"Innovation often begins with someone asking, 'What if the rules were optional?'"
The hum of the lab had become a kind of music.Turbines whispered beneath the floor. The lights pulsed in slow rhythm.In the weeks since her arrival, Florence had made this place her cathedral — of logic, of blood, of impossible hope.
Tesla lounged on a stool beside the centrifuge, legs crossed, mug of coffee balanced precariously in one hand. "You've been staring at that projection for fifteen minutes. Either it's flirting with you, or you're about to reinvent physics again."
Florence didn't look up. "It's definitely the second one. The projection's playing hard to get."
Einstein glanced over her shoulder. "What are you seeing?"
Florence turned the holographic model with a flick of her wrist. It showed her blood sample from the previous experiment — shimmering threads of gold laced with faint blue Imaginary readings."Every time I expose it to stress fields, it adapts instead of collapsing," she said. "But not like a cell — more like… an echo of intention. It remembers motion."
Einstein's brow furrowed. "Intention?"
Florence nodded, eyes bright with the kind of excitement that made Tesla nervous. "It's not reacting to energy; it's responding to neural pattern signatures. Watch."
She reached for the control node. The sensors flickered — gold light curling upward like smoke, forming a delicate shape that hung in midair. It wasn't solid, but it wasn't light either.
Tesla blinked. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."
Florence smiled. "If you're thinking constructive neural resonance field stabilized by conscious feedback, then yes."
Einstein whispered, "You're manipulating an Imaginary field directly."
"Not exactly manipulating," Florence said. "More like… convincing it to behave."
She extended her hand toward the light. The field followed, shifting in response to her motion — like a pet bird unsure whether to land.Her pulse echoed through it, visible as ripples of gold and pale blue.
Tesla set her mug down before it could spill. "Okay, miracle girl. Explain before we explode."
Florence's tone was half lecture, half mischief. "I think my MANTIS augmentations didn't just amplify reflexes. They enhanced my neural projection network. My thoughts — my intent — create micro-gravitational harmonics in the Imaginary substrate. Basically…"
She waved her fingers. The field flared, coalescing into a faint outline of floating panels that shimmered like glass."…I can make things move when I think hard enough."
Einstein stepped closer, her expression caught between awe and analysis. "You're generating constructs. Self-sustaining projections of condensed energy — stable, responsive, bound by your neural signal."
Florence beamed. "Neural Construct Projection System. Sounds fancy, right?"
Tesla groaned. "Sounds dangerous. Please tell me these don't explode when you sneeze."
Florence laughed. "Only if I'm excited."
Einstein's lips twitched. "Then perhaps we'll limit field tests to days without caffeine."
They observed in silence as Florence experimented — each movement more refined than the last. The constructs grew denser, sharper, forming a cluster of symmetrical shards orbiting around her like cautious satellites.
"Feels weird," she murmured. "Like flexing a muscle that shouldn't exist."
"Any pain?" Einstein asked.
"No. Just a lot of background noise in my head. Like radio static, but friendlier."
Tesla squinted at the readings. "Neural load's within safe limits. You're bending Imaginary-space harmonics like it's finger paint. If Otto could see this—"
"He'd try to weaponize it," Florence interrupted. "So let's not tell him."
She lifted her hand again. The constructs followed, rearranging into a protective arc around her body. When she exhaled, they hovered in formation — calm, steady, beautiful.
Einstein's tone softened. "They're responding to emotional cues as well as thought."
Florence nodded. "They like confidence."
Tesla raised a brow. "So do I, but I don't glow when someone compliments me."
Florence grinned. "Give it time."
Einstein couldn't hide her curiosity. "Do you think you can maintain them at range?"
Florence hesitated, then extended her arm toward the far wall. The constructs drifted outward — slow at first, then steadier, maintaining coherence even as distance grew.When they reached the limit, one of them shimmered, then dissolved harmlessly.
"Range is short," she said. "But stability's perfect. They fade when I stop focusing."
Einstein nodded thoughtfully. "That's expected. Your mind anchors them. Without you, they cease to exist."
"Good," Florence said softly. "Means no one else can use them."
When the session ended, Florence sank into a chair, breathing evenly but flushed with exhilaration.Tesla handed her a towel. "So, telekinesis by way of Imaginary physics. How do you feel?"
Florence smiled faintly. "Like my brain grew wings."
Einstein folded her arms, looking at the faint light still curling around Florence's fingers. "We'll need to monitor your neural strain. Overuse could cause hallucinations or dissociation."
"Relax," Florence said, still gazing at her hand. "I know where I end and the world begins."
Tesla snorted. "For now."
Later that evening, the three of them stood by the observation glass. The prototypes — faint golden constructs — floated quietly inside the containment field, spinning in lazy orbits like fragments of light caught in a dream.
"They're beautiful," Einstein said softly.
"Dangerous," Tesla corrected.
"Useful," Florence added.
Einstein turned to her. "What will you call them?"
Florence tilted her head, thinking. "They look like wings when they move. Maybe… Seraphim Constructs."
Tesla chuckled. "Of course you'd pick something poetic."
"I like poetry," Florence said. "It's science that remembers how to feel."
Einstein smiled faintly. "Then perhaps it suits you perfectly."
That night, when the lab lights dimmed, Florence lingered by the observation chamber. The constructs pulsed faintly in response to her presence, drifting closer to the glass as if recognizing her.
She raised her hand, and they mirrored the motion.
"Not bad," she whispered. "Maybe the world finally gave me hands that don't break everything they touch."
The constructs brightened once, soft and warm, before fading back into stillness.
And in that quiet glow, Florence Schariac-Kaslana — scientist, MANTIS, miracle — smiled like someone who had finally built her own wings.