LAUNCH: SEPTEMBER 19 – T-MINUS 376 DAYS
The countdown glowed a softer hue on the facility's central display, but inside Silver Stream's underground recovery wing, things were anything but calm.
Elijah stood at the edge of Observation Bay Three, arms crossed, a tablet glowing with charts in one hand. Beside him, Dr. Drew Phil scrolled through vitals, brow furrowed, muttering data under his breath.
"Twenty-one days in," Drew said, "and we've crossed into uncharted territory."
Elijah's eyes stayed fixed on the three pods in front of them—circular, upright, reinforced glass—each one housing a candidate now in deep, serum-induced hibernation.
The first pod's temperature monitor blinked twice, then turned blue.
"Sarah's cell temperature just dropped five degrees again," Drew noted. "No environmental cause."
"She's regulating it herself," Elijah murmured. "In her file, she mentioned surviving a 19-hour mountain blizzard... without gear. The serum is adapting to her core survival memory."
Inside the pod, Sarah Miles floated in zero-gravity suspension. Frost curled at the edge of the glass—but her body didn't shiver. In fact, her pulse was calm, even meditative. Her skin glowed faintly beneath the surface.
"She might be evolving toward kinetic heat control," Elijah said. "Or... something beyond it."
Pod Two lit up with a sharp pulse—red, then gold.
"Elijah," Drew said, tapping fast, "Jason's neural activity is... not normal."
Jason Cruz twitched slightly in his pod. Not with pain—more like his muscles were reacting to something invisible. Every few seconds, tiny arcs of golden energy rippled across his skin like he was flexing through static electricity.
Suddenly, his eyes opened. Not fully—but just a sliver. Enough for Elijah to catch the glint of something burning behind them.
"He's awake," Drew whispered.
"No. He's conscious," Elijah corrected, voice calm but tense. "The serum didn't just heal his body. It's syncing with his instincts."
Jason's vitals leveled. He slipped back into stillness—but not before one more pulse of gold flickered from his chest and lit the entire pod for half a second.
Then came the third pod.
Marcus Reed.
Still, quiet—until the lights around his chamber dimmed on their own. Drew tapped his controls, confused.
"Why are the bio-monitors flickering?" he asked.
"They're not flickering," Elijah said.
He stepped closer to Marcus's pod. The man's body hovered perfectly still, but there was a distortion—an odd blur around him, like the air itself was folding inward.
Then it snapped back to normal. For a brief moment, Marcus's eyes opened, sharp and alert. But only for a breath. The pod lights stabilized. Power returned.
"Did you see that?" Drew asked.
"He bent the electromagnetic field," Elijah muttered, stunned. "He made the energy grid adapt to him."
Drew looked like he wanted to say something scientific, something grounded—but instead he whispered, "They're waking up different."
Elijah nodded slowly. "GEN 4 is rewriting the blueprint of what's possible."
They turned to the far wall where the countdown now ticked, steady and patient:
LAUNCH: SEPTEMBER 19 – T-MINUS 376 DAYS
Three weeks down.
Less than thirteen months to go before humanity's gaze reached the stars again.
Far from Silver Stream, nestled within the iron-and-glass heart of Bonnet Labs' Primary Campus, the sun had long dipped below the horizon. But in the uppermost levels, time moved differently—driven by innovation, not light.
Inside the Overwatch Room, a wall of curved monitors painted the space in soft blue glows. Scientists, analysts, and division heads moved quietly from station to station, murmuring into headsets and tapping commands that shifted projections, timelines, and molecular models.
At the center of it all stood William Bonnet—still in his late thirties by appearance, though few knew his true age. Dressed in a sharp, dark jacket with the Bonnet Labs insignia stitched subtly into the collar, he stood with one hand behind his back, watching the main screen with unreadable calm.
Behind him, a door hissed open.
Dr. Kellan Voss, head of candidate monitoring, approached with a thin tablet and a hint of urgency.
"They've begun Phase Two. Elijah's report just came through," Voss said, handing the device over. "We're seeing accelerated integration across all three, but... Marcus Reed is showing something unexpected."
William didn't respond at first. His eyes skimmed the report, then paused.
"Localized power surges... magnetic field distortion... phase slip in visible light?"
Voss nodded. "We believe he's developing a form of electromagnetic manipulation. Not just absorbing currents. He's influencing the spectrum itself."
That made William turn.
"Are you saying we have a second one?"
"Yes," Voss said. "The second candidate in S-E9 history to show signs of manipulating a fundamental force of the universe."
William stared at the hologram now forming in the air: a rotating map of Marcus's neural scans, overlapped with spikes in localized EM activity.
The first was him—gravity bent at his fingertips, capable of folding matter or crushing pressure into stillness. He had thought, perhaps, he would be the only one.
But Marcus?
"If he can master this," William said slowly, "he won't just be powerful... He'll be a beacon. Electromagnetic resonance touches everything—communications, shielding, propulsion... even the mind."
Voss hesitated. "Do we... proceed as planned?"
William closed the report. His voice came low, steady.
"Let Elijah continue. No adjustments. Not yet. I want to see who Marcus chooses to become without interference."
"And if it goes too far?"
William turned back to the screen, where Marcus's silhouette blinked with raw, building energy.
"Then I'll step in myself."
The screen dimmed. The lab went quiet.
Beyond Earth's sky, the stars waited.
And something—or someone—might soon shine just as bright.