Chapter 47: The Blood of Truth

Sienna didn't have to log into the Sterling media monitoring network to know something was wrong.

She felt it in the air.

The way people in the bunker avoided eye contact. The way the young intern who delivered her lunch tray didn't speak—just dropped the box on the table and left like she was radioactive.

Literally.

She was halfway through decoding a serum chart when Jenna walked into the lab unannounced.

"Check your name," Jenna said.

Sienna didn't look up. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Jenna replied, voice cool. "The world did. I just gave it… a nudge."

Sienna's eyes narrowed as she activated the secure terminal and tapped into Sterling's external news feed.

The screen exploded with headlines.

"The Bioweapon Heiress? Leaked Records Suggest Sterling Insider Carries Radioactive Gene""Is the Cure Worse Than the Disease? Anonymous Source Claims Experimental Antibody Could Alter Human DNA""#GeneContamination trends globally as whistleblowers release 'classified footage' of bunker woman with abnormal blood traits"

Dozens of hashtags.

Memes.

Clips from K's leaked video.

A loop of Sienna's face under thermal imaging—her veins glowing blue.

It wasn't just trending.

It was war.

Her image had been uploaded to hundreds of platforms.

Her blood test results—partially doctored—were spliced into speculative "medical reports" that claimed her existence posed "a direct biohazard to reproductive populations."

Sienna closed the feed with shaking fingers.

"You did this," she said.

Jenna didn't deny it.

"I leaked what would've come out eventually," she replied. "You think K wouldn't weaponize your truth? At least this way, you control the fallout."

Sienna stood slowly.

Her voice was calm—but her body shook.

"Fallout?" she said. "You framed me as a contagion."

"You're not," Jenna said, eyes sharp. "But you are… unnatural. The world hates what it doesn't understand. So give them something better to believe."

"And what's that?"

Jenna smiled faintly.

"Your blood might scare them. But what if it saves someone—on camera?"

Sienna didn't answer.

Jenna turned to leave.

"An ICU patient was just airlifted to Saint Helena's. Acute radiation poisoning. Caused by the same substance found in Sterling's offshore shipments. He has twelve hours. Maybe less."

She paused at the door.

"Do something they can't argue with."

Then she left.

—

Ten hours later, the world watched a miracle happen.

A news chopper hovered outside Saint Helena's Medical Center. Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted.

Inside, the trauma ward was sealed.

Sterling's private livestream went active across all major platforms.

Sienna stood in full surgical gear, calm despite the chaos.

Her face was bare.

No mask. No filter.

Just her.

She stood beside the dying patient—a young man in his twenties, skin pallid, hair beginning to fall out. He'd worked at a coastal shipping company Sterling had "outsourced" last year.

Radiation traces matched the leaked lab vials.

Silas stood outside the room, separated by glass, knuckles white against the railing.

She looked at the camera once.

Then down at the IV line.

And connected her vein to his.

Slow. Intentional.

The screen showed the colors mixing—red to red.

A subtitle ran beneath the livestream: "Donor: Sienna Chen. Antibody-positive. No known match."

The patient stabilized.

In thirty minutes, his heart rate leveled.

In forty-five, his respiration normalized.

By hour two, the sweat on his forehead began to dry.

And outside, a silence fell over the crowd watching the stream.

Comments flooded in:

"She's not a monster…""She saved him. I saw it.""So this is what gene-mod looks like when it works.""#LiveCure trending in ten countries!"

Jenna, watching from the van outside, crossed her arms.

"Well played."

Inside the control room, Silas never left his post. He watched every frame, every drip of blood, every twitch of the patient's fingers.

Then he made one call.

Sterling's media buyout fund: $38 million.

He used all of it.

And the command was simple:

Buy every trending keyword. Wipe every trace of #GeneContamination. Replace it with #MiracleOfChen.

Within thirty minutes, the narrative flipped.

Sienna wasn't dangerous.

She was divine.

She wasn't the infection.

She was the antidote.

—

When she walked out of the hospital, surrounded by a ring of security, Silas met her on the landing pad.

"You're trending globally," he said, deadpan.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that your way of saying I'm forgiven?"

"No," he replied. "It's my way of saying if you ever scare me like that again, I'll handcuff you to a safehouse for the rest of your life."

She smiled faintly. "I'll bring the keys."

His voice lowered.

"You shouldn't have given your blood."

"I didn't give it," she said.

"I proved it."

She stepped into him, forehead resting against his shoulder.

"You know they'll keep coming, right?" she whispered.

His arms came around her, warm and certain.

"Let them," he said.

"You've got miracle blood."

"I've got you."

—

Back in the van, Jenna watched the final clip play on loop.

Sienna's face—exhausted, hollow, glowing in the halogen lights.

The crowd chanting her name.

Jenna smiled to herself.

And whispered, "Now let's see how they handle a savior they can't control."