Joseph Langford - August 2120
"Dr Langford, I think you know what this does to our image" Mr Carr says.
He sits heavily at the polished mahogany table, shoulders tense, eyes flicking to me, but I remain standing, hands clasped neatly behind my back, body perfectly still. My gaze sweeps over the six board members, noting the slight tremor in one's hand, the tightening jaw of another. At the head of the table, Mr Carter, Noah's grandfather, sits composed, hands intertwined, observing the room with a patience that borders on predatory.
"Why are more of these counterfeits keep getting out?" one voice breaks the silence, sharp with anxiety.
"How could someone even replicate the Lunex Vial" another demands, nearly rising to pace, though the polished floor discourages such impulsiveness.
I remain silent, letting them thrash in their own panic. Their fear, so raw and obvious, is… informative. I make no move to soothe it. Let them fray themselves.
Then Mr Carter's voice cuts through, calm and deliberate.
"Joseph."
The room stills instantly, as though the name itself carries weight heavier than any argument.
"Tell me your thoughts on this," he continues.
I step forward slightly, deliberately slow, my shadow stretching across the table like ink. My voice is cool, deliberate, measured, a scalpel dissecting the panic in the room.
"It is… far from trivial," I say, letting the words settle deliberately over the room. I study their faces, noting the tiny flinches, the shallow breaths betraying their unease.
"The Lunex Vial is not a mere formula. Its synthesis requires precision, intuition… a depth of understanding few possess. Any attempt at replication without complete mastery is doomed to failure." I tilt my head slightly, letting my gaze linger, calculating.
"The real question," I continue, measured and deliberate, "is not whether it can be copied, we already know it had, but who has both the audacity to try and the competence to succeed and, more importantly, what they hope to achieve if they do."
The room remains silent, the board members exchanging uneasy glances. Some shift in their seats; others stare at me, trying and failing to mask their discomfort. I let them stew. Panic, after all, reveals more than words ever could.
Mr Carr clears his throat, voice tight. "And what… what do you suggest we do, Joseph? How do we contain this?"
I incline my head slightly, considering him not out of respect, but because he is entertaining enough to analyse. "We need to hit the main production site of these counterfeits" I say smoothly. "My Special Division Operators can handle this "
Mr Carter leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing, studying me like a chessboard. "and what about the public that already have their hands on these vials?" he repeats, his voice low. "do you plan to send your division on them as well?"
A slow, deliberate smile touches my lips, but it doesn't reach my eyes. I step forward just slightly, letting the room feel smaller, my presence heavier. "Control," I murmur, measured, almost surgical, letting the word roll over them. "That is the only path. No hesitation. No mercy. No mistakes we cannot correct." My voice drops, low and deliberate, each syllable landing like iron on stone. I let the silence stretch, watching their unease grow, tasting it.
"And isn't that… precisely why we built the facility?" I continue, voice soft, almost conspiratorial, yet every word sharp enough to draw a shiver. "To command what others only dream of understanding. To bend chaos to our will. To ensure that no one, not a thief, not a rival, not even a fool, can challenge GeneX without consequence."
I tilt my head slightly, letting the weight of my words sink in, watching the tension coil in the room like a living thing. They are frightened. Good. Fear sharpens minds… or breaks them. And I intend only to sharpen mine.
Mr Carr shakes his head sharply, disapproval etched into every line of his face. "If the public finds out… we're finished," he says, his voice hard, clipped.
"And what do you expect us to do, Neil?" another board member presses, impatient.
Carr hesitates, feigning thought, before tilting his head toward Mr Carter. "If… if Noah can succeed, then it would be an easy solution. One that doesn't require blood."
That stops me. My full attention snaps to him. If Noah can succeed…? The words sting with implication. What has he been working on behind my back? What is he hiding?
I remain perfectly still, watching them carefully, every twitch and glance. I sense information slipping, unguarded moments revealing more than they intend but before anything concrete emerges, Mr Carter's eyes flick to me, sharp and measured, before he turns his gaze back to Carr.
A silence falls again, heavier this time. I watch them, letting the words sink in. Every twitch, every swallow, is a confirmation: they are afraid. And in fear, they are malleable.
Mr Carter finally reclines slightly, intertwining his fingers. "Very well, Joseph," he says, voice steady. "Send you division to find where the counterfeits are produced and destroy it."
I incline my head once more, perfectly composed. "Of course."
But Mr Carter continues, his voice measured. "For now, public safety will be handled by the Guardians. We must not risk GeneX's image."
I bite back the protest forming on my tongue. Arguing with the board would be foolish. For now, patience serves me better.
____________________________________
Once the meeting concludes, I leave and head back to my lab, my mind replaying Mr Carr's words like a puzzle I need to solve. What is Noah working on that they think could solve their problems?
I have allowed him to work on his private project with out question. But now it represents a threat to everything I have built. I must intervene.
My finger hovers over the lift button, then I press 35. The lift descends silently from the top floor. When it arrives, the doors don't open immediately. I sigh. Waiting for permission to enter has always been irritating. Eventually, the doors ping open, and I step inside.
The lab greets me in chaos. Test tubes, beakers, and vials lie scattered across the counters. Machines hum obediently, but the lab computer's screen is dark, as if concealing something.
I glance toward the office. It is equally disordered, a food container rests on the corner of the desk, a blanket draped haphazardly across the sofa. And amidst the mess sits Noah.
He leans back at his desk, eyes flicking up at me, rough around the edges, exhaustion etched into his features. "Father, what can I help you with?" His voice is hoarse, as if sleep has been a stranger for days.
"I came to check on how your project is coming along" I say calmly, letting my gaze wander over the room. Noah stiffens, just enough to betray himself. "From the look of it, I'm guessing progress has been… limited."
My eyes settle on him again, and irritation flashes across his face, a surprising crack in his usual composure. Noah is normally calm, practical, steady. Yet now, his mask is fraying.
"It's coming along fine," he says through gritted teeth.
"Uh-huh. I'm sure it is," I murmur, hands clasped behind my back, surveying him carefully. "If you're not getting anywhere, perhaps I should take a look myself."
His eyes narrow, and he clasps his hands in front of his face, a futile attempt at control. "How considerate of you, considering your previous disinterest. But I must decline."
"Are you sure that's wise?" I say smoothly, letting a subtle edge creep into my tone. "You seem… tired." I smile faintly, cold and deliberate.
I watch him struggle to maintain composure, to glue the cracks in his carefully crafted facade. But he is close to the edge. Every twitch, every tightening of his jaw betrays him. With just the slightest push, I could make him reveal everything.
I take a slow step closer, letting the distance between us shrink just enough to make him uncomfortable. My gaze doesn't waver, calm and precise, but every inch of my posture exudes quiet dominance.
"You know," I begin, voice soft, almost conversational, "if you were truly making progress, this lab wouldn't look like a battlefield. Surely someone with your intellect could manage both order and results."
Noah's jaw tightens. His hands unclench, and he sits up straighter, trying to reclaim the composure I know is already fraying. "I don't need lessons on efficiency from you, Father," he snaps, voice rising slightly. "I know what I'm doing."
I tilt my head, faintly amused, letting the hint of a smile curl my lips. "Of course you do. But it's difficult not to wonder… how someone could devote themselves to something so critical and still leave such chaos in their wake."
The words land with deliberate precision, each one a scalpel against his composure. I take another measured step closer, closing just enough distance to make him acutely aware of my presence. "You were meticulous once, working under me," I say, voice calm, almost clinical. "Now… look at this mess."
Noah's hands slam down on the desk. "Enough!" His voice breaks slightly with frustration, eyes flashing with anger. "I've told you, I don't need your interference!"
I let the silence stretch, enjoying the sharp edge in his voice. Calmly, I lean slightly on the edge of the desk. "Interference?" I murmur, almost mockingly. "Noah, I'm merely… observing. Offering guidance where needed." My gaze pins him, steady, unrelenting. "And yet… I can't help but notice how easily your control falters when questioned. This isn't like you"
His breath hitches, and the tension in his shoulders spikes. He is furious, and yet he hasn't dared move closer or challenge me. The line between his pride and the truth of his fatigue is thinning, and I know just a little pressure, and the mask will break entirely.
"Let me be clear," I continue, voice calm, deliberate, cutting through the anger in the room like ice, "I do not care for excuses. The project either works or it doesn't. And if it doesn't, they I guess that means you will have more time to focus of the Survial rates"
Noah's face flushes with rage, and for the first time I see a flicker of fear beneath it. He clenches his fists under the desk, teeth grinding. The game has begun, and I am entirely in control.
"You know, Noah," I murmur, voice smooth and measured, "for someone with such potential, it's surprising how quickly fatigue erodes even the strongest resolve. One wonders what corners might be cut when exhaustion takes hold."
He's fists clench tighter. "I said enough!" he snaps, voice sharper, more controlled this time. "I don't need you to judge me."
I tilt my head slightly, observing the small tremor in his jaw, the faint tightening around his eyes. A careful scientist reading a specimen. "Judge? No, Noah, I simply assess. And right now, I see someone at a crossroads, either mastery or failure. Which will it be?" My voice drops an octave, deliberate, slow. "It's fascinating to watch how even the most disciplined falter when challenged."
His glare sharpens, and for the first time he rises from the desk slightly, setting his shoulders square, attempting to reclaim the space I've invaded. "I won't-" He pauses, swallowing hard. "I won't let you interfere. Not with this project. Not here. Not now. You need to leave."
A flicker of surprise crosses my mind, not at his anger, but at his audacity. Few would dare speak to me this way. Few would have the courage to hold their ground. But I hide it. My expression remains calm, almost indifferent.
"Very well" I say smoothly, stepping back, hands clasped behind my back. My voice is low, almost casual, but it carries the weight of inevitability. "For now, I will leave. But remember you will come running back to me. And when you do…" I let the words linger, a subtle promise, cold and deliberate. "…I will know everything I need to know."
I turn slowly, each movement measured, and exit the room. Behind me, I hear the faint exhale of frustration that betrays the calm he is desperately clinging to. Outside, the lift doors close with a soft ping, and I allow myself the smallest of smiles.
The game has only begun.