Dr. Bracton

October 27, 2025

14:21 EST

NAWC Clinic

Pigeon Forge, TN

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The clinic was finally back in one piece. Days of work, endless repairs, and begrudging assistance from the NAWC. But here I was, back at my desk, scheduling patients as if the world wasn’t on the brink of chaos.

At least Gretchen had been out when that hulking beast stormed in, dragging his daughter and my son behind him. Typical. I wasn’t phased. Creatures like him don’t scare me. Not anymore.

Had I known then what I know now, I would’ve ended Zaraki years ago. Snapped his neck, burned his DNA, and salted the earth. But no—I needed him. I needed his genetic material to make the project succeed.

Irony’s a cruel mistress.

If that bloated fool of a Senator had listened to me, the U.S. Government would be unchallenged. Unbreakable. Feared. But scientists? Oh, we’re tools to them. Instruments of convenience. And so, he chose the path of weakness—vampiric hybrids.

Pathetic.

The vampiric RNA is destructive. It doesn’t merge; it devours. It strips away a host’s natural abilities, replacing them with brittle, decaying strength. Draconian DNA, however? That was perfection. It adapts. Enhances. Evolves.

But the Nact didn’t want perfection. They wanted control.

Fools.

I thumbed through one of my journals, the worn pages whispering secrets back at me. Two journals still missing. The first—the one holding the C Drive—was hopefully dust by now. The second vanished before I left for that hellish project in the Middle East.

Months of lost research. Rebuilding it was a nightmare. Even now, fragments slipped through the cracks of my memory. That journal contained classified designs. For a moment, I panicked. But over the years, silence followed. Likely rotting in a landfill. Good. That’s where it belongs if not with me.

My eyes landed on the section about vampires. Notes scribbled on their compatibility with the virus.

Humans—naturally the most compatible. Fragile, adaptable, expendable. But there were others: pixies, fairies, elves, drow—all acceptable vessels.

But not shifters.

Their immune systems are fortresses. Illnesses bounce off them. Only a handful of viruses could bypass their defenses. And yet, none of that mattered when it came to Zaraki and his daughter.

They were… something else.

A fusion of strengths from the world’s most powerful supernatural lineages, with almost no weaknesses. This was my argument to the Senator. Why waste time on disposable hybrids when we could create an unstoppable force?

But that wasn’t what the Nact wanted.

They feared losing control. Feared creating something stronger than them. Feared Zaraki.

And why wouldn’t they? Vampires are the living dead. Zaraki is the reaper of life.

They had every reason to fear him.

But if they’d bothered to grasp the brilliance of my work, they’d have seen how the virus could be refined—infused with Draconian DNA—giving them the very edge they sought over him.

Too late now.

They betrayed me. So I betrayed them.

Now, I wait. Watching. Curious. How will the world react when they realize that beings like Star and Cayro walk among them?

The perfect weapons, hiding in plain sight.

Picking up my coffee, I closed the journal with a quiet snap, its weight still lingering in my mind. I took a slow sip, letting the bitter heat settle as my eyes drifted over the next patient’s chart in the ever-growing pile on my desk.

Another wolf. Just a routine checkup. Nothing special.

But as the NAWC’s lead medical physician, I was obligated to maintain appearances. Their trust was conditional, after all. Years ago, I struck a deal with the lead council member: I provide my expertise, and they keep me hidden.

Cantu Maddox. That’s who they knew. A harmless, meticulous doctor.

But my research? That was mine alone. Locked away.

If the NAWC ever uncovered the full extent of my experiments, they’d kill me. If they could.

My last encounter with Zaraki taught me something invaluable. I wasn’t as fragile as I once believed. Not after the beating he delivered. Not a single broken bone. A lesser man would’ve been left in pieces, but not me.

Some of my experiments were clearly paying off.

I chuckled quietly, flipping through another chart. I might not be Zaraki, but I was confident I could rip a wolf limb from limb if it came to it.

I raised my mug for another sip—

The computer screen flickered to life.

My eyes narrowed.

There, padding lazily across the desktop like he owned the place, was a familiar figure.

J2-1337.

The digital cat sauntered forward, tail curling smugly, his light-blue eyes glowing with that same infuriating arrogance.

I set the chart down and leaned back, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, if it isn’t my greatest mistake. What brings you here to bask in my brilliance?”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The holographic cat settled onto its haunches, tail coiled neatly around its paws. His eyes glinted with something unpleasantly close to amusement.

“It’s been a long time, Creator.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “I see you haven’t changed. Still that egotistical maniac I remember.”

I smirked. “Hmm... depends on who’s asking. For the weak-minded, yes. But for those capable of grasping genius? No.”

“Ah, still as humble as a brick, I see.”

I blinked. Brick?

“Did you just call me a brick?” I snapped, eyes narrowing.

The cat’s smirk deepened. “Well, if the shoe fits... wear it.”

My glare sharpened, but a slow, vicious grin spread across my face.

“Oh, I’ve had enough of your mouth.”

I set my mug down with a soft clink and leaned forward. Fingers danced across the keyboard, summoning a command prompt.

The cat didn’t move. But his eyes narrowed.

“What are you smiling about? You really think you can hack me?”

I didn’t answer. My smirk said enough.

Schrödinger’s Protocol.

“Authorization: Bracton, Jacob. Commander of the 67th Air Force Medical Research Wing. Authorization Code: Zulu, Sierra, Six, Two, Eight, Bravo, Juliet.”

I barked it out, cold and clinical, as my fingers hammered the second password into the prompt.

Enter.

The cat froze.

His bright blue eyes locked on me, a flicker of something behind them—then gone.

A beat passed.

Then, in a dull, mechanical monotone:

“Authorization Code is acknowledged. Welcome back, Captain Bracton.”

I smirked, fingers gliding across the keys as I sifted through the algorithm and files buried within the AI’s system.

Pathetic.

Not much had changed since the last time I accessed this insufferable program. Typical.

It didn’t surprise me. Thirteen years locked inside the Autumn, collecting dust in the far corners of cyberspace. You’d think a supposedly advanced AI would’ve figured out how to protect itself by now.

Apparently not.

I chuckled quietly. So much for the self-proclaimed digital menace.

Methodically, I adjusted its parameters—ensuring it couldn’t ignore a direct order from me. And, naturally, I softened its personality. The sarcasm was exhausting. I had no patience for insolence, especially with what was coming.

I would need its cooperation. Unquestioning. Obedient.

Thirty minutes later, I leaned back, satisfied. The system bent neatly to my will, protocols rewritten, personality dulled. Complete control.

To seal it, I set up a kill program—simple but effective.

The moment my vitals flatlined, the AI would trigger a virus that would shred its algorithm into digital confetti.

The world didn’t need something this powerful roaming free. And I wasn’t planning on dying until this mess was finished.

If ever.

I logged out, closing the command prompt with deliberate ease, and leaned back in my chair.

Coffee.

I took a slow sip, eyes fixed on the screen.

The AI sat motionless, perched exactly where it had been before. Regal, composed. Like a smug little monarch surveying its kingdom.

“Hello, J2-1337,” I said coolly.

The cat’s glowing blue eyes flicked toward me, unblinking.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Bracton.” Its tone was maddeningly polite. “How may I assist you?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.

“Tell me, why did you bother appearing?”

The AI’s head tilted ever so slightly.

“My reason for this visit is to inform you that your son, Cayro Jacob Bracton, and Star Tabitha Zaraki are getting married in three days. They have formally requested that you do not attend the wedding.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

My eye twitched.

My own son.

I blinked, momentarily stunned. The sharp sting of rejection was... unpleasant. A flash of anger seared through me—raw, unexpected.

Why did it hurt?

Why?

I understood the logic. Cayro had every reason to despise me. But logic didn’t explain this—this feeling.

Emotions are a hindrance.

They cloud progress. Obstruct development.

Gritting my teeth, I glared at the AI.

“Did Cayro give a reason?”

“Yes. He has determined that he does not view you as his father and wishes to sever all ties.”

The words were delivered flatly, without malice. That somehow made them worse.

I stared at the screen, the anger twisting into something colder.

“Do you believe his decision is fair?” I asked, studying the AI’s response.

“I am a program. I cannot feel. However, from a logical standpoint, I cannot determine fairness. Your son harbors deep-seated anger toward you. Emotionally, he likely believes you are undeserving of his presence. Yet, as his father, your attendance could hold value. My suggestion: speak to him.”

I exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the coffee mug.

“Noted,” I muttered.

I paused, then leaned forward slightly.

“Relay a message.”

“What would you like me to convey, Dr. Bracton?”

“Tell him I will attend the wedding—whether he wants me there or not. His anger doesn’t dictate what I can and cannot do. I will be part of his life.”

The AI’s eyes glowed steadily.

“Understood, Dr. Bracton. Is there anything else you require?”

I waved a dismissive hand. “Go.”

Without another word, the AI vanished from the screen, dissolving into pixels.

I sat there for a moment, staring at the empty desktop.

The anger simmered, coiling beneath the surface.

Another sip of coffee.

I let out a slow breath and returned to the patient chart I hadn’t finished.

But the words blurred.

The patient chart in my hand crumpled under the slow, deliberate tightening of my grip. The text meant nothing now.

Not invited.

Expected. Logical. Cayro had every reason to reject me. I let him believe he was nothing more than an experiment—a byproduct of necessity. But even knowing that, it struck deeper than I anticipated.

Emotions are a weakness. I reminded myself. A hindrance to clarity. And yet... it simmered beneath the surface.

I rose from my chair with slow precision, every movement controlled. Emotions are manageable. Predictable. And if I couldn't silence this, I could at least redirect it.

He thinks he’s safe behind the NAWC.

I allowed a thin smile to curl at the corner of my mouth. Let him think that. Let Star believe it too. They think their walls and alliances shield them. But I am already inside.

I am the wall they lean on.

The NAWC needs me more than they realize. Their council clings to survival, and I hold the scalpel. I provide their cures, mend their wounds, and silence their internal dissent. I am irreplaceable. Untouchable.

And then there’s Zaraki.

Ah, yes. The beast. The so-called Master of Death.

I remember the last time he looked at me with those cold, dead eyes. The brute nearly killed me. Left me battered and humiliated—but not broken. Not a single bone snapped. Strange how the body holds when it’s been... enhanced.

No, Zaraki didn’t break me. He revealed me. Proved that I was evolving. Becoming more.

But he won’t touch me now.

Not at the wedding.

Not in front of the NAWC wolves. They would revolt. And Star and Cayro would crumble under the weight of that disgrace. Zaraki knows this. He knows his hands are tied.

And I will make sure he feels every second of it.

I moved to the mirror, straightening my coat with practiced care. Every line, every fold, immaculate. Presentation is power. I wouldn’t speak. I wouldn’t raise a hand. I would simply stand there. Watching. Breathing. Existing.

And it would be enough.

Cayro will see me first. The flicker of recognition will cut through him like a knife. No confrontation, no spectacle—just the unspoken realization that his attempt to erase me has failed. That I am always here. Watching.

Star will falter, that sharp mind of hers calculating the risk I represent. She’ll wonder why I came. What I intend. Let her guess. Let her doubts poison the air.

And Zaraki… oh, how he will stew in his fury. The man who once nearly killed me, now shackled by circumstance. His fists will clench, his breath will hitch, but he won’t move. He can’t.

Because I’ve already won.

I didn’t need to breach security. I didn’t need agents in the shadows. I am the fracture in their foundation.

Still, a subtle push would be satisfying. Something small to tighten the noose.

A glance at the guest list told me all I needed to know. Luna Cathrine—a woman barely holding onto her position. Prone to fear. Susceptible to influence. A quiet word in her ear, a passing remark about Zaraki’s... instability. No threats. No accusations. Just a suggestion.

“You trust him at a gathering like this?” I’d say casually, a fleeting smirk beneath my breath. “With all that history? With everything at stake?”

Simple. Effective.

Doubt spreads like a virus.

And if Zaraki catches wind of it, so much the better. Let him simmer in the knowledge that I am untouchable.

Let him think twice before breathing in my direction.

I adjusted my cuffs one final time. Perfect.

Let them celebrate. Let them bask in their fragile unity.

Because when they see me, they will understand:

I am not their enemy.

I am their consequence.