Chapter Text
Nastya woke up with a massive headache; she had hoped to wake up to find that last night was just a terrible dream that didn’t happen. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of picking up her phone next to her nightstand to look at her Instagram feed. A few colleagues who follow her Instagram had sent reels and stories to her direct message inbox (also known as DMs) regarding last night's disaster at Webster Hall. She groaned in disappointment and turned off her screen immediately before setting it aside back on her nightstand.
She then remembered that she needed to text Xiomara so that she could remind her to give her a lift to the precinct; driving to the precinct together was usually their morning routine. Nastya sighed to herself and reluctantly got back up from her bed since there was no avoiding the day. She picked up her phone and texted Xiomara:
Nastya made herself some toast with jam and brewed herself a cup of medium roast coffee using her Keurig machine. After that, she put on her usual monochromatic dark navy blue NYPD uniform with her body cam, holsters, glock, flashlight, and whatever else she needed. Soon after, she heard a car honk outside of her apartment building.
Xiomara greeted her as she approached her car, “Get in, loser, we're going to work and explain how you awkwardly witnessed a mass murder incident to everyone.”
“Yipee…” Nastya said with the utmost sarcasm. “Highlight of my morning.”
NYPD 17th Precinct, Midtown East sometime around 9:00AM
As soon as Nastya and Xiomara arrived at the 17th Precinct in Midtown East, Xiomara went off to the bullpen to try and dig up anything she could find on Layla Aizawa. Nastya, on the other hand, went to the break room where sometimes she would find donuts waiting for her and other officers. Her other colleague, Detective Morty Bupkis, tried to cheerfully greet Nastya, “Hey, Baldanova. How did it go–”
“This whole disaster of a date was YOUR FAULT.” Nastya didn't even let Bupkis finish his greeting, “Not only did a bunch of people burst into flames, but this punk ass bitch ran out on me without even looking back. AND he made me Venmo him for the concert ticket and dinner. ”
Detective Bupkis was speechless for a good thirty seconds before responding nervously, “I…will talk to him. I'll be around when you're in a better mood!”
Nastya groaned at the very thought of facing the Captain of the precinct because most likely the news would already have spread about it at this point. She was nervous about how the Captain would react to the news that she was there at Webster Hall and became the sole survivor of its mass murder incident that had spread all over the news and social media the entire morning.
She knocked on the Captain’s office door, “Good morning, Captain Brea.”
At her desk sat the one and only, Captain Aya Brea. She was wearing her standard NYPD Captain uniform, which is a white button down shirt with a black tie with the NYPD logo on both sleeves, her badge on the left side of her chest, black slacks, and black shoes . Aya was sporting a short blonde hairdo with a pixie cut and the very faint wrinkles on her face barely showed the 30 years she had spent on the force.
Aya glared at Nastya with her intense cyan blue eyes whose almond shape shows her half-Japanese heritage, “Officer Baldanova, I’ve been seeing social media posts regarding last night’s incident at Webster Hall.”
Nastya started to get a little nervous at the possibility that Aya might think of her as a murder suspect, considering that she was the sole survivor at Webster Hall. And not to mention, she cursed out a reporter last night on live TV and social media. Nonetheless, she swallowed her pride and tried to explain herself.
“Captain Brea, I know this sounds insane.” Nastya began. “But I swear, I was just on a really bad date at The Hornet’s Nest concert. After Layla Aizawa started singing, that’s when I saw people bursting into flames right out of the blue.”
The explanation was starting to sound familiar to Aya. She quietly asked, “Bursting into flames…?”
“Yep!” Nastya stretched both her arms wide to show Aya how large Layla’s body grew as Eve. “And then she transformed into this…this…thing!”
Aya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What Nastya was describing sounded very similar to the incident that happened to her during her own rookie cop years at Carnegie Hall in 1997. She herself was on a lackluster date at an opera in Carnegie Hall in Midtown West. The opera singer, Melissa Pearce, made everyone in the audience burst into flames except Aya and her date. That was the night Aya had discovered that her own mitochondria had mutated, protected her, and enabled her to fight Eve.
The mitochondria of Aya’s cells mutated due to her cornea transplant that she received from her twin sister, Maya, who had died in a car accident alongside their mother when they were kids. And then when her own Mitochondria Eve tried to take over her consciousness in the Chrysler Building, Aya managed to purge her out of her own system for good with the help of Maya.
Maya…. who had always been with her…residing in her cornea transplant. There wasn’t a single day where Aya didn’t think about her late twin sister. But Aya didn’t think the past would come back to haunt her thirty years later.
Aya then snapped out of her flashback and her voice lowered to a volume that was practically a whisper, “Did she happen to call herself…Eve?!”
Nastya was shocked that Aya knew the name of the woman Layla Aizawa had turned into. “Wait, how do you know that!?”
“Thirty years ago, Eve also terrorized Manhattan during my rookie years, just like you.”
Nastya glared at Aya and then facepalmed. “Great, I must've missed the part where fighting mutated women was a rite of passage for NYPD rookie cops.”
Aya continued, “I had started developing powers…and…and…” She put her face into her palms in both disbelief and stress. “I can't believe she's back— I killed her on Liberty Island and blew up the Ultimate Being at the Hudson River!”
“Wait, what?!” Nastya couldn’t believe that her own Captain also had superpowers and fought a mutated singer in her youth.
“I finally got to live a normal life again after purging her from my body. How the hell did Eve come back after all these years!?”
Nastya looked at Aya in disbelief. “ I-I'm not sure if I'm following, Captain.”
Aya recollected herself. “To put it into simple terms, Eve is a collection of advanced rogue mitochondria who want to kill all of humanity so that they can be the apex predators.”
The idea of rogue mitochondria trying to kill humanity sounded absolutely ludicrous to Nastya. “But mitochondria are organelles that supply energy to the nuclei. It’s impossible for them to suddenly develop a conscience!”
She stood up from her desk and walked over to Nastya. “Eve is a particular kind of mitochondria who have gained sentience.”
“Huh!?” Nastya stared at Aya as if she had lost her mind completely.
“The Eve I had dealt with came from my sister, Maya.” Aya recalled the memories she had hoped to have buried forever. “ When I was a kid, I had a cornea transplant from Maya; her kidney went to an opera singer, Melissa Pearce.”
Nastya finally pieced together some of the information. “So that was how Melissa Pearce became Eve…just like Layla Aizawa.”
Aya nodded. “I went to an opera back at Carnegie Hall and the minute our eyes met, Eve took over Melissa’s consciousness and terrorized Manhattan for an entire week.”
Nastya scratched her own chin, “So if Eve was able to possess Melissa Pearce and Layla Aizawa, how come we didn’t get possessed by these mutant mitochondria?”
“To be honest, I still don’t completely understand to this very day.” Aya shook her head solemnly. “My guess is that our mitochondria evolved differently to fight the other two Eves. That’s probably why I gained superpowers during the worst week of my life.”
“Captain, I’m trying my best to keep up. This is literally one of the craziest things that happened in my life!” Nastya looked downwards at the ground. “Adding a biology lesson to it just adds to the absurdity.”
“I know.” Then something dawned on Aya as she asked, “Officer Baldanova, did you happen to have gained some ‘enhanced abilities’ last night?”
“...Yes.” There was no way around it. If Aya knew about Eve and fought her in her youth, then she'd most certainly know about Nastya’s weird powers too.
“Did you have an organ transplant in the past?” Aya was trying to figure out Nastya’s connection with Layla, if there was one.
Nastya recalled, “I had a kidney transplant when she was 10 years old due to Polycystic Kidney Disease.”
Aya reached an easy conclusion based on Nastya’s response. “It is entirely possible that your kidney transplant might have mutated Mitochondria Eve cells.”
“The question is, from whom and how?”
Xiomara entered Aya’s office. “Captain, I managed to dig up a little dirt on Layla Aizawa.”
Aya asked, “What did you find?”
“She’s got no relatives in New York anymore, only in Japan these days.” Xiomara continued to read from Layla’s personal records. “Doesn’t really have close friends and she’s almost always touring. I called her manager and he said that she’d often have flare ups, presumably from an autoimmune disease.”
“Huh, interesting.” Nastya commented. “It falls in line with her diary entries about taking medication to keep up with her demanding tour schedule.”
Xiomara raised an eyebrow at Nastya. “Hold up, diary entries?”
“Yeah, I managed to snag her diary and her iPhone in the green room when I was tracking her down.”
Nastya took out a plastic ziploc bag with Layla’s phone and journal inside. Nastya took out Layla’s iPhone and unlocked her screen in order to pull up the Instagram app. “I saw in her Instagram DMs that she had been communicating with a…Dr. Tristan Marv.”
Aya didn’t recognize the doctor’s name. “Dr. Tristan Marv? Who’s that?”
“I don’t know…” Nastya shrugged as she continued scrolling through Layla’s DMs. “But according to these private messages, she had been meeting with him at the Irving Medical Center a few nights a week this past month.”
“That is so bizarre,” said Xiomara. “Even if he were to be her primary doctor or something, it’s weird that they’re texting on Instagram and meeting off hours instead of corresponding through email.”
Suddenly Detective Bupkis busted into Aya’s office, visibly nervous and catching his breath as if he sprinted to the office beforehand. "Captain, we’ve got a situation.”
Aya turned around to face Bupkis. “What is it, Detective Bupkis?”
“The Chief of Department's office just called and the DCPI is already setting up a live press conference downstairs." Bupkis finally caught his breath. “They need Baldanova downstairs right now!”
Aya frowned, her cyan blue eyes narrowing. "Don’t these people have enough info from last night’s news broadcast?"
"The Chief wants the narrative controlled," Bupkis squeaked while anxiously adjusting his tie. “The media knows that Baldanova was the sole survivor of last night’s incident, so they want her to show up at the press conference."
Aya looked up at Nastya, her expression firm but understanding. She knew exactly what it was like to be a rookie thrust into a media circus after surviving the impossible. "Alright Baldanova, we’re going to the briefing room."
"Wait, what?!" Nastya’s voice cracked. She hated being on camera, let alone the idea of being recorded on national television.
“I know, I’m not a fan of it either,” said Aya. “But unfortunately it must be done.”
Nastya sighed and relented. “Alright…”
Later that morning, the media along with their reporters showed up at the 17th Precinct to question Captain Aya Brea about the Webster Hall Disaster. One reporter asked if the incident was a result of a terrorist attack, and another asked if she speculated that Layla Aizawa might have had a personal reason to murder her own bandmates and her audience. Another reporter asked if Layla had a mental illness that could have driven her to kill everyone, including “herself” as far as the public knew.
The briefing room was packed to the brim with flashing cameras, shouting journalists, and heavy television equipment. There were many journalists and reporters with their notepads and cameras. At the front of the room, a crisp-looking man handling the microphones wore an NYPD lanyard with an ID badge that read DCPI - Public Information Officer.
The DCPI officer tapped the microphone, causing the feedback to whine sharply through the room that cut over the noise of the press pool. "Quiet down, please! We are going to begin," the DCPI officer announced firmly.
The room quickly fell silent as the DCPI officer began, "This morning, Captain Aya Brea of the 17th Precinct and responding Officer Nastya Baldanova will provide a preliminary update regarding last night's catastrophic fire at Webster Hall.”
Captain Brea stepped up to the podium and adjusted the microphones with an authoritative click.
"Good morning," Aya began, her voice echoing clearly through the PA system. "I will read a brief statement regarding the tragic fire at Webster Hall last night, after which Officer Baldanova will answer a few limited questions. We ask for your patience as this is an active investigation."
Nastya stared at the crowd of reporters. Their eyes were locked onto her like vultures looking for a scoop, hungry for a story that could make headlines. She kept her hands in her pockets while her heart was pounding in her chest. However, she did her best to maintain her composure.
"At approximately 11:30 PM last night, an unprecedented mass casualty fire occurred during a performance at Webster Hall," Aya read from her clipboard. "Officer Baldanova was off-duty at the scene and acted within her training to attempt civilian evacuation and secure the immediate perimeter."
A reporter from the front row broke protocol, shouting over the Captain. "Officer Baldanova! Bystander reports claim the fire started directly on stage during Layla Aizawa's set. Was this a targeted attack?”
Nastya stammered, “I-I-I don’t know…”
“What is your relationship to the singer?" asked another reporter.
“I was just a simple fan attending a concert.” Nastya tried to reason. “I have no personal connection with Layla Aizawa!”
A journalist jumped in. "Officer, accounts from the scene say the fire spread with impossible speed, trapping dozens of people instantly. How did you manage to escape the main floor without a single burn?"
Nastya kept her voice steady, avoiding any mention of her mutated cells. "I was near an exit when the chaos started. As a police officer, my immediate instinct was to find a path out and assist whoever I could.” Of course, that part wasn’t a lie because she managed to save Jeff before his ungrateful self combusted.
“There were reports of deceased firefighters with burn scars.” One journalist pointed out. “How did you avoid getting burned while trained firefighters couldn’t?”
Aya looked out at the flashing cameras, and then back at the faces of the press representing the terrified public. She felt the pressure around her to continue covering up the truth. But deep down, she had always believed that the public deserved to know the real nightmare they were facing. Perhaps it was a very 90s mindset, but Aya was not going to change that about herself.
She stepped next to Nastya on the podium and leaned close to her microphone. “Last night’s incident was the result of the return of Eve, a highly evolved mitochondria that wreaked havoc on Christmas Eve 1997.”
Aya and Nastya were met with multiple flashes from the press photographers, much to Nastya’s dismay. Nastya’s jaw dropped as she turned her head and stared at Aya in an absolute horrified shock. She thought, “What the hell is the Captain doing!?”
A reporter pointed out, “But according to a report, Layla Aizawa was among the casualties!”
“She was,” said Aya. “But her body had been taken over by a group of mutated mitochondria who called themselves ‘Eve’, just like with opera singer Melissa Pearce thirty years ago.”
“So how did Officer Baldanova survive?”
Aya narrowed her eyes. “Baldanova’s mitochondria also became a mutation when she came in contact with Eve, preventing her from catching fire.”
Nastya’s heart sank as she glared at Aya. Captain Aya Brea, the one employee whom she respected besides Xiomara, aired out her connection with Eve right in the public eye. At that moment, she wanted to jump into the East River near the precinct out of shame and embarrassment. There was no way that Nastya could show her face in public after this because the media was going to hunt her down.
But little did Nastya know the entire gravity of what Aya had just done.
Then one of the reporters turned to Nastya and asked equally invasive questions, “Did you personally know Layla Aizawa prior to this concert?”
“No! I was a fan of her music before this disaster!” Nastya yelled, indignant that someone would even suggest that she was connected to Layla as an accomplice.
“Were you aware of her plans to murder her audience and bandmates?”
After a string of seemingly endless questions, Aya saw that Nastya appeared extremely uncomfortable. “I’m sorry everyone, Officer Baldanova is pretty tired from last night’s ordeal, and we are still investigating.”
The DCPI officer immediately stepped back to the side of the podium, ushering Aya and Nastya away towards the exit while cameras were flashing and recording. His face had gone pale as he realized that the press conference had just completely spun out of control. "That is all the time we have for questions today. Thank you, everyone! Future updates will be released through our official NYPD portal."
As Aya and Nastya exited the conference room, the media kept following them snapping photos and asking one invasive question after another. They practically sprinted back into her office to hide from the media, who are still in the other room trying to get answers for their stories like vultures flying around a carcass. Nastya slammed the door shut immediately before the reporters could find them.
“Captain Brea, with all due respect, why the hell did you mention the connection between me and Eve?!” Nastya asked. “There’s no way we don’t sound absolutely nuts about the whole Eve and mitochondria spiel!!!”
“Because people need to know the truth! Covering it up with lies will only make it worse.” Aya retorted. She had kept an old school and a very 90s approach to things, not fully understanding that the world had changed since then. Especially when the term “bioterrorism” came into existence during her rookie years.
“Well, at least you didn’t mention my weird mitochondria powers.” Nastya let out an exasperated sigh, “I hope this doesn’t alert the government or anything.”
Xiomara walked into the office shortly afterwards. “You okay, Nastya? There’s a whole mob of reporters out there!”
“If by that you mean whether my dignity is still intact? Yeah, just barely.”
Aya resumed the conversation about her suspicions about Dr. Tristan Marv. “About earlier when you mentioned Eve’s correspondence with Dr. Marv, we’re going to have to look into any info on him that we can find.”
“He’s the only one who most likely knows about Eve since he had been meeting with Layla Aizawa a few times a week for the past month,” said Nastya.
“Leave it to me, girly.” Xiomara chimed in. “I’ll see if I can dig up some dirt on Dr. Marv and his connection with Layla Aizawa.”
“I’m gonna just…change into my plain clothes to avoid being recognized and hunted down by the media.” Nastya said.
About a half an hour later, Nastya had changed out of her usual NYPD uniform into her preferred plain clothes outfit- black leather jacket, crimson red T-shirt, a black ribbon choker, black denim jeans, and black combat boots. Everything black, except her T-shirt. She adjusted her holster, made sure her Glock was secured, and placed her badge on her belt. Nastya let her shoulder length hair loose as well from the short ponytail she’d have while on duty, in order to show off her layered wolf cut.
“Much better.” Nasyta said to herself as she walked back to Aya’s office where she found Aya and Xiomara talking.
Nastya snuck past the reporters who were still trying to get whatever juicy story these vultures could find and went back inside Aya’s office.
Aya stood up from her desk. “Okay, Baldanova. Even though I no longer have my powers, I can still try to give some advice on how to use them more efficiently.”
Nastya felt relieved, but also couldn’t resist doing her usual fast-talking quip. “Are you sure, Captain? It’s been like what, 30? 50? 70 years since you’ve last had powers?”
“Please, Baldanova. I’m 55 years old, I’m not senile.” Aya was not amused by this goober’s jab at her age.
Nastya grinned sheepishly, “I don't know Captain Brea, you're almost at retirement age. It's really not that far. ”
“Okay, I get it, I'm old. Moving on.” Aya was five inches shorter than Nastya at 5’3” (160 cm), but her presence as Captain was still as imposing as a 6-foot tall man. “The important thing to remember is that whatever you do, DO NOT let the whispers of your mitochondria take over. The more you use your power, the louder they get and the temptation to give in becomes stronger.”
“So do I just tell them to be quiet like a librarian?”
Aya wrinkled her nose, “I'm serious, Baldanova. Focus.”
“Sorry, the fast-talking quips come out more when I'm anxious.” Nastya took a deep breath to center herself. Go on.”
They were interrupted by Xiomara walking through Aya’s office door with a few paper printouts in her hand. “Nastya, I found some stuff on Dr. Marv.”
“Whaddya got?”
“So apparently, he is a medical researcher at the Columbia University Irving Medical Center.” Xiomara read through Dr. Marv’s file. “His research focuses on how the body's mitochondria respond to psychosocial stress, aging, and mental health.”
“Sounds about right.” Nastya was perplexed, “Though I wonder how he and Layla know each other then because he doesn’t sound like someone a pop rock vocalist with a busy tour schedule would typically hang out with.”
Xiomara continued reading from her printout, “He used to be a surgeon at Mount Sinai before he got fired for ‘unauthorized procedures’.”
Nastya let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course he did.”
“It says here that Layla apparently used to be one of his patients.” Xiomara’s hazel green eyes scanned through each record. “She had a liver transplant when she was 14 years old on October 4th, 2012.”
Nastya’s eyes opened wide upon hearing this revelation, “That was when I had my kidney transplant! I was 10 years old at the time.”
“That must mean he tracked down Layla on Instagram and reached out to her.” Aya Brea was putting two and two together, “Dr. Marv facilitated both of your surgeries when you two were young, I’m sure of it.”
Nastya groaned, “This is getting weirder and weirder. Ugh, why me!?”
“I don’t know, but you and Officer Valdez should pay Dr. Marv a visit at the Irving Medical Center. Knowing his type, he’d definitely be there on New Year’s Day.”
Xiomara pat Nastya on the back, “Guess we're doing a bit of schlepping today.”
Nastya and Xiomara snuck out through the back to avoid any lingering media reporters. They quickly ran to their designated police cruiser so that Xiomara could start the engine. This would be a long day for Nastya.
Columbia University Irving Medical Center, Washington Heights 3:14pm
Xiomara was driving with Nastya uptown to the Columbia University Irving Medical Center in their police cruiser. Nastya was relieved that she was away from the bloodthirsty media reporters, even for a little while. However, she was feeling a little bit nervous about the idea of interrogating the researcher who had taken part in her kidney transplant surgery.
They checked in with the receptionist who was clearly not happy about working on New Year's Eve. The receptionist told them Dr. Marv's room number and sent both officers away so that she could go back to watching reels on TikTok and other social media platforms. Essentially, they skipped the sign in process which was in their favor.
The fluorescent lights of Columbia University Irving Medical Center were bright with sterile intensity as Nastya and Xiomara stepped out of the elevator. Nastya pulled tightly at the collar of her leather jacket, her fingers trembling slightly. Just less than 24 hours ago, she had been at Webster Hall off-duty, pulling herself through a sea of charred, ruptured bodies. She still couldn’t believe she was the only one who walked out alive. Every time Nastya closed her eyes, she could still see the flames that had incinerated the crowd from the inside out.
"Hey," Xiomara said softly, placing a steadying hand on Nastya’s shoulder as they walked down the corridor. "It’ll be alright. He doesn't know that we know about his connection to Layla."
"The DMs said he was helping Layla 'unlock her cellular potential,'" Nastya whispered, her voice tight. "Xiomara, the things I saw in that venue still haunt me. People were being set on fire by the will of this thing alone."
"I know," Xiomara reassured her, stopping outside Dr. Marv’s office. "But we’ll play it cool and simply question his connection with Layla Aizawa based on evidence."
“Okay, here goes nothing.” Nastya knocked sharply on the door.
"Come in!" a calm, resonant voice called out. Dr. Marv sat behind a sleek mahogany desk surrounded by a bunch of high-resolution monitors displaying complex genetic sequences. Dr. Marv was a sharp-featured man with salt and pepper hair in his late 40s wearing an immaculately pressed lab coat.
He looked up and noticed the two officers standing in his doorway. His expression shifted from mild annoyance to cold professionalism at the sight of their badges.
"Good afternoon, officers," said Dr. Marv as he leaned back in his chair.
"Dr. Marv," Nastya began, her voice balancing rookie deference with professional routine. "I'm Officer Baldanova and this is my partner, Detective Valdez.”
"How can I help the NYPD today?" Dr. Marv asked as he remained poised and presentable to their faces.
Xiomara began, “We have some questions regarding the fire at Webster Hall last night.”
Nastya chimed in, “Layla was among the casualties and we're questioning people who have interacted with her in the past week."
"Ah, yes. Such a horrific event.” Dr. Marv attempted a picture-perfect display of grief. Almost too perfect, as if he were reading from a script. He put on his own idea of a ‘remorseful face’ and shook his head. “The news reports are baffling! I’m sorry to hear that Layla Aizawa didn’t make it."
"We are looking into the inner circle of the singer, Layla Aizawa," Nastya continued, pulling out a notepad. "We found correspondence between the two of you on her personal social media accounts. Therefore we would like for you to answer some questions."
Dr. Marv’s eyes narrowed by mere millimeters, but his smile remained intact. "Layla was a patient of mine. She suffered from chronic fatigue due to her demanding tour schedule”
“And what did you prescribe to her?” Xiomara asked. “She mentioned in her diary that she had been taking medication.”
“B-complex vitamins." Dr. Marv answered immediately. “Layla was suffering from chronic fatigue during her tour. Basic metabolic therapy, of course.”
"Metabolic therapy," Nastya repeated with a flat tone to her voice. "Is that what you call it when you discuss 're-engineering your cells' in her messages?"
"Ahahaha, pop-science phrasing to keep a young pop rock star engaged in her own health!” Dr. Marv chuckled softly, waving a hand dismissively. “As you probably know, my research involves mitochondria and their role in physical and mental health.”
“Right.” Xiomara’s hazel eyes locked on the scientist. “And are you sure those B-complex vitamins are just for metabolic therapy?”
“Of course!” Marv insisted. “I had been helping her get enough energy to sing for several hours straight.”
"Then what did you mean when you told her ‘let the fire cultivate within you’?” Nastya asked, shifting the focus to the burn victims. “Does that sound like metabolic therapy-talk to you?”
Dr. Marv’s smile finally faded. He looked at Xiomara, and then shifted his gaze to Nastya. He took in her pale skin, the slight tremor in her hands, and the faint red lines of the capillaries of her eyes.
"You were there…weren’t you, Officer Baldanova?" Dr. Marv’s voice dropped its warm veneer. It was replaced with a chilling, detached curiosity towards Nastya. "You were the sole survivor last night."
"Why was Layla texting you that her blood felt like it was boiling, Doctor?” Nastya flinched a bit but maintained her composure. She repeated her previous question, “What did you mean when you told her to 'let the fire cultivate'?"
Dr. Marv leaned forward, crossing his hands over his desk. He thought he was dealing with two clueless rookies who had stumbled onto a digital paper trail. But they were a lot more perceptive than he gave them credit for, so he tried to deflect from Nastya’s questions.
"An unfortunate choice of words on my part," Dr. Marv’s voice was entirely devoid of empathy. "Sometimes, the human engine simply overheats under stress, and Layla is no exception. But it is hardly a crime to prescribe supplements, isn’t it?"
Nastya couldn’t argue with him there. “I guess not.”
“Thank you for your time, Dr. Marv," Xiomara said, closing her notepad with a sharp snap. She felt that this interrogation was going nowhere and decided to end this before it dragged on. "We’ll add your statement to the file."
"Of course," Dr. Marv said, as put his hand on her left shoulder, which made Nastya flinch immediately. He let her go with a chilling cryptic message. “Be careful out there, Officer Baldanova. Human biology is... full of surprises."
"Yeah…" Nastya said, staring him down as she backed toward the door. “I know.”
The two officers stepped back out into the corridor, the door clicking shut behind them. They walked briskly toward the exit, waiting until they were entirely out of earshot and inside the privacy of their cruiser before speaking. Xiomara turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.
"He sounded like such a freaking weirdo," Nastya said, her voice shaking as she stared at the hospital building through the windshield.
“And he’s an incredibly shitty liar.” Xiomara said as she started the car.
Nastya frowned as she leaned against the wall. "He was so detached and cold when talking about the casualties. He didn’t feel an ounce of remorse for these people!"
“Guy’s kinda sus though.” Xiomara’s jaw tightened. “It’s too bad a lot of the info he gave us is kind of useless.”
“Yeah, that creepy fucker had been dodging our questions left and right.” Nastya sighed as she opened the door to the passenger door to the cruiser. “Guess, we won’t have any good news for Captain Brea.”
Xiomara turned the ignition key. “Let’s hope the press got bored enough to have gone the hell out of the precinct.”
NYPD 17th Precinct, Midtown East sometime around 5:45pm
By the time Nastya and Xiomara reached the precinct, the press had dispersed and were finally gone from the station. Everyone was back to work and the precinct was busy as usual. Aya greeted them both in the bullpen once they had gone upstairs.
“How did it go?” asked Aya. “Did you find out anything from Dr. Tristan Marv?”
Nastya and Xiomara both shook their heads. Nastya said, “No, Captain. We couldn’t get a single useful word out of him, other than him admitting that he was giving her ‘B-complex vitamins’.”
“Just as I expected.” Aya noted. “But the fact that he admitted that much means that he was involved with Layla’s transformation to Eve somehow.”
“But it still doesn’t make any sense.” Nastya threw her hands up in exasperation, feeling fed up with the obstacles of this investigation. “If it turns out that Dr. Marv actually facilitated my kidney surgery years ago, that means he also knows about my mutant mitochondria."
Xiomara chimed in, “If that’s the case, then this is bad. Real bad.”
Suddenly Detective Bupkis bursted into Aya’s office. “Captain Brea! I’ve got the executive director for the New Year’s Eve Ball Drop on the line right now.”
“Okay…” Aya picked up the phone and pushed a button. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this the police?” A panicked, breathless voice boomed through the speaker. “This is Vincent Ortiz from DFG News! I thought your department said on the news this morning that Layla Aizawa was dead. She’s right backstage here in Times Square!"
“Calm down!” Aya snapped. She rubbed her temples before asking, “What is she doing?"
"Something is wrong with my staff!" Vincent Ortiz cried out from the other line. “Everyone just froze after Layla Aizawa walked in. Our security guards and producers... their eyes went totally blank…”
Nastya and Xiomara looked at each other in horror. Layla, as Eve, must have been controlling the hosts' mitochondria. She was turning them into biological puppets to rig the performance schedule to allow her back on her previously scheduled live appearance.
"Oh god, she's looking at me," Vance whispered frantically. "My hands... I can't stop myself!!! I—AHHHH!!!”
The line went dead with a loud click and the bullpen fell silent.
Aya immediately grabbed her desk phone and dialed the direct line to the Chief of Department's office. "Hello? Yes, you need to contact the Mayor's office right now and pull the television feed! Layla Aizawa is allegedly alive and she’s a suspect at large who is targeting Times Square."
There was a long pause. The voice on the other end was muffled and sounding deeply dismissive and patronizing, which surprised absolutely no one.
"I don't care about the revenue losses or the network contracts!" Aya snapped, slamming her fist on the desk. "If Layla Aizawa takes that stage at midnight, the casualty count will be so much worse than Webster Hall! ... Chief? Chief!"
The line clicked shut. Aya slowly lowered the receiver as her jaw tightened and her face became pale with dread. She breathed out, “Dammit.”
"They won't do it, will they?" Nastya asked quietly.
Aya’s voice dropped to a defeated whisper. “The Chief said they refuse to cause a mass panic and cancel a global broadcast based on a single panicked phone call from a television producer."
“Fuck, what are we going to do now?”
“Who knows, but right now the priority is to stop Eve before she sets everyone at the ball drop on fire.”
Nastya and Xiomara said in unison. “Yes, Captain!”
Bryant Park, a few blocks away from Times Square 11:50 pm
Aya spent hours calling the Mayor, New York State governor, and whoever else she could reach to stop the New Year’s Eve Ball Drop in Times Square. But either she couldn’t reach them or she was met with one dismissive response after another. She thought to herself that these people would have learned by constant bioterrorist threats and attacks from that New York frequently had.
The smart thing would have been to get the military or a large organization involved. But unfortunately for the 17th Precinct crew, there was barely any time. Nastya drove the NYPD cruiser and then parked near Bryant Park, which was a mere block away from Times Square on 6th Avenue. This was where she had to leave Xiomara behind since she couldn't get near Eve without the risk of bursting into flames herself.
“Backup should be arriving soon.” Xiomara moved to the driver’s seat as Nastya exited the car to stand by. “Nastya, I should tell you that going in there is basically suicide.” There was a long pause. “...But you're not gonna listen to me, are you?”
“It's not that…” Nastya trailed off. “I'm the only one who can stop her. You and Captain Brea know that.”
Xiomara sadly nodded, knowing that Nastya was right. She was the only one who could get near Eve without bursting into flames like an Ann Rice vampire. She held Nastya's hand. “Please be careful and radio us as soon as shit goes down.”
“I will, I promise.” Nastya took one more glance at Xiomara before running off to Times Square to stop Layla at the New Year’s Eve ball drop. “And same to you. If Eve gets too close, you tell the squad to fall back and retreat. Run, if you have to.”
Xiomara nodded as Nastya ventured into Times Square alone.
Nastya tried to approach the main stage at the New Year's Eve Ball Drop, flashing her badge to bypass the high security barricades and cut through the massive crowds.
She shouted at the top of her lungs, “EVE!!!”
“So you’re back for more, Officer Anastasia Baldanova.” Eve turned to face Nastya from the main stage, just a few meters away. “Or should I simply call you Nastya since we’re practically close friends?”
“I got you right where I wanted! And no, you cannot call me by that nickname.”
“You have me right where you want me?” Eve took one look at Nastya pointing her Glock and then laughed maniacally. “You’re joking.”
“No, I am not.” Nastya gripped her department issued Glock 19 tightly. “How did you convince the hosts to still let you perform?”
Eve walked over to Nastya, still in her human form as Layla, the hem of her white dress bellowing behind her like dancing clouds. “Watch and learn.”
She turned towards the hosts of the New Year’s Eve ball drop. Their eyes glowed that same radioactive green like the night before and seemed to have blinked in sync together with Eve’s; turns out that she was able to control the minds and bodies of other humans through communicating with all of the mitochondria of their cells.
Eve raised her hands together and the TV hosts also raised their hands in unison. Nastya noticed everyone was in perfect sync with Eve’s actions— whatever Eve was doing, the crowd she was controlling shadowed after her. It sent chills down Nastya’s spine, as she could not do much about it.
“TEN!”
Nastya turned around to see that the countdown had already started. She looked towards a tall building located at One Times Square that had the Swarovski encrusted giant ball. Right below it was a screen that flashed the number “10” and counted down the next few numbers. The massive crowd on street level started reciting the numbers as they counted down along with the screen.
“NINE!”
Nastya started sprinting towards the main stage, but even from a short distance, the streets were insanely crowded.
“EIGHT!”
“‘Excuse me! NYPD! Fucking move, I gotta stop this bitch!”
“SEVEN!”
She was almost there. The crowd barely budged for Nastya, but she persevered.
“SIX!”
Several people almost pushed back at Nastya despite her flashing her badge and yelling “NYPD” in between.
“FIVE!”
Nastya was at the stage, but several security guards were holding her back since Nastya was wearing her plain clothes outfit. “Ma’am, what are you doing!? You can’t come here.”
“FOUR!”
She flashed her badge, “NYPD, I gotta get to the stage and arrest Layla Aizawa!”
“THREE!”
Nastya finally reached the stage.
“TWO!”
She tackled Eve to the ground.
“ONE!”
Nastya pinned Eve to the ground and kept her in place.
“ZERO!”
Eve looked up at Nastya and flashed a devious grin, “Happy Near Year, Nastya.”
Once the counter reached zero, the massive crowd in Times Square all yelled out Happy New Year in unison with horns blaring and confetti raining everywhere in the streets. Everyone was kissing the cheek of their loved ones and waving at whatever camera that was passing by so that the rest of the country and the world could see them cheer for the upcoming new year. Everyone was shouting and cheering for 2028.
However, that moment of joy only lasted for an extra few seconds before the hosts burst into flames on the main stage. The sounds of their cheers were quickly replaced by painful screams as their skin began to blister from the intolerable heat. Eve started sadistically cackling into the midnight sky as the screams of human beings became music to her ears.
One by one, the crowd down below started to spontaneously combust into a fiery mess that spanned several blocks in Times Square. Soon enough the streets glowed a bright red and orange hue from all the people being set on fire by Eve’s communication with their cells, willing them to explode. Before Nastya knew it, there were sirens and screams everywhere.
Nastya had little choice but to watch as she was reliving the same nightmare from Webster Hall. This time, instead of a small music venue, it was several blocks of people being burned alive through Eve’s command over the amount of energy their mitochondria generated. Nastya had never felt as helpless in her life as she did in this moment. She wasn't able to stop Eve from killing thousands upon thousands of people in Times Square.
“But wait, there’s more!” Eve smiled as she motioned her hands towards some of the people she had spared from a flammable death.
The people who had lived started to transform into grotesque figures; their skin began stretching to unimaginable lengths, exposing some of the undersides of the body’s biggest organ. Their teeth elongated into yellow tinted monster-like fangs. Their eyes became quite a dull yellow-orange and sunken in contrast with the horrors of their gray and stretched out skin, with hints of red due to the exposed muscle underneath the skin.
Nastya was shocked to witness that this version of Eve could not only choose to spontaneously combust people, but could also choose to mutate people into weird mitochondrial creatures as well.
Nastya screamed, “Oh, what the fuck!? What are you doing to these people?!”
“Thirty years ago, my sister wanted to give birth to an Ultimate Being since her host body had its limitations.” Eve reasoned. “So she gathered humans in one place and turned them all into a pile of cells and goo in order to create the perfect conditions to birth to her most perfect lifeform—the Ultimate Being!”
“The Ultimate Being? What’s that!?”
Eve started to explain. “The Ultimate Being was born to be an absolute perfect life form, free of biological flaws and limitations. Free to rewrite its DNA at will.”
She began to transform into the familiar monster that Nastya had seen in the green room at Webster Hall. Eve once again had her flaming orange red wavy hair with her ram-like horns sticking at the sides of her temples underneath. Her red coat was torn off, revealing her white dress inspired by the shape of regency stays.
“But then I thought, why not become the Ultimate Being myself?” Eve laughed maniacally. “Why eliminate every human to create an apex predator when I can also mutate them to do my bidding?”
Nastya wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That’s sick…”
Eve was unmoved by her reaction. “I’m prepared to make some sacrifices for the greater good.”
“What is this ‘greater good’ that you’re sacrificing these lives for!?”
“Why, to be the apex predator of all living things.” Eve said as if it were supposed to be the most obvious thing to Nastya. “Where my sister failed thirty years ago, I will surpass her in every way!”
Eve began walking towards Nastya in a slow and menacing way in an attempt to assert dominance and intimidate her. “Humans have since then devolved into a bunch of savages, killing each other over trivial conflict with more weapons than they’ve ever had throughout history!”
Nastya backed away, still keeping her Glock 19 aimed at Eve. “Believe me, I fucking hate people too. But why kill and mutate humans over this twisted idea that you will have dominion over all living things?”
“I want to restart this world.” Eve gestured towards the street where the crowd had been active a mere few minutes ago. “I want to create a world where I rule over all living things without humans getting in my way. Is that so hard to understand?”
“Actually, not really.” Nastya said quietly as she looked down for a moment. “I understand that completely.”
Eve crossed her arms, “Hmph! If you can relate to my hatred of humanity, then why fight for them? Why fight for a species that has caused you so much grief and misery when we could join forces to eliminate them?”
“It’s the only life I know.” Nastya reluctantly admitted. “I wish I had a much nobler answer than this, but I am a part of this society whether I like it or not.”
Eve was not entirely convinced of Nastya’s reasoning. “Really now…”
“I can’t function literally all alone, as much as I want to.” She cocks her gun while still having it aimed at Eve. “That’s why I have to stop you!”
“I see.” Eve frowned and crossed her arms. “You’ve made your choice then, now I will make you lie in it!”
Nastya immediately picked up her radio. “Xiomara, Eve launched her attack just now. FALL BACK! I REPEAT, FALL BACK! NOW!”
Xiomara replied back on the radio, “Nastya, what about you!?”
“Duh, I’m gonna go fight, Eve!”
“Get back here!!! Don't you dare–” Before Xiomara could finish, Nastya had to close communication quickly as Eve was making her first move.
Eve attacked Nastya with an energy blast from her elongated hands. Nastya gasped and narrowly dodged her attack; she managed to use her Parasite Energy to increase her speed and gained a third ability called Haste. She was in awe that she could now run faster than her own normal speed.
Unfortunately, Nastya’s body still felt as if it were burning up, much like when she first faced Eve the night before. Nevertheless, Nastya shook off the feeling and used her Scan ability to check for new weak points on Eve, which showed two glowing parts on Eve’s head, chest, and hands.
“Good, you’re learning to use the powers you were meant to have!” Eve taunted.
“Shut up!” Nastya started shooting at Eve with her Glock 19, reloading every now and then. She also had her Beretta 92FS to switch to if needed.
Eve summoned some of the newly mutated tourists and locals who gathered at this place to celebrate the New Year. With a simple wave of her hand, she commanded them to go after Nastya. Nastya was reluctant to shoot mutated civilians, but she didn’t have time to hesitate when one of them lunged at her. It was a man who used to be a mere human tourist. He had been watching the ball drop and counting down with the rest of the crowd just mere seconds before he mutated into a hollow and grotesque version of himself.
Nastya pointed her glock at the mutated tourist man, “Oh, God… I-I can’t do this. I can’t do this!”
The man was no longer human, but an Eve-controlled creature who started hissing and lunging at Nastya while shouting barely audible and intelligible words at her.
She grabbed his arms for a brief moment before kicking him away with a stabbing side kick. Once he started getting back up, she staggered him with a spin wheel kick. However, Nastya quickly realized that there was no way around this— she had to shoot or be killed. She pulled out her Glock, aimed for his head, and made her very first kill.
BANG!
The tourist dropped dead… the bullet wound on his forehead fresh from the glock.
Nastya’s first kill in her entire life, and it wasn’t even against a monster; it was a civilian who had turned into one. She didn’t join the force to kill people, and yet, here she was killing mutated civilians because there was no way to cure them that she knew of. And plus, her own life was at stake.
Nastya waded through the sizable crowd of mutated mitochondrial creatures. She punched, kicked, and shot her way through them, rinse and repeat. When she couldn’t shoot them in the head, she would stagger them by shooting them in the kneecap before kicking them in the head. And then finishing them by shooting them in the head.
As useful and powerful as her Parasite Energy could be, using too much at once caused herself to feel disoriented and physically stagger between hits. So she mostly relied on her department issued Glock to headshot the mutants. She used the last of her Parasite Energy to heal herself before Eve grabbed her with her freakishly large hands and threw her into a pedicab nearby. A pedicab was basically a bike taxi that consisted of a carriage with neon lights attached to a bicycle that tourists like to ride in.
“What the hell are you doing, lady!?” were the last words of the pedicab driver before Eve set him on fire, forcing him to pedal far faster than a normal human being would.
Eve floated in front of Nastya while she, in turn, fought Eve while riding a runaway pedicab with her remaining rounds in her Glock. She did her best to aim at Eve, rarely missing.
“You still rely on that pathetic metal thing to defeat me?” Eve scoffed at Nastya.
“Stay down, блядь!” Nastya quickly swapped her Glock with her Beretta 92FS and continued shooting Eve. The driver finished being burnt to a crisp and succumbed to his wounds, causing him to fall over on the side of the road. Now without a driver to pedal the cab, the pedicab steered off the road while Nastya was clinging onto dear life on both sides of the steel contraption.
It crashed onto the stone walls of the Central Park South entrance.
Nastya was instantly knocked out by the whiplash of the pedicab hitting the side of the rock solid park entrance. She laid sprawling while unconscious inside the pedicab. Eve was looming over Nastya while her phone rang repeatedly in her pocket.
Xiomara’s name popped up on the incoming call screen as Nastya’s phone continued ringing into the distance.