WebNovels

Chapter 9 - Chapter 8: Code Black.

Joseph Langford - July 2114 

The city's hum filters faintly through the glass, an indistinct drone of movement and chatter. White noise. Predictable. Inefficient. It exists without purpose, without precision. I focus instead on the singular point of value in the room: Noah.

He stands before the board, posture straight, gaze forward, tone even. Sixteen years old, yet already operating with the composure of someone twice his age. Noah speaks with precision, each word deliberate, calculated. His tone remains steady, free of hesitation, his arguments structured like a well-balanced equation.

He presents the model clearly, refinements to the Lunex vial that could significantly reduce fatality rates. The proposal for an antiserum to counteract unregulated counterfeits. He cites control variables, presents quantifiable outcomes, supports every claim with clinical data. No wasted words. No emotional inflection. Perfect.

The board members nod along, feigning comprehension. Their understanding doesn't extend beyond the implications for market control and revenue growth. Their intellect is shallow, reactive. A system that consumes without creating. They believe they hold power because they hold capital. Fools. True power lies in innovation. In control of what defines humanity's next phase.

I can almost predict the trajectory from here… each response, each shift in expression, each attempt to conceal greed beneath polite applause. Noah finishes, and they rise, surrounding him like orbiting satellites, drawn to the gravity of his potential.

A brief flicker of possessive pride pulses in me, it's not sentimental, but statistical. He is the optimal product of my design. The continuation of intellect beyond the limitations of one lifespan. Through him, my work will not only persist but evolve.

Mr. Carter steps forward, expression rehearsed. "I think we can all agree, Noah Langford, your intelligence and vision are precisely what GenX needs for its future."

Noah shakes his hand, calm and professional. Controlled variables, controlled tone. As expected.

"Welcome the team"

Polite applause. Predictable outcome.

I watch from the periphery, my mind already moving to the next calculation.

Phase one: complete.

____________________________ 

As we depart the GenX building, I observe Noah, attentive yet distracted, phone pressed to his ear, awaiting nothing. Predictable interference. Kai. A variable I had hoped to neutralise. Distraction at this stage is a risk, and risk must be minimised.

"Come, Noah. Let's proceed home."

The vehicle carries us through the streets, and my attention sharpens. Noah's gaze shifts down the road. There, Kai, rounding the corner alongside that boy, Finn.

Finn's greeting is controlled, precise. Discipline ingrained. His father, a sergeant in the Royal Marines, has trained him well. A model of predictability, order, and restraint. I make a note of the genetic and environmental factors at play. Variables worth respecting.

And then there's Kai. His expression guarded, body marked with bruises, a narrow bandage beneath his eye. Evidence of recent conflict. Inefficient. Primitive. Their Uncles reckless influence is apparent in every sloppy decision, every impulsive action. Such unpredictable behaviour is intolerable in a controlled system.

Most of the social interaction is noise, irrelevant data. Until Finn injects a variable worth noting.

"Kai just won his tournament," he remarks, a faint pride detectable in his expression.

A tournament. Physical dominance paraded as accomplishment. Primitive metrics. Contrast with Noah's performance, a flawless presentation, methodical reasoning, evidence-based projections. A synthesis of intelligence, discipline, and foresight. This is genuine achievement.

I will ensure that Kai's chaos does not overshadow the data of true merit. The solution is clear: a formal dinner to publicly validate Noah's work, a controlled environment in which hierarchy, intellect, and achievement are unequivocally recognised.

I give Kai a silent warning. Do not meddle with critical variables.

My focus shifts forward. Preparations must commence. Time, method, and outcome are all measurable. Control is imperative.

______________________________

I sit in my office, finalising the arrangements for tonight's dinner. Precision is essential. Every detail must be exact.

A knock interrupts my focus. "Enter," I command.

A woman of small stature steps in, the housemaid.

"Apologies, Dr. Langford. It seems Master Kai has elected not to attend tonight's dinner," she reports.

I pause, processing.

"What do you mean?" I ask, voice measured.

"He has left the house, even after I informed him of tonights event."

Anger simmers beneath my composure. The insolent child, defying explicit instructions. This dinner is designed not only to elevate Noah but also to reinforce Kai's insignificant position in the household hierarchy. His disobedience disrupts the parameters I established.

I am about to issue a command to retrieve him when my phone vibrates. The screen displays: Dr. Williams.

Curious. He only calls for matters of scientific significance, yet no projects are currently active.

I answer, masking my irritation. "Dr. Williams. What can I help you with?"

"Langford," he says, voice taut, "there is an issue in the lab requiring your immediate attention."

Immediate? That word carries weight.

"Someone is attempting unauthorised access into our systems. Full intervention is required," he continues.

I sit upright, mind racing. A breach? The integrity of my work, years of research could be compromised.

"I will be there immediately," I say, terminating the call.

Keys in hand, I issue a single directive to the staff.

"Cancel all plans for tonight."

The trivialities of Kai's insubordination and Noah's staged recognition are instantly deprioritised. The integrity of the lab, the continuation of my work, supersedes all else. Everything else is variable.

______________________

As I arrive at the lab, chaos ripples through the space. Technicians move frantically, the reflections in the floor-to-ceiling windows doubling the sense of disarray.

"Langford, you're here," Dr. Williams acknowledges.

He is small, slight, older than his appearance suggests, one would expect retirement, yet he refuses to relinquish his life's work. Determined, methodical, and brilliant, he is relentless in pursuit of his objectives. Qualities I respect and value.

"Dr. Williams, brief me," I command, eyes scanning the room for anomalies. We move toward the central holographic display.

He hesitates, his tone measured. "It's… peculiar."

The screen is dominated by a red warning symbol. At its center, a crude image: a face sticking out its tongue, one eye pulled down… a taunt, a provocation.

"What does this signify?" I demand.

"The intruder attempted to penetrate our software with minimal success," he explains, "but they managed to leave a single message."

A calculated act of defiance. Who executed it and why remains unclear. The unknown variables are unacceptable. Potential damage must be assessed.

"Return to your stations," I instruct the team. "No one leaves. Nothing is to proceed until the integrity of our research is fully verified."

Every action, every movement is now a controlled variable. Disorder may exist around us, but within this lab, precision will dictate the outcome.

_________________________

Hours pass. The lab finally quiets, the integrity of our data confirmed. I dismiss the staff, each movement measured, deliberate.

I glance at my watch: 10:45 p.m. Dinner has been abandoned, my body too fatigued, my mind too taxed by the potential compromise of decades of work. The alarm triggered earlier, piercing through the exhausted silence. Guardians mobilised. The shrill sound is designed to unsettle; its effect on the technicians was predictable.

It compromised their attention to detail, forcing me to intervene, reassert control, and restore order to get them back on track…

The drive home is through darkness, the sky an impenetrable black. Sirens wail in the distance, mingling with smoke rising like a dark plume, evidence of chaos.

Murphy. One of the newer Guardians. Overconfident in his nascent abilities, prone to extremes. During his initial induction, he was assigned to the heavily secured training chamber. Even under maximum containment, he nearly incinerated the entire facility. An unstable variable…

As I approach the house, a figure appears in the distance, struggling under the weight of another. At first, I pay little attention. But as I close the distance, something familiar triggers my focus. I exit the car and call out.

"Noah?" I command, voice controlled, analytical.

The figure halts briefly, adjusting the unconscious body on his back to maintain balance. Under the dim streetlight, the face comes into view. Kai. Dirt and blood streak across him; old tear marks trace his cheeks, washed partially away by fresh grime.

"Father… please… I need your help," his voice fractures, strained.

My chest tightens, calculations racing. Who is on his back?

"Noah got hurt," Kai mutters, his composure fractured, cognition slowed.

Not Noah. Not him. I stride forward, extracting Noah from Kai's grasp and cradling him. The boy is barely recognisable. Pale, bloodied, breathing shallow, irregular, yet present. His unique white hair now coloured by blood and dirt. 

"What did you do?" I demand, controlled fury underpinned by the necessity of order.

"I… I'm sorry. I… I couldn't protect him," Kai stammers, tears forming.

Useless. Always useless. My prior decision to allow Owen to train him in combat now seems a miscalculation. I had hoped he could at least defend the variables critical to my son, my investment.

"Enough excuses," I hiss. "What value do you have if you cannot execute the most basic protective functions?"

Something fractures in Kai. He collapses to his knees, trembling, muttering incoherently.

"I tried… I tried… I tried" he repeated while looking at the floor. 

"There was a guy with fire… and another who controlled metal," he murmurs.

I observe him closely, noting the erratic cadence of his speech as he mutters through fragmented recollections, like a deranged child grasping at chaos.

"Uncle Owen… he… he didn't make it," Kai continues, piecing events together. "And then I saw the vial on the floor… and I stabbed it in my thigh."

The Lunex vial. He survived. Him standing here shows the mutation worked and he's stable. A small, satisfied smile forms. Perfect.

But operational priorities remain. Noah is primary. However, Kai's instability must be managed.

I retrieve my phone and input a rapid protocol.

"Yes. Code Black. Immediate assistance required. Dispatch ambulance."

Noah's breathing stabilises slightly. Kai remains volatile, neuromuscular response erratic. I calculate that any sudden stimulus could trigger him. Silence is optimal until reinforcements arrive.

Flashing lights appear. First, a black, unmarked van, as per contingency protocol. Operatives deploy, firearms at the ready, encircling Kai.

"What… what's going on?" he stammers, confused.

"You are to comply and go with them," I instruct.

"No! I need to stay with Noah!" His panic escalates, then suddenly, shadow tendrils lashing outward, striking two operatives. Shadow manipulation. Interesting. 

Kai is about to lash about again when suddenly… Bang. 

A non-lethal projectile strikes, delivering extreme voltage through Kai's system. Immediate neuromuscular shutdown achieved; body collapses inert. 

"Dr. Langford," one operative reports. I wave him off, maintaining composure.

"Secure him in the containment unit. Ensure he does not wake up until my arrival."

They extract the unconscious form, transporting him to the van, doors sealed, then depart.

I turn my attention to Noah. Rapid assessment, minor trauma only. No immediate threat to life. Then the ambulance arrives in perfect timing. Protocol executed flawlessly.

__________________

I stay to make sure Noah is stable. The ambulance takes Noah. I let it go.

For the first time since their births, my attention shifts wholly to the younger of the twins. I move with purpose. With no hesitation, I drive to the containment facility. A grey concrete fortress sited deliberately off-grid, one of GenX's deniable assets. Unknown to public knowledge, whatever transpires inside is ours alone.

My pass scans cleanly. The observation room is dim, lit only by the cool glow of monitors and the soft spill of light from the containment room beyond. In the center, a small figure lies on their back, dressed now in neutral greys, sterile tunic and trousers that read like clinical disposables. The fabric makes every abrasion and bruise more visible, a map of recent trauma.

His chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. The boy is breathing. That, for now, is sufficient.

An assistant approaches with a tablet and plays back the CCTV feed from downtown. The sequence matches Kai's account: him pausing to tie his shoe, Owen sprinting to shield them, then the sudden collapse into chaos. The footage is precise and merciless. Owen's death registers as a single data point… irrelevant to my calculus. 

What follows on screen is the critical event: Kai locating the vial, administering it, and undergoing the acute transition . We hypothesised but never expected to witness outside a controlled environment.

I lean to the microphone. "Kai."

A reflexive stir. He does not open his eyes. I escalate: "Kai Langford!"

The response is immediate. He bolts upright, disoriented, clutching at his head as if to anchor his thoughts. His fingers find the rigid collar at his throat. Panic fractures his composure. He scrambles from the bed and begins scanning the room, frantic, seeking exits and cameras with a hunted animal's eye.

"What's going on?" His voice cracks.

"You are in the containment facility," I answer, measured, neutral.

"Containment? Why?" he demands, agitation escalating into violent banging at the door.

I let the sound register for a moment, then cut it off tidily. "Stop, Kai."

My voice carries through the one‑way glass; he cannot see me, only hear me as authority. He pauses, searching for the source.

"Your genes have now been mutated, and you have awakened a power," I tell him. "We are going to study it. We will need your cooperation."

He pivots instantly. "Where's Noah? I need to see him."

Predictable attachment. Predictable desperation. 

"Noah doesn't want to see you," I say, my tone sharp and controlled. "Owen's dead because of you—and you nearly got Noah killed too."

I take a step closer, voice low but cutting. "You also killed a man. Did you really think they'd just let you walk free after that?"

The denial hits him like a physical blow. He collapses to his knees, guilt read all over his face. 

The overhead lights flicker. Then suddenly, shadows twist and recoil, they surge unexpectedly, converging at the surface of the one‑way mirror as if compelled toward it. The glass shudders under the force. A relentless pounding comes from the other side, sending a web of fine fractures spidering across the viewing pane..

Security reacts. A guard shoulders his weapon and levels it through the glass, training on the impact point, readying for breach.

I do not wait. Protocol demands decisive containment. I lean to the console and drive my fist down on the red control. The collar at Kai's throat flashes green, then delivers a focused high‑voltage discharge. Muscular shutdown is abrupt. His limbs go slack, his hands unclench, the shadowing recedes.

The mirror is cracked. An anomaly. These panes are rated to withstand substantial force; their failure is not part of the model. I make a note to trace the parameters of the event.

Kai lies on the floor. 

He is unstable, powerful, and most importantly, responsive to intervention. He will become a controllable subject, and from him we will extract the data we require: mechanism of action, stabilisation window, vector of shadow modulation. This changes things. My very own test subject to with with as I please. 

I straighten, cold and precise. There is work to be done.

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