Joseph Langford - Feb 2116
"I'm afraid you'll have to go to the lab without me today, Noah," I say, cutting into my toast. "I have other matters to attend to."
He nods once. No questions. No protest. Just quiet compliance.
We eat in silence for several minutes. The only sounds are the scrape of metal on ceramic and the faint chirp of the birds through the windows. Noah pushes his food around his plate, uninterested. He's been like this ever since I lied to him about Kai dying.
That was over a year and a half ago. The grief should have dulled by now. Instead, it seems to linger, muted, but constant. Like a low-grade fever that refuses to break. He used to be talkative, full of theories, ideas and impossible questions. Now he barely speaks. He observes. Calculates. Then withdraws.
It isn't ideal, but perhaps it's necessary.
Loss to some, has a way of refining the mind. Pain cuts away the excess, leaving only what's essential. For a while, I thought it had broken him, weeks spent in his room, refusing to eat or leave, wasting time in mourning. I considered intervening, but emotions, when left to burn itself out, often leaves something purer behind.
Eventually, it did.
When he came to me one morning, pale but steady, saying he was ready to return to GeneX, I knew the process was complete. I didn't ask what made him change his mind. I only care for results.
Kai's absence was always inevitable. He was a distraction, a sentimental weakness that threatened to derail everything I've built. That... hobby of his, that combat training nonsense, filled Noah's head with noise. Every hour he had wasted there was an hour stolen from real progress.
I assumed removing Kai would fix that, but it didn't.
Noah still visits that studio sometimes, although not as much as he used to. He says little about it, but I know it's that Finn boy that is keeping him tethered there, or perhaps the memories of his uncle and brother. Whatever the reason, I let it continue. Some illusions are harmless if they keep him functioning.
At least now he's useful again.
He doesn't laugh as he once did, but he works. He doesn't dream aloud anymore, but he creates. There's a quiet determination in him, a kind of cold focus that wasn't there before. The boy he was has burned away and what's left might finally amount to something.
I sip my coffee, stealing a quick glance at him. He doesn't look up; his eyes remain locked on his plate, distant and unreadable. Still, I can sense him working through his thoughts, each one carefully measured.
Good.
He's thinking. Always thinking. That's how progress begins.
I check the time. I need to leave soon, there are reports to sign, results to verify, test subjects to be observed. The next phase won't wait.
Noah clears his plate and stands without a word. His movements are efficient, precise. There's no trace of hesitation in him now, and as he heads for the door, I watch him go.
He doesn't know it yet, but everything he's doing, every step he takes, brings us closer to perfection.
_____________________________________
As I scan my card at the entrance to the Segregation Facility, the door clicks open with its usual hydraulic hiss. The corridors are dim, sterile, and quiet at this hour.
Whispers trail down the hall as I pass. Muted voices and nervous.
"He's not going to like this," someone says.
Something's wrong, I can tell immediately, but I don't slow down. The air feels heavier than usual, tension humming beneath the hum of the ventilation. I've come to recognise this atmosphere. It only ever means one thing.
Kai.
He's the only one capable of stirring this kind of unease among my staff.
I reach the observation room and I key in my access code, the soft click of the lock breaking the muffled argument happening inside.
Dr. Thomas and Dr. Williams stop mid-sentence as the door slides open.
"Dr. Langford," Williams says quickly, voice a shade too bright. "We were just discussing..."
I don't respond. My attention has already shifted to the viewing glass. Beyond it lies the containment room, sterile, minimal, precise. Or at least, it should be.
What I see instead is a disaster.
The bunks are stripped, blankets torn free and thrown across the other bed in what can only be described as… a fort. A pathetic, sagging structure of fabric and pillows, and the second bed, Kai's, is empty.
My jaw tightens. "What is going on here?"
The question cuts through the air like a blade.
The two scientists exchange looks. Thomas shifts uncomfortably, his hand twitching at his lab coat sleeve. Williams opens his mouth to speak again, but I raise a hand, stopping him. My gaze remains fixed on Thomas.
"Well?"
Thomas clears his throat. "Test Subject 012 requested permission to make a fort in his cell, sir. I allowed it for the night. I didn't think it would cause any..."
"Why?" I interrupt.
He hesitates. I can see him searching for words, as if there's any version of this explanation that will make sense to me.
"He said he thought Ka… I mean, test subject 004 needed a break. After the burnout from yesterday's evaluation."
I stare at him. The silence stretches.
A break.
From what? Discipline? Structure? Progress?
I glance back at the viewing glass, at the heap of blankets and I feel irritation prick at the base of my skull.
What does building a pile of blankets have to do with recovery?
This is precisely the kind of weakness that festers when emotion is allowed to grow unchecked. They think kindness is harmless. That sentiment has a place in refinement. It doesn't.
Kai's mind is already fragile, too raw, too easily swayed. He needs structure, not softness. Purpose, not pity. I've spent years shaping him, breaking him down, reassembling him into something functional. And now, one naive act threatens to unravel months of conditioning.
Idiocy.
"Dr. Thomas," I say quietly. "You've just allowed a high-value subject to compromised by another."
He looks up, startled. "Sir, I didn't mean..."
"No. You didn't think. That's the problem."
He swallows hard, face paling.
I turn back to the glass. My reflection stares back at me, framed by the wreck of the cell.
"004's progress is critical to the development of my unit," I continue. "His conditioning must remain unbroken. We cannot afford distraction."
I step closer to the glass, watching the faint movement beneath the pile of blankets. For a second, I imagine what 012 must think, that this childish construction offers comfort, that it's a sanctuary.
It almost makes me laugh.
I've tolerated his presence longer than I should have. The only reason he remains here is because of his sight, an ability that, so far, has proven underwhelming at best. Twenty minutes. That's the extent of his vision into the future. Barely useful. Static glimpses. No sign of expansion.
And now, this?
Unacceptable.
"012 is to be returned to the main facility today," I say, turning toward the door. My hand hovers over the handle then I pause.
Kai is stubborn, he lets emotion override instruction far too often. If he's attached himself to 012, he won't accept the separation quietly. It will turn into defiance. And defiance, in his current state, spreads fast.
012, however, serves no further purpose here. His foresight has plateaued, and his behaviour is unpredictable. Keeping him in Segregation is a waste of resources.
Unless…
I let the thought settle. There may yet be something to gain from this attachment. Something to observe. Something to use.
"Actually," I say, glancing back at Thomas and Williams, "I've changed my mind. 012 will remain for one more day."
They exchange uncertain looks. I continue before either can question me.
"But before the afternoon testing sessions, send Kai to my office. Alone."
I don't wait for acknowledgment. The order stands.
As I step into the hallway, the door slides shut behind me, sealing the silence in.
_______________________________
There's a faint knock at the door. "Come in."
The door slides open and Kai steps inside. He looks small, uncertain, shoulders rounded, guilt written across his face. He stops two paces from my desk and folds his hands at his side, waiting for me to speak. He won't meet my eyes.
"Kai," I say, watching him, "it's come to my attention there have been distractions while I was away at the lab." I let the words hang. His shoulder twitches, ready to protest, but he bites it back. He knows better than to argue.
"Do you still want to get stronger?" I ask. Simple. Direct.
"Yes. Of course I do, but..." He tries to speak and I cut him off with a single raised hand. He obeys like he's been trained.
"I think you're ready to join the Special Operation Division," I tell him suddenly. I watch his face for the flash of ambition, the hunger I cultivated in him. This moment will decide everything.
But he falters. His mouth opens, then closes, and then he stammers, "I… I..." The hesitation is clumsy, unfocused, no calculated mind behind it, just instinct. He's not like Noah; he never was. He lets feeling push where logic should rule.
"I don't know if I'm skilled enough yet," he says finally. "Maybe I should stay and train a bit longer."
Of course. Predictable. Disappointing. I stand, walk slowly around my desk with my hands clasped behind my back. "Oh Kai, emotions only hinder progress," I say quietly. "You must learn to set them aside."
The door behind him hisses as two guards step through. Kai spins, alarm flaring in his eyes. "What is..." he starts, but he doesn't finish. I move before he can react.
I withdraw the syringe I'd been concealing at my pocket and drive it into the soft, unguarded flesh at the base of his neck. There's no theatrics, only efficiency. A measured pressure, the quiet click as the plunger presses home.
He stumbles, hand flying to the injection site. His knees fold; "What did you..." he breathes, words slurred and thin, then he collapses to one knee and before he passes out.
The guards are already there. I don't look at his face as they lift him.
_____________________________
The lab smells of antiseptic and ozone. Clean, controlled and predictable, exactly how I prefer it. I'm noting the last readings on the monitor when the door slides open.
I don't look up right away. Finishing the numbers in my log before turning.
012 walks in with Dr. Thomas trailing behind him like an anxious shadow. The boy looks as disinterested as always, loose posture, eyes half-lidded, until his gaze meets mine. Then he freezes.
"012," I say evenly, "I'll be conducting your tests today. Take a seat."
He hesitates for a fraction of a second. There's a flicker of something, hate, perhaps, behind his eyes, but he hides it beneath that insufferably casual mask and sits down. Thomas immediately begins attaching the neural monitors to his temples and fingertips. He is efficient, at least.
When Thomas steps back to signal completion, the door opens again and a security officer enters. Both Thomas and 012 look confused.
012 smirks. "What, do you think I'm going to see my way out and escape?"
"Let's just call it extra security," I reply, my patience already thinning. His tone grates.
A table is wheeled in front of him, and he raises an eyebrow. "Don't tell me it's guess the next card again."
"Something like that," I say curtly. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
He's insubordinate, unfocused, irritatingly talkative. I should never have asked him into joining the Special Division. He's too undisciplined to be of real use, it was a rare miscalculation from me.
"I've reviewed your file," I begin, stepping closer. "Twenty minutes is the longest duration you've managed to look into the future. Is that correct?"
"Yeah," he says with a lopsided grin, voice light and teasing. "Every time I try to push it longer, I end up with a nosebleed. Tragic, really."
Chatty. Always talking, always trying to provoke. A simple yes or no would have sufficed. I can almost understand why Kai became attached to him. Kai has always clung to anyone who gives him attention, and 012… 012 radiates the kind of shallow charm that thrives on being liked. Mutual weakness. Nothing more.
"Only a nosebleed?" I ask. "That's an early symptom of burnout. And yet, you've never tried to push past it. How disappointing."
His eyes flash with anger. There it is, the defiance.
"Is that what you tell 004?" he snaps. "Is that why he keeps pushing himself until he breaks?"
"004 is different," I reply calmly. "He has something to prove. If he doesn't push himself, he's useless."
"Useless?" 012 spits the word out. "You talk about him like he's nothing but a tool."
"A tool," I say, meeting his glare. "That's exactly what he's meant to be."
His voice trembles with fury. "You're a monster. How can you treat your own son..." He stops himself, realising too late what he's revealed.
Ah. So he knows. I had assumed his little performance, his desperate need to defend Kai, was just another way to feel noble. But no. He's found out the truth. That foolish child, a single thread of attention, and he unravels completely.
I feel irritation flicker across my face, and he catches it instantly. "So I was right," he says, smiling now, triumphant. "I guessed when I heard you both have the surname Langford you would be connected."
So Kai didn't tell him. Which means...
"You know it's against regulations to share names," I say, my tone sharpening. "You've just admitted to a breach of conduct."
He opens his mouth again, but I've already lost interest. His words don't matter. His value lies in what he can do, not what he can say. I wave a dismissive hand, signaling the discussion is over.
"Let's begin," I say, turning toward the observation chamber.
From behind the glass, I watch Dr. Thomas complete the final preparations. He opens a silver case on the table and removes four syringes, each labeled, measured, precise and sets them neatly in a row.
"Let's begin," I say into the mic.
012 glances up at the window, his expression tight. Concern flickers in his eyes. Good. Fear sharpens the mind.
"Today, we are going to see what you can actually do" I tell him.
He frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The door opens and two guards step in, dragging Kai between them. His head rolls forward, unconscious, his feet dragging across the floor. A third guard follows, setting down a reinforced chair with restraints bolted to its arms and legs.
I glance briefly at 012. He's already on his feet, alarm flaring across his face.
"What are you doing? What have you done to him?" he shouts, voice sharp with anger.
He moves before thinking, but the guards reacts faster, gun drawn, barrel pressed to his forehead. 012 freezes, breathing hard. The fury in his expression is almost… fascinating.
The guards secure Kai, tightening the straps until the buckles creak. Then they step back, standing watch behind him.
"Kai! Wake up! What did they do to you?" 012's voice cracks, desperation cutting through the sterile air.
I press the intercom. "For today's test, we're going to push you past your limits, 012." I allow myself the faintest hint of a smile.
He snaps his head toward the observation window. "Tell me what you did to him, you bastard!"
"Test Subject 004," I say evenly, "has been injected with a serum that will stop his heart in two hours."
The words hang in the air like static.
"What..." 012's rage falters, replaced by disbelief. Panic.
"One of the syringes in front of you contains the remedy," I continue. "All you need to do is determine which one it is using your precognitive ability."
He stares at the syringes. Four of them, lined neatly on the table.
"Oh," I add, almost as an afterthought, "the remedy takes an hour to activate. Best of luck."
I turn off the mic and sit back, pen poised over my notebook. His voice filters faintly through the glass even without amplification.
"Please… please, you know I can't see that far ahead, never mind doing it four times! Don't do this to him. Don't..."
I stop listening. Begging achieves nothing.
Minutes pass, and his voice fades into quiet. Then his eyes begin to glow faintly blue. At last. He's finally trying.
But, blood soon trickles from his nose, twenty minutes in and he has already reached the start of his breaking point. Yet he doesn't stop. Good. Motivation works better than mercy.
He pushes one syringe away. "Not this one," he mutters.
More blood follows. He coughs, splattering red across his hands, trembling violently, but still, he continues.
Soon the second syringe scrapes across the table. "Not… this one."
He pauses, gasping for air, his face pale, slick with sweat and blood. Impressive. He's already seen nearly an hour ahead twice now.
"Dr. Langford," Thomas says, his voice tight. "He's at his limit. We need to stop."
But before I can respond, something flickers in the corner of my eye. Kai stirs, his head shifting slightly, still groggy. Time is running out.
"No," I say. "He only has two left."
012 looks up, dazed, then turns back to the last two syringes. He takes a shaky breath, eyes flicker blue for a final moment before he suddenly screams, grabbing at his face. When he lowers his hands, blood streams from his eyes.
"I have… to… keep going…" he chokes out.
Then Kai's head lifts again. The sedative's wearing off and the guards tense, weapons raised.
"Wh… what…" Kai slurs, barely conscious but enough get gain 012 attention.
"Kai! You're okay!" 012 gasps, voice ragged.
The sound seems to pull Kai upright a little. "Ethan?" he mumbles, dazed and confused.
012 smiles faintly through the blood. "I thought… you were going to die…"
His voice trembles, breaking. Kai tugs weakly at the restraints, then his eyes widen when he sees 012's condition. That look, first recognition, then fear. Unacceptable.
"What happened to you?" he tugs at his restraints harder. They hold firm at first, but then shadows begin to coil around his hands, responding to his force. One of the bonds snaps under the strain, and I feel the familiar pull of unease tighten in my chest.
The air shifts without warning, sharp, cold, heavier than before.
The lights flicker once, and then the shadows begin to move. Not stretch, not distort, move.
They tear out from Kai's hand like something alive, violent and uncontrolled, surging outward in a wave of black. The guards don't even have time to raise their guns. Two are thrown back against the wall; another collides with a monitor, the frame bending under the force.
The shadows don't stop. They spread across the floor and up the walls, twisting and pulsing as if breathing. They react to his emotions, but now they're stronger, wilder. This isn't the measured control I've seen in tests. This is pure instinct taking over.
He's losing it.
"Stop him now!" I order, my voice steady even as the room shakes.
"Stand down, 004!" one of the guards shouts. The words are pointless. A tendril of shadow lashes out before he can finish, striking him hard across the chest. He drops, unmoving.
The darkness climbs higher, coating the lights, filling the room with flickering veins of black. It's spreading too fast.
Then the second guard hits the failsafe. Electricity cracks through the collar around Kai's neck. His body jerks, twisting violently, the shadows shuddering as if they feel the shock too.
For a few seconds, he fights it, clawing desperately at the collar, muscles straining against the current. Then his body gives out, collapsing against the chair. In an instant, the shadows recoil, snapping back into him like a breath drawn too sharply, and the room falls utterly silent.
"No!" 012 shouts, reaching desperately for Kai before his strength gives out and he collapses to the floor. He grips at his chest while blood continues to pours freely from his eyes and nose, and his body shakes violently one last time before going still. Dr Thomas rushes forward, shouting his name, panic etched into every word.
I push back my chair and stand. I need to assess the situation, see the extent of the damage for myself.
The metallic scent of blood greets me as I enter the testing room. Kai is slumped against the restraints, motionless. I step past him and stand behind Dr. Thomas.
He's pressing two fingers against 012's neck, his face pale and when he looks up at me, he just shakes his head.
"No pulse."
My gaze drifts to the monitors, flat lines. Silence.
I study 012's still body, the blood already drying on his face, and feel nothing.
"Another test subject," I say quietly, jotting down a note in my book. "Deceased. Cause of Death: Burnout.
Then I turn to Thomas. "Clean this up. We start the next lot of testing tomorrow."
Before pointing to Kai, "and restrain him in the isolation room."