Chap­ter 4 — A New Face begins with an inno­cent error that rip­ples into chaos. As Pro­fes­sor Max­on and von Horn hur­ry away from the work­shop, they fail to notice the unlocked door, unin­ten­tion­al­ly grant­i­ng free­dom to their lat­est cre­ation. Num­ber Thir­teen, hav­ing nev­er expe­ri­enced the world beyond stone and sci­ence, steps into the wild with fresh eyes and unfil­tered won­der. The col­ors, sounds, and scent of the jun­gle bewil­der and enchant him. He observes with­out fear, absorb­ing the chaos of nature as if it were a lost mem­o­ry. Yet even in this serene moment, dan­ger lurks close behind.

Vir­ginia Max­on finds her­self at the mer­cy of one of her father’s failed cre­ations. The grotesque crea­ture, mal­formed and unpre­dictable, attempts to drag her away from the safe­ty of the com­pound. Num­ber Thir­teen, drawn by instinct and per­haps an ear­ly spark of affec­tion, inter­venes with courage that sur­pris­es even him­self. His actions are swift, fueled by some­thing more than logic—an emo­tion­al dri­ve to pro­tect. The con­fronta­tion is bru­tal, raw, and dis­or­dered, but in the end, the crea­ture is defeat­ed. As Vir­ginia lies uncon­scious, Num­ber Thir­teen is left to inter­pret her vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty through frag­ment­ed rea­son­ing, choos­ing to lift and car­ry her to safe­ty as best he under­stands it. Though no guid­ance was giv­en, he fol­lows the pull of moral­i­ty in his own prim­i­tive way.

Back at the com­pound, Sing grows con­cerned when nei­ther Vir­ginia nor the new cre­ation is account­ed for. Von Horn, always sus­pi­cious of the exper­i­ments, assumes the worst and sets off with Sing in tow. When they stum­ble upon the car­nage left behind—the bro­ken body of the ear­li­er exper­i­ment and the absence of Virginia—their assump­tions hard­en into fear. Von Horn’s anger sharp­ens into a weapon, blam­ing Num­ber Thir­teen not just for vio­lence, but for inten­tion. His mind races with ideas of rebel­lion and threat. When they final­ly con­front Num­ber Thir­teen, car­ry­ing Vir­ginia gen­tly yet con­fi­dent­ly, von Horn’s reac­tion is imme­di­ate and hos­tile. He draws his weapon, see­ing not a sav­ior but a mon­ster that dares tres­pass the bound­aries of nature.

Vir­ginia awak­ens in the moment and, with clar­i­ty born from grat­i­tude and intu­ition, steps between her pro­tec­tor and the bar­rel of von Horn’s gun. She speaks not with fear but with recognition—something in Num­ber Thirteen’s man­ner tells her that he means no harm. Her inter­ven­tion dis­arms the ten­sion, if only briefly, forc­ing both men to reassess. Pro­fes­sor Max­on soon arrives, over­whelmed by the sight of his daugh­ter and his most advanced cre­ation in the same clear­ing. His mind, already fray­ing under the weight of sci­en­tif­ic obses­sion, spins with a blend of pride and hor­ror. Has he cre­at­ed life, or invit­ed chaos? The answer grows murki­er with each pass­ing moment.

Num­ber Thir­teen, still unnamed and uncer­tain, is caught between his pro­grammed obe­di­ence and a new­found inde­pen­dence. His strength has been proven, but it is the empa­thy in his actions that marks a shift. He doesn’t under­stand love, not in the way humans do, yet some­thing com­pels him to stay close to Vir­ginia, to shield her from harm. In the midst of this, Vir­ginia begins to ques­tion every­thing she thought she knew. Can some­one born of sci­ence pos­sess courage, kind­ness, and an unspo­ken sense of right? These ques­tions linger as night falls.

This chap­ter builds a bridge between cre­ator and cre­ation, human and almost-human. Through Virginia’s com­pas­sion, Sing’s qui­et wor­ry, and von Horn’s ris­ing men­ace, the read­er is offered a glimpse of what lies ahead: a world where the lines between species, soul, and sci­ence blur. The jun­gle, untamed and unpre­dictable, mir­rors the moral wilder­ness now grow­ing with­in the com­pound. While the char­ac­ters sleep in uneasy silence, deep­er ten­sions take root—ones that will soon demand clar­i­ty, choice, and con­fronta­tion. Num­ber Thirteen’s jour­ney is no longer about func­tion, but iden­ti­ty. And with each step, he becomes less of an exper­i­ment and more of a man.