Joseph Langford - September 2120
"I spoke with 016 and 009" Dr Williams says, flicking through his notes as he sits opposite my desk.
Light from the GeneX laboratory filters through the blinds, thin and metallic, striping the office in shadows.
"Both confirmed that Christopher Oswald was taken. However, due to their positions during observation, neither was able to identify who removed him," Williams continues.
I lean back in my chair.
If Oswald was truly taken, then his appearance at the summit raises an inconvenient contradiction. A man who had allegedly been kidnapped does not simply resume his life without explanation.
Williams sets his tablet down and pushes his glasses up, rubbing at his eyes.
"If your hypothesis is correct" he says carefully, "and Kai was responsible for Oswald's removal, do you think they might be covering for him?"
I narrow my eyes. He notices and flinches.
016 and 009 served alongside Kai in the Special Division long enough for familiarity to form. Repeated missions, shared survival. A fragile thing some people insist on calling connection.
But my operators are not people.
They are trained not to think. Conditioned not to hesitate. Forced to place GeneX above instinct, loyalty, and self preservation. Above each other.
For two operators to lie would imply independent thought.
That seems… improbable.
"They know the consequences of lying to me," I say calmly.
And that, more than trust, has always been enough.
Williams lowers his gaze back to his notes, flipping through the pages with restrained unease.
"Next on the agenda," he says, "the burnout cure continues to underperform. We've recorded four additional test subject failures."
I feel the irritation rise, a precise spike rather than an outburst. I suppress it just as quickly.
I have assigned some of my most capable scientists to this work, yet progress remains stagnant. The survival margin is negligible. The success rate is not merely disappointing. It is unacceptable.
"Cross reference the current formulation with the latest Lunex Vial batch," I say. "Use Noah's research notes as a baseline. His material synthesis reduced the fatality rate significantly. Identify the variables responsible and isolate any transferable compounds or stabilising agents."
Williams begins writing immediately.
"If Lunex can condition a system to survive structural overload," I continue, "then its mechanisms can be repurposed. Adapt the data accordingly."
Williams closes his notebook. "That concludes my report."
He rises, gives a brief nod, and leaves the office.
I check my watch before standing and slipping my suit jacket back into place. The lift carries me to the top floor in silence. When the doors open, the receptionist greets me and guides me towards the boardroom.
Only a portion of the board has arrived. I take my usual seat without hesitation. Moments later, the receptionist returns and places a coffee in front of me.
The board requested an emergency meeting.
This time, however, they specifically requested Noah's presence.
No explanation was provided. The omission alone is enough to irritate me. I dislike information gaps. I dislike surprises even more.
When the remaining members arrive, the room settles into silence. Mr Carter is the first to speak.
"Bring him in."
He gestures dismissively. Security exits the room and a moment later, they return with Noah.
He enters calmly, posture controlled, hands clasped behind his back as he stops before the table. He scans the room briefly. His eyes flick to me for less than a second before returning to his grandfather.
"Noah," Mr Carter says, "thank you for coming on such short notice."
Noah inclines his head, but he does not speak.
"We have called this meeting," Mr Carter continues, "due to a serious threat to GeneX's public image."
The other board members watch him closely, absorbing every word.
"Counterfeit versions of the Lunex Vial have begun circulating," he says. "These counterfeits exhibit severe neurological instability. Subjects lose control of themselves and display extreme aggression towards those around them."
I remain silent, observing.
I do not like Noah being present for this discussion. I see no operational necessity for his involvement.
The board has already been informed that I have a test subject currently under observation who has used the counterfeit. We have also acquired a vial, which my team is actively deconstructing to identify its composition and origin.
The problem is already being addressed.
So why involve him?
I glance at Noah again. He listens attentively, composed. There is no visible surprise in his expression.
That concerns me more than anything else.
"We cannot allow the public to associate these failures with the legitimate Lunex Vial," Mr Carr interjects. "It would compromise trust."
"Exactly," Mr Carter says, looking between Noah and myself. "Which is why we have called both of you here today."
He turns his attention fully to me.
"Dr Langford, the board is requesting the immediate deployment of your Special Division Operators. Full engagement. Their objective will be to detain individuals affected by the counterfeit vials and locate the source of their production."
The phrasing is polite but the meaning is not.
Being ordered to deploy my own division does not sit well with me. But refusal is not an option. Disobedience does not end with reprimand.
It ends with loss.
And I have not spent my life building GeneX only to have it taken from me now.
I nod in agreement, though it means nothing, I already know the outcome I must enforce.
Mr Carter turns his attention to Noah.
"Noah, we would like to push your nullifer into the next stages and have it tested and produced as soon as possible" he says. "If your nullifer works as you claim, it will be deployed against the counterfeit."
Noah stands composed, the picture of calm certainty.
"The nullifer has only been formulated to counter the current Lunex Vial," he replies evenly. "I cannot guarantee it will function against the counterfeit."
"Then make it work," Mr Carr says with a clipped edge.
Noah's reply is careful, measured: "To do so, I will require additional resources, a test subject, and vials of the counterfeit."
Mr Carter folds his hands, lips pressed together, considering. Finally, he looks at me.
"Dr Langford, your facility contains all the resources Noah is requesting," he says. I feel a familiar tightening in my chest. "Noah is to have access for the time being and may use your resources to ensure the nullifer is operational."
I begin to protest. "Mr Carter, I don't think it is wise-"
"This isn't a request. It's an order," he interrupts, narrowing his eyes at me.
I nod, silent, a mask of obedience hiding the irritation coiling within. The notion of Noah wandering through my facility, unaware of what we truly do here, is intolerable.
He believes the facility is simply for training those with awakened Lunex abilities into soldiers for GeneX. He does not know the nature of the experiments, the conditioning, the refinements and I will see to it he never discovers the full truth.
He is too fragile to comprehend the demands necessary to safeguard GeneX's future, yet now he will have access to it. I will ensure that before he enters, his path is tightly restricted, no interaction with those who have come into contact with Kai. At least in this, there is a measure of control.
When the meeting concludes, I take the same lift as Noah.
"Looks like your nullifer is useful after all," I say, deliberately neutral.
He does not reply. His eyes track the numbers above the lift doors with precise attention.
"Shame it is being used for a purpose different from your original intent," I continue, letting the weight of my observation hang in the air.
Noah tenses, and finally, he speaks. "My nullifer is being used for exactly the reason I created it," he says, steady, composed. "To ensure the safety of others."
They're just words, yet beneath them, I detect the subtle shadow of something else, a hidden motivation he refuses to reveal. I will uncover it. I always do.
The lift slows to my floor. As I prepare to step out, he speaks again.
"I look forward to seeing what you have been up to at the facility all these years," he says, smiling. A knowing, careful smile. It unsettles me, not because of what he knows, but because he believes he does.
I turn toward him, and the lift doors close. He is gone.