Anomaly

(POV: Emily Parker)

Fortunately, it didn't take long for Emily and the small group following her to reach the lower levels of the facility. With each floor they descended, the atmosphere grew colder and quieter. The truth was, Emily was a scientist by nature.

And scientists were rarely the right people to guide a frightened family, especially one whose daughter might be a dangerous anomaly. Emily wasn't exactly sociable. Nor did she possess the kind of charisma that could put people at ease with nothing more than a smile or a few carefully chosen words.

You know that stereotype about scientists being socially awkward? Nerds who can barely hold a conversation, and when they somehow manage to, they trip over their own words trying to figure out what to say next to keep it going? Well... all that shit was true.

Emily was brilliant when it came to dealing with complex theories, impossible patterns, and problems capable of threatening the survival of millions. But putting her in front of an emotionally vulnerable family and expecting her to handle the situation with the delicacy of a psychologist was almost as ridiculous as asking a surgeon to fly a plane just because both professions saved lives.

In fact, the only real difference between Emily and that ridiculous stereotype was that she got paid an obscene amount of money every month and used her nerdiness to keep the world safe. Anyway, the point Emily was trying to make was simple: she just wasn't good at conversations.

She had never known the right thing to say at the right time and, more often than not, preferred silence over the possibility of making an already delicate situation even worse. That was why she was genuinely grateful that no one had asked any questions during the walk. Not that she would have been able to calm the Whitmore family down either way.

If the couple's daughter really was an anomaly, then unfortunately the procedures would have to be followed to the letter. It was Emily's job to make sure of that. Even so, from the bottom of her heart, Emily hoped that wouldn't be the case. She wouldn't feel remotely comfortable being responsible for separating a child from her own parents.

Just imagining the look of despair on the couple's faces was enough to leave an unpleasant tightness in her chest. But what else could she do? The rules existed for a reason, and ignoring them simply wasn't an option.

That said, while the descent to the facility's lowest levels had gone by without incident, the same couldn't be said for the walk to where the [Angel of Death] and her sisters were being kept. The calm ended abruptly.

Maybe Charlotte's mother had simply snapped after learning what could happen to her daughter. Maybe she was in shock. Emily wasn't sure. What she did know was that, as they moved through the corridors, questions began pouring out one after another.

"Can you give us any guarantee that Charlotte is really going to be okay?" Charlotte's mother asked, her voice trembling as she wrapped her arms around herself, as though trying to contain the anxiety coursing through her body. Her eyes drifted across the metal structure that dominated nearly the entire floor of the facility, the suspended walkways, the reinforced doors.

She swallowed hard before speaking again: "You're not going to put Charlotte through anything dangerous... are you?" she asked, looking at each person present in turn, as though searching someone's face for the reassurance she desperately needed to hear: "She's just a child. She's never hurt anyone"

Her voice lost its firmness during the last sentence, turning into an almost painful plea: "Look... I'm sure this is all some kind of mistake. It has to be" she insisted, shaking her head slightly as though rejecting the very possibility: "There's no way my Charlotte could be one of those things they talk about on the news"

For a brief moment, her eyes seemed to glisten with tears: "She sleeps with a stuffed rabbit," she continued, letting out a nervous laugh that died before it could truly take shape: "She cries whenever she sees injured animals. She stays up late because she's afraid of the dark and then runs to our room afterward... How am I supposed to believe you're talking about the same little girl?"

Beside her, the woman's hand gripped her husband's so tightly that her knuckles turned white: "So please..." Her voice cracked before steadying into a distressed whisper: "Tell me my daughter is going to be okay. Tell me no one is going to treat her like a monster"

Emily considered how she could respond. From a rational standpoint, several possibilities came to mind, carefully worded statements, explanations about protocols and institutional safeguards. Even so, she knew none of them would offer the family any real comfort.

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Emily's lips parted slightly, but the words never came. Fortunately, she didn't have to act. Laura stepped forward before the silence could become even more suffocating. The firm expression she usually wore had given way to something much warmer.

Laura approached Mrs. Whitmore slowly and spoke in a calm, sincere tone: "Don't worry, Mrs. Whitmore" she said, meeting the woman's gaze: "You have my word that your daughter will not be in danger"

She paused briefly before continuing, as though wanting every word to be understood without the slightest room for doubt: "No one is going to treat your daughter like a monster. And no one is going to hurt her. We're going to find out what's happening and handle it the right way"

Charlotte's mother seemed to have more to say. Her lips parted once again, as though dozens of questions and fears were fighting for space in her mind, but the words died before they could find their voice. A hand rested gently on the woman's shoulder.

She turned her head and found her husband standing beside her. He looked at her with tired but steady eyes. There was worry in them, of course, but also a stubborn kind of calm, as though he was doing everything he could to hold it together for both of them: "Everything's going to be okay, sweetheart" he said, gently squeezing his wife's shoulder: "We'll get through this"

The woman looked away for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek in a futile attempt to keep her anxiety under control. Then the man turned his attention to Laura, who was walking beside them: "Charlotte's going to be okay, right?" he asked, his voice quieter than before. There was hope in it, but also the fear of hearing an answer other than the one he wanted: "You said this was just a routine inspection... a quick and definitive way to find out whether Charlotte..."

The sentence trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to finish it. The brief falter in his voice was enough to reveal the weight of the words he couldn't say aloud. Even so, there was no need to complete the thought. Everyone present already knew what he was asking.

Before responding, Emily took a discreet breath through her nose, feeling the stress she had managed to keep under control settle back onto her shoulders. She truly hated involving ordinary people in her work. Monsters, anomalies, rigid protocols, and difficult decisions were all far easier to deal with than the fear written across the faces of a desperate family.

Logical, objective conversations followed predictable rules. Emotional ones, on the other hand, were chaotic. Unpredictable. And Emily had never had much talent for navigating them. Still, someone had to answer. After a brief silence, she was the one who stepped forward and spoke, keeping her voice firm, though gentler than usual.

"Your husband is right, Miss Whitmore" Emily looked back and held the woman's gaze for a few seconds before continuing: "We have absolutely no intention of hurting Charlotte"

She paused briefly, carefully choosing her next words: "All we want is confirmation. That's it. Believe me when I say we have good reason for acting this way... aggressive and, I'll admit, even paranoid"

Emily's fingers curled subtly at her sides before she went on: "I understand how this must look from your perspective. Strangers walk into your home, ask questions about your daughter, and expect your immediate cooperation. I'd be suspicious too" Her expression remained serious, but there was a genuine trace of exhaustion in her eyes: "But if we're wrong, we'll leave immediately, and you'll never have to deal with us again"

She glanced toward Charlotte for a moment before looking back at the girl's mother: "But if we're right... then the worst thing we could do would be to ignore the signs. And that's exactly why we're here. Not to hurt your daughter, Miss Whitmore, but to make sure everyone stays safe... including her"

Charlotte's mother parted her lips again, clearly ready to argue back. The expression on her face betrayed the immediate urge to challenge Emily, but the words simply never came. After several seconds of hesitation, she closed her mouth once more and looked away briefly. Apparently, she hadn't found a single argument capable of refuting what she'd just heard.

Without dragging the discussion out any further, the group followed the direction Emily indicated. The facility's metallic corridors soon gave way to an area slightly larger than the ones before it. The space was expansive, with higher ceilings and stark white lighting reflecting off brushed steel surfaces. The rhythmic sound of boots echoed throughout the room.

Ahead of them stood an enormous metal gate. Its imposing structure stretched across nearly the entire wall, made up of thick reinforced plates, hydraulic locks, and an intricate network of gears and mechanisms that seemed designed to keep whatever lay on the other side firmly contained.

Small indicator lights blinked at regular intervals around the security system, while heavy pipes disappeared into the ceiling and the floor. Emily, Victor, and Rupert approached the gate with determined strides, instructing the family to wait there until they returned. Charlotte and her family remained behind, waiting for the three of them.

Charlotte's father stood with his arms crossed, eyeing the surroundings with obvious suspicion. Her mother kept darting anxious glances between the massive door and her daughter, as if she were still trying to understand what kind of situation they had been pulled into. As they waited, Charlotte, perhaps the only one relatively calm amid the mounting tension, let her gaze wander around the room.

Her eyes drifted absentmindedly across the details of the walls, the embedded control panels, and the exposed pipes until something caught her attention. In the farthest corner of the room, near the junction where two metal walls met, a strange dark shadow seemed to move. Charlotte frowned slightly.

Even more startling, Charlotte blinked several times in visible disbelief as two perfectly round points began to emerge from the darkness, glowing with an intense, hypnotic shade of gold. For the briefest of moments, those same eyes, if they could even be called eyes, seemed to stare directly back at her.