"Every miracle begins as a hypothesis."
Morning found Florence before she found herself.
The world around her hummed — low, patient, and alive. Light traced faint blue lines through the walls, and somewhere above, turbines sang in rhythm with the desert wind. The Salt Lake Base breathed like a living thing, its steel lungs exchanging air and purpose.
Florence sat on the edge of the med-table, bare feet brushing against the cold floor. The faint gold beneath her skin pulsed in time with the machines.
Tesla leaned against the console, arms folded. "You sure you're up for this? You still look half-soldered."
Florence's lips curved in her familiar lopsided grin. "If 'this' involves tests and people watching me glow, I'm practically born for it."
Einstein adjusted a projection on her holo-screen. "We're not here to push you. Only to see what happens when you move freely."
"Great," Florence said. "Science with plausible deniability. My favorite genre."
They brought her into the test chamber — a room of white and silver geometry, curved walls alive with light. The air carried the faint tang of energy fields and ionized air.
Florence stepped onto the platform, squinting at the holographic grid under her feet. "You people always build rooms that look like judgment."
Tesla grinned. "We try to impress."
Einstein nodded toward the sensors. "Just focus on breathing. No objectives, no threats — only movement. Let your instincts guide the acceleration."
Florence gave a mock salute. "Copy that, Mother Superior."
She closed her eyes.
Something inside her shifted — not a spark, but a hum rising through bone. Her breath deepened; her heartbeat sharpened. The world slowed around her, or maybe she was simply faster.
Her body responded before she could think — each step a fluid translation of thought into motion. The holographic drones flickered into being, testing her reaction speed. She danced between them like light navigating glass, precise and unpredictable, every motion a contradiction: clinical and wild, beautiful and terrifying.
Tesla muttered, "She's moving at five times baseline human velocity… and she's not even winded."
Einstein's tone was hushed. "Her neurological loops are keeping pace. No dissonance, no instability. Remarkable."
Florence stopped at the center, exhaling softly. "You should see me when I'm showing off."
Then Einstein's voice: "Let's try your Stigma response."
The request made her pause. She looked down at her hands, uncertain. "That's… new territory."
"Only if you want to," Einstein said. "We can stop here."
Florence hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Let's see what the miracle does."
She spread her fingers, focusing on the pulse beneath her collarbone. The sigil of the Schariac family flared faintly — gold threads spiraling outward, winding down her arm.
The chamber brightened.
Not fire. Not power. Presence.
Holy Blood shimmered like liquid sunlight, flowing just above her skin. The drones' sensors overloaded, light refracting through her aura until the room itself seemed to breathe with her.
Tesla took a half step forward, whispering, "That's not weapon energy… that's healing frequency."
Florence smiled faintly, but then — a flicker.
Glass breaking, screams — the scent of sterilizers and burning metal flooded her memory. The pods. The others.
Her control cracked. The light stuttered, wild and unstable. Drones convulsed, collapsing in showers of sparks.
"Florence!" Einstein's voice cut through the rising noise. "Breathe. You're safe. You're not there anymore."
Her breath caught, trembling, then steadied. The glow softened, retreating under her skin until only the faint pulse at her throat remained.
Tesla's hands hovered over the emergency cutoff. "Well… you didn't explode. That's a win."
Florence let out a shaky laugh. "I'll try to disappoint you next time."
Einstein approached slowly. "You brought it back under control yourself. That matters more than the outburst."
Florence stared at her hands. "I used to think light meant purity. Now it just feels heavy."
"Then we'll help you carry it," Einstein said.
By afternoon, they cleared her to move freely within the facility.
The corridors stretched like arteries — metal and light threading into endless halls. Engineers walked past with tools and datapads, some glancing at her like she was a myth caught breathing.
Florence didn't mind. She'd learned long ago that staring was safer than screaming.
A young technician almost dropped a crate of parts as she passed. Florence caught it effortlessly, one hand, without breaking stride.
"Careful," she said lightly. "Gravity's contagious."
The man stammered, "S-sorry! I—thank you, ma'am."
"Ma'am?" she repeated, smirking. "Careful with titles. Makes me sound responsible."
He flushed and hurried away.
Tesla watched from across the corridor, half amused. "You terrify them by existing, and then charm them into forgiveness."
Florence shrugged. "Old habit. Keeps me mysterious."
Einstein joined them, calm as ever. "You're adapting well."
Florence tilted her head. "To the staring? Or the existential whiplash?"
"Both," Einstein said simply.
That made Florence laugh — the first real one they'd heard from her.
She ended the day in the observation lounge, looking out through reinforced glass toward the cracked horizon of the Salt Flats. The evening sun filtered down in ribbons of orange and silver, casting her reflection in pale gold.
Einstein and Tesla stood nearby, discussing readings in low voices.
Florence touched the window. "The world's quieter here."
Tesla nodded. "Anti-Entropy doesn't do temples or monuments. Just people who decided breaking things wasn't the only way to win."
"Strange philosophy for scientists," Florence said.
Einstein looked at her. "On the contrary. Science begins with mercy — the desire to understand instead of destroy."
Florence smiled softly. "Guess I'm still catching up."
Einstein's tone was kind. "You're learning."
"And what if I break again?"
"Then we'll fix you," Tesla said simply. "That's what we do."
Night fell slowly over the desert. Florence lingered by the glass long after the others left, the faint hum of the base wrapping around her like a heartbeat.
She watched the lights of Anti-Entropy flicker below — tiny, stubborn stars in a world that had tried to burn itself out.
"Still human," she whispered to her reflection. "Even if it's a work in progress."
The gold beneath her skin answered, a quiet pulse of agreement.
And for the first time since Babylon Labs, Florence didn't feel like someone else's experiment —she felt alive.