Noah Langford - September 2120
"Stop fussing, Finn," I say, nudging his hand away from my tie.
He has been monitoring me all morning, ensuring I eat my breakfast, taken my medication, fussing over my jacket, tie, as if one overlooked variable might cause the entire summit to collapse. Statistically, the likelihood is minimal. Still, he persists.
He's clearly more nervous than I am.
We're in my lab at the headquarters to perform final checks before the presentation. I've rehearsed the speech repeatedly, the outcomes are predictable and the data is strong. I feel confident.
Finn, however, keeps shifting from foot to foot, energy coiled tight.
"I'm not fussing, I'm just making sure it's straight" he mutters, but he still withdraws his hand.
"It is straight" I say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You've already adjusted it four, possibly five times."
He opens his mouth as though to argue, then abandons the attempt and redirects his restlessness to himself. He runs through his uniform with methodical precision, today he wears his black combat gear.
He checks over his knives for accessibility, and pulls his firearm to inspect the magazine, before counting the bullets. Ritual stabilises him.
I cross to the safe in the lab and unlock it. Rows of Lunex vials glow faintly orange under the lights, but they aren't today's focus. I remove a different vial, green, volatile, promising, and secure it inside the padded case before locking the safe again.
When I turn back, Finn is already positioned by the door, posture alert.
I hand him the case. He accepts it without complaint.
"Finn," I say, keeping my tone even, measured, "I'm prepared. The presentation will proceed as expected."
He glances down, then meets my eyes. "Yeah, I know. I'm just… worried something bad will happen to you."
I hesitate a fraction of a second then I place my hand on his arm. It seems to be the correct gesture.
"That's why you're here," I say. "You're a variable I trust."
He brightens at that, far more than I anticipated and nods.
"Yeah. I'll protect you. No matter what."
"Good. Shall we go down? The investors are waiting." I step past Finn, and he moves into position a pace behind me, exactly as always.
In the lift, he breaks the silence. "How do you think your dad will react when you present the nullifier?"
My gaze flicks to the case in his hand. "He won't be pleased. Assuming he doesn't already know about it"
Finn exhales. "I'll make sure he doesn't get near you."
I nod. Inefficient to argue. Reliable protection is an asset and, privately, I'm grateful for it. For Finns.
The lift doors open and the quiet dissolves into noise. The entrance hall is crowded, cocktail dresses, tailored suits, polite laughter amplified by high ceilings. GeneX has stages the summit like a charity gala, tables dressed with candles and flowers, servers circulating with trays of drinks and canapés.
Along the perimeter, Guardians and security stand watch, outwardly relaxed but their eyes never still.
As we're about to step out of the lift, a figure appears in front of us. I incline my head politely.
"Mr Oswald."
He hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat.
"Noah, how have you been?" he asks, and the question catches me off guard. He usually pretends I'm not even there.
"I'm well. Thank you for asking, sir."
"Good, good," Oswald replies. "Well, I'd better be off."
He slips past us, and we stand there watching as the lift doors slide shut behind him.
"That was odd," Finn says, and he's not wrong.
Still, I don't linger on it. Instead, I turn away and start walking.
Finn keeps close as we move through the room. I pause periodically to greet investors for necessary relationship maintenance.
"Oh, Noah, I hear you're speaking today. I'm looking forward to it," a woman in a long green dress says as I pass.
I stop to smile. "Helen. It's good to see you again."
I memorised every investor's name in advance. If I want the nullifier to survive my father's interference, I need them aligned with me before the announcement.
"You've grown so much since the first time we met," Helen says fondly.
"And you haven't changed at all," I reply, it's inaccurate, but socially optimal. I maintain the smile.
She laughs and taps my arm lightly. "Oh, you."
"Noah!" another voice calls across the hall.
"If you'll excuse me." I incline my head and thread my way through the crowd.
Dr Sora Williams waves me over. He is brilliant and perpetually cheerful, at least on the surface, but there's always something withheld, as if he's permanently editing himself mid-sentence.
"Dr Williams," I say, keeping the polite expression in place as I shake his hand.
"Noah, my boy! Long time no see," he says, pumping my hand with unnecessary enthusiasm.
"I've not seen you at headquarters recently," I answer lightly, inviting clarification without asking directly.
My father transferred him to the facility. I still don't know what programme he's running there.
"Oh, you know your father, he keeps me busy," he laughs.
I echo the laugh, measured. "I can only imagine what requires that level of secrecy to keep you so occupied."
Dr Williams's laugh lingers a second too long. He tries to move the conversation on, but I don't let him.
"I would love to hear what you have been working on?" I ask, as if it's idle curiosity. "Your work tends to inspire me"
He brightens, pleased by the compliment. "Ah, yes, well mostly support projects. Auxiliary work."
It's too vague and deliberate.
I tilt my head, nodding thoughtfully. "Support work is crucial. Especially with the Lunex survival rate we've been trying to solve. I assume your research contributes to stabilisation protocols?"
I give him the answer I want, framing it so it feels natural to confirm.
He hesitates. Then nods. "In a manner of speaking."
Useful but still not enough.
I lower my voice. "I've had difficulty with solving the burnout solution. I have tried new formulation and nothing seems to work, I would be greatful for your input"
Dr Williams straightens and glances around, checking for listeners. His guard slips for a heartbeat.
"I might be able to help. We've been… trialling an enhancer," he says quietly. "Therapeutic, mostly. Designed to help treat-"
He stops midsentance. But I've heard enought to know what he was going to say...
Burnouts.
My pulse ticks up, but I keep my expression neutral. "An enhancer" I say "how intriguing"
He swallows and realises, belatedly, that he's already said too much. "I shouldn't really-"
"I understand," I nod slowly, as if satisfied "Well, I must be off to speak to the other guest. It was nice to see you".
"And you," Williams replies. His tone stays light, but the muscles at the corner of his jaw tighten. He realises he's said too much and is now calculating how much I understood.
I offer a small, agreeable nod the kind people interpret as harmless acknowledgement. "Enjoy the rest of the evening, Doctor."
Then I walk away before he can recover enough to start repairing the mistake.
Finn leans in close as we move back into the flow of people, his voice just a breath against my ear. "Quite the charmer today."
I look at him briefly, he has that irreverent half-smile on his face. He finds far too much amusement in watching me talk to people. I roll my eyes and continue forward, shaking hands, offering polite phrases I've practised enough times they've become muscle memory.
"What's your thoughts on the enhancer?" I murmur, never breaking stride, never breaking the illusion that I'm simply mingling.
He waits until we're safely between conversations. "Feels like your father wants the Guardians to last longer."
"I agree," I say. "Administered at the edge of burnout. It could prevents collapse or delays it."
A pause. My fingers tighten slightly at the edge of my sleeve. "If it works."
The thought refuses to settle. Enhancers always come with trade-offs. My father does not care about trade-offs if he gets what he wants.
And then Daisy Wellington suddenly steps in front of me causing me to stop.
"We meet again," she says too bright, too intentional.
Her smile is polished, almost professional. Her perfume is layered, floral, then sharper underneath. It wasn't chosen by accident, she wanted to me noticed.
"Good evening, Daisy" I reply, after one quick sweep of the room to confirm her parents are elsewhere.
"I would like to apologise for my parents' actions that time," she says.
"There is no need," I respond evenly, my eyes assessing her posture and tone. "It was orchestrated by my father and grandfather. If anyone requires an apology, it would be on their behalf."
Her expression shifts surprise flickers across her face. She steps closer, waving her hands as if to dispel my formality. "Oh no, don't apologise."
She leans in slightly, her brown eyes fixed on mine, measuring. I note the slight hesitation in her approach, the confidence in her gaze and the subtle calculations behind both.
Her expression shifts with interest now, rather than courtesy. "Honestly, I was looking forward to meeting you."
She closes the distance by another fraction. I register it the way I register approaching storms on weather charts, not threatening yet, but too deliberate to ignore.
"You wanted to meet me?" I ask.
Her fingers brush my arm, feather-light pressure that lingers a second too long. "We have more in common than you think, Noah."
Behind me, Finn shifts. The sound is small but I hear it like an alarm.
"In what way?" I keep my voice steady, curious. Neutral.
She lists expectations, titles, bloodlines, the machinery that shapes people into tools. She does it with warmth, as though naming a prison and calling it a home.
"Maybe we should get to know each other," she says softly. "Without our parents arranging every move for us."
Something falters. I don't freeze, but there is a stutter inside my thoughts, a space where an answer should be and isn't.
"I- well-"
Finn moves forward and leans closer towards me.
"Mr Langford."
My head turns. The formality he calls me strikes first. It feels strange, almost intentional.
His face is unreadable and professional. Not Finn-the-friend, but Finn-the-Security Guard.
"We should get you prepared for your presentation."
I check my watch. I still have several minutes. But exits, when offered, are foolish to ignore.
"Of course." I turn to Daisy. "I hope you enjoy the summit."
Her eyes linger a second longer than necessary, then she smiles and melts back into the crowd, swallowed by silk dresses and champagne and strategic conversations.
Backstage, the noise dulls into a steady hum. The lights are softer here, tinted gold, casting long shadows on the equipment. Finn hands me the case. The nullifier still resting inside, small, contained, and yet capable of shifting an entire system.
"What was that about?" he asks.
The question hooks. I feel heat crawl up the back of my neck, irrational, unwanted.
Why do I feel guilty?
"I-" My gaze drops away. "Nothing significant."
"Noah." His voice is quiet, but there's command in it.
I exhale, long and controlled. "My father and grandfather attempted to use Daisy and me to open negotiations with the military."
His hands close around my arms instantly, firm, grounding. His eyes scan my face like he's looking for damage.
"And you didn't tell me."
"There was nothing to tell," I reply. "I declined. It ended there."
His shoulders ease, but the worry doesn't disappear, it simply retreats, as if waiting for something else to appear.
"Are you going to take her up on it?" he asks after a while.
My head tilts with confusion. "On what, exactly?"
"Getting to know her."
The idea feels alien. "No. She offers nothing relevant to my work and I don't have excess time to allocate to social experimentation."
The truth of it surprises even me, it's clean, simple, and without hesitation.
I already have proximity and support from someone who remains by my side. Finn. So why would I need someone else?
He lets go, finally, tension unspooling from his posture.
An assistant appears from the shadows. "Mr Langford? The stage is ready."
I nod, dismissing her and she vanishes as neatly as she arrived.
Finn reaches to straighten my tie again and then abruptly changes course, his palms bracketing my face. The contact is warm and uninvited, yet not unwelcome. It shocks stillness into me.
"Remember," he says, gently, like he's anchoring me to the moment. "You've got this."
My heart rate accelerates. I label it what makes the most sense to me, anticipatory anxiety, pre-presentation spike.
I try to nod, but his grip makes the movement ridiculous. He laughs under his breath then releases me.
"Good luck."
I turn toward the stage entrance. The light beyond the curtain glows like the opening to something irreversibly important. In my hand, the case feels suddenly heavier, not just glass and metal, but consequence.
This is it.
This is what I've been pushing myself for.