Noah Langford - June 2114
The clock hit 04:00 p.m., and still no Kai. Where could he be? He usually meets me at school since he gets out before me. And if he can't, he would at least send a message first. Unless… he forgot and went straight to training.
I unlock my phone and type a message:
Where are you?
Time passes. No reply. No Kai. Fine. I'll walk home myself today. I just hope he isn't late for dinner with Grandfather. I hate seeing him get shouted at or worse…
I'm about to leave when a tap on my shoulder startles me. I turn around and see Finn, smirking. I never quite understand what always makes him so happy. Maybe he wants me to make another "gun" for him. The last one I made as a birthday gift, he said, was "the greatest gift he'd ever received." It was just a simple toy gun I modified and infused with a small amount of gunpowder to give it a stronger kick. Nothing remarkable.
"Why are you still here?" he asks, calm, amused.
"Kai hasn't shown up yet, and he hasn't messaged. I was about to head home," I reply, measured.
"Let's walk together then," he says, smiling, a glint in his eye. I can't tell if he's up to something.
"Okay," I say. "I see no issue with that. We live the same way anyway."
Finn falls into step beside me, hands in his pockets. He talks quietly about school, small jokes, a project he's been working on, nothing frantic, nothing exaggerated. I can follow him easily; his tone is steady, predictable. I don't have to work overtime parsing chaotic social signals. Probability suggests he is harmless, stable, a reliable companion for this walk.
My thoughts, however, keep drifting back to Kai. He should have been at school when I finished. I calculate possible routes he might have taken, all of which should have gotten him here on time. Did he forget? Did something hold him up? Each possibility carries a risk, some small, some not.
I glance down the street. Still no Kai. The probability that he's simply delayed by schoolwork is high. But there's a margin of error I don't like. My stomach tightens. Kai doesn't deal well with Father's temper. If he's late for dinner, it will be… unpleasant.
"You're quiet," Finn says.
"I'm thinking," I reply automatically. Thinking is safe. Thinking doesn't get you shouted at. Thinking doesn't make anyone angry.
"About what?"
"About Kai. He hasn't arrived yet. There's a small probability he's already on the route home or to the studio to train, but there's also the possibility he deviated. I'm assessing risk."
Finn stops mid-step, looking at me. "Risk? You mean… like he could be in danger?"
"Yes. There is a possibility. But with his strength and quick thinking, I'm confident it's nothing to worry about."
Finn smiles faintly. "Ah… okay." He falls silent. I feel him observing me, trying to process the logic. Most people don't think in probabilities the way I do; social cues are variables they handle intuitively.
We continue walking. I scan every intersection, every shadowed doorway, every alley Kai might have taken. My attention to detail is exhausting but necessary. Finn keeps talking occasionally, and I respond with short, calculated phrases.
Near the end of my street, Finn stops suddenly, and I almost stumble forward. He catches me easily, steadying me with one hand. His grip is firm but effortless, precise.
"Why the sudden stop?" I ask, adjusting my balance.
"Look, Noah," Finn says, calm and measured, "I know you're worried about Kai. But he's a strong lad. He might have just gotten caught up with something at school, flirting with the girls in his class, checking on a project, or even decided to go to the shop with his friends for a few minutes."
Caught up with friends… plausible. Flirting with girls? Highly unlikely. Finn notices the tension in my posture and tilts his head slightly. "He's fine. Kai's always capable of looking after himself. You're thinking worst-case scenarios that aren't necessary. Trust me, he knows what he's doing. He'll show up."
I analyse his microexpressions, the steady tone, the subtle confidence in his posture. Statistically, Finn's assessment is reasonable. Probability of harm is low. I feel the knot in my stomach loosen. Finn has a way of simplifying things, breaking down possibilities logically without panic, something I rarely get from anyone else.
"Okay," I say, allowing my shoulders to relax fractionally. "I suppose the odds are in his favour."
Finn smiles, small and reassuring. "Exactly. Give him time. He's smart, careful, and knows how important tonight is. He won't be late. Trust him."
I take a measured breath, letting his words sink in. My mind recalculates probabilities. Kai is likely fine, just delayed. The tension eases just enough for me to focus on walking. Finn falls into step beside me again, quiet, steady, a companion who doesn't demand analysis, someone I can rest my mind with.
Finally, a small figure appears behind us. Kai, running like he's late for something important, then slows as he reaches us. His head is down, shoulders hunched, clearly tired. Relief floods me, almost physical, and I relax fractionally. He looks up, grinning faintly, huffing for breath.
"Everything okay?" I ask softly, voice calm, controlled, eyes scanning him for injury or distress.
"Yeah… just…" His words trail off. I don't push. No need. The situation has resolved itself.
"See, told you he was fine," Finn says, ruffling my hair. "Anyway, I better be off. See you later." He jogs ahead, waving, leaving Kai and me alone.
"Sorry I was late," Kai manages, catching his breath.
"Don't worry. Why were you late?" I ask.
"I'll tell you later," he responds, as we approach home.
When we arrive, Father is at the door, eyes sharp. "Welcome home, Noah," he says, studying me. "I assume school was… productive."
I nod. Words have weight here. I've learned when to speak, when to act, when to remain calm under scrutiny.
"And Kai," Father turns his attention to my brother. Panic twists my stomach. It is unlike Father to address Kai directly.
Kai freezes, one shoe half off, caught mid-motion. "Y-yes, Father?"
"You didn't walk your brother home."
"I tried, I…"
"I don't want excuses. Go to your room. We will talk about this later."
He obeys. Always obeys. I want to go to him, to tell him it isn't his fault. But I stay still. I know any interference from me will only make things worse.
Father turns to me. "Are you ready to impress your grandfather tonight?"
"Yes, Father." My voice is steady. Calm. If I falter, Kai could suffer. I've learned the pattern: keep moving, keep thinking, keep control, and maybe, just maybe, my brother will remain unharmed.
"Good. Remember what this dinner means. Your grandfather's trust is the key to everything. GenX, Lunex, our work depends on him understanding that we're the ones who'll carry humanity forward."
I nod. "I understand."
"Go get ready."
I leave, but my mind doesn't. Kai lingers in my thoughts. I hope he isn't anxious. I hope he knows I'll support him in ways Father cannot see.
_____________________
Dinner passes in tense precision. Grandfather arrives on time. Father's presence is like static electricity, every word calculated. I contribute only when necessary, every phrase measured. Kai sits at the far end of the table, silent, small, almost invisible.
When conversation turns to Lunex, I see an opportunity for Kai. "What do you think?" I ask.
Kai blinks. "Me?"
"Yes. You've been listening. What do you think about ways to optimise Lunex?"
All eyes shift. Father's gaze narrows. Grandfather furrows his brow. Kai hesitates. My pulse quickens. Please, just say something.
"Why… why does the Lunex have such a high death rate?"
A very interesting question. I jump in immediately. "Because of genetic complexity. The modification process increases variability. However, if I am able to collaborate with other GenX scientists, we can stabilise outcomes and improve survival probability."
Father forces a controlled laugh. "Exactly. No immediate concern. Improvements are underway, and with Noah's input, the process can advance efficiently."
Kai says nothing further. Relief and guilt wash over me. I fear I failed him by putting him in this position.
My father keeps the conversation going with Grandfather, no longer seeking my input. Perhaps he's wary I might draw Kai back into the discussion, disrupt the flow, or expose some weakness. Either way, he has claimed control, leaving me to observe in silence.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch the servants, sly glances, half-hidden smiles. They do their best to be invisible, to perform the proprieties my father demands, but the contempt leaks through in the way they look at Kai. I see the whispering, the tiny conspiracies forming behind polite masks: He's embarrassing compared to Master Noah. Pathetic.
They polish their manners for my grandfather and my father, but their true faces show when they think no one of consequence is watching. I've observed this for years; people reveal their baseline behavior when the hierarchy is clear.
They treat Kai the way one treats a piece of old furniture, tolerated, dusted, never consulted. And when the maid removes his dessert without asking, it is not an accident. It is a demonstration of position, a small, sanctioned humiliation.
Kai barely reacts. He picks at the now empty space as if this is normal. That passivity is what makes my teeth itch.
I can model their behavior in tidy variables:
Cause - social status,
Effect -Servant insolence
Mitigation - visible authority
But authority in this household is unevenly distributed, invested primarily in displays and bloodlines, not in merit. The system is noisy and inefficient.
It stings in a way that's hard to admit. I feel my temperature rise, not with the childish heat of anger but with a slow, measured irritation. These people assume their place because no one has ever made challenge them enough to change it.
Their intelligence is superficial; their reflexes are social, not analytical. They respond to cues and rewards, not principles. When they insult Kai, they are not merely rude, they are reinforcing a structural error in the family's social algorithm.
I think about GenX, about leverage. Technology is the lever I have been calibrating my life around. If I gain access, if I secure that internship, the equations shift. I will use my merit to outweigh lineage in a way this house does not yet understand. I can correct the imbalance. I can create consequences that are systematic, unambiguous, and irreversible. The thought tastes like metal in my mouth.
Even as that calculus forms, a darker awareness intrudes. I catch the shape of my thinking and it surprises me. I have entertained, briefly, the notion that those who refuse to learn, those who persist in petty cruelty because our hierarchy permits them, are expendable variables.
The idea seems wrong, yet it is curious how quickly the mind will propose brutal efficiencies when frustrated.
I rein myself in. Of course I do. My ethics are not a matter of impulse. If I am to change the system, I will do it by planning, by persuasion, by leverage, not by abuse of power.
Still, the admission sits there, honest and cold: the monster everyone fears is not necessarily the one who bites. Some monsters are tidy and patient; they wait until the system can be rewritten in their own image.
I must never speak of these thoughts. If I did, they would probably say Kai put them in my head. They would prefer the simple story, the boy who corrupted me, because it absolves them of thinking the worst of me.
_________________________
After dinner, Father calls us to the office. I follow, side by side with Kai, chest tight. Father's next words cut into the silence.
"You undermined me in front of your grandfather. Do you understand how fragile his approval is? Years of work could have been jeopardised by a child's stupid question."
Kai's lips part, no sound comes. I suppress a wince. I cannot intervene.
Father looks at me. "And you… handled it well. You saved us both from further humiliation. I'm proud of you."
I nod, keeping my expression neutral, the familiar coil of shame tightening in my chest. Father dismisses me, and I step back, my gaze flicking to Kai.
I position myself by the stairs, flinching slightly at the dull, repetitive thuds, flesh meeting force again and again. My eyes narrow as Kai rounds the corner, emerging suddenly from the dim light, oblivious to my scrutiny.
He pauses, hands behind his back, hiding what Father did.
"You shouldn't be here," he says, eyes dull, resisting tears, smile gone.
"I'm sorry, Kai. I didn't mean for this to happen," I choke out.
He shakes his head slightly. "Don't be silly, Noah. It wasn't your fault. I know you were just trying to get me involved." His gentle response breaks something inside me.
Kai drags himself toward the stairs, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the floor. "I'm going to bed," he mutters, voice quiet, almost broken.
I pause for a moment, calculating the safest way to follow him. I know Father will expect me to remain composed, not interfere, but… I can't leave him alone. Not yet.
"I'll come with you," I say, careful not to sound commanding. Just a statement of fact.
He glances at me briefly, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, then nods, turning back to the stairs. I follow, silent, keeping a steady pace behind him. Every step is measured, making sure not to crowd him, not to trigger any defensive reaction.
When we reach his room, he closes the door after me slowly, the soft click echoing too loudly in the quiet house. He leans against the door for a moment, breathing heavily, as if the simple act of standing upright takes all his remaining strength. I notice the tension in his jaw, the faint redness of his hands. My mind processes everything. The punishment, Father's anger, the dinner, the high stakes of every action tonight.
"Are… are you okay?" I ask finally, my voice low. Careful. I don't want to startle him.
He shakes his head slightly. "I'll… I'm fine," he says, but I can hear the unspoken truth in the hesitation. My chest tightens.
I step closer, maintaining just enough distance to let him feel safe. "It's not your fault," I tell him.
"You asked a good question. You were right to think about Lunex the way you did. I… I just wish Father could see it that way."
Kai lets out a quiet sigh and sinks onto his bed.
His room is far smaller than mine, sparse and functional, containing only the essentials. Moonlight filters through the small window, casting a pale glow across the modest space.
I move to the edge of his desk, keeping my voice low and calm, like a steadying variable in an unpredictable system. "I'll help. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
He looks at me then, eyes softening, a faint spark of trust returning. "This isn't your fight Noah. Don't forget I've been training for years"
"Yes I know that," I say, carefully choosing my words. "But I'll find a way to help. We'll plan. We'll calculate. And next time, it won't be like tonight."
He lets out a huff slowly, finally letting himself relax a fraction. I notice the tremor in his hands, the way he still clutches the edge of the bed, but it's less rigid than before.
Silence stretches on, heavy and uncomfortable, until a memory from earlier flickers in my mind.
"You said you were going to tell me why you were late today," I say.
He hesitates, a shadow crossing his face. "Don't worry about it," he finally mutters.
I'm about to press further when he cuts me off.
"I'm going to sleep now," he murmurs, pulling the covers up over his head.
"Okay," I reply. "Rest. You need it."
I pause in the doorway, watching him settle. The house is silent except for the faint hum of the filtration units downstairs. I allow myself a breath, just one, before turning to leave.
But even as I step into the hall, my mind is already running calculations. Variables, probabilities, contingencies. Protecting Kai is now my primary objective, and I will not fail. Not again.