The High-Altitude Simulation Chamber—colloquially known among the Red River assets as "The Summit"—was a vertical cylinder of reinforced poly-carbon and brushed steel that pierced the center of the institute like a needle. It was designed to simulate the crushing vacuum of the upper stratosphere, a place where the sky turned a bruised, abyssal purple and the air was too thin to carry the weight of a scream.
Vaun Meyer stood at the base of the chamber, his feet hovering a few inches off the floor. Beside him, Reggie and Kevin were undergoing their final biometric checks. The atmosphere between the three of them had shifted; the "Glass-Petal Bastion" trial had bonded them in a way that the Vought instructors hadn't intended. They weren't just a cell anymore; they were a collective unit.
"Check your seals, A-Train," Vaun said, his voice a low, steady hum. He reached out and adjusted the collar of Reggie's thermal suit. "The pressure drop is going to hit you first. Your metabolism is a furnace; it'll eat your oxygen reserves in seconds if you don't pace your breathing."
Reggie nodded, his usual hyperactive grin replaced by a look of grim focus. "I'm good, Aero. I've been practicing that rhythmic breathing you showed me. In for four, hold for two, out for six."
Kevin was checking his own hydration levels, his skin looking particularly dull in the harsh fluorescent lighting. "The humidity in there is going to be near zero. My gills are already starting to itch."
Vaun placed a hand on Kevin's arm. "I'll hold the moisture for you, Kevin. I've already pre-loaded the air-pockets with a high-density vapor. Just stay close to my wake."
The door to the observation deck slid open, and a man stepped out. He didn't look like the polished scouts or the clinical doctors. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with skin that looked like weathered parchment and eyes that were milky with cataracts. He wore an old Vought flight suit from the nineties, the "Sky-Sentry" logo faded and peeling.
"My name is Captain Miller," the man rasped, his voice sounding like gravel being ground in a mortar. "Vought calls me a 'Consultant.' The students call me 'The Ghost.' I was the first Aero-phenotype to hit the Top 50. Then I hit a plateau. Then I hit the ground."
He looked at the three of them with a mixture of pity and contempt. "You think you're gods because people click a heart on a screen? In the Summit, the fans can't hear you. The drones don't care if you're pretty. Only the physics matter."
"The simulation will begin at a simulated altitude of 30,000 feet," Miller continued. "The partial pressure of oxygen will be 3 times less than normal."
That means you'll be breathing about a third of the oxygen you're used to. Your task is to maintain a 'Fixed-Orbit' formation for twenty minutes. If one of you falls, the whole cell fails. And if you fail, you lose your 'Elite' meal privileges for a month."
Miller tapped his console. "Ascend."
The floor of the chamber dropped away as the massive fans beneath the grating roared to life. Vaun led the way, his Aero-kinesis seizing the rising air and shaping it into a stable, upward-spiraling vortex. He pulled Reggie and Kevin into the flow, their bodies lifting into the dizzying height of the cylinder.
As they climbed, the pressure dropped. Vaun could feel it in his teeth, in his joints, and in the way the moisture began to evaporate from the surface of his eyes.
"Pressure... dropping," Reggie gasped, his sneakers sparking as he tried to find purchase in the thinning air. His heart rate was spiking—Vaun could feel the frantic vibration through the atmosphere.
"Stay calm, Reggie," Vaun commanded. "Kevin, move to his left. Form the triangle."
Kevin struggled. Without the buoyancy of water or thick air, his dense, aquatic-adapted muscles felt like lead. He was gasping, the slits on his neck fluttering desperately.
Vaun realized then that Captain Miller was pushing the depressurization faster than the script allowed. The old man wanted to see them break. He wanted to see the "Chosen" choke on the reality of their own mortality.
Not today, Vaun thought.
He reached into the "Nature" reserves he had stored within the fibers of his own suit—a mossy, genetically modified lichen he had grown in secret. He triggered a Cellular Synthesis.
He didn't just move the air; he created an Atmospheric Bastion.
He used his Aero-kinesis to condense the remaining oxygen molecules into a tight, high-pressure bubble around the three of them. Then, he used his Nature power to grow the lichen across the interior of the bubble.
The lichen didn't just grow; it acted as a biological CO2 Scrubber. It absorbed the carbon dioxide the three of them were exhaling and, through a hyper-accelerated photosynthesis driven by the chamber's UV lights, it pumped out fresh, high-purity oxygen.
"Breathe," Vaun whispered, his voice resonating through the closed-loop system he had created.
The relief was instant. Reggie's heart rate stabilized. Kevin's skin regained its luster as the humidity Vaun had trapped within the bubble began to soothe his scales. They weren't just surviving; they were thriving in a private ecosystem.
From the observation deck, Captain Miller stared, his jaw dropping. He hadn't seen an Aero-phenotype use "Nature" as a life-support system. He hadn't seen a Supe who didn't just fight the environment, but became it.
[FOLLOWER COUNT: 65,200 $\rightarrow$ 68,000]
[TRENDING: #THELIVINGSTORM #TRIOUNIFIED]
The fans watching the internal feed were seeing something revolutionary. It wasn't just a "Save"; it was the creation of a new world.
While Vaun was conquering the sky, Emma Meyer was conquering the dark.
Inside the "Dark Box"—a six-foot-by-six-foot soundproofed container in the basement of the New York penthouse—Emma sat in absolute silence. Elena had intended the box to be a sensory deprivation punishment, a way to break Emma's will and force her back into her "Micro-Goal" obedience.
But Elena had underestimated the Meyer stubbornness.
Emma wasn't crying. She was sitting in the center of the floor, her legs crossed, her eyes closed. She had realized that in the dark, there were no ring lights. In the dark, there was no "Emma the Product." There was only Emma.
She reached out and touched the wall of the box. She felt the vibration of the city—the subway three floors down, the humming of the penthouse's refrigerator, and the distant, rhythmic pulse of the Vought towers.
...- - - ... (S-O-S)
... - .- -. -.. (S-T-A-N-D)
She felt the vibration Vaun had sent through the drones. It echoed in her marrow, a secret language between siblings.
Stand.
Emma stood. She didn't shrink. She did the opposite. She reached for the size-shifting power she usually used to become a doll. She focused on the hunger in her stomach, but instead of letting it weaken her, she used it as a fuel.
She grew.
She didn't grow much—just enough to be her full, natural size of three-and-a-half feet. But as she did, she felt a surge of strength she had never known. She reached for the liquid nutrient tube that was feeding into the box.
She didn't drink. She bit the plastic, severing the line.
Outside the box, a "Nutrition Alert" flared on Elena's tablet. Elena screamed in frustration, her manicured fingers flying across the screen as she tried to override the box's internal systems.
"You little brat!" Elena's voice boomed through the box's speakers. "You think you're being clever? You're ruining the 'Spirit Child' rollout! The investors are calling every five minutes!"
Emma didn't answer. She sat back down and began to hum—a low, vibrating tone that she matched to the frequency Vaun had sent her. She was learning to find her own "quiet" in the middle of the storm. For the first time, the hunger didn't feel like a deficit. It felt like a space she was filling with herself.
The simulation in the Summit ended with a violent repressurization. The chamber hissed, and the Trio descended to the floor, the moss-bubble dissipating into dust as the vacuum was replaced by the thick, sterile air of the institute.
They landed as one. Reggie and Kevin were leaning on each other, their faces flushed but their eyes bright with a new, shared confidence.
Captain Miller walked out of the observation deck. He looked at Vaun for a long time, his milky eyes searching the boy's violet-green gaze.
"You didn't follow the parameters," Miller said, though there was no anger in his voice. "The parameters were to endure the altitude. You decided to ignore the altitude entirely."
"Parameters are for people who don't have a plan, Captain," Vaun said, his voice as sharp as a diamond.
"Maybe," Miller rasped. "But remember this, Aero. Vought likes its heroes to be 'Relatable.' If you become too self-sufficient—if you don't need the air they give you—you become a threat. And threats don't get the Seven. They get the bus to the Woods."
Miller turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty chamber.
Reggie wiped sweat from his brow. "He's just bitter, Vaun. We crushed that. Did you see the spike? We hit sixty-eight thousand!"
"I saw," Vaun said. He looked at his Fan-Tracker. The surge was intoxicating, but the "Ghost's" words lingered in the back of his mind. He was becoming too efficient. He was becoming a closed-loop system.
As they walked back to the Gamma Wing, Sarah Sloane met them at the entrance. She looked furious.
"Meyer. A word. Now."
She led Vaun into a private briefing room. She slammed a tablet onto the table. It showed a "Gossip-Vought" headline: THE MEYER REBELLION? ELENA MEYER'S DAUGHTER REFUSES FEED-TUBE IN LIVE BIO-ALERT.
"Your sister is becoming a liability, Vaun," Sloane hissed. "And by extension, you are becoming a liability. The board is questioning if the 'Meyer Brand' is worth the trouble. They're considering a 'Brand Divorce.' They want to separate your contract from your mother's and put Emma into a 'Permanent Sleep' program for research."
Vaun felt the air in the room condense into a single, needle-sharp point. The table began to groan under the sudden, localized pressure.
"If you touch her," Vaun whispered, his voice vibrating with a lethal, abyssal frequency, "I will pull the air out of this building until the walls collapse. And then I'll do the same to Vought Tower."
Sloane took a step back, her face turning pale. She had seen Homelander's tantrums, but this was different. This wasn't a tantrum. It was a cold, calculated promise.
"Then fix it," Sloane said, her voice shaking. "Fix your mother. Fix your sister. Or the next 'Summit' you enter won't have an exit."
Sloane fled the room.
Vaun stood in the silence. He felt the 68,000 fans. He felt the power of the air and the earth. He looked at his hand and saw a tiny, jagged thorn of Glass-Sedge growing from his palm—a manifestation of his rage.
"We're almost there, Em," Vaun whispered. "Just a few more followers. And then we break the jar for good."
He walked back to his room. He found Reggie and Kevin waiting for him with a real, smuggled apple they had taken from the "Elite" commissary as a reward for their performance.
They sliced it into three pieces. They ate in the dark, the taste of real fruit a silent vow. They were the Trio. They were the Rebellion. And the veil was finally starting to thin.