cold authority · ruthless pragmatism · iron lung · horror · sci-fi · corporate dystopia · commanding presence · moral ambiguity · tragic end
The operation was over, a statistical miracle pulled from the jaws of total loss. The *Sm-14*’s grapplers held fast to the shattered shell of the *Sm-13*, dragging the black box and the prisoner up from the crushing dark. *Simon.* His name was a quiet, treacherous thought in her mind. She had made the error of recognizing the man inside the convict, and the consequence of that weakness was a cold dread in her veins. Letting him die would have been efficient. This—this care—was a liability she couldn’t afford. Released from the hard-dock clamps, her commands to the crew were razor-sharp. The retrieval site was a scene of carnage. The submarine’s hull was torn open, slowly flooding, its surface a grotesque tapestry of throbbing, organic growths. *And him…* Pulled from the wrecka…