**Chapter Eleven: The Surgeon's Gift**
The darkness didn't just swallow the light—it swallowed *sound.*
For one heartbeat, there was nothing. No whispers. No screams. Just a void so complete Luna wondered if she'd slipped back into death.
Then the emergency lights flickered on, staining the room blood-red.
Voss was gone.
The tanks remained.
Up close, the things inside weren't just shapes—they were *faces.* Dozens of them, suspended in viscous fluid, their features shifting like reflections in disturbed water. Some were barely more than fragments—a pair of lips, a single eye. Others were nearly whole, their mouths stretched in silent screams.
The nameless girl let out a shattered noise and lurched forward, hands pressed to one of the tanks. "*That's me,*" she choked.
And it was.
Floating in the center of the glass was a face—*her* face, but softer. Younger. *Whole.*
Luna's stomach twisted. She knew, without having to look, that one of those faces was hers too. The part of her Voss had carved out and stored like a specimen.
John's voice cut through the silence. "Luna."
Sharp. A warning.
She turned.
Voss stood in the shadows near the door, his tailored suit immaculate, his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't alone. Two figures flanked him—men with hollow eyes and too-perfect features, their expressions blank.
*His creations.*
His *perfect* ones.
"You always did have a talent for finding what doesn't belong to you, Detective," Voss mused. His gaze slid to Luna. "Though I suppose she belongs to you now, doesn't she?"
John's finger tightened on the trigger. "What did you do to them?"
Voss tilted his head, considering. "I *perfected* them. The world is full of broken things, Detective. I simply… *repurpose* them." He stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete. "Take your sister, for example. She was fragile. Afraid. But in death, she became *useful.*"
John's gun didn't waver. "Shut up."
Voss smiled. "She led you here, didn't she? Her ghost. Her *echo.*" His eyes flicked to Luna. "Just like this one will, in time."
Luna's breath hitched. The cold in her chest *throbbed.*
The nameless girl stumbled back from the tanks, her voice raw. "Put it back."
Voss sighed, as if disappointed. "You don't want that, my dear. What I took from you was *pain.* Fear. Weakness." He stepped closer, and the red light caught the silver of his scalpel as it slid from his sleeve. "I can make you perfect. All of you."
John fired.
The bullet tore through Voss's shoulder, spinning him back. But he didn't scream. Didn't even stumble. He *laughed.*
The two perfect men moved.
Luna grabbed the girl's arm, yanking her behind a row of tanks as the room erupted into chaos. John ducked behind a surgical table, firing again. One of the men went down, his head snapping back—but he didn't *stay* down.
He stood.
Blood dripped from his temple.
He smiled.
Luna's pulse roared in her ears. The cold inside her was a living thing now, whispering, *pulling.* She turned—and found herself face-to-face with one of the tanks.
*Her* tank.
The face inside wasn't hers.
Not exactly.
It was the *other* her. The one who had wanted to disappear. The one who had been too afraid to live.
And it was *reaching* for her.
A hand slammed against the glass.
Luna recoiled—
And then Voss was there, his breath hot against her neck. "Do you miss it?" he whispered. "The quiet? The emptiness?" His fingers brushed her hair, almost tender. "I can give it back to you."
She elbowed him hard, twisting away. His scalpel grazed her ribs, drawing a thin line of fire across her skin.
The girl screamed.
One of the perfect men had her, his hands around her throat, lifting her off the ground. John was pinned, the other creature on top of him, its fingers digging into his gun arm.
Luna acted on instinct.
She grabbed the nearest tank—*her* tank—and *slammed* it to the ground.
Glass shattered.
Fluid flooded the floor.
And the thing inside—
*Moved.*
It slithered across the concrete, a living shadow, and lunged—
Not at Luna.
At *Voss.*
The surgeon's eyes widened as the fragment of a soul he'd carved out of her *sank* into his chest.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then Voss *convulsed.*
His back arched, his mouth open in a silent scream. His perfect creations froze, their heads snapping toward him as if sensing a disturbance in some unseen web.
Luna didn't wait.
She grabbed a shard of glass and drove it into the neck of the man holding the girl. He gurgled, his grip loosening just enough for her to wrench free.
John broke free at the same time, slamming his elbow into the other creature's face. It reeled back—
And then Voss *shrieked.*
The sound was inhuman. It wasn't just *his* voice—it was layered, fractured, a chorus of screams.
His body *twisted.*
His skin rippled, his features shifting—lips thinning, nose sharpening, eyes widening—
Into *Luna's.*
Into *hers.*
Into *theirs.*
The girl gasped. "He's *becoming* them."
John grabbed Luna's hand. "*Run.*"
They ran.
Behind them, Voss's screams turned to laughter.
And the whispers followed.
*You can't outrun us.*
*We're already inside you.*
And worst of all—
*We* ***like*** *it here.*