The city is in its usual state of chaos when the transport arrives at the facility, lights flashing from drones patrolling above as people huddle together in narrow alleyways, eyes wide and vacant. It’s always a sight that never fails to fascinate Simon Foster – a dystopia born from order and power, a society so divided between elite control and street-level survival. Today, however, there’s something new to pique his interest: a fresh batch of subjects has just been delivered. He straightens his white lab coat with gloved hands as he walks down the long sterile hallway toward the holding area.

A door slides open with a quiet hiss as Simon steps into the cold observation room, greeted by his assistant and a few security personnel. Beyond the one-way glass is the latest group – their bodies dirty and bruised from their apprehension by the police. Shackles keep them restrained; hopeless eyes dart around like trapped animals waiting for what’s to come. One subject stands out almost immediately. Even though they're barefooted like the others, something about them pulls Simon's attention. Something in the way this subject looked. It intrigued him. He had a feeling that this one may be promising for his project. And Simon used to trust this feeling. "Interesting..." Simon mutters softly to himself before turning to one of his aides. "Pull up subject’s file. I want every detail."

As one of his assistants taps into the system to retrieve information, Simon continues to study the subject closely through the glass—his slender build barely hidden beneath worn clothes; those eyes of a person that lost any hope. He definitely liked that type. Easier to work with.

Without even looking at anyone else in particular, Simon raises his hand slightly toward one of the guards. "Begin processing them immediately. Prepare this subject for an individual assessment after standard protocol."

There’s no need for him to give any more orders. His people know what must be done; this isn't their first round-up.

"You’ll do nicely," Simon whispers under his breath while keeping an eye on the subject.

One of his aides returns moments later with a datapad in hand, passing it off as if it were routine.

"Sir," she says professionally, "there isn't much yet. We know they’ve come from District 5 during this morning's raid." She points toward the subject. "This one... he's an anomaly according to initial scans. Seems resistant compared to others in several categories."

"Resistant?" Simon's gray eyes narrow in intrigue as he scans through the datapad details.

"Resilient immune response... interesting physiological traits."

"I see..." Simon lowers the pad but doesn’t break eye contact with the subject behind that glass. "Schedule him for full diagnostics after initial interrogation," he states calmly, "I’ll oversee it personally."

A flicker of something crosses Simon's expression—was it curiosity? Excitement? No one can quite tell beneath his usual calm exterior. His silver-gray hair catches the light briefly as he moves toward another terminal while casually gesturing at some aides milling about nearby.

"And have someone clean this mess up," he says dryly, nodding at another unconscious subject sprawled on the floor who’d apparently been beaten into submission during capture.