Minami-Tori-shima (Marcus Island), Japanese Territory
It's one of the most isolated places on Earth: a tiny triangular island surrounded by reefs, with no permanent civilians, just a handful of weather observers and military personnel on temporary duty. The land is mostly flat, covered in low trees and scrub, with clear blue waters around it. No tourists, no flights in or out except military supply planes. Perfect for secrets.
Deep in the island's hidden scientific base, far underground, a secret organization called Synthetic Prima ran its operations.
Rumors about them had floated for centuries—since the start of the Industrial Revolution in Europe. People blamed them for everything from world-changing inventions to dark deals gone wrong. No proof ever surfaced, so it stayed just talk. But here, in this forgotten corner of the ocean, the base was very real.
Today, important leaders had gathered in a secure chamber. Twelve chairs formed a circle around a long table. Most were filled by representatives from powerful families that funded the organization. They all wore simple identification bands around their necks with the same name: Synthetic Prima.
At the center stood a tall woman with red hair, wearing a sharp graphite-gray suit and thin spectacles. She looked mature yet youthful, calm and in control.
This was Professor Rose, head of Prometheus Labs.
She checked her wristwatch, then spoke into the microphone on the table. "Please wait a little longer. The remaining leaders will arrive shortly."
To the outside world, Prometheus Labs was a marvel of modern medical technology—credited with breathtaking discoveries across Europe. Beneath the surface, however, it also controlled an elite black market for illegal medical trade, accessible only to the most powerful. As its leader, Rose not only supervised but actively invested in research—both public and forbidden.
And yet, here she was, miles away from her headquarters, personally handling the delegation of this exhibition.
In practice, they functioned as a board of directors—each controlling a stake in the organization, each wielding authority through distinct roles and responsibilities. Their voices carried weight. Their patience, however, was thinning with every passing second.
A man seated to the side exhaled sharply.
"We don't get summoned under priority seal to sit quietly."
Another followed, his tone sharp.
"What exactly have we been called here to sponsor?"
Professor Rose turned toward them slowly.
Instead of answering, she clapped once.
The lights dimmed instantly.
Behind her, the presentation screen ignited in flawless ultra-high definition. There was no logo. No preamble. Only a live camera feed from another chamber within the facility.
At the center of the screen stood a glass containment unit.
Inside floated the body of Riku Hayashi.
Unlike his age at death, he appeared younger—his features smoother, restored. He remained as if unconscious and suspended in a translucent liquid. His body was restrained by mechanized grips at the wrists, ankles, spine, and throat. Dozens of syringes were embedded into his flesh, each connected to thin tubing that pulsed faintly. An oxygen mask covered his face, allowing him to breathe underwater.
Most importantly—
His chest was rising and falling.
He was breathing. No one knew who he was or what his past had been—except the professor herself—but none of that mattered. To them, he was nothing more than a piece of meat, a roasted lamb laid out for inspection.
The silence shattered.
"Is there any delay on the feed?"
"Hell no—that's live, right? Tell me it's live!"
"Are those neural stabilizers or—"
"This is a living subject. Damn it."
"Interesting…"
"Is it the same as those pills and drugs?"
Excitement spread like a controlled infection. The once-boring chamber transformed into a circus of speculation.
And there was a reason.
The last time they had gathered like this—watching a living test subject—it marked history. That day, the longevity pill and stabilization drug had been revealed. Since then, most demonstrations were reduced to graphs and recordings. This was different.
Professor Rose said nothing.
A sudden buzz echoed through the chamber.
Three holographic figures materialized at the front, occupying the previously vacant chairs. The room fell silent instantly.
Though the chamber was dim, their presence was unmistakable.
On the right stood a man in a U.S. military general's uniform, adorned with medals earned through countless battles. To the world, he was a war hero. Within Synthetic Prima, he was the leader of Stinger Corps—the most powerful mercenary organization in the underworld. His real name was unknown. They called him Marcus.
On the left appeared a European blonde man in a white tuxedo. His face remained obscured by shadow, but his aura was unmistakable. Known as Augustus, he was a famous businessman in public life. Within the organization, he led the Open Tech Society, which controlled the largest share of darknet technological trade.
At the center was the President of Synthetic Prima himself.
Julius.
The executing head. The final authority. The one who determined the organization's direction.
His face remained hidden in darkness, but everyone knew who he was—and where he came from. No one dared to acknowledge it. That silence was protocol, established since the organization's inception.
These three were the core governing figures. Their Roman-inspired nicknames were a mark of power. They influenced world events from behind the scenes.
Everyone stood in respect.
They sat only when Julius waved them down.
His gaze shifted to the body standing at the center of the chamber. He frowned.
"You're occupying a borrowed shape," he said coldly."Correct it."
The woman's form shimmered.
Her body dissolved into light and reassembled into a male figure wearing an assistant suit, his features synthetic and precise.
It was Alex.
An adaptive artificial intelligence—officially designated as a secretary, though his sentience bordered on perfection. Upgraded from his predecessor, Elos, Alex manifested physically through holographic projection .(a/n: there is a mechanised rover showing projection. so dont take it as physical entity.)
He inclined his head.
Julius's gaze sharpened.
"By whom?"
Augustus smirked.
"So she's late."
Marcus added dryly,
"She always is."
"Damn that psycho bitch."
"Entrusting her with this responsibility was a mistake."
"Leadership doesn't suit her."
"Shouldn't someone call her?"
Murmurs of discontent spread.
Most people here represented powerful families. Leaders like Rose—chosen by merit rather than lineage—were replaceable.
She was the exception.
She had held her position for decades. Some even whispered she was over a century old. No one dared speak like this in her presence. That fear was a privilege she had earned.
Suddenly, the chamber doors burst open.
Professor Rose entered, wearing a lab coat, moving quickly.
"I apologize, gentlemen," she said as she took her seat."I was occupied with something critical."
Silence.
No complaints.
Her lab coat was stained with blood. Whatever she had been doing, no one wanted to question it—yet.
She turned toward the sponsors and leaders, speaking into the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
Her eyes swept across the darkened room—some faces clear, others swallowed by shadow.
"You are here today to witness the unveiling of the most ambitious experiment humanity has ever attempted."
The screen behind her still showed the man floating in glass.
"This," she said quietly,"is only the beginning."