“Prepare the prisoner for the examination,” Artificer gave an audible command, entering the spacious chamber that served him as a mix between an assembly line and a med bay.

The smooth, featureless walls of the room were made of meters of thick steel, and energy shields were ready to be turned on at any time to keep anyone or anything inside. There were a lot of mechanical parts hanging from the wall, ready to help disassemble anything or anyone.

Artificer declined all of the VIs offers for help, walking alone across the room to a single examination slab that had risen from under the floor. He had no need for guards. Not here. Every single camera, every single mechanical tool in this base, every last terminal, and every assembly line… The Elite’s consciousness was in them. His inhuman nature had denied him some pleasures of life and granted him many others. Even now, he was assembling a new type of satellite, one capable of detecting biological lifeforms with pin-point accuracy. In the underground laboratory, his will took over the machines that took the crystal virus out of the patients’ cells, working on each individual cell. And he was here too, both in mind and in one of his many-many frames.

A soft hiss indicated that the room’s disinfection system had been activated, eliminating any potential viruses that might have come from the Desolation and cleaning anything from him that might damage the immune system of the sole living being in the room.

For today’s examination, he had chosen a faceless form that mimicked a human’s body of average weight. The head was a round orb of steel, his metal limbs worked soundlessly as they carried him toward the examination slab. Numerous new inputs of data came into his mind, from the prisoner’s heartbeat to the uneven breathing and the intervals at which the prisoner’s body twitched upon the slab.

“Increase the room temperature to 38°C,” Artificer said, understanding that the person felt cold.

The being who lay on the examination slab only barely resembled a normal human being. It lay face down, arms and legs locked by steel locks. The knees were inverted, lifting up the fabric of a long white cape with a painted black skull on it. The person was barefoot, the feet themselves were oversized and had only four fingers, each ending up with a protruding claw. The five-fingered hands looked comically big when compared to the thin, long arm that could reach all the way to feet. Green skin looked rough and dry to the touch. Artificer immediately checked to see if the being suffered from dehydration before coming to the conclusion that it was a natural state of the being’s body. Instead of hair, the being had countless fleshy sprouts, pink in color and reaching the length of a human finger. The Elite touched one and felt the body tremble as the prisoner was slowly waking up from the sedatives. His fingers unleashed an electric impulse, mapping the insides of one of the sprouts.

He understood with a minor curiosity that it was meant to be a living being. Inside this fleshy ‘hair’ were rudimentary and underdeveloped organs, a heart, lungs, poison glands, and even a brain. All atrophied and long since dead, of course, but undeniably, this being’s hair could have potentially been snakes at one point.

“A potential flaw during creation? An accident at birth?” He asked no one in particular.

“I have no flaws, outlander,” the being hissed weakly, thrashing in her restraints. “By devouring my brothers and sisters, I had earned my right to live!”

Artificer looked down, thinking about sedating the prisoner for the duration of the examination. No, there is no time for this. The mission takes the highest priority. Instead, he started mapping the voice patterns of his prisoner, updating his databanks with information about how the prisoner acts when he or she is speaking the truth. Or what they perceived as truth.

“Devouring? Why would you attack your own kin?” He asked in a soft and pleasant voice, one that was supposed to build rapport with prisoners.

“You really have no idea, outlander!” The being coughed, with each moment regaining back the sanity and strength. “We are born mindless and animalistic. Our parents put us against each other. The hunger in our stomachs demands a fresh kill! The moment I broke the shell of my egg, my sister leaped at me. I remember, oh how I remember, my fangs in her neck, the frantic thrashing of her tail as I gnawed upon her jugular and came face-to-face with my brethren. They gave me no quarter, but in the end I prevailed, overcoming their ferocity with my fangs and claws! Even after gaining sentience, this is my most treasured win.” The being beamed and Artificer took note of this change, adding information about body language to the database. Pride. Truth.

The being was locked from the neck to the ankles in some steel armor, which looked more like countless straps of metal encasing the lean body. He quickly found a way to remove the cape and look at it, noticing how thin the fabric was. Silk? No, unlikely. The team responsible for the capture reported that the being rushed headfirst into a battle. The cape was in almost pristine condition for a frontline fighter and sturdy enough not to tear when he pulled it slightly.

“Be careful with my prized garment, outlander!” The Naturalborn hissed again, showing a forked tongue between needle-like fangs. “My slaves had made this gift to me.”

“Slaves?” Artificer asked. “From what I know, your kind devours normal people. Yet our team had confirmed that some of your subjects had tried to drag you to safety after you were stunned. Why is that?”

“They’ve been trained properly.” A change in speech pattern, along with an increased heartbeat and a barely noticeable twitch. A lie. And a feeling of shame.

Curious. Artificer summoned a small table from the ground and put the cape on it. He cursed, seeing the body of his captive. On his request, Iterna’s military sent several parties to the border with the Desolation with the goal of bringing in one of the Naturalborn. Upon locating a small hamlet, a recon team made an official request to parley, only to be met with overwhelming aggression. The ensuing fight was swift and bloodless. As per his instructions, the recon team retreated, supported by their allies, who downed the foes with stun shots, ending the situation without spilling a drop of blood.

They had hit a treasure trove. A Naturalborn, one of the official rulers of the Desolation was there. It may be just a junior officer, or whatever the equivalent of such a rank was, but this was still a member of a “noble” caste, one privy to a lot more information than most of Changed.

“What has happened to my soldiers?” The female, now Artificer was sure of it, demanded to know.

“A group of our own remained to watch over them until they were awakened. By now, all of them have undoubtedly already left for their homes. The slaves who escorted your group and people from the hamlet all joined us,” he replied, taking a laser scalpel in his hand and earning a worried look with a round, purple eye.

The Naturalborn tried to turn her head, trembling slightly at the sound of the working laser scalpel. Artificer looked at the instrument for a moment and put it down, taking a steel one instead. As he requested, the Naturalborn was delivered straight to him, the soldiers swore they hadn’t taken a thing from her. Her weapons, curved daggers soaked in a paralytic and a pain-inducing poison, were left for a later investigation. The Elite found it curious that the poison simply refused to disappear from the blades. But this was a query for later. What bothered the AI now was the fact that the soldiers did not perform basic first aid.

The ends of the metal armor bit deep into the prisoner’s flesh. A steel hook entered between the bones of her arm. Numerous curves ended up in the sides of her belly, gouging out greenish blood even now. One sharp piece went straight through her right breast, causing pus to seep out of the torn wound. Legs, arms, body, everything was damaged, several hooks were even attached to the ribs, and one piece of steel wrapped itself around a collarbone, right next to a joint, no doubt causing immense stress with each movement.

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Artificer’s smell receptors had caught a strange scent, along with a small amount of oil seeping through the Naturalborn’s pores. At first, he thought that the woman had attempted to use chemical warfare against him. This theory was quickly discarded based on the analysis of her widened eyes and stiff body. This excreted was a natural reaction to fear for her.

“And here it is,” she laughed, feigning bravery. Lie. “What will it be? What part of my body will you take? For the most excruciating pain, I recommend starting with the ribs, but a lack of lungs might render me unable to answer your questions.”

He paid her no mind, reminding himself that she was, in general terms, a human being, raised in a horrible society. With precise accuracy, he started cutting off the steel, taking apart the iron cage that served the Naturalborn for armor, and taking the steel pieces from her body. She twitched from pain several times, giving him a hint that painkillers simply refused to work on her body. Another set of arms came from his ribs, holding the patient down while he removed the most stuck pieces of steel. Green blood flowed down the examination slab and was quickly removed by a few flying drones that came from above.

During this operation, Artificer continued the examination of her body. Naturalborns were strong. This one, reaching two meters in length, was fully capable of tearing off a tank’s hatch with her bare hands, judging by her iron-like muscles. Most of her organs, including her heart, were sagged and folded somewhat, making Artificer wonder if this patient had suffered from atrophy. This theory was also rejected because, despite the weird looks, the Naturalborns were healthier than most man-made abnormals. Even in her current state, she could take on a problemsolver and potentially win.

“What are you doing?” She asked panically, feeling Artificer’s fingers rub a medical gel into the wounds’ edges.

The drones came up closer, spraying the wounds with the special solution meant to help with the inflammation of the skin. The medical gel started its work, causing the prisoner to feel a strong itch as the wounds began to heal. Allowing more light electrical impulses and light sound waves to leave his fingers, Artificer found out that some of her bones and joints were misaligned, the prisoner had a severe case of scoliosis from wearing this ridiculous masochistic armor. Not asking for permission, his metal fingers sank into the green skin, forcibly moving the bones back into alignment and earning a gasp of pain from the abnormal. Such actions would be unwise, even dangerous, when performed over a normal human. Abnormals were different in this regard, even now the bones tried to push back into place on their own.

“Ensuring the recovery of your body, miss. My name is Artificer, an artificial intelligence in the service of Iterna. How should I address you?"

“I’ll tell you nothing, outlander!” The woman jerked, trying to bite his fingers.

He used this moment to grab her by the jaws, spreading the mouth wide. Artificer’s head left the shoulders, moving forward on a long appendage made of steel. He positioned his head before the gaping maw, critically evaluating the throat. Despite the panic in her maddening eyes, he refused to let the prisoner close her mouth.

Soon enough, he found traces of caries on the front fangs and saw that the wisdom fang on the left side was growing into the lower gum, threatening to push several fangs out. The prisoner thrashed in vain when a set of pristine, clear stomatological tools came from the lower part of his head. Hearing the whizz of a drill, the Naturalborn tried to thrash in fear, finding herself held steadily by Artificer’s hands. After a momentary pain, the bad wisdom fang was removed, and the rest of the fangs were white again.

“Kill me now, or one day I will end your existence for this indignity!” She coughed out blood, the damaged palate has already healed. Artificer gave her just enough time, before forcing the prisoner to drink some water.

“This would be an amusing thing to observe,” he replied to her with a dry humor, making one last attempt. “I am authorized by Iterna’s government to use very intrusive methods of interrogation. I highly recommend cooperation.”

The Naturalborn went silent for a moment, frighteningly looking around. Artificer let the full gravity of the situation sink in her, keeping working on her body. The Naturalborn was all alone, taken into another country, bound, and left to his mercy. The Elite had the prisoner already humiliated, stripped, and shown that she was in his power. Her imagination will do the job for him now.

Finally, she asked in a quiet voice: “What do you want to know?”

“One of the high-ranked members of your… kingdom? Is this a correct term?”

“Dominion is the right term, savage.”

“Of course. One of the high-ranking members of your nation recently led an attack on the Resistance…”

“Not at the Resistance,” the Naturalborn cut him off, licking her lips. “His aim was the Wall.”

“If you say so,” the Elite falsely conceded. Had the wall fallen, no doubt the Changed would have raided the countryside, gathering slaves and supplies. “Shortly after that, we received a signal coming from the Desolation.”

“A signal?” She tried to turn her head to look at him. “Like that radio thingy that outlanders use to speak with each other? We use no machinery, fool.”

“This isn’t a mechanical signal.” Artificer’s fingers hit her spine, forcing her cranial vertebrae back into place. “This signal is of biological origin, or so we believe. Only a few, certain individuals, can even sense. Once we became aware of its existence, it was a child’s game to detect it.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” The Naturalborn has tried her best to remain still. Artificer kept observing, noticing tiny details. A twitch of fingers. A rapid breath. She lied. And felt fear, most certainly.

The sound that left Artificer’s dynamics resembled a sigh. Energy shields came online within the walls, ensuring that no one can escape the place either via teleportation or old-fashioned breakthrough. The walls alone could withstand a bunker bomb explosion, with the shields turned on, this place can easily contain a full nuclear blast.

Artificer allowed the restraints to come off of the Naturalborn’s limbs, allowing her to stand up. Another device came from within the steel floor, one that looked like a metal armchair with several cords coming from behind the device. The Elite felt how Lada, another AI living in his home, roused up, trying to break her way into the chamber. He did his best to try to stall her for time, Lada’s soft methods would only inhibit the mission, and they were short on time as it is.

“Hard way it is, then. Your mind will be pried open to retrieve the important information. Please avoid struggling, otherwise, the process might be unpleasant.”

“Screw you!” The Naturalborn hissed.

The woman jumped from where she was, moving with grace and speed that didn’t seem right for someone who had just been hurt so badly. She landed before him, dodging to the left the moment Artificer tried to catch her. The joints in her leg bent at almost impossible angles, allowing her to flow around him like a skilled dancer on a podium.

Unlike a dancer, the abnormal could and like hurt others. A punch came upon his metal side, sending the frame to the right a single step. Artificer updated his calculations, noticing that she had hit him with at least enough force to break through a tank’s armor. The punch left a dent on his blue armor plate, but otherwise left him unharmed.

Immediately she jumped again, trying to get behind him, foolishly assuming that he had to see her with his head. Artificer was everywhere in this room, including cameras on the ceiling. Her next attack was met with an elbow hit to the place where her solar plexus should have been, forcing the woman to throw up air from her lungs. Turning his upper torso, all four arms came upon the Naturalborn, preparing to carry her to the mind reader.

With a hiss, the woman’s arms and legs expanded like balloons, rope-like veins bulged beneath the green skin. The chest, neck, and even head—everything had endured a rapid expansion of mass, and in this moment, Artificer updated his knowledge banks once again, understanding the reason behind her ‘folded’ organs. All Naturalborns had a power. This was a reason they ruled in the Desolation. And this one’s power was…

A kick sent him cartwheeling toward the wall. The force behind the kick was obscene, a mere touch of the Naturalborn’s leg against the Elite’s breastplate had created a shockwave that cracked one of the cameras. The moment his frame ricocheted against the wall, she was already behind him, grabbing Artificer under the armpits and jumping up. Using the ceiling as a springboard, the Naturalborn brought him down. Straight upon the near-indestructible floor.

With a crack, two of his arms broke like twigs, leaving the prisoner with two club-like weapons. Immediately she brought them upon him, leaving nothing to chance, ignoring the cracked head and hissing wires coming from it. She pounded on him with his own broken limbs, again and again. Her grace and precision never disappeared, as Artificer found out when he tried to land a low kick against the Naturalborn’s legs. Like a ghost, she circled around him, moving fast enough to overload the optical zoom of this frame. According to his calculation, the woman had increased her mass by seventy-five percent in exchange for getting stronger and faster by a hundred percent.

I can’t match her in this frame. With this thought, his body came apart, turning into liquid before the shocked eyes of the Naturalborn. Sensing something amiss, the woman jumped toward the main door, kicking and punching at it in vain.