The paper burned against Kai's palm like a live wire, the word MIDNIGHT pressed into his skin like a brand. Around him, the hallway hummed with the dull, antiseptic pulse of the Institute—fluorescent lights flickering, distant footsteps echoing off reinforced walls.
But in that alcove, the world narrowed to the ghost of synthetic strawberries clinging to the air and the slow, creeping realization that someone knew.
She saw the change.
The thought slithered through him, cold and sharp. She saw the bone ridges splitting through skin, the black veins spiderwebbing up my arms—she saw me become something else.
His fingers tightened around the note. The edges bit into his flesh, but the sting barely registered.
This isn't just blackmail. This was an executioner's axe, dangling by a thread.
A whisper of movement coiled in his chest—the parasite, stirring with something dangerously close to amusement.
"Interesting," it murmured, voice like oil on water.
Kai exhaled through his teeth. Shut up.
But the question remained, gnawing at him like a rat in the walls:
Why a band?
Was it code? Some kind of front for whatever twisted game she was playing? Or was she just insane, one of those Rift-touched kids who'd lost too much of themselves to the static between worlds?
The scent of strawberries lingered, cloying and artificial, and Kai wondered—
What the f*ck is even happening to me!?
---
Gene Science Classroom – Wolfram Institute
The hum of the holographic projector filled the room as Professor Halric adjusted the shimmering DNA strand rotating above his palm. The glow cast shifting blue patterns across the faces of the students, some leaning forward, others slouched in skepticism. He didn't mind the latter—gene resonance theory was a hard sell if you hadn't seen it in action.
"Alright, listen closely," he said, his voice low but carrying. "You've all heard the official reports—'environmental trauma mutations,' 'latent genetic triggers.' Clean terms for something that's anything but clean." He flicked his wrist, and the hologram fractured into jagged segments, strands of foreign DNA latching onto the human helix like invasive roots. "What they don't tell you is that Rift organisms don't just infect us. They negotiate."
Lani, her fingers still tapping notes into her slate, frowned. "Negotiate? You mean like… symbiosis?"
Halric smirked. "Symbiosis implies cooperation. This is more like a back-alley brawl between your genes and whatever just crawled out of the Rift." He expanded the projection, showing a simulated human cell rupturing as alien nucleotides forced their way in. "Most people die. Their bodies reject the fusion, or worse—the foreign DNA overwrites them entirely. But a handful? Their genes adapt. Not by shutting the invaders out, but by cutting deals. A snippet of code here, a stolen enzyme there, and suddenly, you're not entirely human anymore."
A murmur rippled through the class. A lanky boy near the back crossed his arms. "So that's how Gene Warriors are made? Just… luck?"
"Luck?" Halric snorted. "Try catastrophic exposure events. The GCC doesn't advertise this, but every known GeneDevourer—yeah, that's the classified term—started as a survivor. Someone who got too close to a Rift tear and lived long enough for their DNA to hijack the hijacker." He paused, letting that sink in. "Take General Veyra Tal for example. Rumor says she's got a parasite coiled around her spine like a second nervous system. The Shepherd too. His vocal cords resonate at frequencies that shouldn't be possible for human tissue. And Project Gemini—" He tapped his temple. "—share a single consciousness split between two bodies. You think that's natural?"
Silence. Then a sharp inhale from Lani. "But if the GCC knows this, why lie? Why call it 'environmental trauma'?"
Halric's grin turned grim. "Because panic is worse than ignorance. If people knew Rift creatures could rewrite their children's DNA just by existing near them, there'd be riots. And worse—there'd be idiots trying to get infected. But trust me, kids. No one wants this. The ones who survive, they're not heroes. They're time bombs."
"And some people are very interested in what happens when those bombs go off."
The holographic projection flickered as Professor Halric leaned against his desk, arms crossed. The usual hum of the classroom had dulled into tense silence—today's lesson had veered off-script, and the students knew it.
"You want the real story?" Halric's voice dropped, his gaze scanning the room like he was weighing who could handle the truth. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
He tapped his wrist terminal, and the hologram shifted, displaying a classified GCC emblem before dissolving into a series of encrypted files.
The projection zoomed in on a high-security facility buried under a wasteland, its walls lined with biohazard sigils.
"Officially, Blight Labs doesn't exist," Halric said. "Unofficially? It's where the GCC takes the things that crawl out of Rifts and… repurposes them." A shaky surveillance clip played—a humanoid figure strapped to a table, its skin rippling as something beneath the flesh pulsed in unnatural rhythms. "They call it gene-mimicry. Extract Rift DNA, stabilize it, then implant it into volunteers."
A girl in the front row swallowed hard. "And it works?"
Halric's mouth twisted. "Define works. Some test subjects gain temporary abilities—enhanced reflexes, tissue regeneration. Others?" The footage cut to a containment cell, its walls splattered with something dark and viscous. "Let's just say the screams don't stop when the experiment does."
The hologram changed again, this time showing a hooded figure standing before a shimmering Rift tear, his mouth open in a silent chant.
"Meet The Shepherd," Halric said. "Some say he's a monk. Others say he's a lunatic. What we know is that he can close Rift tears with nothing but his voice." The footage distorted as a low, resonant frequency buzzed through the speakers—some students winced, covering their ears.
"But here's the kicker," Halric continued, lowering the volume. "His followers believe the Rifts aren't random. They think the tears are listening. And if you sing the right notes…" He paused. "Well, let's just say not all choirs sing for heaven."
The screen split into twin feeds—two identical women, their movements eerily synchronized even when miles apart.
"Project Gemini," Halric said. "The only known case of neural fusion. Their brains aren't just linked—they're one mind stretched across two bodies. One sleeps, the other stays awake. One gets hurt, the other bleeds." He zoomed in on their eyes—pupils dilating in perfect unison.
A student in the back muttered, "That's horrifying."
Halric shrugged. "And yet, they're the GCC's most effective operatives. You tell me which part's worse."
The hologram shifted to battlefield footage—a woman in GCC armor moving faster than should be possible, her strikes precise, brutal.
"General Veyra Tal," Halric said. "Commander of the Rift Suppression Division. Officially, she's just that good." He zoomed in on her eyes—unnaturally reflective, like a cat's in the dark. "Rumor says she's got a parasite wrapped around her spine. Her surgeon's reports mention 'chitinous ocular lids,' and yet, she signs her own clearance forms. It makes you wonder who's really in charge."
Silence. Then—
"So…" A hesitant voice from the middle row. "Are we all just… doomed?"
Halric exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Doomed? Maybe. But if you're asking if there's a way out?" He shut off the hologram, plunging the room into natural light. "Pay attention in class. Because the difference between a Gene Warrior and a corpse isn't luck—it's knowledge."
The bell rang.
---
The rooftop vent groaned as Kai forced it open, its rusted hinges protesting. Cold night air rushed in, carrying the faint metallic tang of the Institute's perimeter fences. Below, floodlights carved harsh rectangles of artificial daylight across the courtyard, their beams occasionally broken by the silent glide of security drones.
This is stupid, Kai thought, his fingers tightening around the edge of the vent. I should turn back.
But the crumpled note in his pocket seemed to burn against his thigh. MIDNIGHT.
With a final glance at the sleeping campus, he dropped onto the fire escape, the metal grid vibrating under his weight. The arts building loomed before him, its boarded-up entrance marked with a peeling CONDEMNED sticker. Kai hesitated, his breath fogging in the cold air.
Then he heard it—music.
Not the sterile, approved compositions played during meal times. This was something raw, alive. The deep thrum of bass, the sharp cry of a violin, the electric crackle of a synthesizer weaving through it all like a live wire. And beneath the instruments, a voice singing words he couldn't quite make out.
Kai pushed the door open.
Flickering stage lights painted the abandoned auditorium in fractured blues and reds. Dust swirled in the air, catching the light like tiny stars. At the center of the room, five figures stood silhouetted against the glow of mismatched equipment.
The music stopped abruptly as the door creaked shut behind him.
"Well, well," came a familiar voice. "Look who decided to show up."
Sylvie Harrow hopped down from the makeshift stage, her pink hair glowing neon under the lights. She landed lightly in front of Kai, her grin sharp enough to cut glass.
"Took you long enough," she said, tilting her head. "Starting to think you'd chicken out."
Kai crossed his arms. "You didn't exactly give me much choice."
Sylvie laughed, the sound bright and mocking. "Oh, please. You had all the choices." She leaned in, her voice dropping. "You just picked the one that keeps you breathing."
Behind her, the others watched in silence.
"Since you're here," Sylvie said, stepping back and gesturing grandly, "meet the family."
Ash Riko sat behind a battered drum set, his sticks resting against his knees. Dark eyes, colder than the night outside, studied Kai without blinking. A jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw, pale against his tan skin. He didn't speak.
Marin Fei adjusted her glasses, the violin in their hands still humming faintly from the last note. "Structural resonance is key," she said abruptly, as if continuing a conversation Kai hadn't been part of. "Music is just vibration. And vibration can disrupt." Her fingers tapped the violin's neck in a quick, precise rhythm.
Lunette Harrow—Sylvie's mirror image, from the pink hair to the smirk—curled a strand of hair around one finger. "Oh, don't look so tense," she crooned, her voice shifting from sweet to rough mid-sentence. "We don't bite."
The last figure, Grin, said nothing. Their face was hidden behind a cracked white theater mask, their gloved hands hovering over a synthesizer that crackled with static. When they tilted their head, the mask's hollow eyes caught the light, empty and knowing.
Sylvie hopped back onto the stage, swinging her legs like a kid on a playground. "So," she said, "you're probably wondering what this is really about."
Kai didn't move. "The blackmail wasn't clue enough?"
Lune giggled. Marin adjusted her glasses again. Ash's fingers tightened around his drumsticks.
Sylvie's smile didn't waver. "We're not just a band, Kai. We're a distraction." She spread her arms wide. "Music's the cover. Sound is the weapon."
Marin nodded. "Rift anomalies react to specific frequencies. We play, we disrupt. We keep the worst things from slipping through."
Kai's stomach twisted.
Sylvie leaned forward, her grin widening. "And you? You're special. A natural GeneDevourer with no GCC serums. Just you and that thing inside you, working together." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The Institute would dissect you for that. But us..." She winked. "We'd rather put it to work."
Silence.
Grin's synthesizer emitted a low, pulsing note, vibrating through the floor.
Ash finally spoke, his voice rough. "In or out?"
Kai exhaled. He didn't really have a choice.