Lieutenant Hale, determined to help Angelo grow, pulled every string she could to bring in someone who might understand the strange nature of his powers. That man was Dr. Elias Grant—an eccentric but brilliant researcher, known as much for his radical theories as for his obsession with the unknown. He was infamous for pushing ethical boundaries in the pursuit of truth.
At first, Grant wanted nothing to do with Angelo.
"Don't be stupid, Marcelle. I'm not wasting my time babysitting a walking weapon," he said flatly. "I study anomalies, not ticking time bombs."
But Hale knew exactly how to bait him.
"Think of the data you'll get, Elias. The breakthroughs. If you help him harness his powers, you might be the first to uncover what he really is—to crack how his abilities work. Imagine what you could discover."
Grant's eyes gleamed at the thought, though he tried to maintain composure. "Fine. But if he can't impress me, I'm walking away right then and there."
Hale smirked. "Don't worry. Angelo will blow your socks off."
She escorted him to Angelo's room. The moment they stepped inside, both froze.
Angelo sat cross-legged on the floor, calm and focused. His hands were held apart, and the air between them distorted like heat over asphalt. A low hum filled the room.
Grant didn't look away. "What is he doing?"
Hale, eyes also fixed on Angelo, muttered, "I have no idea."
Sparks flickered between Angelo's palms—and in seconds, something began to take form. A knife. First the pommel, then the handle, the guard, and finally, the blade itself. When it finished materializing, it dropped to the floor with a metallic clink, and Angelo fell back, exhausted.
Grant blinked. "By all the laws of science… how did you do that?"
He lunged forward, eyes wide. Startled, Angelo jumped to his feet and took a defensive stance. "Who the fuck are you?"
Grant ignored him, crouching to pick up the knife. Hale called out from the doorway, "Relax, he's with me."
Angelo raised an eyebrow and exhaled, lowering his guard. "You could've warned me, Lieutenant. He could've gotten seriously hurt."
Before Hale could reply, Grant shoved the knife close to Angelo's face. "You made this?" His voice trembled with awe. "What is this even made of? You synthesized this with no tools?"
Angelo leaned back. "Yeah. But it's not perfect. There are hollow spots inside."
He pushed Grant's hand away and turned to Hale. "I got bored after finishing all the books you gave me, so I thought I'd try something from them."
Hale frowned. "Wait—what do you mean after finishing? I gave you five books. It's barely been an hour."
"Just as I said," Angelo replied. "I finished them. All of them."
Grant let out a short laugh. "You're kidding."
"I'm not. I memorized them. Want to test me?"
Hale narrowed her eyes, grabbed a random book, and flipped it open. "Explain Bernoulli's principle."
Angelo smirked. "With pleasure. 'For an ideal fluid in motion, an increase in its speed is accompanied by a decrease in its pressure or a decrease in its potential energy.'"
Word for word.
She flipped pages, tried another question, then another. Every answer was perfect.
Grant muttered to himself, his jaw tight. "Perfect recall… comprehension… and now material reconstruction? He's not learning—he's absorbing. No… more than that. He's adapting. Evolving."
Hale set the book down, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. "Still don't want to help him?"
Grant's eyes gleamed with manic fascination. "I want to dissect his mind and build a university inside it. But yes—I'm in."
Angelo gave Hale a wary look. "Should I be concerned about this guy?"
Grant ignored him and extended a hand. "Dr. Elias Grant—your new tutor, mentor, and favorite source of headaches."
Angelo looked to Hale for confirmation. She gave a small nod.
He shook Grant's hand with a cautious smile. "Angelo Walker."
The following days were brutal but never dull.
Hale dragged him through merciless drills while Grant buried him in books, diagrams, and odd devices. To Angelo's delight — and everyone else's quiet alarm — he absorbed it all. He read with an almost childish hunger, firing questions faster than Grant could answer; learning felt less like work and more like a game.
"Every time I understand something, it clicks," Angelo said one afternoon, hunched over a physics text. "Sometimes I just…know how to use it."
Grant stared. "You enjoy this?"
"Why wouldn't I? Every bit of knowledge is another piece of the puzzle."
He wasn't wrong. After a chapter on electromagnetic waves he accidentally sent a pulse that blinked the lab lights. After studying fluid dynamics he bent a stream of water with unnerving precision.
One evening, Grant lingered late, watching Angelo sketching in a notebook—clean, careful lines forming a chemical formula.
"What's that?" Grant asked.
"I was thinking about fire," Angelo said. "My fireballs are hot, but not hot enough. So I looked up compounds that burn hotter. Found one."
He tapped the page. Dicyanoacetylene.
Grant read the name, then laughed—half wonder, half disbelief. "You're talking about combustion enhancement through mental synthesis. Do you know how insane that is?"
Angelo shrugged. "Not really. It just feels possible. The more I understand, the sharper I get. Knowledge isn't just power — it's how I shape it."
Grant's expression softened. "You're not just a weapon. You're a forge. Feed you the right ideas and you'll build new ways to burn a path through whatever stands in front of you."
Angelo's eyes narrowed. "Only the parts that deserve it."
And deep inside Angelo, the Void stirred, pleased by how brightly the forge now burned.
While Angelo trained, his family stayed in their quarters. James never came to visit after that day. Every time Angelo passed near the civilian sector, he slowed—just for a moment—hoping to catch a glimpse of them. But no one ever appeared.
He would force a smile, muttering to himself, "It's fine. They're safe. That's all that matters."
Still, he asked General Pierce the same questions over and over.
"Are they doing alright? Did they say anything about coming to see me?"
Pierce always gave the same answer. Everyone was fine. They'd visit soon.
But that part never came true.
And the voice inside Angelo's head grew louder.
"They won't come."
"They fear you."
"You're a monster to them."
He tried to ignore it, but the words gnawed at him, day by day.
Grant noticed. One afternoon, he said quietly, "I might not have known you for long… but if something's bothering you, you can tell me."
The offer meant more than Angelo could admit. But he couldn't tell anyone about the Void, or the two beings.
"Okay," he said softly—and changed the subject.
Later that day, after Angelo had spoken with Pierce in the hallway and left, Grant approached the General. He asked for the truth. Pierce didn't hide it. He told him about the higher-ups' plan.
Grant clenched his jaw. "You've fallen too low, General."
Pierce exhaled, weariness in his tone. "I know. I hate myself for doing this."
They both turned, watching Angelo walk toward the training ground beside Hale.
Grant's voice softened. "He's a good kid."
Pierce nodded slowly. "Yeah. But those powers of his… they never gave him a chance to live like one."