Noah Langford - July 2120
The lab is unusually quiet this morning. The machines hum beside me as I sit at my desk, reviewing files. Sunlight cuts through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bright enough to sting my overtired eyes, but my attention stays fixed on the laptop in front of me.
Finn and I had broken into the server room in the basement last night, determined to uncover whatever my father has been hiding. Instead, we found little more than disappointment, encrypted files layered with security far beyond GeneX's standard systems. I tried every method I knew, but nothing made even a dent.
I spent all night thinking it over, the only logical conclusion is that the files aren't tied to the GeneX server at all. They must originate from my father's personal machine. Whatever he's keeping locked away, he's ensured no one gets near it without going through him first.
But the encryption wasn't the only thing that kept me awake. The test subject files lingered in my mind, countless experiments, countless lives manipulated under the guise of science. Even if Finn insists I'm not responsible, it doesn't erase the fact that I contributed to the workflow that produced more of them. The most efficient system isn't always the most ethical one. I'm now painfully aware of that.
And yet, one file refuses to leave my mind. Test Subject: 004. Status: Missing.
It lingers like an echo, sharper than the others. If I could locate him, I might finally obtain the information about what my father has been up to. A firsthand account of what actually happens inside this facility, beyond whispers of the Special Operation Division.
But there's a flaw in the logic. If GeneX, with all its resources and reach, hasn't been able to find him… what chance do I realistically have?
Still, the thought persists. A missing subject is an anomaly. And anomalies always mean something.
I rub my face, trying to force some alertness into my body, but the exhaustion clings stubbornly. A glance at the clock reminds me it's still too early for lunch. Finn won't be around with my coffee and lunch for another hour at least.
I guess I will have to go get coffee myself.
I push myself away from the desk and take the lift down. One drawback of having an entire floor to myself is the lack of a kitchen, convenient privacy, inconvenient caffeine access.
The lift's soft music and gentle rocking make my eyelids droop, but they snap open again before the doors part at the ground floor. I've functioned on minimal sleep many times, yet today the fatigue feels heavier, almost weighted. Caffeine should solve it. Or at least make it tolerable.
But the moment I step out of the lift, my stomach sinks.
Board Member Neil Carr is waiting directly outside the doors.
"Noah," he says with forced lightness. "Didn't expect to see you out of your lab this early."
Not ideal timing. I only wanted coffee, not corporate conversation.
"Mr Carr. Good morning." I offer him a polite smile. "Just heading for coffee."
I attempt to walk past, but he raises a hand to stop me.
"Perfect. I wanted to speak with you about the investor speech."
Whatever energy I had left drains at once, but refusing isn't an option, not with him. So I nod.
We take the lift back up, this time all the way to the top floor. The atmosphere shifts immediately. The lift opens into a wide reception area, minimalist, expensive, sterile. Security guards flank the door but barely glance at us.
"Good morning, Mr Carr," the receptionist says, her smile fixed and professional. It reminds me too much of the staff at my father's house, trained politeness, nothing more. "You have two messages waiting. I'll order your coffee now."
"Thank you. And one for Noah as well." Carr pats my back as if we're old friends.
I nod politely to her before following him down the corridor. The lights are dimmer here, the oak walls polished so glossy they reflect the overhead fixtures. Every inch of it radiates wealth and authority.
Each door we pass belongs to a different board member. And at the end of the hall waits the boardroom itself, a place few enter willingly.
But Carr veers off before we reach it and stops at his office door, his name 'Neil Carr'engraved neatly into the plaque.
He opens the door, and I follow him inside.
Carr's office is exactly what I expected from a man like him, sleek, imposing, designed to communicate power rather than comfort. Dark wood panels. A wall of books that he almost certainly doesn't read. Strategic awards placed just off-centre, so the eye is forced to notice them.
The window behind his desk overlooks the city from a height that most would find impressive. To me, it's simply a reminder of how far GeneX is willing to look down on the people beneath it.
"Have a seat, Noah," Carr says, gestures sharp and efficient. He sits opposite me, folding his hands with a politician's smile. "You know how important the investor summit is. We're expecting a larger turnout this year. Your presence adds weight, your age, your research, the… expectations around you."
The pressure settles on my shoulders, though I keep my posture neutral."Of course. Tell me what you need."
Carr chuckles softly, as if amused that I didn't resist. "Direct. Good." Then his expression shifts, subtle, but enough to signal I'm about to hear something I won't like. "Your father always had a talent for captivating investors. If you can convey that same confidence, it would reassure them about the direction of our future."
My jaw tightens a fraction. "I'm here as a scientist, Mr Carr. Not as my father's understudy."
He smiles again, thin and knowing. "And yet, the investors don't separate the two. Legacy is powerful." He leans back. "They want to see the next Langford stepping forward."
The next Langford. As if the first one isn't already causing enough damage.
I choose my words carefully. "I'll prepare something concise and transparent about the current research progress. Investors appreciate clarity."
"Clarity," he repeats, amused. "Yes, but perhaps avoid… unnecessary detail. You know how sensitive certain projects are."
My eyes flicker up to his. "Understood," I say.
There's a knock at the door. The receptionist enters with two coffees. Carr takes his with a nod, I thank her quietly. She smiles, but the expression never reaches her eyes.
As the door clicks shut again, Carr continues, "Now, Noah. About the your secret project"
My pulse stutters just slightly.
"Yes?" I prompt, keeping my voice even.
"We may need you to share your project details with the group. Investors want the next big thing, and your projects always perform exceptionally well" He gives me a pointed look.
A knot tightens low in my stomach. Of course the board knows about my nullifier project, there's no other way I would've secured funding for it. But I framed it carefully, presenting it as a contingency measure for GeneX, a method to restrain any Guardian who became unpredictable. A controlled safeguard. A reminder that power alone would not protect them if they chose to step out of line.
But it remains a secret to everyone else in the facility, especially my father. He would see through it immediately. He'd recognise it not as a safeguard, but as a direct threat to his legacy,
"I'm afraid I haven't made a breakthrough yet, so there's nothing of value to present to the investors at this time," I explain evenly.
"No break through?" Carr raises an eyebrow. "That's a shame. But i'm afraid we need to push for results. The nullifier is our next big step."
He's watching my reaction like he's studying an animal for signs of weakness.
I sit a little straighter. "If you want results, I'll need full access to corresponding files and parameters. Some are incomplete."
A test, one I already know the outcome of.
Carr's expression cools. "You have everything you need."
I absolutely do not. I need to try to get the same access as my father.
But I simply nod, because pushing further would only raise questions I can't afford him asking.
"We hope you can show us something exciting, Noah"
He glances at the clock on his wall "Now, I won't keep you. You look… tired. Try to rest before you begin the speech draft. Investors notice these things."
"Understood," I say, standing.
As he walks me to the door, he lowers his voice. "You have already shown your capabilities, Noah. I hope you can continue to prove yourself."
I hold his gaze just long enough to be polite.
"I'm sure I can."
I leave before he can say anything else.
The corridor outside feels colder, heavier. The guards don't look at me as I pass. The receptionist gives me the same polished smile.
The lift doors close, sealing me into a quiet metal box.
Only then do I allow my breath to leave slowly, controlled.
What am I going to do?
I've made no real progress on the nullifier, and now they expect results within two months. Worst of all, it means my father will inevitably discover what I've been developing.
I rub the bridge of my nose, coffee forgotten in my hand.
Today is already spiralling, and it isn't even midday.
But for the board to suddenly push for the nullifer, something must have happened. Something they want to solve quickly.