The iron door slid shut behind him with a heavy drrrkkhh, severing the sounds of the corridor beyond.
The man stood for a moment at the threshold, shoulders squared, allowing his eyes to adjust to the pulsing blue light that filled the vast hall.
Unlike Tyrak's researchers in their long white coats, his appearance immediately marked him as an outsider. His body was wrapped in a dark gray inspection mantle traced with vivid red lines along its sides, the fabric hanging down to his knees.
Beneath it, black armor encased his chest and arms, bearing a glowing red hexagonal emblem at its center—the official insignia of the council's inspection unit. A full-visor helmet concealed his entire face; its dark glass reflected the dim blue light of the room, leaving only a horizontal red line that pulsed slowly, like a mechanical iris.
Heavy metal boots struck the glass floor, their echoes sharp and intrusive against the low hum of the surrounding machines.
His movements were calm, yet a cold aura radiated from him. No expression, no identity—helmet and uniform swallowed whoever wore them whole, leaving behind only function: to observe, to judge, and to report.
As an inspection officer, he was accustomed to Tyrak facilities. But this place was different. It was not merely a laboratory—it felt like a colossal altar. Every machine, every pulse of blue energy beneath the glass floor, seemed to be praying in a language no human could understand.
At the center of the hall stood the primary capsule, encircled by holographic data dancing in the air. Elsewhere, glass tubes preserved biological tissue, while silvery nanite fluid rippled slowly within a massive container, as if aware of the foreign presence that had just entered.
And near that capsule—
A woman.
She stood calmly, her slender form wrapped in a long white lab coat, light brown hair neatly tied back. Pale blue neon light reflected off the thin, transparent glasses she wore, lending a cold gleam to her gaze.
Her hands moved swiftly across a holographic console, fingers tracing equations in the air as if the machine were nothing more than an extension of her brilliant mind.
She was no ordinary scientist. Everyone in Tyrak knew it—she was the mind behind this secret project. A genius.
And yet… a terrifying one.
Her name was Myra.
The man stepped forward, posture rigid despite the faint tremor in his chest—a sign of tension he refused to show. He was not here merely to observe. He carried a message from his superiors—not a detailed order, but a clear request: they wanted a direct report from the Doctor herself.
His boots echoed against the glass floor.
Myra glanced back briefly, her stare cold and piercing, as if weighing his every movement and intention in a single instant. The man bowed respectfully, then spoke, his voice heavy yet controlled.
"I was sent to deliver a request from my superiors. They wish to hear a direct report from you, Doctor. Project stability, nanite status, tissue durability—everything."
Myra remained silent, studying him for several seconds longer than necessary, until the air between them grew oppressive. She exhaled softly and dismissed the hologram with a wave of her hand. The blue light dimmed, leaving the capsule behind her as the undeniable focal point.
"A summons, hm…" Her voice was low, coldly resonant, yet clear. "There are always messages. Always eyes watching this altar. Very well… I'll answer."
She stepped closer to the capsule, her fingers gliding along its fogged glass surface, as if touching something fragile within.
"You see this sleeping body? It is not merely a human preserved in ice. It is a variable. A seed that, if awakened, could alter the course of the world. Your superiors may only want technical reports—stability, nanite status, tissue endurance. But I…"
Her gaze snapped back to the man, piercing so deeply he nearly swallowed reflexively.
"…I am not working for reports. I am rewriting history."
Silence followed. The machines hummed softly, filling the void her words left behind.
The man straightened. He knew he had to choose his words carefully.
"I… am only a messenger. Nothing more. But if my superiors hear your words, they may no longer see this as just another laboratory."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of the scientist's lips—subtle, ambiguous, hovering between mockery and satisfaction.
"Hmph. Let them think whatever they wish. What matters is this—he must remain asleep. Until the time comes. And no one is allowed to interfere with that process. Including… those who sent you here. Remember that."
Her gaze hardened, her tone sharpening into a warning. The man bowed deeply, holding his breath. He understood all too well—he was merely a courier, a middleman. Yet standing before this woman felt like standing before a force far greater than Tyrak's authority.
"Understood, Doctor," he said at last, his voice flat, forcing it steady. "I will deliver your message. In your own words."
Myra turned her attention back to the capsule, as though his presence no longer mattered.
"Make sure they understand one thing," she said coolly. "I do not work for them. I work for the future of this universe."
The words were released coldly, yet they trembled with conviction.
The man could only stand there in silence. For a moment, it felt as though the room itself had sealed shut—the machines vibrating faintly, and the body within the capsule… almost as if it were breathing.
Then—
Tap… Tap… Tap…
The stillness shattered as another set of footsteps echoed from the far side of the hall. Three assistants, who had been waiting in the shadows of the machinery, finally stepped forward.
A young woman with neatly combed short black hair bowed respectfully, then lifted her gaze toward the scientist, doubt flickering in her eyes.
"Doctor… forgive me if this is impertinent. But… is the body inside that capsule truly still salvageable? With the nanites in such an unstable state, isn't it too dangerous to keep forcing the process?"
A broad-shouldered man beside her added, his voice heavy. "We've seen what happened to the animal subjects—especially the last primate. The nanites did integrate… but the will was lost. What remained was nothing but an empty shell."
The bespectacled man who had been clutching a data tablet finally spoke as well, his tone more cautious. "There are reports of Aetherial energy within the cellular core beginning to fluctuate. If this continues, isn't there a chance the body could rupture instead… rather than regenerate?"
Silence settled for a moment. Only the steady pulse of machines and the drip of liquid from a nearby tube filled the space. Myra lifted her head, looking at each of the three assistants in turn—her gaze sharp, yet free of anger.
"Nanites are dangerous. Aetherial energy is no different. You're right… both are double-edged blades. In the wrong hands, they bring nothing but destruction."
She stepped toward a side console, activating a hologram of experimental results. Red and blue graphs twisted and surged, displaying the nanites' pulses as they interacted with biological tissue.
"Look here…" she said coolly. "At a certain point, the nanites did not reject this body. They… attempted to resonate with it. Slowly. Imperfectly, yes. But there is a pattern—a pattern that never appeared in any other subject."
The three assistants fell silent. Their eyes exchanged glances before returning to the screen.
Myra crossed her arms, her voice dropping lower, softer—yet heavy with pressure.
"This subject is different. This body is different. The world may call it coincidence; I call it biological destiny. The variable you see inside that capsule is not merely human. He is a point of convergence. A bridge that can make nanites and Aetherial energy stop rejecting each other… and begin to merge."
The young female assistant bit her lip, unease etched across her face. "But if he awakens… won't he be no different from the monsters born from Tyrak's past experiments? What if all we're doing is creating another monster?"
Myra turned sharply, her voice slicing through the air like a blade.
"No. Because the difference is this—he still possesses his will. As long as that will remains, he is not a monster. He… is a weapon that chooses its own path."
Silence returned. Machines hummed. Thin vapor hissed from pipe joints, blue light pulsing gently beneath the floor.
The envoy, who had been standing rigid all this time, finally dared to speak. "If what you're saying is true, Doctor… then this person is no longer just an experimental subject. He is… a threat. And at the same time, a hope. My superiors will not accept this easily. They will see it as a danger to factional stability."
Myra offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile. She turned back to the capsule, her fingers brushing the fogged glass.
"Let them see him as a threat. Let them be uneasy. Because in the end… they will realize that this very threat is what can save the world from itself."
The words flowed out slowly—cold, yet brimming with certainty. The three assistants bowed their heads, not daring to add anything more. The envoy could only remain silent, his chest tightening, as if the cold air of the laboratory had become a weight pressing down on his lungs.
For the first time, he truly understood—this room was not merely a laboratory.
It was an altar.
And the body within that capsule… was the center of a prayer, waiting to be awakened.
Yet the tension had not fully eased when one of the assistants—the broad-shouldered man with the hardened face—raised his hand slightly, trying to interject.
"Doctor… I still can't fully accept this. The last primate trial is still fresh in my mind. That ape… it didn't die, but it wasn't alive either. Its eyes were empty, as if its soul had been stripped away. If that is what we call success, then what we awaken won't be a human… but a shell."
The young female assistant lowered her head deeply, both hands gripping her notes tightly. Her voice trembled—hesitant, yet honest.
"What we saw back then… it still haunts my dreams," she continued softly. "That ape's body moved, it breathed—but its gaze… there was nothing left inside. If that happens to the human in this capsule…"
She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.
The bespectacled man—usually the most rational among them—let out a heavy sigh.
"The data does show signs of resonance. But numbers can't hide the truth: every previous experiment ended in failure. It's as if we're forcing the logic of the world to accept something it rejected from the very beginning."
The room sank once more into silence. The hum of machines and the flow of liquid through pipes became the only backdrop, pressing against everyone's ears.
Then Myra moved.
She activated a new hologram: a video recording of a test ape inside a small capsule. Its body convulsed as silvery nanites spread beneath its skin like glowing veins. Then its eyes opened—
Empty. White. Staring straight ahead, devoid of meaning.
All the assistants stiffened. Even the Tyrak envoy, who had been struggling to keep his composure, couldn't suppress the flicker of dread that crossed his face.
The scientist watched the footage without flinching. Her voice was calm, yet carried a firmness that raised goosebumps.
"Yes. You're all correct. It moved without a soul. It lived… but it was not a living being. And precisely because of that—this is not a failure."
She shut off the hologram, letting the blue darkness reclaim the room. Her gaze returned to the large capsule at the center of the hall.
"That was the foundation. A stepping stone. There is no evolution without sacrifice, no perfection without suffering—and this human—" she tapped the glass surface lightly, the frost trembling at the contact "—will be the first to reject that dead end. Because his will is stronger than his own body."
The female assistant swallowed hard, her voice barely audible.
"Doctor… what if you're wrong? What if what awakens… becomes just another monster? One even more terrifying than what we're trying to prevent?"
Silence.
All eyes turned to Myra.
She smiled faintly—coldly—but behind that smile was something resembling fanatic conviction.
"If that happens… then let the sin be mine alone, not yours. This world is already full of monsters—what difference does one more make? But if I am right…" Her voice lowered. "Then this is the beginning of redemption."
The words landed heavily on the metal floor, echoing like a prayer—one that only made the air feel thicker in their chests.
The Tyrak envoy finally stepped forward, his voice low but firm.
"Words like those… will be difficult for the council above to accept. Still, I will relay them exactly as you said."
Myra glanced at him briefly, then turned back to the capsule.
"They don't need to understand," she replied coolly. "It's enough that they know… fate is waiting behind this glass."
The machines emitted a long, resonant hum, as if affirming her words. The assistants bowed their heads—some in reverence, some in fear.
And for a fleeting moment, everyone in that room felt it—
The body sleeping inside the capsule was truly breathing.
***