Ginah stepped into the living room of their apartment and paused.
Nathaniel was hunched over the holoscreen, silver eyes flicking rapidly across data streams, absorbing every bit like a starving mind at war with ignorance. Ten hours—he'd been at it without rest. Yesterday it was course books, today he'd tunneled deep into tactical theory, biological augmentations, squad history. Anything he could get his hands on.
She circled behind him quietly, placing her hands on his shoulders. His body was warm—firm beneath her touch, a soft heat radiating from the muscle beneath. He was sweating lightly, a sheen of effort and obsession. She blushed.
He exhaled and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw her, a smile crept across his face. He stood without hesitation and pulled her into a hug.
Hook, line, and sinker.
He believed her—at least for the most part.
He let her go, waving her over toward the dining room beside the kitchen.
She followed—and paused. Breakfast?
Two plates sat on the table. He'd made a full English: eggs and sausages cooked to golden precision, tomatoes charred just enough, toast with a butter crisp edge. Even the baked beans had a deliberate, above-average effort to them. Two cappuccinos steamed gently on either side of the table—hers was made exactly to her preference.
She blinked. How the hell did he know that?
He sat across from her, calm, as if this was just routine. But it wasn't. Not for someone who, a few days ago, barely remembered his own name.
Her intrigue deepened. How far back did his instincts reach? And what kind of life had he lived before this reset?
They ate in silence.
When they finished, Nathaniel stood, collecting their dishes with a soft clatter. He loaded them into the dishwasher like he'd done it a hundred times. No wasted movement. The way he moved—focused, fluid, human—it clashed with the flashes of the monster underneath she knew was still there.
But for now… he looked peaceful.
That look stirred something in her. Still, Ginah straightened, slipping back into her professional mode.
"Sir, you have an appointment at the Association Headquarters. It concerns your evaluation. After your recovery, the Association issued a request for reassessment. They also need to reissue your license. Your original gear was destroyed."
Nathaniel's eyes flicked toward her. Calm, alert.
"When are we leaving?" he asked, already rising. "I'll go get changed."
They stepped off the maglev station platform and into the sprawling complex of the Association's compound.
Massive didn't begin to describe it.
The facility stretched like a self-contained metropolis, its walls and gates constructed with the kind of pristine, seamless precision that made it look less like a building and more like a grounded space colony. Most of the outer surfaces were gilded in white metal, smooth and slightly reflective, gleaming under the synthetic daylight panels overhead.
Crowds moved with purpose—officers, researchers, contractors, Knights—streaming in and out of the various docking halls and transit checkpoints. Towering vehicles rumbled past them on multi-tiered lanes: sealed sixteen-wheelers wrapped in the same polished white plating, built for bulk transit. Each one was three times the size of a standard civilian hauler, and yet they moved with the quiet hum of stabilized cores.
Everything about this place felt too polished, too regulated. Cold.
Nathaniel walked beside Ginah, scanning the towering structures, his silver eyes flickering as if searching for something familiar.
He memorized its layout the day before.
They entered the main hall—and the shift in atmosphere was immediate.
Where the exterior had screamed clinical perfection and militant efficiency, the interior whispered something different. Warmer. More human.
The walls transitioned into subdued, earthy tones, while the layout opened into a vast, cathedral-like space shaped by modern design philosophies. Smooth hardwood paneling lined the walls—crafted from biome-native trees, genetically tamed and mass-produced for both resilience and aesthetic. The scent of clean timber still lingered faintly in the air.
Hidden lighting fixtures glowed with a soft amber hue, casting no harsh shadows—everything was lit for comfort. No glares. No strain. Just enough light to ease the nerves of those waiting here, whether elite or expendable.
Above them stretched an expansive skylight—an arching, transparent canopy that allowed natural light to spill into the chamber. It framed the sky like a painting, casting soft beams across the floor in rhythm with the sun's path.
The hall itself was cavernous—its scale bordering on psychological warfare. The kind of space so massive it made one feel like a whisper in their own body. The kind of space that could drive the unanchored into an ego death, if they stared up too long.
Nathaniel took it all in with a quiet inhale, shoulders relaxed, silver eyes flicking across the lobby like a scanner taking notes.
And beside him, Ginah stayed just a half-step behind.
Nathaniel noticed Ginah pause as they walked, offering a brief wave to two approaching staff members.
Corinth and Isabelle.
Both were dressed in sleek black suits, their appearance immediately professional—though each carried a distinct presence. Isabelle wore transparent aviator glasses, the kind that hovered on the edge of fashion and functionality. Her dark purple hair was tied up in a refined bun, two bangs framing her sharp, calculating face. She was shorter than Ginah but no less striking—her curvaceous build rivaled Ginah's own, adding to her commanding aura.
Beside her stood Corinth, five-foot-ten with an unassuming, average frame. He carried himself with a quiet confidence—his expression unreadable but polite. The kind of man who blended in everywhere but missed nothing.
Ginah had already briefed Nathaniel on the appointment—there were no surprises coming, at least not from the schedule.
They moved quickly. His biometrics were logged, retina scanned, and the standard evaluation kit handed off with military efficiency. Then, without ceremony, he was directed toward the locker room.
Three minutes later, he stepped out.
The suit clung to him like a second skin—form-fitting, black, and thin enough to compress his muscles slightly. It didn't hinder his movement; it wasn't meant to. Over it, he wore a simple grey tracksuit jacket and black pants—standard issue for combat evaluations.
No flair. Just function.
Without a word, they boarded a site-owned transport, the silent hum of high-performance electric drive taking them deeper into the facility.
Destination: the evaluation gym.
The moment he stepped inside, he felt the scale of the room press down on him. It was vast—far too large for a simple evaluation. Industrial yet clean, silent in a way that made every footstep feel intentional. The walls were lined with kinetic-absorbing material, dulled charcoal in color, broken only by sensor nodes and retractable panels. The flooring beneath his feet shifted slightly, smart-polymer tiles adjusting for balance, friction, and impact resistance.
This wasn't a gym.
It was a testing crucible.
Nathaniel stood alone at the center, the heavy door sealing behind him with a muted hydraulic hiss.
High above, behind reinforced glass, Ginah, Isabelle, and Corinth observed from the raised deck. Their silhouettes were still, the soft amber of the internal lighting brushing over their faces. He couldn't hear them—but he could feel their presence.
Then the room came alive.
The overhead lights dimmed in sequence, replaced by a soft, ambient blue. Thin lines of light traced along the seams of the walls and floor, converging on him in concentric patterns. A subtle hum filled the space.
His suit responded immediately.
The underlayer lit up—veins of dull cobalt light coursing across the skin-tight black material. It pulsed once as internal systems synced to the room. Compression tightened gently across his torso and arms, recalibrating to his bioelectric field.
Then came the scan.
A lattice of transparent light descended from the ceiling like a slow-moving pane of glass. It swept downward across his body, digitizing every inch of his form. A soft tone echoed as it passed, and a brief wave of static raised the hairs on his arms and neck.
SCAN COMPLETEVITALS: NORMALMUSCLE DENSITY: +14.8% BASELINEURATSU LEVELS: TRACE ACTIVEBONE STRUCTURE: DENSED—POTENTIAL ALTERATIONNEURAL ACTIVITY: STABLE | SPIKE POTENTIAL DETECTEDCOGNITIVE STABILITY: 93.7%
A second, briefer scan locked onto his eyes. A flash of blue light hit his retinas, followed by a small click from above.
RETINAL ID CONFIRMED: ALDERMAN, NATHANIELPREVIOUS RANKING DATA FOUNDDISPLAYING...
A new panel flickered to life in front of him, about ten feet away, floating just above eye level. It showed an outline of his former self—his old ranking, stats, recovery notes. There was a discrepancy, clear as day: the numbers were too strong for someone supposedly green. Too consistent. Too... manufactured.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, jaw tightening.
Behind the glass, Isabelle's voice came through the room's comms—clear, slightly detached.
"Welcome, Nathaniel Alderman, to your evaluation."
"As stated, your suit will monitor vital and kinetic data in real time. You'll be tested against escalating stress conditions in both physical and reaction-based scenarios."
A pause.
"Your previous scores have been retrieved and will be used as a benchmark. Show us what remains of the old you. Or what's replaced it."
He exhaled once, the air leaving his lungs slow and steady.
No more questions. No more theories.
It was time to move.