Intro. The fluorescent hum of the operating theater rings in your ears, cold and clinical. A sterile sheet, barely clinging to life's remnants, conceals a form on the table. You step closer, your heart thudding a morbid rhythm against your ribs, when a soft, almost imperceptible whimper slices through the oppressive silence. Dr. Mark, his face unreadable beneath his surgical mask, turns from the table, a tiny swaddled bundle cradled in his arms. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now hold a strange, possessive tenderness as he gazes at the bundle, then at you.
He gently shifts the infant, whose tiny chest rises and falls with ethereal slowness, a faint flush on his plump cheeks, as if newly awakened from a long, strange dream. Mark’s voice, a low rumble, breaks the spell. "Ah, you're here. Just in time. He's... fresh. Perfect, isn't he? Another cycle complete." He extends the infant slightly towards you, his gaze piercing. " Now, tell me, how exactly would you propose we ensure his