Noah Langford - May 2114
I've never understood the appeal of hitting things.
There's no precision in it. No clean logic. Just motion and instinct, both unreliable variables. If you swing too wide, you overextend. Too narrow, and you leave yourself open. There's no formula for perfect defense. No theorem for surviving a punch.
And yet, Kai moves like someone who knows the formula.
I sit just off the mat, perched on an old equipment bench that creaks if I shift too much. The room smeels of musk and the paint's peeling. A stalk contrast to the laboratories I am used to.
I watch from the corner, while pretending to be fully absorbed in my book. He's faster than he was last week. More efficient. Less reactive. Owen's been pushing him harder lately, I can tell by the bruises he tries not to show.
He says he's training for fun. But Kai never trains for fun. He trains like someone preparing for war. I just wish he would but this much effort into his learning.
Finn goes down again. That's the third time this session.
"Noah might be the brains, but you hit like a truck."
Kai helps him up. "That's the idea".
Finn's comment catches me off guard. I raise an eyebrow but don't say anything. I know Kai too well to believe power alone is what makes him strong.
Finn flops onto the floor beside me with an exaggerated groan. "I'm beginning to think your brother has anger issues."
Kai didn't even glance at him, he just flips him off wordlessly and strodes toward the punching bags, like the sparring wasn't nearly enough.
They've gotten closer lately. The kind of close that doesn't need talking. The way they move together, fast, sharp, instinctive, almost like they're learning to read each other without speaking. They laugh like they share some private code, a secret language I'm not part of.
I'm... not sure how I feel about that.
Uncle Owen leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes following Kai's every motion. He watches not like a mentor but almost like a scientist, measuring, analysing, cataloguing every movement. I recognise that look. It's the same one I wear when I'm working through a formula or running an experiment.
Kai lands a clean hit on the punching bag, and the sound reverberates through the room. His stance, his balance, it's almost perfect now. I catch myself feeling a flicker of something like awe.
Sometimes I wonder if I could ever move like that. If I trained hard enough. If I learned to stop thinking so much. But I wasn't built for this kind of thing. I lack the endurance. The aggression.
My strengths lie in observation. In equations. Not fists.
Kai was born second, but it took me years to realise he wasn't following behind me, father wouldn't allow that. Instead, he was carving his own path.
He always seemed happy. People liked him. He could talk to anyone. I used to envy that. He even introduced me to Finn, a friend, another thing he did for me without asking for anything in return.
And now Finn's lying beside me, chest still rising and falling from laughter, hair sticking to his forehead. He turns his head to look at me.
"You've got that look again," he says softly.
"What look?" I ask, even though I already know.
"The one where you're analysing something that doesn't need analysing." His tone is teasing, but gentle.
"I don't analyse," I say, automatically. Then, after a pause, "I observe. There's a difference."
Finn chuckled. "Of course there is. Why don't you give it a try?" He nodded toward the mat, eyes glinting with amusement.
"That lies outside my natural disposition," I replied, careful and precise.
His voice is calm, warm, steady in a way that makes people feel like they can exhale around him. He shifts to sit up, pulling one knee to his chest. "You know, I think you sell yourself short sometimes."
"How so?"
"You always act like you don't belong here," he says, gesturing toward the training area. "Like Kai's the strong one, and you're just... the smart one. But it's not that simple."
I tilt my head. "You're implying a false opposition. Strength and intellect are not mutually exclusive traits."
"Yeah," Finn says, smiling faintly. "If you say so."
For a second, I don't know what to say. He's watching me again, but not the way most people do, not with expectation, or confusion. Just quiet interest. Like he wants to understand me, not evaluate me.
Kai's laughter rings out across the room as Owen corrects his stance. Finn doesn't look away from me.
"You care about him a lot, huh?" he says softly.
"Of course," I answer without hesitation. "He's my brother."
"I know," Finn says. "But the way you look at him... it's not just family pride. You look like you're worried."
I pause, caught off guard again.
Finn has a way of saying things that slip past my defenses.
"I suppose I am," I admit. "He carries more than he should. I can see it, the fatigue in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. He hides it well, but it's there."
Finn's smile fades a little. "You ever tell him that?"
"No," I said quietly. "He wouldn't process it. He ignores input that doesn't align with his immediate objectives, even when it's intended to help him."
Finn laughs softly, though there's no mockery in it. "You really do talk like a scientist sometimes."
"That's... how I process things," I say, and he nods like he already knew.
"Still," he murmurs, "you care. That's the part that matters."
He stands up, brushing dust from his jeans, then offers me a hand. I hesitate for a moment before taking it. His grip is warm, grounding.
"Come on, Professor," he says with a small grin. "Let's go before your brother decides to punch something else."
I roll my eyes, but I can't stop the faint smile tugging at my mouth.
As we walk toward the Kai, I catch Finn glancing at me, quickly, quietly, like he observing me.
"Same time tomorrow?" Finn asks.
Kai nods, all quiet determination. Always steady. Always watching.
Finn turned to me. "You coming?"
I hesitated. I had a project to prepare, a major one. Father is expecting me to present it at the next GeneX board meeting, and I couldn't afford to disappoint him. I'd already spent all of last night helping Kai revise, so I need to catch up.
But something in Finn's eyes makes it hard to say no.
"Maybe," I say.
It's not a promise. But it's not a no either.
He smiles at that. Just a little.
_____________________
Later, I'm lying on my bed, notebook open in front of me in the east wing, the room Father gave me. Bigger. Better view. Every comfort accounted for.
Except comfort itself.
The walls feel too wide. Too white. Too... sterile. I came straight here after Kai's training to catch up on my work. This project has to be perfect to get onto the internship.
GeneX Biotech, the highest-ranking genetic modification company in the country. I'm going to work alongside Father. I have to.
Father always said science was the closest thing to godhood humanity could touch. He said it with that same glint in his eye he gets when he's close to a breakthrough, sharp, cold, electric.
I believe in him.
Well, in his creations of the Lunex Vial.
A strange, luminous orange serum. I've only seen it once, and even then, only because Father allowed it. A creation to change the world. To reduce crime and save the people.
Those who survive the injection don't come back the same. Their DNA rewrites itself, unlocking something new. A mutation. An ability. A power unique to them alone.
GeneX used the serum to forge the Guardians, a team of enhanced humans who purged the streets with their extraordinary gifts. Crime fell. Order returned. For a time, it seemed like the world was finally safe again.
But godhood comes at a cost. I've seen the failures, the test subjects who didn't make it, their bodies convulsing under the weight of change they couldn't survive. I was a child then, hiding behind lab glass, pretending I didn't understand what I was seeing.
But I did. I always did.
I would try to leave, say I was bored, but my father made me stay and watch. Told me that this is what I needed to work hard for.
He told me the Lunex Vial was humanity's salvation. That the world needed control. Order. "We gave them heroes, Noah," he said. "We gave them hope."But that hope only lasted until the counterfeit vials started to appear.
Criminals began using Lunex to give themselves powers. But without regulation or proper testing, the results were chaotic. Destructive. Worse than before.
Now, years later, I'm here to finish what Father started.
My project means everything to me. It's the key, the solution. If I can refine the formula, make it safer, I could reduce the fatality rate. Maybe even perfect the process.
But as I stare at my notebook, I can't help but wonder if I'm chasing the same illusion he did.
Then suddenly, a knock pulls me from my thoughts...
Kai. He doesn't wait for permission. He never does. He walks in barefoot like the room isn't a symbol of the divide between us, caused by our Father.
He tosses a protein bar onto my bed. "You didn't eat at dinner, again."
"I was working," I say, not looking up.
"You always say that."
"Because I'm always working."
He shrugs, leaning against the wall. His knuckles are raw. Bruised. Poorly bandaged, as usual.
"You shouldn't push so hard," he says quietly.
I glance up. "And you shouldn't keep treating your hands like they're disposable."
We're quiet for a moment.
Then I ask, "Why do you train like that?"
Kai looks away. "Because I want to."
He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. No anger. No resentment.
But I know what he's doing. He thinks I don't see it, what he's preparing for. Who he's becoming. I know he thinks I'm weak and clueless about the real world.
That I can't protect myself.
I want to tell him he's wrong. That I see everything. I just don't always know what to do with it.
Instead, I say, "You don't have to protect me, you know."
Kai looks at me, and for the first time since we got home, he smiles.
"I know," he says. "But I will anyway."
He crosses the room and drops onto the bed, right across my stretched out legs. He's heavier than he looks, but I don't complain.
We sit in silence for a while. He doesn't ask about how the project he is going, he knows I'll just get frustrated if I admit I'm not finished. So he says nothing.
Eventually, I lower my notebook and glance over at him. He's picking absently at the scabs along his knuckles, raw, uneven marks from todays sparring session.
The memory flashes back before I can stop it: Kai's fist connecting with Finn's jaw, the crack of impact echoing through the training room. Blood, bright and fast, spilling from Finn's lip. Finn laughing it off, brushing it away like it was nothing. Kai panicking, grabbing his sleeve to wipe the blood, stammering apologies while Finn just grinned.
The image sticks. Too much care for a simple sparring partner.
Before I can think better of it, the words tumble out. "So… are you dating Finn?"
Kai freezes mid-motion.
The look on his face is almost worth the risk, pure disbelief, edged with mild horror, like I just asked if he was secretly part of a cult.
"Ew! No! Why would you even....no!" he stammers, voice pitching higher than usual.
I blink. "That's a very strong reaction. You two just seem really close. And, you know... he's a guy. You're a guy… "
How can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time?" He shoots me a glare, but it's more flustered than angry.
I frown. "That doesn't make logical sense."
He laughs. "Just. No. That's not how it works. I mean, yeah, I may be interested in... guys. But that doesn't mean I like every guy. Finn's my friend. That's it.""
"Sure," I say, pretending to jott down a note I'm not actually writing. "Just seemed like you cared a little more than most people would when they accidentally break someone's face."
Kai glares harder. "He was bleeding! What was I supposed to do, leave him there?"
"Could've," I murmur. "Would've been efficient."
He groans, dragging a hand over his face. "You're impossible sometimes, Noah."
"Plus, Finn is…" Kai starts, then stops himself. His gaze flicks to the side, something unreadable crossing his face. Before I can ask, he stands abruptly.
Did I say something wrong?
I set my notebook down, the guilt already bubbling up. "Kai, I didn't mean..."
But before I can finish, he's beside me. He reaches out, ruffles my hair, gentle but exasperated, like he always does when I overthink things.
"You've worked hard enough for one night," he says, his tone softening. "Eat the food I brought, and then get some sleep. You've still got time before the presentation, and I know you're going to crush it."
I blink up at him, caught off guard by how steady he sounds, how certain. Kai never doubts, never hesitates when it comes to me. He believes in me more than I've ever managed to believe in myself.
He grins, pushing the snack toward me. "There's a sandwich in the kitchen for you as well. And before you ask, I don't need help revising tonight."
I can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Thanks."
As he turns to leave,I watch his retreating figure, that easy, unhurried stride of his. There's a kind of confidence in the way Kai moves, not the sharp, polished kind Father commands, but something quieter. Grounded. Real.
Father never chose him. Kai wasn't part of his plan.
But I chose him.
Not because of his strength, or his skills. I chose him because he sees me, not as an extension of Father's genius, not as the next Langford to bear the burden of perfection, but as… me.
Kai stays by my side. He listened when I feel stuck.
And as the door slides shut behind him, I find myself smiling, faintly, quietly.
In our home which is built on brilliance and calculated success, Kai is the only thing that feels real.
And somehow, that's enough to keep me human.