Thick smoke clung to the fractured ceilings like ghostly curtains, and the sharp tang of burned steel lingered in every corridor. Red emergency lights flickered weakly, their rhythmic pulse painting the ruins in alternating flashes of blood and shadow.
Sensei Slade stood amidst the wreckage, his coat torn and singed at the edges. Around him, several soldiers in reinforced suits moved methodically, spraying a dense chemical foam that hissed as it devoured flame. The collapsed ceiling crackled above — the sound of tortured metal surrendering to silence.
"Stabilize this section," Slade ordered. His voice, roughened by smoke and fatigue, carried an unshakable authority. "We'll lose the core chamber if it collapses further."
The soldiers obeyed swiftly. Streams of white mist poured over fires, choking them into smoldering gray plumes. When the air finally cleared enough to breathe, Slade advanced deeper into the main lab — the place where Zander had nearly died.
The floor was blackened, cracked, and littered with twisted remains of once-gleaming machinery. The tanks that once held the experimental creatures now lay shattered — glass and metal melted together into grotesque forms. In the distance, one of the soldiers called out, "Sir, we've located the main terminal!"
Slade moved to the console. Half its surface was destroyed, wires and coolant fluid dripping like mechanical entrails. He crouched and brushed away soot, revealing a faint blue light still pulsing under the cracked interface.
"Get it online," he said.
One of the tech specialists — a young corporal with streaks of ash across his face — connected a portable stabilizer. Sparks danced, then the monitor flared to life in fractured lines of code. Data began to stream, broken but breathing.
"Thirty percent integrity," the tech said. "The rest was purged remotely before the system burned."
Slade narrowed his eyes. "Show me what's left."
Fragments of files appeared — genetic maps, prototype schematics, biogenic markers, and a partially reconstructed logo burned into the corner of one document: P R O M E T H E U S.
The letters glowed faintly, each one flickering as though resisting deletion. Beneath the name, a single line of text survived — cold, clinical, and terrifying in its simplicity:
'To reclaim what nature denied.'
Slade stared at the words for a long moment. His jaw tightened. "They were never gone," he muttered under his breath.
"Sir?" the corporal asked.
"Nothing," Slade replied, standing. "Copy every fragment. Encrypt it. No one outside this facility sees this until I say so."
He turned away, eyes lingering on the ghostly glow of the name. Prometheus. The same organization that had once defied international law to rewrite the boundaries of creation — the same group that had resurrected creatures that should have stayed buried. They had vanished years ago, dismantled after the Gene Purge Accords.
But now, the ashes of that forbidden flame were burning again.
Elsewhere…
Aboveground, far from the smoke and ruin, the night city sprawled in quiet rhythm — neon veins pulsing against the dark.
Callan leaned against the window of their dormitory, watching the rain trickle down the glass. His communicator lay silent on the desk, its screen cold and unresponsive. Two days. No message from Zander. Not even a signal ping.
He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Where the hell are you, man…"
He had grown used to Zander's unpredictable missions, but something about this silence gnawed at him. Not fear exactly — but an instinct, the kind that comes when the air itself feels off.
Across the compound, Lyra sat cross-legged in a meditation chamber. Dozens of small metallic objects floated around her — knives, bolts, training discs — each suspended in invisible tension. Her focus was razor-sharp, her breathing calm.
But suddenly, without warning, she faltered. The objects dropped one by one, clattering to the floor.
Her chest tightened. For a moment, it felt as though something vast had brushed against her — not a sound or sight, but a presence. Warm, unfamiliar, yet unmistakably known.
"Zander?" she whispered to no one.
Her eyes darted to the window. The night stretched endlessly beyond it, silent and unyielding.
She exhaled, trying to shake it off, but somewhere deep inside, an invisible thread pulsed — faint and ethereal — connecting her heart to something far away, like the echo of a heartbeat that wasn't her own.
Unseen, across the world, the other gifted children stirred. Each paused for a fleeting second, sensing something impossible to name — a subtle shift, like gravity had realigned by a fraction.
None of them would remember it clearly. But all of them would feel it.
Meanwhile — Underground Recovery Ward, Facility Delta-7.
Zander awoke to darkness.
His mind swam through fragments — flashes of heat, roaring noise, the weight of claws and blood and the desperate face of Aethros. Then silence.
His body ached, but the pain was distant, like something remembered rather than felt. He opened his eyes. The ceiling above was pale and sterile, a soft hum filling the quiet.
He was in his room.
Two days had passed since the battle. He could feel it — in the stiffness of his muscles, in the faint dryness of his throat. Slowly, he sat up. The motion felt different somehow. Lighter. Stronger.
The air itself tasted sharper — rich with metallic undertones and sterile detergent. He blinked as the world seemed to come alive in vivid detail. Every surface reflected light differently, every sound layered in exquisite clarity.
For a moment, he just breathed, trying to understand what had changed.
Then he noticed it — the faint scent of roasted meat wafting through the corridor.
Before he could process it, the door hissed open, and Sensei Slade entered, holding a tray. "Good. You're awake," he said evenly, setting the food down beside him.
The aroma hit Zander like a wave. His stomach growled violently.
Without hesitation, he began to eat.
The taste was overwhelming — the salt, the warmth, the texture of every bite. It was as if his tongue had been asleep all his life and had only now begun to live. He paused mid-bite, astonished by the complexity of flavors.
Sensei raised an eyebrow. "You look like you're tasting food for the first time."
Zander blinked, trying not to seem strange. "It just… tastes different," he said simply, continuing to eat.
In truth, it was more than different. It was alive. Each morsel sent electric signals racing through his body, feeding a hunger that wasn't just physical — it was instinctual, primal.
Sensei watched him silently. He noted the subtle differences — the faint luminescence in Zander's pupils, the sharp definition of his muscles even at rest, the faint pressure in the air around him that hadn't been there before.
When Zander finally set the tray aside, Sensei spoke quietly. "How are you feeling?"
Zander leaned back against the bedframe, wiping his mouth. "Stronger. Clearer. Like everything's sharper than before."
Sensei nodded slightly. "That would align with Seven's report. He ran a diagnostic scan while you were unconscious. Your cellular regeneration is off the charts. We estimate your Force Level at Stage 4 — though, given your recovery rate, I suspect even that may be conservative."
Zander looked at his hands. They trembled faintly, not from weakness but from something burning beneath the surface — power coiled, restless.
He didn't tell Sensei about the mark. The shared resonance. The faint warmth still lingering at the base of his neck — a phantom pulse that throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He didn't fully understand it himself.
Sensei folded his arms. "We'll run controlled evaluations later. For now, rest. The last thing I need is another medical report about you collapsing from overexertion."
Zander smirked faintly. "You sound like Seven."
Sensei allowed himself the ghost of a smile. "That machine worries too much."
He turned to leave but paused at the door. "Zander… you did well down there. Whatever that thing was — you survived. That matters."
Then he was gone, leaving Zander alone with the low hum of the air vents.
Zander stared at his reflection in the metal wall across from him. For a moment, he swore he could see something behind his own eyes — a flicker of gold and silver intertwined.
He blinked, and it was gone.
Drayden waited in the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. When Sensei emerged, he straightened. "He's awake?"
"Just did," Slade said, pulling off his gloves. "He's stable — more than that, actually. Too stable for someone who nearly died two days ago."
Drayden frowned. "What about the lab? What'd you find?"
Slade's expression darkened. "More than I wanted to. And less than we need."
He pulled a small data chip from his pocket, its casing scorched but intact. "Only fragments of their work survived. But one thing's clear — this wasn't a rogue lab. It was part of a network."
Drayden's eyes narrowed. "You mean—?"
Slade nodded grimly. "Prometheus."
The name alone made the air feel heavier.
"I thought they were wiped out after the Gene Purge," Drayden said quietly.
"So did I," Slade replied. "But this… this was their style. Genetic hybridization beyond legal parameters. Controlled mutations. Half-man, half-beast prototypes." He paused, lowering his voice. "They were trying to perfect something — not just splicing for enhancement, but for integration. A new evolutionary step."
Drayden ran a hand through his hair. "And Zander got caught in it."
Slade's gaze drifted to the recovery room door. "Caught… or chosen. I don't know which yet."
A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken dread.
Finally, Drayden asked, "Do we tell the higher council?"
"Not yet," Slade said. "Not until I understand what Prometheus is building this time. If they've returned, it's not just about weapons anymore. It's about rewriting what it means to be human."
The corridor lights flickered once — a brief power surge. The red emergency hue washed over their faces again, painting them in the same crimson that had bathed the ruined lab.
"Let's hope," Slade murmured, "that this time, we can bury their ashes before they rise again."
Deep within the facility, in the silence of the data servers, a single corrupted file pulsed weakly.
Buried lines of code rearranged themselves, forming one last message before vanishing into black:
Phase II: Hybrid Integration — Candidate 07. Status: Active.
The monitor flickered once more — then died, leaving only darkness and the faint echo of a heartbeat in the wires.