Cassius remained silent as he stared at the vial of shimmering purple liquid. The woman in the lab coat gently returned it to the cold storage chamber, sealing it with a quiet hiss. The others had left the room, leaving only Cassius and Brent behind. The hum of machinery filled the silence, like the breath of something dormant, ancient.
"This thing," Brent said quietly, breaking the silence, "has ruined too many lives."
Cassius glanced at him, but said nothing. His mind drifted—not to the present, but to the past. To the origin.
"It was never meant to be a weapon," Cassius said finally, his voice low.
Brent raised a brow. "Then what was it meant to be?"
Cassius walked to the far wall, where a hidden compartment slid open with a swipe of his ID. From within, he pulled out an old, locked briefcase. The kind that looked like it belonged to another era. He set it on the table and clicked it open.
