Whirrrrrr... Whirrrrrr...
The hum that once blanketed the chamber with a sense of routine fractured into a high-pitched shriek that sliced through the air like a blade. Lights flared—red, white, red, white—the alternating colors screaming emergency.
Alarms blared through the pristine chamber of Sector B-12A. The walls, once sterile and quiet, now danced with panic. Warning lights pulsed across the glass surfaces of biopods lining the room, casting the once-silent laboratory into a crimson hell.
{SYNCHRONIZATION ALERT: All Biopods in Sector B-12A require immediate intervention. Assigned personnel proceed with caution.}
"Code Red! CODE RED!"
A scientist's shout cut through the chaos, barely audible over the cacophony of sirens and pounding footsteps echoing down the reinforced corridors.
The biometric lock disengaged with a loud k-chhk, and the door hissed open. A gust of white vapor rolled into the lab like smoke from a blast zone. Out of the mist emerged figures in white coats, faces tense, eyes scanning furiously for answers.
"Sir Richard, check the neural sync data—now!" barked a tall man with silver streaks in his hair and a voice hardened by decades of failed experiments.
Sir Richard darted toward the central console, fingers flying across the interface. "Vitals are unstable. Eighty percent of the candidates are spiking beyond safety limits. Bioflux levels are erratic!"
The pods trembled. Inside, figures suspended in gel convulsed, spasming as the synchronization sequence raged within them. Their heart rates flashed violently across holographic displays.
"This is not possible," Sir Charles muttered, his gaze frozen on Pod 108-A. "All candidates were 90% compatible. We screened them for months."
{SYSTEM: Initiate sedation to mitigate neurological spikes?}
"No," Charles snapped without hesitation. "If we sedate now, we could corrupt the code-to-stream interface. The entire Ascension sequence would collapse."
"Then what do we do, Sir?!" a voice cried from across the room, panic dripping from every syllable.
Sir Charles clenched his fists, dread hollowing his chest. He didn't answer. Not because he wouldn't—but because he couldn't.
{Alert: Pod 108-A failing to stabilize. Neural response critical.}
Everyone turned toward the pod like gravity had shifted around it. The translucent casing glowed red, casting eerie shadows across the glass. Inside, a young man twisted and convulsed violently. His muscles bulged unnaturally, bones visibly shifting beneath his skin.
{Warning: Subject Instability detected. Chances of survival: 10%... 5%... 1%. Incompatible host.}
"Incompatible?!" Charles's voice cracked, disbelief lacing his tone. "State the subject's vitals—now!"
{Subject ID: Zane Everhart. Code No: 0000001. Heart Rate: 154 BPM. Blood Pressure: 170/115. Respiration: 29/min. Oxygen: 86%. Core Temp: 39.6°C. EEG: Abnormal Theta waves. Neural Loop: Overstimulated. Cortisol: 3.6x baseline. Dopamine/Serotonin imbalance detected.}
Sir Richard squinted at the readout. "He's collapsing from the inside. We've lost him."
Then, just as the words left his mouth—
{Signal detected: Pod 108-A synchronizing.}
{SYNCHRONIZATION ERROR: Dual consciousness detected.}
{Survival rate: 90%.}
"What...?" one of the assistants breathed.
"Dual consciousness? That's not possible!" someone muttered.
"It shouldn't be," Charles whispered, stepping closer to the pod. "Unless..."
Zane's body stilled.
Then it began.
A sharp jolt—his spine arched. His limbs extended unnaturally, stretching like a puppet jerked by unseen strings. Inside the pod, his eyes rolled back as the gel surrounding him began to glow faintly.
{You have entered the Ascension Port. Neural mapping in progress…}
The voice echoed not in his ears, but inside his skull.
Pain lanced through him—raw and primal, not pain of the flesh, but of the soul. His nerves ignited in sequence, like millions of volts traveling through wet wire. Zane opened his eyes but saw only darkness. His mouth was filled with fluid. He couldn't breathe, yet he wasn't suffocating.
He was changing.
{Initiating Ascension Data upload…}
The voice faded. And the real torment began.
Time unraveled. Seconds stretched into eternities. Zane couldn't scream. His mind became a battlefield—flashes of memory, not his own, surged into him like tidal waves.
Floating cities in the sky. Earth 101. Armored titans with glowing sigils etched into their skin. Monsters formed from pure shadow tearing apart civilizations. Machines that cried in binary.
And then—pain. A child crying. A mother torn away. A sword plunging into a mountain.
He saw himself.
Not as he was—but as something else.
Blue glowing eyes, code spiraling across his iris. A smile that wasn't his, but came from him.
{Synchronization at 50%. Error detected. Host resisting. Dual mind detected.}
{Synchronization Failed…}
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt—
{Synchronization Successful.}
In the chamber, all monitors surrounding Pod 108-A went flat.
Zane Everhart—Subject 0000001—flatlined.
Sir Charles collapsed into a chair, face buried in his hands. "We failed."
{All test subjects failed to meet Ascension protocol requirements.}
The fog of coolant hissed from the ceiling, blanketing the lab in silence.
Sir Richard turned, voice low. "We've lost our standing with the Manageries. Sector B-12A is done."
Technicians removed their gloves slowly, as if afraid their movements would shatter the fragile quiet. Some left. Others stood rooted, eyes still on the pod.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Sir Charles's head shot up.
"...Sir?" one of the techs called out, voice trembling.
Zane's body spasmed violently, slamming against the glass. His veins pulsed with electric-blue light. The gel around him fizzed, boiling off into vapor. His vitals roared back to life—monitors flashing with raw, uncharted data.
{ALERT: Unknown Synchronization Mode Detected. Neural pattern—untraceable. Estimated success: Unknown.}
Sir Charles stood. "He's breathing."
Gas hissed as clamps around the pod disengaged. The top opened with a slow, dramatic rise. Fog spilled out like dry ice on stage. Zane sat up.
His eyes opened. Not brown. Not human.
Blue-white. Ethereal. Alive.
He reached out, palm pressing against the glass. Wherever he touched, the pod's surface frosted.
{Subject Synchronized. Neural resistance bypassed via secondary route. Core status: ACTIVE. Ascension complete.}
He exhaled—slow, calculated. Frost curled across the pod's interior from his breath.
"Where… where am I?" His voice was alien to him. It felt stretched, distorted—as if newly formed.
Every scientist froze.
Sir Charles stared like he was looking at a god. "My god… What have we awakened?"
Zane's gaze sharpened. His eyes narrowed.
A digital interface flickered into existence before him. Only he could see it.
{Welcome, Player One. Select START to proceed.}
"Good evening, Test Subject 000001," Sir Charles said, voice tight but steady. "Tell me—how many fingers am I holding up?"
Zane blinked. A soft flicker swept across his vision, then vanished.
"Two."
He lowered his gaze to his body.
It wasn't the same.
His arms were more defined. Shoulders broader. Muscles honed, sculpted like they were engineered instead of grown. His jaw sharper, hair longer—damp, clinging to his nape.
He flexed a hand. The response was instantaneous.
This wasn't enhancement.
This was transformation.
Sir Charles tapped away on a datapad, voice hushed. "You shouldn't have synced this fast. You're adapting… far too well."
"What does that mean?" Zane asked, brows furrowing.
Charles didn't reply.
The lights flickered. Hard.
Every monitor in the lab flashed red.
{WARNING: Subject 000001 — Zane Everhart — is no longer traceable. Player One does not exist on Ascension Protocol files.}
And for the first time since the project began, every person in that room knew exactly what they were looking at.
Not a test subject.
Not a human.
Something else.
Ascension had succeeded. But the cost—and the consequences—had just begun.