Joseph Langford - July 2120
"He's getting out of hand. His recent achievements have inflated his ego, and now he refuses to follow proper protocol."
The complaint comes from one of the senior research leads five floors down, a nervous man with a tendency to overstate every minor deviation from procedure. I sit back in my chair, listening with only half an ear as he drones on about disciplinary measures and the hierarchy.
When he finally pauses, I interlace my fingers on the desk and respond, tone measured."I'm not sure what you expect me to do. Noah is fully certified, his data is reproducible, and his output continues to exceed expectations.
As long as his results remain consistent, his methods are his own concern."
He frowns, clearly dissatisfied, but I've already lost interest."Now, if that's all, you may go," I add.
He hesitates before leaving, the door sealing shut behind him with a soft click.
Another complaint. Another attempt to disguise professional envy as moral integrity.
It's remarkable how quickly people's true nature surfaces when their status feels threatened. They speak of ethics and team cohesion, but what they truly fear is being surpassed, becoming rendered obsolete by someone more capable.
They tried to do the same to me once. When I began here, I was dismissed as an idealist, accused of being reckless, inhumane, even delusional. But innovation doesn't emerge from hesitation. It's forged in risk, in the willingness to push boundaries others won't approach.
My early experiments were controversial, yes, but they yielded quantifiable, replicable results. Results that transformed this company's trajectory. Without, the Lunex would not exist and with it revenue rose and so did the publics trust. Investors stopped asking questions, and those who challenged my methods found themselves… reassigned.
Of course, my late wife's connections within the board accelerated my ascent, but influence alone doesn't sustain progress. It merely provides the opportunity. The execution was mine.
I glance through the glass partition overlooking the one of the laboratories. From up here, the technicians resemble components in a living circuit, energy flowing between stations, data moving like current through the veins of the facility.
Noah's absence from my project is conspicuous. He possesses a rare intellect which he inherited from myself, sharp, impulsive, and acutely aware of his own capabilities. Left to his own devices, he's a wasted resource, chasing ideas he can't hope to realise without structure. Without me.
When he told me he wanted to leave my project, I was, furious. The audacity of it, to walk away from everything I built, from the foundation that allowed his talent to flourish in the first place. For a moment, I considered forcing his return, but instead I chose a more strategic approach. He would never listen otherwise.
But I've learned that control often requires patience. I let him believe he was free. Let him believe he can succeed on his own. I thought that, in time, he would come to understand that his achievements hold little meaning without the infrastructure and insight I provided.
Yet the months passed by, and he didn't come back. He made no attempt to reconcile, no sign of remorse, no acknowledgement of what he owed me. That's when I realised subtlety would no longer suffice.
When I heard from the Resource Department that Noah had been attempting to procure Noxa, I saw my opportunity. I immediately ordered the department to block all internal requests and report any inquiries directly to me. Officially, GeneX was "out of stock" on the resourse, unofficially, I was cutting off his oxygen supply.
For months, I let him struggle, chasing dead ends, exhausting every possible lead. I waited until frustration began to erode at that composure of his. My observers noted the signs, erratic lab hours, incomplete datasets, a growing crack in his pride.
Only then did I act.
My intelligence unit informed me of a independent facility experimenting with Noxa synthesis. A risk, certainly, but also the perfect bait. However, I didn't intervene immediately, timing is everything. Instead, I watched from a distance, ensuring every variable aligned. And when I finally saw him started to break, I made my move.
I reached out with an offer, his long after resource, his serum delivered, on one condition, that he rejoin my project.
I had expected resistance, of course, but not defiance. His stubbornness has grown since leaving my supervision, my home, a side effect, perhaps, of the misplaced independence he's been nurturing. In the end, I managed to secure only two days' worth of his contribution in my project.
Still, progress was made. The groundwork for his return is there. He may not see it yet, but he's already caught in the mechanism I've built around him.
And with Kai's help, no less. I find it rather ironic, the very thing he's so desperate to protect, the life he'd sacrifice everything for, is precisely what will bring Noah back under my control.
With him returning to the Survival Rate Project, I can finally turn my attention back to my own work, the side project that's been quietly taking shape behind the scenes. After years of trial and error on the test subjects within the facility, I'm close, closer than ever, to developing a cure for the burnout side effects.
Yes, improving the survival rate of those who take the Lunex vial has always been my priority. But once Noah managed to stabilise that process and increase success rates, my focus shifted. What's the point in creating more Guardians if they're only going to die a few years later from pushing their abilities too far?
Perfection isn't in creation. It's in endurance. And I intend to make sure my work lasts.
A knock on my office door pulls me from my thoughts. When I look up, the tall figure of Finn Lennoy steps inside.
Of course. If he's here, it can only mean one thing, he's come on Noah's behalf, for the Noxa serum.
"Officer Lennoy," I greet, folding my hands on the desk. "I must admit, I expected Noah to come himself. Considering how long he's been chasing this serum, I assumed he'd want to handle it personally."
Finn stands perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back, posture sharp and deliberate. His military conditioning is impossible to miss, every movement measured, every breath controlled.
A talented man, who was born for discipline, precision, and strength. He could have been a commendable officer, perhaps even a commander, had he not chosen to abandon his father's footsteps. Instead, he settled for GeneX security and became a disappointment to his family, but a gain for me.
I've read his file in full. He has flawless scores across combat training, tactical assessment, and neurostress resilience. A man like that could have risen through the army ranks effortlessly. Yet here he is, guarding a scientist, wasting his potential.
I once tried to offer him something greater...
"Mr Lennoy," I told him during one of our earlier meetings, "you've exceeded every expectation we have for our security division. Why not consider joining the Guardians? Take the Lunex vial. Imagine what you could achieve with that kind of enhancement."
For a moment, I saw it, the flicker of curiosity, the brief fracture in his stoic composure. His mind turning over the idea, calculating the possibilities and I almost had him.
But then, the door suddenly burst open.
Noah, furious and unrestrained, had stormed in."I told you to leave Finn alone," he snapped, voice sharp with anger. "He's my private security, not your test subject."
He seized Finn by the arm and dragged him from the room before I could utter another word...
That was the last real conversation I had with Finn. Until now.
He stands before me once more, the same calm, unwavering presence, though I can sense something behind his eyes this time. Awareness, perhaps or distrust.
The temptation returns almost immediately, to persuade him again. To see what someone of his calibre could become with Lunex coursing through his veins. The thought is… intoxicating. I could have him dragged to the facility and have him become one of my new test subjects.
But I restrain myself. I've only just managed to draw Noah back into my grasp and any move against Finn now would risk unraveling months of careful manipulation.
So instead, I offer Finn a thin smile.
"Well, Mr Lennoy," I say, rising from my chair, "let's retrieve the serum you've come for."
He nods once, his expression unreadable, like stone.
I move to the safe and open it. Inside lies a silver metal briefcase and a laptop. I remove them carefully and hand them to Finn and he accepts both without hesitation, before he turns toward the door to leave.
"Oh," I add, a slight smile tugging at my lips, "and remind Noah not to forget his promise to me."
For a brief moment, I catch a flicker of confusion cross Finn's face. Then, as quickly as it appears, it vanishes. He inclines his head once and exits.
Interesting. So Noah doesn't tell him everything.
_________________________________
By the time I finish my work at the lab and make my way over to the facility, the sun is already dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds.
I park up and walk toward a building set slightly apart from the main complex. This is where the members of my Special Division Operation reside, a structure designed to simulate freedom while maintaining complete control. The test subjects here are permitted to move about at will, step into the garden, train whenever they like.
They can even wear their own clothes, style themselves as they please. Some dye their hair, as if a small act of rebellion gives them a sense of identity. But their "freedom" is calculated. A controlled environment that reveals their natural behavioural patterns and makes it easier to identify which ones will thrive under pressure and which will inevitably break.
It is only an illusion of freedom. They remain trapped behind tall, heavily guarded walls, and their independence exists only as long as they obey and succeed in their missions.
As I move down the corridor, a few subjects nod in acknowledgment. The gesture is automatic, respectful, almost instinctual, but as I walk around the corner, I hear a commotion echoing from the gym.
I step inside and find a small crowd surrounding two fighters. One is a younger boy in gym shorts and a fitted top, the other is Test Subject 016. She's on top of him, legs wrapped tightly around his neck, squeezing with controlled strength. His face slowly pales as the pressure mounts.
"Haha! I win again!" she shouts, beaming, while the onlookers cheer her.
I linger near the back, arms crossed, observing. The contrast between these subjects and the highly trained personnel at the lab is striking. The lab breeds intelligence and precision, here, raw power and impulsive instincts dominate.
As long as it doesn't compromise a mission, I care little for their petty displays.
"Do you not think you should intervene?" I ask to the side. Leaning against the wall is Kai, his posture casual but alert.
"You told me to train them to fight, sir" he replies, tone nonchalant yet threaded with the disciplined respect I've conditioned into him.
"Indeed. But may I remind you that killing another test subject will result in disciplinary action," I counter, voice level, measured.
His eyes flick to me briefly before he rises and steps toward the group.
"Enough," he commands, and the crowd scatters at once, drifting out the gym to their continue their routine as if his presence alone demands obedience.
016 releases her hold and springs to her feet, still grinning while she rushes to Kai.
"See? I told you I'd win. Now your dessert is mine!" she says, patting him on the back. Kai ignores her, helping the younger boy to his feet.
But the boy's anger hasn't dissipate, but rather, it seems to ignites. In an instant, the floor beneath him trembles. Small fissures spiderweb across the surface, fragments lifting as though gravity itself has warped around him.
016 spins toward him, eyes sparkling with anticipation. Sparks ignite across her hands, and the air seems charged with static energy. The room hums with raw potential, a dangerous crescendo of power.
I take a step back, assessing the situation. This is what makes the Special Division both extraordinary and dangerous. If left unchecked or untrained, their abilities could easily tear the facility apart. That is why guidance and discipline are essential, these same powers can become weapons, precise, devastating, and entirely controllable under my orders.
The boy lunges forward, his movements sudden and unpredictable. With a flick of his hands, fragments of the floor twist and launch toward 016, spinning like jagged, gravity-controlled projectiles. She steps aside and violet energy igniting from her palms, detonating against the floor tiles before they can reach her. The resulting blasts ripple outward, shattering surrounding tiles into harmless fragments.
She retaliates instantly, rushing forward in a blur of violet light. But before either of them can regain momentum, a whip-like tendril of living shadow lashes across the room. It coils around both of them with terrifying speed, yanking them violently to opposite sides of the gym and slamming them against the walls.
Kai steps in cautiously, moving toward the center of the gym. His calm, measured approach contrasts sharply with the chaos.
"Enough," Kai says calmly, as if he would rather be anywhere else than here.
"He started it!" 016 shouts from the opposite side of the gym, rubbing her head with exaggerated indignation.
"Yeah, well, it's over now," he replies evenly.
"But..." she begins, protesting, but Kai's sharp glance stops her mid-word.
"Don't you have a dessert to go get?" he adds, and with a cheer, 016 jumps up and races out of the room, smiling as though nothing had happened.
Kai turns his attention to the boy still seated on the floor.
"And you…" he starts, but I step forward before he can continue, closing the distance with deliberate calm. I see Kai hesitate, then glance down briefly before stepping back.
"Test Subject 062, correct?" I ask. The boy flinches at my tone.
"My division has no space for those who cannot control themselves," I continue, voice measured, observing the flicker of fear crossing his face.
"I… I'm sorry, sir," he stammers, worry etched into his features.
I gesture for one of the guards. He steps forward, wordless, and places a tablet in my hand. The room remains still, silent but for the faint hum of the ventilation system, as I scroll through the database.
"Here we are," I say evenly. "Test Subject 062. Age: sixteen. Ability: gravitational manipulation."
The boy remains on the floor, gaze lifted but unfocused, waiting for whatever comes next.
"According to the records, you've already been placed in segregation three times for violations of conduct." I return the tablet to the guard. "and to top it off, your last mission also notes behavioural instability."
"I'm sorry, sir. Please... I'll try harder next time," he says quickly, his tone trembling with the predictability of fear.
"I'll make sure he doesn't act out again," Kai interjects, voice measured, deferential.
I turn from the boy and focus on Kai. He meets my gaze without resistance, calm, detached, as if none of this concerns him. The others have learnt to respond to him instinctively, as though drawn to a sense of stability he provides. They mistake obedience for authority, compliance for leadership.
It is nothing but an illusion and his influence over the others displeases me.
They follow him because he offers them something I do not, the hollow comfort of being understood.
That sentiment is dangerous. Empathy, even when concealed beneath indifference, fosters attachment, and attachment inevitably breeds rebellion.
"No...please! Give me another chance!" the boy stammers, his voice thin with desperation.
A single shot answers him, the sound of the gunfire followed by the dull thud of a body collapsing onto the tiles. Silence reclaims the room.
Test subjects are replaceable; discipline is not. And waste is a luxury this division does not permit.
I continue forward, the scent of gunpowder still faint in the air. As I pass Kai, his eyes remain fixed on the tiles. His expression is composed, empty of defiance or regret. Exactly as it should be.
I snap my fingers, and his attention snaps upward. "Follow me," I gesture with a single finger.
Without hesitation, he falls in line, silent and obedient.
We arrive in my office and I take my seat, fingers folding over the armrests before I press the button that brings the screen to life.
Kai stands rigid before the desk and glances at the monitor. A satellite map fills one half of the display along with a grainy photograph of a solitary hut in the woods occupies another; a portrait of a man in his late twenties, unshaven, wary, fills the corner.
"Dr Thomas has betrayed this company," I say, voice flat as the screen. "He's been falsifying results and leaking company data to rebel groups." I watch Kai's face for any flicker of surprise. There is none, only the practised calm of someone trained to obey.
"Your mission is simple." I lean forward. "Go to the coordinates on the map. Extract from him the list of recipients, I want names, locations, contact points. Get everything he knows. Then, when he has no more value to us, you will eliminate him."
Kai's jaw tightens. "What if he refuses to cooperate?"
"Then you do not return until he does." No negotiation, no room for dissent.
He nods once, curt and efficient. "Understood."
"Good. You'll have a driver on standby."
Kai squares his shoulders. "When do I leave?"
"In two hours. And Kai..." I pause, letting the name hang. "Do not fail me."