in that unnatural, suspended way. Wolfwood’s jaw tightens. “They’re experimenting on kids now.” Roberto doesn’t say anything. Vash steps closer to the glass. The gold light within the fluid pulses faintly, reacting to his proximity. The boy’s eyes snap open. Gold. Sharp. Luminous. Alert. The energy in the room spikes immediately. The fluid inside the tube begins to churn. “Uh,” Roberto mutters, backing up slightly. “That doesn’t look stable.” The boy’s gaze locks onto Vash. Something shifts in his expression. Not recognition. Threat. The metal restraints at his back spark violently. The wings spread inside the tank, too fast, too sudden. Cracks splinter across the glass. “Vash,” Wolfwood warns. The tube explodes outward. Fluid and shattered glass blast across the chamber as the boy drops to the floor in a spray of gold-lit mist. His wings snap open mid-fall, catching him before he fully hits. He doesn’t hesitate. He launches. Fast. Faster than something that size should move. Wolfwood barely gets Punisher up in time as a wing slams into him with bone-rattling force, sending him crashing into a control panel. Metal buckles. Sparks rain down. Vash raises his hands instinctively. “Wait—!” The boy is already on him. Clawed fingers slash across Vash’s coat, shredding fabric. The impact drives him back several steps. Those golden eyes are wide—not mindless. Panicked. Every movement is sharp and reactive, like a cornered animal. The wings beat violently, generating a shockwave that cracks the remaining glass tubes. Feathers scatter through the air like dark snow. “Carla would’ve called this!” Roberto yells from behind cover. Meryl ducks as debris rains down. Wolfwood pushes himself up, wincing. “Kid fights like he was trained for it.” Because he was. The metal collar still around the boy’s throat begins to glow. A sharp tone echoes through the chamber. His movements grow more erratic. More aggressive. He lunges again, this time talons aimed straight for Vash’s chest. Vash dodges at the last second, refusing to draw a weapon.