Noah Langford - October 2120
The car slows as it approaches a tall iron gate.
I look out of the window.
A reinforced wall stretches in both directions, running so far that it disappears into the distance. Cameras sit along the top at regular intervals, each rotating slowly in mechanical sweeps.
The driver lowers his window and presents his ID card to the guard.
The guard studies it briefly before his eyes move to me.
A rifle hangs across his back. The sling is worn, suggesting frequent patrol rotations and a pistol rests against his waist.
"Name?" he asks.
"Noah Langford."
He looks down at the tablet in his hand. His eyes flick back to me, then to the screen again. Another guard begins circling the car at the same time, checking the vehicle.
Standard verification procedure.
After a few seconds he nods and the gate slides open with a slow metallic groan.
We drive inside.
The facility is larger than I expected.
I watch the surroundings carefully as we pass through the compound, mapping the layout in my mind. Guard positions, entry points, surveillance towers.
Information accumulates quickly when you look for it.
If Finn was here, he would have a better idea of what to look out for. But he was not permitted to attend.
Instead my father insisted on sending one of his own security guards instead.
Control has always been important to him.
A large building dominates the centre of the compound, but another structure catches my attention. It's off to the side sits a separate gate.
Beyond it is a smaller building, isolated from the main facility.
Kai had told me that the Special Division Operators were kept separate from the primary research teams.
My gaze lingers there for a moment... So that must be where they kept him.
The car stops and when I step outside, the first thing I notice is how empty the grounds feel.
High walls. Cameras. Armed guards.
But almost nothing else. There are very few plants or trees.
It feels less like a research facility and more like containment.
So this is where Kai spent all those years. I feel a small pressure in my chest and it feels unpleasant.
"Please follow me, Mr Langford," a guard says.
He presses a security pass to the door and it slides open.
I follow him inside.
The corridors are bright, sterile, and almost completely silent. Scientists move through the halls carrying tablets and files, their attention fixed on their work.
Most of them barely look at me, but there are a few who do.
One woman slows as she walks past, and seems to have have to take a double take as she does.
I continue down the corridor. The walls are plain, and lit with harsh lighting. Doors line the corridor in long, identical rows.
Eventually we step out of a lift where another guard is waiting.
"Dr Langford is waiting for you in his office" he says.
Of course he is.
The second guard leads me down another corridor and stops in front of a door. After a short knock it slides open.
He steps aside as I walk in. The door closes behind me with a quiet hiss.
I pause briefly and look around.
The office is almost identical to the one my father keeps at GeneX headquarters.
Minimal furniture, dark colours, perfect organisation and no personal objects.
No evidence of a life beyond work.
"Father" I say as I step toward the desk.
"You will address me as Dr Langford here," he replies without looking up from the tablet in his hand.
Naturally.
"…Dr Langford," I correct.
He gestures toward the chair opposite him and I sit.
"Noah," he says, folding his hands neatly on the desk, "while you are here you will follow every one of my rules. You will not act independently, and you will not go anywhere you have not been authorised to."
I lean back slightly in the chair and interlace my fingers.
"It almost sounds," I say calmly, "as if you are concerned I might discover something."
His eyes lift to meet mine. They are cold and sharp.
"If you cannot follow my rules," he says, "you will be removed from the facility immediately."
A pause.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
He slides a file across the desk.
"This is the woman we recently brought in," he says. "She developed abilities after taking the counterfeit."
I open the file and begin to look through it.
"She can control water. After several hours of continuous use of her powers, she showed no signs of burnout."
That alone makes the case significant.
"Was she able to communicate?" I ask.
My thoughts drift briefly to the two people I encountered in the Trinity holding cells.
"No," he says. "She appears to have lost most of her senses."
Then she is more like Bennett.
I begin reading through the data.
Blood cell stability during prolonged power use.
Cellular damage almost completely absent.
It's interesting.
The counterfeit compound appears to repair blood cells during ability use, preventing the degradation that normally causes burnout.
But the mechanism is unclear and unknown mechanisms are rarely harmless.
If the counterfeit stabilises blood cells this effectively, it may also interfere with the nullifier. Which would render our entire containment strategy unreliable.
"I will need access to blood samples," I say. "And your laboratory equipment."
I glance up.
"You have already received the nullifier vials, correct?"
He nods.
"Yes. Everything has been prepared in the laboratory. Officer Lang will escort you there."
Right on cue, the door slides open. The same guard from earlier steps inside. He must be Officer Lang.
I stand to leave but as I reach the door, my father speaks again.
"Noah."
I stop and turn slightly.
"Do not speak to anyone while you are here."
There it is.
Not do not disturb the staff. Not do not interfere with operations.
Simply: do not speak.
He is afraid someone will mention Kai.
"Understood," I reply.
I leave the office and the corridor outside is quiet.
Despite his instructions, there is no one around during the walk to the laboratory.
Officer Lang leads me down another corridor before stopping outside a reinforced glass door. The panel beside it glows faintly as he presses his security pass against the scanner. A soft tone follows, and the lock disengages with a quiet click.
"Laboratory three," he says. "Your access is limited to this room."
Of course it is.
The door slides open and I step inside.
The laboratory is larger than I expected, though the arrangement is immediately familiar. Stainless steel workbenches line the room, each organised with microscopes, centrifuges, and sealed containment trays. Refrigeration units hum steadily along the back wall, their glass doors fogged faintly by the cold inside. Everything is immaculate.
My father clearly anticipated what I would need.
Officer Lang remains by the door only long enough to confirm I have entered before the door closes behind me, leaving the room quiet except for the low mechanical hum of the equipment.
Finally, silence.
I set the file down on the nearest bench and begin looking through the laboratory with slow, methodical attention. Every tool is arranged neatly, almost too neatly, as if someone had prepared the entire space specifically for this experiment.
The blood samples are stored inside one of the refrigerated units. When I open the door, a faint chill spills out into the room. Several labelled vials rest inside a sealed tray, each marked with timestamps and subject identifiers.
I remove one vial and hold it up to the light.
At first glance the blood appears normal, but there is a subtle difference in colour. It is slightly darker than it should be, the tone just enough to suggest the presence of another compound still circulating through the sample.
Residual traces of the counterfeit.
I place the vial into the centrifuge and set the machine running. The device begins to spin, separating the blood into layers with a low mechanical whir.
While it works, I move to the equipment laid out along the opposite bench.
Waiting there is a small protective case.
When I open it, several thin glass vials rest inside, each filled with a faint green solution.
The nullifier.
If the counterfeit compound truly prevents the cellular degradation caused by power use, there is a possibility it may also interfere with the nullifier's suppression mechanism. If that proves true, the implications would extend far beyond a single subject.
The centrifuge gradually slows and stops.
I remove the separated sample and transfer a measured amount of the blood into a glass testing chamber beneath the microscope. The monitor beside the microscope flickers to life as the system begins recording the cellular activity.
Once the baseline reading stabilises, I retrieve one of the nullifier vials.
A controlled dose is introduced into the chamber and the reaction begins almost immediately.
Under normal conditions, the nullifier suppresses the cellular pathways responsible for activating abilities. The blood cells collapse inward as the energy response shuts down, usually within seconds.
This time the reaction is different.
The suppression begins, but the process slows unexpectedly.
I watch the monitor carefully as the activity levels drop.
Eighty percent.
Seventy-eight.
Seventy-six.
The numbers continue falling before stabilising.
Seventy-five percent.
The reaction stops there.
I repeat the test to confirm the results and the second trial produces the exact same outcome.
Seventy-five percent suppression.
I lean back slightly, studying the monitor as the data stabilises across both test results.
The counterfeit compound is clearly interfering with the nullifier's effect.
Not enough to prevent suppression entirely, but enough to weaken it significantly. If an operator retained even twenty-five percent of their ability while under nullifier exposure, they could still present a considerable threat depending on the power involved.
Which means this compound does more than prevent burnout.
It protects the cells from being completely neutralised.
My fingers tap lightly against the metal bench as I think through the implications.
The counterfeit formula appears to stabilise blood cells during ability use, repairing the damage that normally accumulates until burnout occurs. The nullifier works by disrupting those same cellular pathways.
If the counterfeit strengthens those pathways first, then the nullifier cannot fully shut them down.
A partial defence.
Whether it was intentional or accidental remains unclear. But compounds rarely interact this precisely by coincidence.
Now that I have confirmed the effect the nullifier has on the counterfeit compound, the experiment itself is no longer the priority.
The real reason I came here still remains.
I close the data file on the monitor and lean back slightly in the chair, letting the quiet hum of the laboratory settle around me. On the surface, everything appears straightforward. The counterfeit weakens the nullifier's effect, reducing its suppression to roughly seventy-five percent. It is useful information, and it will satisfy my father for now.
But the compound was never the true reason for my visit.
If I am going to understand what happens here, what happened to Kai, I need to learn more about this facility.
My gaze drifts toward the laboratory door, then to the security camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. Its lens rotates slowly, methodically scanning the room.
My father's rules echo clearly in my mind.
Do not go anywhere you have not been authorised to.Do not speak to anyone.
Restrictions like that rarely exist without a reason.
Which means the information I need is almost certainly somewhere beyond the areas I am allowed to access.
The problem, of course, is how to reach it.
My father controls this facility with the same precision he controls everything else. Access levels, security clearances, restricted corridors. Every movement here is monitored, logged, and reviewed.
Simply wandering around would be pointless and suspicious.
That leaves me with two possible options.
The first would be persuasion.
If I can convince him that expanded access is necessary for my research, he may grant it himself. He values results above almost everything else, and if I frame the request carefully enough, it might appear reasonable.
The second option is less direct.
If I cannot obtain permission, then I will have to gather the information myself.
I rest my chin lightly against my hand as I consider the possibilities. Every security system has weaknesses. Blind spots in surveillance, moments when routines become predictable, doors that open for someone else and remain unlocked just long enough.
Finding those opportunities will take patience, but patience has never been a problem for me.
Somewhere in this facility are the answers my father clearly does not want me to find.
And one way or another…
I intend to uncover them.