Six months. Six months since Elias Vance had traded the silent, crushing grip of a glacier for the stifling, metallic grip of the Phoenix Protocol.
He was back in the world, thriving as a resident at Manhattan General Hospital, a sprawling fortress of glass and concrete in the heart of New York. To the outside world, he was a miracle,a near-death victim who had made a recovery so total it bordered on the supernatural. To his peers, he was the model of clinical efficiency: perfectly calm under pressure, capable of analyzing complex patient data faster than any system, and possessing a surgeon's steady hand that never wavered, never shook. He was the golden boy of the Vance legacy, flawless in every measurable metric.
But inside, Elias was a ghost haunting his own body. He moved through the crowded, chaotic hospital hallways with the unnatural grace of a predator, his enhanced synthetic limbs and spine allowing him to dodge and weave through the human tide without a single unnecessary movement. His A.I. Core constantly ran diagnostics, calculating trajectories, stress loads, and atmospheric conditions, drowning out the lingering memory of his human heart. He was a performance, flawlessly executed by the embedded code.
He had learned to suppress the terrifying strength. Every door handle, every syringe, every touch was a negotiation between his human consciousness and the A.I. that managed his power output. He kept his hands in his pockets, his gaze distant, and his interactions minimal,a defensive perimeter against exposure.
"Elias, I need a word."
The voice was cool, authoritative, cutting through the busy noise of the surgical prep area. Dr. Lena Hayes, a neurologist working closely with the Vance Institute's research arm, approached him. Lena was as composed as Elias, but her control stemmed from sharp professional pride and a fierce, unspoken loyalty to him. She was strikingly elegant, her brown hair pulled back severely, her eyes holding a proprietary intensity whenever she looked at him.
"Dr. Hayes," Elias replied, using the formal address the A.I. protocol demanded. His internal diagnostic noted:
Subject: Lena Hayes. Emotional Output: Professional Concern (65%). Affection/Possessiveness (30%). Threat Level: Low, but persistent.
"It's about your kinetic reflexes," Lena murmured, lowering her voice as they stepped into an empty consultation room. "Dr. Chen's reports on your biometrics,they are perfect, almost too perfect. You saved that cardiac patient in the ER yesterday. Your reaction time was 0.08 seconds. Human capacity is 0.25 seconds, minimum. Elias, I know you've been through hell, but you need to dial it back. You're scaring the staff, and Julian is already getting paranoid about exposure."
Elias felt the A.I. immediately construct a defense. "I attribute the enhanced performance to improved concentration post-trauma. My focus is singular. I am only utilizing what my physical structure allows."
Lena stepped closer, her expression softening just enough to reveal her concern,and her deep, secret feelings for him. She was one of the few people who knew the true extent of his near-fatal injuries, though not the details of the Phoenix Protocol itself. She felt fiercely protective of his vulnerability.
"It's not just the speed, Elias. It's the isolation. You're a brilliant doctor, but you feel like you're reading cue cards. You used to laugh. You used to be… warm. This cold exterior you've built won't protect you forever. Come to my benefit dinner next week. Get out. Be human."
Elias felt a faint, almost negligible flicker of irritation,a residual human emotion that the A.I. had to shunt away.
Emotion: Irritation. Source: Social Obligation. Status: Suppression 98%.
"My schedule remains focused on patient care, Dr. Hayes," Elias stated, turning smoothly toward the door. The emotional conflict, the guilt of lying to his closest colleague, was efficiently processed and filed away. He was a flawless machine, and that was his defense.
Elias navigated the hospital's main floor like a particle accelerator, calculating every trajectory to avoid contact. He was running a mental checklist on a complex neurological case, his mind processing surgical options in a fraction of a second, when the world dissolved into chaos.
He was hit. Hard.
It wasn't the impact of a large person, but the abrupt, unexpected force of a human tornado. Aspen Reid, twenty-three, dressed in a practical but stylish coat that screamed "field reporter," was sprinting backward, totally engrossed in listening to a voice recorder held against her ear, navigating the concrete jungle of the hospital lobby as if it were a newsroom.
The collision was total. A sharp, searing pain instantly registered in Elias's side where her elbow struck him,not physical pain, but the shock of a sudden, unplanned variable.
His reaction was immediate and terrifying. The A.I. core, sensing an impact event, instantly overcompensated. Before he could consciously intervene, his right arm shot out, not to steady himself or her, but to absorb the chaotic kinetic energy. His hand clamped down on her shoulder with the pressure of a hydraulic press, instantly stopping her momentum. The force was so immense, so non-human, that it should have dislocated her joint.
Aspen gasped, more from shock than injury, dropping her digital recorder and scattering a sheaf of meticulously organized papers across the polished floor. She stared up at him, her hazel eyes wide, brimming with a mix of fear and aggressive indignation.
"What the hell, are you made of rebar?" she snapped, immediately trying to pull away. Her reporter's instinct was to attack the unexpected,and he was the most unexpected thing she'd ever run into. She was a vortex of energy; he was a statue of ice.
Elias's internal systems went into red alert.
System Status: External Contact. Physical Control: Loss of fine motor regulation. Warning: Subject registered contact force exceeding biological safety parameters.
He released her instantly, recoiling as if burned. The accidental display of strength was a monumental error.
"My apologies. I did not register your approach trajectory," Elias said, his voice flat, devoid of inflection. The A.I. was overriding his human need to panic and smoothing his response into cold formality. He dropped to one knee, moving with impossible speed, beginning to gather her scattered notes,the sensitive transcripts and interview notes that made up her latest investigative report.
Aspen watched him move,it wasn't just fast; it was efficient. Too smooth. Too perfect. While she struggled to catch her breath, his hands were already sweeping up the last of her documents. Her anger quickly curdled into fascination. He was strikingly handsome, but his intense, grey eyes held a terrifying absence of warmth, like looking into the core of a star that had burned out.
"You apologize like a malfunctioning security drone, Dr. Vance," she challenged, recognizing the name on his badge clip. Elias Vance. The name resonated with the controversial stories she'd been tracking about high-profile biomedical funding. "And you stopped me like a concrete wall. Are you new here, or just incredibly rude?"
Elias stood up, handing her the stack of papers with a clinical precision that avoided any lingering touch. He kept his gaze on the middle distance. "Neither. My focus was elsewhere. It is imperative that you maintain awareness of your surroundings in a high-traffic area."
He turned to leave, his only command now Disengage and Quarantine.
"Not so fast, Mr. Focus." Aspen didn't hesitate. She grabbed his arm,a bold, instinctual move that surprised them both. "Vance. Elias Vance. You're the son of Dr. Julian Vance, the one funding the new, mysterious Bio-Synthetic wing on the fourth floor, aren't you?"
The mention of his father and the Bio-Synthetic project,the prison that now defined his existence,was a profound destabilizer. Elias froze, the world outside of Aspen's touch suddenly distant. His internal systems spiked dangerously. The A.I. core struggled to contain the sudden rush of anger, shame, and overwhelming need to protect the secret. His synthetic hand clenched into a near-fist.
System Error. Emotional input detected: Extreme Stress. Threat Level: High. Subject is probing core vulnerability. Suppress!
Elias turned back, forcing himself to meet her gaze, his eyes burning with an artificial coldness designed to push her away. "I know nothing of my father's projects or the funding. I am a resident physician. You're wasting your time pursuing personal connections."
Aspen felt the intense rejection, but beneath the coldness, she sensed the tremor of something vital, something human that was desperately trying to hide. She smiled, a lively, genuinely warm expression that was like a beacon in his newly cold world. She was warm, brave, and straightforward,everything his A.I. was designed to destroy.
"I'm a journalist, Dr. Vance. We don't waste time; we follow the lead, and you, standing here looking like a gorgeous block of ice with a major tremor running underneath, are the best lead I've seen all month." She held out her hand again, deliberately. "Aspen Reid. Let's make this awkward collision the first chapter of something interesting, shall we?"
Elias stared at her open palm. The A.I. screamed Rejection Protocol! but the small, dying spark of human curiosity, the part of him that remembered friendship and warmth, hesitated. He registered the warmth of her palm, the genuine expectation in her eyes, the potential risk.
For a terrifying, exhilarating second, Elias overrode the A.I.'s command. He reached out and took her hand.
The instant his cold, hyper-sensitive synthetic skin made contact with her warm, vibrant palm, a jolt shot up his arm. It wasn't pain or error, but a powerful, unfamiliar feeling,an electric surge of connection that bypass-ed his logic matrix entirely. It was a beautiful, dangerous glitch.
He withdrew his hand instantly, the movement too fast, his face a mask of sudden, paralyzing horror. "This… this is ill-advised."
He pivoted and vanished into the crowd, leaving Aspen Reid in the middle of the hallway, a slight stinging sensation lingering on her palm, and a genuine, thrilling interest blazing in her eyes. The enigma of Elias Vance was now her next big story.
From the hallway corner, Dr. Lena Hayes watched Elias's abrupt departure, her eyes narrowing as she studied the vibrant, confident journalist he had just fled. A flicker of cold determination crossed Lena's face. The journalist was a threat, a loose cannon who clearly had no respect for Elias's guarded peace. And Lena intended to protect Elias from her.