1.02.5 Cut it off.

Shirley arrived at the facility the moment she confirmed Dan had been successfully acquired.

This task—insignificant to others—was of utmost importance to her, but because of that very fact, her maid, Kesa, had taken extra precautions to ensure no word of it reached the outside world.

Secrecy took time.

Even with all of Kesa's efforts, she had only relayed the information after she was certain Dan had been transported safely, without complications or leaks.

Still, Shirley was taken aback.

Years.

Years of waiting. Years of planning. And finally—finally, a spark of progress.

"I have him."

The words echoed in her mind as she walked, each step carrying the weight of her ambitions.

Dan's condition was far worse than she had anticipated, but as long as he could be salvaged, it didn't matter. This time, he would awaken far earlier.

This time, he would fight for the future before it was too late.

That thought hardened her resolve as she entered the research hall, where the gathered doctors stiffened upon seeing her.

They did not bow immediately, nor did they smile.

They stood rigid, more like automatons than men, as if her presence alone had drained the warmth from the room.

The one to break the silence was the head doctor, Mister Vyaas.

"Miss Shirley," he greeted her with a shallow bow, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

'It's her.'

The thought passed through his mind like a whisper of dread.

For years now, Shirley had been a force of chaos within their research divisions.

She had cut funding, scrapped entire projects, deemed invaluable talents as waste—all on a whim, all without hesitation.

She made abrupt, ruthless decisions, never caring whether those projects had reached even the prototype stage.

To her, if an idea was not immediately efficient, it did not deserve to exist.

And to these researchers—these men and women who had devoted their lives to their fields—she was a demon in human skin.

There was only one reason someone like her had come here.

'Is she here for the boy?'

Several doctors instinctively glanced toward the operation theater.

A quiet, desperate hope stirred among them—maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't notice.

Maybe she wouldn't see the frail child lying there, suspended between life and death.

Maybe she wouldn't ruin this, too.

But what happened next defied every expectation.

"You should have diagnosed the boy by now."

Her voice was smooth, cold, cutting through the air with an authority that made their hearts clench.

"So tell me—what are your ideas? How can you fix him? Or at the very least… make him capable of proper speech."

Silence.

For a moment, they simply stared at her, confused.

This… was her doing?

She was the one who sent him here?

Her? The woman who discarded lives and futures so easily?

"…You?" One of the researchers hesitated before asking the question.

Shirley did not hide it.

She nodded without hesitation.

She did not owe them explanations.

These doctors—her father's dogs—were bound by contracts so unforgiving that even speaking a single word about what transpired in this facility to their own families would result in permanent consequences.

"…Is there a problem?"

Shirley's voice did not carry curiosity or concern.

It was a simple statement, but one that carried the full weight of her authority.

Her true self emerged here—not the smiling aristocrat, not the amiable young woman her friends knew.

Here, she was in control.

And when Shirley was in control, she did as she pleased.

Because, in the end, it was all for the greater good.

"No, Miss," Vyaas answered quickly, his tone carefully neutral. "We were simply… curious."

Their compliance was instinctive. For them, Shirley was a demon.

A demon who had, for some reason, ordered them to save this child.

But the boy's condition…

Saving him was a miracle they did not possess.

Vyaas exchanged glances with his team.

'We should just tell her. If she wants to kill us, so be it.'

And so, after a pause, the lead doctor spoke.

He outlined everything.

The extent of Dan's damage.

The impossibility of a full recovery.

The fact that even with all of their advancements, the chance of survival was near zero.

"This is one of the most advanced facilities on the planet," Shirley said, voice laced with disappointment. "And you're telling me that none of you can do a thing?"

"It's not that we can't." Vyaas exhaled, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "It's that the chances of survival are… lower than you might expect."

He hesitated before adding, "It is, in my professional opinion, virtually impossible."

"If his body were stronger, we could take some risks. But as he is now, even the simplest augmentation could kill him outright."

Shirley's fingers curled slightly.

"That can't be," she murmured.

She knew for a fact that Dan could withstand it.

He had endured worse.

In the future, when his brain—what was left of it—was forcibly integrated into a mech, when he was stripped of his humanity and rebuilt into something more… he survived.

And if he had survived that, then he could survive this.

He had to.

Yet here, in the most advanced research facility on Earth, they were washing their hands of him.

Shirley's nails dug into her palm.

Then—

"The technology still has limits."

A different researcher spoke this time.

"In a decade, perhaps two, we might be able to achieve a full recovery."

"But at present, we lack the means… unless you are willing to take certain risks."

Silence.

For the first time, Shirley considered the possibility that the world was still too primitive.

The future she had glimpsed was not built overnight. It took years before the Mechs came into fashion, years before the life support system was so advanced that it could sustain a mind for years without any complications. 

Which made Shirley reconsider her goals. The world didn't end in one day, it took many years of constant regression and deterioration of humans which was led by hidden alien parties slowly corroding human infrastructure for humanity to fall.

She could not afford to wait.

She needed Dan.

She needed his gift—his curse—his only ability that could unmask the enemies hiding in the shadows.

And she needed it now.

Any delay would only make her struggle harder in the years to come.

So, she compromised.

"…Then forget his body," she said, voice colder than before.

"Take whatever money you need, just fix his mind."

The doctors stiffened.

Fix his mind.

To what extent?

"At least to the level of a child," Shirley clarified. "Seven, maybe eight years old."

A three-year-old could not practice the path of transcendence.

But an eight-year-old could.

"That… may be possible," Vyaas admitted after careful thought.

"But he will have to remain on life support. Permanently."

"That's fine." Shirley's response was immediate. "Just do it. As fast as you can."

And then, as if remembering something, she turned toward the observation room.

Her gaze landed on Dan's unconscious figure.

Here's the expanded version with increased weight, intensity, and emotional gravitas, while keeping everything intact and in sequence:

"…You've put ability suppressants in his body, correct?"

Shirley's voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it—a sharp, dissecting precision that made the room's temperature feel as though it had dropped several degrees.

"Yes," one of the researchers confirmed, though his voice was hesitant.

Shirley's eyes remained locked onto the unconscious boy in the observation chamber, her expression unreadable. Then, in a tone that was slow, deliberate, and far colder than before, she asked:

"Then why is his face still filled with pain?"

The words cut through the room like a scalpel.

A beat of silence followed.

The gathered doctors froze, unsure of how to answer. Some instinctively looked toward Vyaas, their supposed leader, but even he hesitated, swallowing hard before finally speaking.

"…He reacts to everything."

His voice carried the weight of something deeply unsettling.

"The mere sensation of touch, the presence of sound… even the feeling of air against his skin triggers a response."

"A response?" Shirley echoed, narrowing her eyes. "You're saying he feels pain from something as simple as breathing?"

Vyaas exhaled.

"Not just pain," he clarified. "Agony."

The suppressants dampen Dan's abilities, but they do nothing to stop the fundamental nature of what he is. His body—**his entire existence—**is constantly trying to quantify, process, and absorb everything it comes in contact with.

The pressure is ceaseless. The calculations are endless. Every moment he is awake, Dan's brain is drowning in a flood of raw information it can't escape from. The very act of existing is an unrelenting torture.

Shirley inhaled slowly.

She understood now.

It made sense.

It made too much sense.

This was why, in the future, only his brain had remained.

Why they had stripped him of everything else.

Her gaze hardened, her resolve setting in an instant.

"…Cut it off, then."

The silence that followed was instant and absolute.

Several of the researchers paled.

"…Cut what off?" One of them asked, though the fear in his voice suggested he already knew the answer.

Shirley didn't blink.

"His connection to his body," she said. "Paralyze him."

The reaction was immediate.

A few of the doctors visibly flinched, while others instinctively took half-steps back, as if trying to distance themselves from the sheer weight of her words.

"Madam…" Vyaas hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "This is… extreme."

"It's the only solution," Shirley corrected, her voice utterly devoid of sympathy. "You just explained it yourselves—his body is nothing but a prison of constant suffering. Every nerve, every receptor, every function is working against him. If he could process it, he would be begging for us to do this."

She took a step forward, her cold gaze sweeping across the room.

"I'm simply making the choice he cannot."

One of the junior doctors swallowed hard, his voice shaking.

"…But ma'am… this will cut off his future permanently."

Shirley's expression did not change.

"His body's future? Perhaps."

She turned back to the glass, looking at the boy—at the messiah who would save humanity.

"…But his mind is what matters.** His mind is the key to everything.**"

A deep breath.

Then, with unwavering finality, she spoke:

"Do it."

For the future, she would butcher a messiah.

Because only a monster could save the world.