Chapter 34 Chapter 34
…was the hard question.
Because execution seemed barbaric. Imprisonment seemed insufficient given the scale of the crimes. But doing nothing seemed complicit.
We ended up establishing a truth and reconciliation commission. Similar to ones that had been used after other genocides and systemic crimes. Perpetrators could testify about what they'd done. Survivors could confront them. And then the commission would make recommendations about what happened next.
It took another year to establish it properly.
And when it finally started hearing testimony, it became clear just how much we hadn't known.
The research network had been larger and more systematic than anyone had realized. It hadn't been rogue scientists operating in secret. It had been an international program with government support in five different countries.
And the information they'd gathered had been shared. Used. Applied in ways that were still affecting policy decades later.
"We didn't just fail to stop it," Dr. Tanaka said during her testimony. "We actively participated. We published papers using the data. We cited the research. We made careers on the back of people's suffering."
"And what are you sorry for?" I asked her. "That you did it? Or that you got caught?"
"Both," she said. "But I'm especially sorry that I waited so long to say anything."
Sophia found me after the testimony session.
"That was harsh," she said.
"It was necessary," I said. "People need to understand that apologies don't erase crimes. That remorse doesn't undo damage."
"Do you believe she's actually sorry?" Sophia asked.
"I don't know," I said. "And I'm not sure it matters. What matters is that she's told the truth and provided evidence. What happens after that is up to the commission."
"What do you think should happen?" Sophia asked.
"I think people who systematically tortured and experimented on others should face serious consequences," I said. "But I also think
revenge and execution would just continue the cycle of violence. So maybe confession, reparations, and a permanent record that they can never hold positions of power or trust. Maybe forced exile from any position where they could harm people again."
"That sounds lonely," Sophia said.
"Good," I said. "They should be lonely. They should understand what they took from people."
The commission's work continued for another year.
By the end, they'd documented over four thousand named research subjects. They'd identified three hundred and twelve researchers and administrators who'd been involved in the network. They'd established evidence of systematic torture and murder.
And they'd recommended that anyone who'd participated in the research network face permanent exile and reparation requirements.
Not everyone agreed.
Some countries resisted. Some people claimed the commission was being vindictive. Some argued that moving forward required letting the past go.
But the federation was built on the evidence. On the acknowledgment of what had been done. On the refusal to pretend it hadn't happened.
It wasn't justice. But it was something.And at the Sanctuary, we started using the commission's records to help survivors who'd been research subjects but hadn't been in contact with formal recovery systems.
Their names were now documented. Their suffering was now officially acknowledged.It seemed like such a small thing.
But it meant that nobody could ever again claim the research network had been a small operation or a rogue element. It had been systematic. It had been intentional. It had been wrong.
At the end of that year, Alexios came to the Sanctuary.
Not with an army. Not with threats. Just him, alone, asking to see me.
"I heard about the commission's findings," he said. "About the scale of what was done."
"Yes," I said.
"Some of my people are on that list," he said. "People I've been working with in the new government. People I trusted."
"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.
"You don't have to be," he said. "This is actually... necessary. It's proof that the old systems corrupted everyone. Even the people who resisted, even the people who thought they were building something new—we were all still contaminated by what came before."
"So what are you going to do?" I asked.
"Remove them from power," he said. "And mean it this time. Not for politics. But because they can't be trusted."
"That's harder than condemning them," I said.
"Yes," Alexios said. "It is."
He left, and I realized something:
The real work wasn't over. It would never be over. But the people were learning to do it themselves. Learning to hold themselves and each other accountable. Learning that justice was a process, not a destination.
The commission's work led us deeper into territory none of us wanted to explore.
Because the research network hadn't just disappeared after the war ended. It had transformed.
We discovered this by accident, when a financial analyst looking into reparation funding noticedsomething strange: money was still moving between accounts that were supposed to bedormant. Research facilities that were supposed to be closed were still receiving supplies.Scientists who were supposed to be retired were still publishing papers under different names.
The network hadn't ended.
It had just gone underground.
We brought this to Raven, who was now working officially with the confederation as a liaison to the supernatural territories. She took the information seriously.
"This changes everything," she said, looking at the evidence spread across the table in theSanctuary's conference room. "If they're still operating, they're still collecting data. They're stillexperimenting."
"On who?" Charles asked.
"On whoever they can access," Raven said. "People in transition between territories. Vulnerablesupernaturals. Humans who wander into the wrong places."
"We have to shut it down," I said.
"We have to find it first," Raven said. "And that's going to be complicated."
She was right.
The network had learned from being exposed before. They operated in smaller cells now. Nocentralized location. No clear hierarchy. Just loosely connected groups of researchers sharingdata and methodology, moving constantly to avoid detection.
We traced the financial movements to three facilities in Central Europe. One in Prague, one inBudapest, one in Vienna. All operating under the cover of legitimate research institutions.
We contacted the confederation council.
"We need to conduct raids," Catherine said. She was still with the Accord, now in a differentrole—not enforcement, but coordination between human and supernatural law enforcement.
"We can't just raid research facilities," one of the supernatural council members argued. "Thatviolates territorial autonomy."
"It violates human rights more if we let them continue experimenting on people," I said.
"Then we follow proper procedures," the council member said. "We investigate. We gather evidence. We go through the courts."
"By the time we do that, they'll have moved everything," Raven said. "These people areprofessionals at hiding."
"Then we work faster," the council member said. "But we work within the system."It took two weeks of argument and negotiation. Two weeks of moving through bureaucraticprocesses. Two weeks during which the network was almost certainly moving their operationssomewhere else.
But we finally got authorization for coordinated raids in all three locations.
Alex insisted on going with us to Prague.
"I know the city," he said. "I know people there. I can help."
I didn't want him involved. He was supposed to be retired, supposed to be at peace. But I also knew I couldn't stop him.
Okay,