*
*
*
The blare of a loud buzzer tore little Valeria Rojas from sleep.
She jolted upright, heart racing, blue eyes blinking as she stared through the tinted windows of the black Mercedes. Everything outside looked wrong. Too dark. Too still.
"Papa… where are we?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes.
Her father pulled her close instantly.
"Papa's here to work, mijá," Martin Rojas said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. "That's all."
The car rolled forward, passing through towering steel gates that slid open without a sound. Armed soldiers stood at attention on either side.
Valeria noticed the guns first. Her small fingers tightened around her father's arm.
The Mercedes came to a stop.
"Welcome, sir," a soldier said, snapping into a salute.
"Take me to Steven," Martin replied flatly.
"Yes, sir."
They stepped out into the base called The Vault. Men in uniform moved with mechanical precision, boots striking concrete in perfect rhythm. Valeria stayed close, her hand locked around her father's sleeve.
They walked through long, spotless corridors labeled National Emergency Research and Training Center. Everything smelled like disinfectant inside.
The halls felt endless, bending into more halls that all looked the same.
They reached a medical wing, real exam rooms, machines that hummed softly, doors marked with warning symbols.
Then the soldier stopped at what looked like an ordinary wall, a panel slid open and behind it was an elevator.
They stepped inside. The doors closed. The elevator began to descend, far longer than Valeria thought possible.
Her ears popped. Her stomach fluttered. When the doors finally opened, she gasped.
It wasn't a basement.
It was another world beneath the ground.
A vast underground compound stretched farther than she could see. Lights glowed overhead like artificial suns. Platforms, walkways, glass walls. People, so many people.
There were three tiers in this vast compound.
Level Unit One: Operations and clinicals.
Level Unit Two: Utilities and storage.
Level Unit Three: Containment and testing.
But right now, all she knew was that it was big. Too big. Her eyes wandered over the numbered doors. Letters painted on the walls in bright, childish colors A, B, C like something from kindergarten.
Behind the glass walls were children.
Some sat quietly. Some played. Some stared back at her without blinking.
As they walked past the branch wings, Valeria tugged at her father's arm.
"Papa… what are they doing here?"
Martin didn't hesitate. "Every child you see here is very special," he said calmly. "This is a place where they learn to become what they're meant to be."
Valeria wasn't sure she liked that answer.
They stopped in front of a massive reinforced door. The soldier who had escorted them saluted once more and stepped aside.
Martin entered without knocking.
Inside, Valeria's breath caught. She had thought the glass rooms were the worst of it.
She was wrong. The space beyond was enormous, filled with children. Too many to count. Some were her age. Others were much older, teenagers lined up in precised rigid rows as shouting lieutenants barked orders at them.
Valeria flinched at every raised voice.
She didn't understand why the soldiers had to shout all the time.
Ahead stood three figures in white lab coats, two younger scientists, one man and one woman, and an elderly man whose smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Mr. Rojas," the old man said warmly. "You grace us with your presence."
"Steven," Martin replied. "This is my daughter. Valeria Rojas."
The man crouched to Valeria's height. "Ah," he said, smiling wider. "The woman of the hour."
He reached out, fingers brushing through her hair, trailing down its length.
Valeria's chest tightened. She stepped back and hid behind her father's leg, gripping his trousers.
"It's alright," Martin said gently. "Uncle Steven is a friend."
Valeria didn't think he looked like one. "Let's speak privately," Dr. Steven said, straightening. "My office."
They climbed a short flight of stairs to a glass-walled room overlooking the facility. Valeria was told to wait outside with the other scientists and a pair of armed privates.
The door closed behind the two men.
Martin settled comfortably onto the sofa, crossing his legs.
"Where's General Kevin?" he asked.
"Occupied," Dr. Steven replied, pouring two cups of coffee. "He's overseeing the arrival of a new batch today."
Martin nodded. "Right. I'd almost forgotten."
He accepted the cup.
"And the subjects?"
"So far, so good," Steven said, sipping. "Abilities emerging right at the onset of puberty. Fascinating, isn't it?"
"You said you had something important to discuss," Martin said, unimpressed. "Something regarding my daughter's health."
"Yes," Steven replied. "But I need you to keep an open mind."
Martin's eyes hardened. "You have five minutes."
"Valeria has exceptional genetics," Steven said. "And yet she's burdened with leukemia. A tragic irony."
Martin said nothing.
"What if I told you those two facts might be the key to a breakthrough for Project Prism?"
"I told you," Martin said coldly. "My daughter would not be involved in this, she would not be a subject."
"Please," Steven said smoothly. "Hear me out. She doesn't have to be."
"Leukemia is a disease where blood cells refuse to mature properly. They remain in a constant state of adaptation, mutating, rewriting themselves just to survive. Most diseases kill by overwhelming the body. Leukemia survives by becoming something else."
Martin exhaled sharply. "And your point?"
"The Red Spectrum."
Martin laughed, once, sharp and humorless
"You want me to inject my daughter with the Red?" he said incredulously. "Not Blue. Not Orange. Red. The same spectrum we've watched liquefy bone marrow and rupture blood vessels. The same one that drives subjects insane or kills them outright."
Steven shrugged. "The others are safer, yes. But safety rarely leads to progress."
"You're insane."
"The Red kills because it demands what no nervous system can tolerate," Steven said.
"Total synchronization. Not one frequency, all of them. Energy. Matter. Mind. Force. Collapsed into a single signal."
Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Steven. Speak like a human being."
"What I'm saying," Steven replied calmly, "is that your daughter could be more than a weapon. If she survives."
"If."
"She's dying already," Steven continued.
"Wouldn't it be better to try than to watch her fade away? If she survives, she's cured. And she becomes something extraordinary. What do you have to lose?"
Martin studied him. "And you're certain she'll live?"
Steven met his gaze without hesitation. "If anyone can survive the Red… it's Valeria."
Martin stood. He smoothed his suit, fingers running through his jet-black hair. When he looked at Steven again, his icy blue eyes were lethal.
"I hope you're right," he said quietly. "Because if she doesn't survive."
Steven swallowed.
"You already know what I'm capable of."
Martin turned toward the door, then paused.
"For what it's worth," he added, a faint smirk curling his lips, "you might be right. My daughter is dying. And if this works… she'll be a very valuable asset. Especially if I decide to run for office."
Steven smiled. "That's the spirit."
"But understand this," Martin said, voice low. "If your theory harms my daughter, I will erase every trace of you. Your work. Your name. Your bloodline."
Then he walked out.