Everyone I encountered was a pawn. Ada, Birkin, Jill, Excella — each had their role to play in my game. I used their minds, their bodies, their weaknesses. All for the goal. For evolution.

But her… no, she wasn’t a pawn. She was around twenty-five. Dyed blonde hair, dark brown eyes like black syrup. Always dressed extravagantly — as if she were heading to a fashion gala, not a lab. And yet, not a trace of foolishness in her.

She followed orders in silence, never questioned, never overstepped. On the surface — just another assistant for paperwork. But unlike the others, I don’t tolerate superficiality. I learned her background.

Military. Captured. Three days of hell. Not by zombies or mutants. By people. What she endured is difficult even to imagine. And ironically, it was a zombie outbreak that gave her the chance to escape. After that, the DSO tried to recruit her — tried to make her a hero.

She declined. And joined me instead.

Why? The answer became clear. She no longer believed in saving the world. Only in surviving it.

I watched her. Not to use her. Not to experiment on her. I simply… observed. She was calm. Composed. Intelligent. No theatrics. No wasted words. Perfect. The only being I couldn’t — didn’t want to — harm.

It was almost… touching. As if I, a god, for the first time, considered that sometimes it’s pleasant not to destroy.

-If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to impress me. Luckily, I do know better.