Zane Edwin's legs wobbled as he slid off the metal table, his bare feet hitting the cold floor of The Vault. The room's red lights pulsed like a heartbeat, and that alarm blared loud enough to rattle his teeth. Intruder alert. Synthorium signature detected. The words echoed in his head, mixing with Mr. Corin's cryptic warning: They've already found you. Who was "they"? And what did they want with him?
His hands shook, those faint blue lines under his skin glowing brighter, like they had a mind of their own. The Synthorium. That weird stone-thing from the truck. It had done this to him, turned him into… what? A freak? A superhero? He didn't know, and he didn't care. All he wanted was to get back to Clara, his foster mom, and Sophia, his best friend. They had to think he was dead after that explosion. He had to fix this.
"Move, Zane," Mr. Corin snapped, his silver hair catching the red light as he strode to a glowing console. His fancy suit looked out of place in this sci-fi bunker, but his voice carried weight, like a guy used to giving orders. "We don't have time for you to panic."
"Panic?" Zane's voice cracked. "You strapped me to a table, told me I'm not human, and now something's attacking! I don't even know where I am!" He tugged at the thin hospital gown they'd put him in, feeling like a lab rat. His chest burned, and that voice from before—the Synthorium's voice—whispered again. Focus. It wasn't loud, but it hit like a jolt, steadying his racing heart.
Mr. Corin didn't look up from the console, his fingers flying over holographic keys. "You're in The Vault, a safe haven for people like you. Or it was, until you woke up and lit up every Synthorium tracker in the galaxy."
"People like me?" Zane's head spun. "What does that even mean?"
A loud boom shook the room, dust trickling from the ceiling. Zane stumbled, catching himself on the table. The alarm's voice cut through again: Sector seven breached. All units engage.
Mr. Corin cursed under his breath, then fixed Zane with a hard stare. "It means you're special, Zane. The Synthorium chose you for a reason. But if you don't get it together, you'll be dead before you figure out why."
Zane wanted to argue, to demand answers, but another explosion rocked the walls, closer this time. His skin tingled, the blue lines pulsing in time with the alarms. Whatever was coming, it was bad. He thought of Clara's worried face, Sophia's laugh. He couldn't let them down, not again.
"Fine," he said, clenching his fists. "What do I do?"
Mr. Corin's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Follow me. And try not to die." He hit a button, and a wall slid open, revealing a hallway lined with glowing panels. Zane hesitated, then jogged after him, his bare feet slapping the floor. The Synthorium's hum buzzed in his chest, like it was waking up.
The hallway stretched on, twisting and turning like a maze. Lights flickered, and distant shouts echoed, human voices mixed with something else, something mechanical. Zane's gut twisted. This wasn't just a break-in. It was a war.
They rounded a corner, and two figures blocked the way. Zane froze. A guy and a girl, both about his age, stood ready for a fight. The guy was built like a linebacker, with dark skin and a buzzcut, his arms crossed over a sleek black jumpsuit that shimmered like liquid metal. The girl was lean, with sharp green eyes and a braid of dark hair, her hands crackling with faint sparks. They didn't look like FBI or robbers. They looked like… superheroes.
"Who's this?" the guy asked, nodding at Zane. His voice was deep, skeptical, like he wasn't impressed.
"Jaxon, Liora, meet Zane Edwin," Mr. Corin said, not slowing down. "Our newest Synthorium host. Zane, these are your teammates. Assuming you survive the next ten minutes."
"Teammates?" Zane blinked. "I didn't sign up for—"
"Save it," Liora cut in, her voice clipped. She sized him up, sparks dancing between her fingers. "You're glowing like a neon sign. If you're not with us, you're a liability."
Jaxon snorted, but his eyes softened a fraction. "Ease up, Liora. Kid looks like he just rolled out of a coma." He glanced at Zane. "You know how to fight, man?"
Zane opened his mouth, but a crash interrupted him. A wall at the end of the hall exploded inward, metal screeching as it crumpled. A figure stepped through the dust, a humanoid thing, seven feet tall, its body a mix of steel and pulsing red circuits. Its eyes locked on Zane, glowing the same blue as the lines in his skin.
"Synthorium detected," it droned, its voice like grinding gears. "Surrender or be terminated."
Zane's heart stopped. "What the hell is that?"
"Tracker drone," Liora said, sparks flaring brighter. "Sent by someone who wants your power. Get behind us."
"No time," Mr. Corin barked. "Zane, you're not helpless. The Synthorium's awake. Use it."
"Use it?" Zane's voice rose. "I don't even know what it is!" But the drone was moving, raising an arm that morphed into a cannon. Red energy crackled, aimed right at him.
Jaxon shoved Zane aside, his jumpsuit glowing as it hardened into armor. "Stay down!" He charged, slamming into the drone with a force that shook the floor. Liora followed, hurling a bolt of electricity that sparked off the drone's metal hide.
Zane scrambled back, his mind racing. He wasn't a fighter. He fixed cars, not battled robots. But the Synthorium's voice pushed harder. Act. His hands burned, and he looked down—blue energy swirled around his fingers, like liquid light. His breath caught. Was this… power?
The drone swatted Jaxon aside, sending him crashing into a wall. Liora dodged a blast, but the drone was fast, its cannon locking onto her. Zane's chest tightened. These people didn't even like him, but they were risking their lives. For him. He couldn't just stand there.
"Hey, tin can!" Zane shouted, stepping forward. His voice shook, but the Synthorium's hum steadied him. "Over here!"
The drone's head swiveled, eyes narrowing. Zane raised his hands, not sure what he was doing. The blue energy surged, hot and wild, and shot out like a lightning bolt. It hit the drone square in the chest, sending it staggering back, sparks flying.
"Whoa," Zane breathed, staring at his hands. Had he done that?
"Nice shot, rookie!" Jaxon called, back on his feet. He tackled the drone, pinning it down. Liora hit it with another blast, and the thing shuddered, then went still, its lights fading.
Zane's legs buckled, the energy draining him. He caught himself against the wall, panting. The blue lines in his skin dimmed, but the Synthorium's hum stayed, like it was waiting for more.
Mr. Corin approached, his face unreadable. "Not bad for your first try. But that was just one drone. More are coming."
"More?" Zane's stomach dropped. "Who's sending them?"
"Someone who knows what you are," Mr. Corin said. "The Synthorium's rare, Zane. Powerful. And you're its host now. That makes you a target."
Zane's head spun. A target? He thought of Mrs Clara, alone in their apartment, and Sophia, probably glued to the news about the explosion. He had to get to them, tell them he was alive. But the floor shook again, and the alarm's voice returned: Multiple breaches detected. Synthorium host in danger.
Liora grabbed his arm, her grip firm. "You're with us now, glowstick. Move or die."
Jaxon clapped Zane's shoulder, a grin breaking through. "You'll get the hang of it. Or not. Either way, stick close."
Zane nodded, his throat tight. He didn't want this powers, drones, a secret bunker. But the Synthorium's voice whispered again, stronger now. Protect. He thought of Clara's warm hugs, Sophia's smile. If he was a target, he'd learn to fight. For them.
As they ran down the hall, explosions echoing behind them, Zane's eyes caught a screen on the wall. It showed a news report, his face, labeled SUSPECT: ZANE EDWIN, PRESUMED DEAD. His heart sank. But before he could process it, the ceiling ahead collapsed, and a new figure emerged from the rubble—a woman, her body cloaked in shifting shadows, her eyes glowing red.
"Synthorium host," she hissed, her voice cold as ice. "You're mine."