Inside the Core Stabilization Wing, three selected candidates sat in isolated observation chambers—each pod dimly lit, sterile, and filled with quiet anticipation. The hum of machinery echoed faintly around them. It wasn't just the serum waiting. It was transformation. It was a threshold.
At the master control hub stood Dr. Drew Phil, eyes scanning the biometric feeds with calm precision. Beside him, Elijah Bowie kept his arms crossed, jaw tight, watching not just their vitals, but their faces.
"You sure about these three?" Drew asked without looking up.
"William trusted me for a reason," Elijah replied. "And I trust them."
That trust wasn't a gamble. These weren't just names on a list—they were people who'd earned their shot at something extraordinary.
Candidate One: Sarah Miles.
Age 30. Former rescue diver. Quiet strength in every step she took. She'd once pulled four children from a sunken school bus, losing a lung in the process. The synthetic replacement worked—but barely.
Her resolve, though, had never broken.
Now she sat upright in the chamber, hands on her knees, steady as stone. Her eyes found Elijah through the glass.
"I'm ready," she mouthed.
Elijah nodded. She's exactly the kind of anchor we need.
Candidate Two: Jason Cruz.
Age 28. Ex-special forces dropout—not because he couldn't hack it, but because he questioned authority one too many times. Still, his instincts were razor-sharp, and his reflexes had saved lives. More than once.
He bounced his knees impatiently, smirking to himself. When he saw Elijah watching, he gave a cocky salute.
"A little reckless," Elijah said under his breath, "but fearless."
Drew chuckled. "That's one word for it."
"He'll surprise you," Elijah replied. Raw potential. You don't teach it—you guide it.
Candidate Three: Marcus Reed.
Age 26. Mechanical engineer. Grew up rebuilding busted drones in Detroit and graduated early from CalTech. Calm under pressure, with a quiet wit and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
He wasn't loud or flashy—but he was precise.
In the chamber, Marcus sat still, tapping the side of the console with his thumb in a steady rhythm, like counting heartbeats. Focused, ready.
Elijah smiled faintly. The one who plans ahead. Not just strong—smart. We'll need that more than ever.
"Injectors ready," Drew confirmed. "Serum S-E9, Generation Four."
Three slender robotic arms extended from overhead, each tipped with a glowing microburst injector. Inside, the silver-blue liquid shimmered like mercury struck by moonlight—alive, sentient almost. The moment had come.
Elijah's gaze sharpened. "Do it."
A pressurized hiss followed. In perfect unison, the serum was delivered—no needles, no pain. Just a wave of something deeper than biology moving through them.
Sarah's muscles tightened first. Then relaxed. Her breathing slowed, heart rate dropped into a deep, rhythmic pace. A faint golden hue pulsed beneath her skin and vanished.
Jason jerked once, teeth clenched. Sweat broke across his brow. Then, like a boxer catching his second wind, he grinned. The pulse reader jumped—then normalized. Bone density increased by 12%.
Marcus let out a single breath, long and measured. The neural monitor spiked, tracking rapid synaptic growth. Memory sectors in his brain lit up like a power grid. Then... stillness. Controlled. Calm.
He opened his eyes, now glowing faintly silver for half a second before fading.
Drew leaned in. "They're stabilizing faster than Gen 3."
"They're ready," Elijah said quietly. "The serum didn't just take—it chose them."
Outside the lab chamber, Commander Darius Jules stood with arms folded, watching silently through the reinforced window. The light reflected off his skin—unscarred, smooth, indestructible. He'd been through it already. He knew what they were about to feel.
"We're entering a new age," he said without turning. "Let's hope they can carry the weight of it."
While the transformation chambers below settled into silent observation mode and the candidates drifted into early stages of post-serum recovery, Level Four of Silver Stream was already awake and working.
This was the Space Command Division—a sleek corridor of glowing walls, curved windows, and rows of high-resolution holo-screens. At its heart stood Leena Chen, a name once synonymous with NASA innovation, now the quiet storm behind Silver Stream's celestial ambitions.
Tall, poised, with her dark hair pulled into a clean bun, Leena wore a Silver Stream lab-coat over a graphite-toned flight suit. Her fingers tapped across a clear-glass control interface, streaming orbital telemetry in midair. Dozens of satellites blinked on the 3D globe before her.
"Team Alpha, check comms sync with Telescope Relay One," she said, not glancing up.
"All channels green, Commander Chen," came a reply from a nearby tech. "Boosters aligned. Tracking arrays at 96% calibration."
Leena's lips curved—barely. That was her version of a smile.
She walked over to a large central table displaying the Silver Stream Space Telescope in orbit—a design rivaling Hubble, but newer, faster, and tuned to frequencies normal eyes couldn't dream of seeing.
"Prepare to initiate Phase Two," she ordered.
A second-in-command, Major Tayo Briggs, nodded. "You're sure about the September 19th launch window?"
Leena's eyes flicked over the solar wind forecasts and orbital drift charts before answering. "It's the best one we'll get this year. Barely two hours of margin, but it's enough. This telescope isn't just for deep-space scans—it's for monitoring them."
She brought up a smaller set of schematics on the candidates currently in recovery.
"Sarah. Jason. Marcus." She said their names like coordinates. "GEN 4 is different. Their development will be faster. More volatile. We need satellite optics on their energy signatures the moment they begin to shift."
Tayo frowned. "You think it'll be visible from orbit?"
"I don't think." She stepped around the table, voice calm and razor-sharp. "I know. We're no longer just tracking star systems and exoplanets—we're charting evolution."
On the far wall, a large countdown ticked down in silver-blue digits:
LAUNCH: SEPTEMBER 19 – T-MINUS 397 DAYS
A brief buzz interrupted the room.
"Priority ping from Elijah Bowie," the comms officer announced.
Leena raised an eyebrow and accepted the call. Elijah's face appeared in the air, tired but focused. Behind him, med-bots were scanning the recovery pods.
"They're stable," he said. "But I need eyes on energy output in the next seventy-two hours. Especially Jason. He's already showing irregular spikes."
Leena nodded. "Our eyes are already open. You just focus on containing any fallout. I'll track the sky."
The call ended.
She looked to Tayo. "Activate the low-orbit drones. I want constant footage from above—thermal, kinetic, and EM scans."
"You think the serum might cause... a flare-up?"
"I think," she said coolly, "we're about to watch human evolution punch through the ceiling of physics."
Then, turning to the full room: "This is no longer a simulation or a testbed. This is the launch pad of the future. Silver Stream was never just about leaving Earth."