[20XX | Facility Beneath The Surface]
The pale, white room was filled with hundreds of people dressed in all-white clothes, all sharing the same look of uncertainty as he did. Every few minutes, the doors at the end of the vast chamber would open with the doctor, who wore what looked a cross between a medical uniform and a hazmat suit, stepping out.
It always got eerily quiet when that man stepped out, as the hundreds of people waiting in that minimal space anxiously awaited what would leave the doctor's lips–
"Nineteen," the doctor called out.
In his hand, the young man clutched a card that was simply inscribed with the number "34."
A quiet breath of relief left his lips as he sat there, watching as the person designated with number nineteen, a small, blonde-haired girl no older than her early teens, followed the doctor.
"Hey, man, what number do you have?"
Beside him, he found himself being asked by a boy with shaggy, brown hair, who looked to be around his age.
"It doesn't matter what number we are," he responded.
There was no rhyme or reason to the numbers in fact, it seemed truly random, leaving them all in further suspense.
The messy-haired youth sat down beside him against the snow-white wall, holding a smile, "I guess you're right. Anyway, I'm Micheal, nice to meetcha, partner-in-waiting."
"Seven," he told the jovial boy.
"Seven? Is that your number?" Micheal asked.
He shook his head with a quiet exhale, "No, that's my name."
"What? Seven? That's an odd name–I like it, though," Michael laughed.
As they spoke, he glanced around, finding the grim expressions worn by the others in the room were in complete contrast to his companion's laughter, even earning some odd looks.
"Hey, are you…scared? Y'know, of the procedure," Michael quietly asked as his tone lowered.
Seven glanced over before bringing his gaze back down, fiddling with his fingers, "Are you?"
"There hasn't been a single success yet, so…Yeah, I'm pretty damn spooked, man. But, imagine if it works–? I mean, if it works on me," Michael openly dreamed with a glimmer in his olive irises. "We could finally fight back against the Fulminare–they've taken everything away from us. Wouldn't it be great to finally show them a taste of their own medicine?!"
"Hey–" Seven began to say.
Just as he parted his lips, the doors swung open, invoking silence once again to the dreadful, white space. Everybody listened in anticipation as the doctor stepped out, not so much as a breath being heard–
"Thirty-four."
A sinking feeling came to Seven's gut as he heard that number, clutching the card as he stared blankly ahead.
Michael looked at him, "Thirty-four. Is that–oh." The shaggy-haired youth's voice cut out as he noticed what the young man held.
"Thirty-four," the doctor called out again.
A million thoughts ran through Seven's mind as he picked himself up, deafening everything else out, not hearing what it was that his newly-made friend said to him as he dragged his foot forward.
Inside of his chest, his heart thumped like a drum being pounded, feeling the eyes of everybody else watching him as he walked through the threshold. A narrow hallway of steel walls awaited as he followed the doctor.
There wasn't a single word said to him as he marched along with a dreadful feeling in his gut, feeling more nauseous with every step taken.
'Is this it? Am I going to die?' He questioned, though not daring to speak it out loud as he looked upon the back of the man in the pale hazmat suit.
There were a pair of hulking, steel doors operated electronically, with a small room attached to the side of the hall with a window looking into the chamber led past the massive doors.
The doctor stepped into the side room, typing on the keyboard before the steel-clad entrance began to open, "Please step into the room."
As the doors parted, Seven walked in before they shut right behind him, leaving him nowhere else to be but right there. It was only after a moment did he notice what else occupied the minimal, sleek chamber of snow-white steel.
A black orb hovered in the center of the room, emitting vibrations that fluctuated the isolated air. It was as large as a boulder, kept levitated by its own force, it seemed; a perfect shape that left him perplexed as to what it truly was.
Through an intercom, the monotone doctor's voice came through: "Approach the sphere, number thirty-four."
There was some hesitation from the young man before he followed the orders given, moving one foot in front of the other carefully. As he approached, the vibrations seemed to intensify; he could feel the hairs on his arms standing.
As he swallowed out of nervousness, the moisture in his mouth seemed to have dried out. It felt as though the blood in his veins rippled with the vibrations that came off the nebulous sphere. He stopped just in front of it, looking at the object, blacker than the bare cosmos.
Once more, the doctor's voice spoke into the room: "Place your hand on the sphere, number thirty-four."
As he was given the instruction, it took a moment for him to even move his limb, carefully lifting his arm as it trembled. Bringing his hand towards it, he didn't look away, staring into the depths of the vantablack orb.
A force could be felt against his fingers as he drew closer, like a magnetic resistance, though pushing just a bit more, it became a pull.
'It's…pulling me in?' Seven realized.
There was no intent to withdraw his hand, nor could he as it brought his hand to its form. Just as his fingertips made contact with the nebulous entity, a sensation of frost ran across his body.
[You have touched the Origin.]
[Beginning assessment of potential host.]
A chime played in his head like that of a primordial language, though the meaning of the words flooded his mind as he witnessed the words printed onto his vision.
"Assessment–?" Seven pushed the word out between his lips.
Just as he repeated what the sphere informed him of, his fingers suddenly slipped into the dark mass itself, feeling something pull him in. There was no resisting as his entire body was suctioned right into the unseen depths of the sphere.
"Mmgh!--" He struggled, though found his lungs devoid of air.
All around him was darkness; a black deeper than the darkest night. Though he didn't breathe, he didn't find himself suffocating, either, only floating in the void of darkness.
[Name: Seven | Age: Sixteen | Physical condition: Average | Talents: None | Aspirations: None]
[You have been assessed by the Origin.]
As he listened to the nebulous entity list off the parameters of his very own existence, the complete lack of any strengths he had brought him to accept what would come next.
'I could never be the one–I'm painfully average in every capacity. I guess I'll die next,' he accepted.
[A perfect, blank canvas. A proper host has been matched.]
[You have been chosen by the Origin to be bound with.]
It perplexed him, hearing the decision made by the disembodied entity, only helpless to float there as it decided his fate.
[Beginning genetic alteration.]
Following the words echoed through the void, a pain surged through his body as his muscles cramped and his bones rang in agony. He could not scream, only opening his mouth, writhing as it felt as though the fibers of his muscles were being restructured, his bones reconfigured by unseen hands.
It went on for what felt like hours, perhaps it lasted mere minutes or days–he had no idea. By the time the painful process was finished, he found himself blinking.
As his eyelids parted, he discovered he was staring at the blank, steel wall of the room he stepped into, only he was laying on his back.
'What…happened?' He questioned.
As if reading his thoughts, a box of text inscribed with platinum lettering displayed itself in his view.
[Genetic Evolution System activated.]
[Displaying current status…]
[EXP: 0/10]
[Strength: 50] [Agility: 50] [Prowess: 50]
[Current State: Low-Degree Superhuman]
It hardly made sense to his groggy mind as he picked himself up. Though as he leaned on his arm to hoist himself to his feet, he noticed just how easily the action was performed. In fact, as he rose, he found his view somewhat changed, as if seeing everything a bit higher.
Checking his hands and arms, a discovery of muscle mass was found; he had gained a physique like that of somebody leading a perfect deity and training regime, seeming to have grown a few inches as well.
"My body is…different?" He spoke out loud, even finding his voice to have grown deeper.
The plain-white shirt he wore was noticeably tighter, clinging to his toned abdominal region on the brink of having the cloth tear apart. As he was left in shock and awe at his transformation, the steel doors ahead opened, with multiple figures walking in.
Only then did he glance behind him, finding that the black sphere was gone, yet he could still feel its presence.
"It worked–it was a success, finally…" One doctor said with audible relief.
"Hold on, we don't know yet–we have to assess the host," another man said, holding a clipboard with a camera attached to his shoulder.
Another approached, wearing the same protective suit, stepping in front of him, "Number thirty-four, your name is Seven Moore, correct? How are you feeling, young man? Are there any abnormalities you're experiencing?"
As the question was asked and considered, he only lightly shook his head, not feeling any such symptoms, "I feel fine…actually, better than ever."
"We'll begin testing immediately then," the foremost doctor said before turning to the other two. "Cancel the exams. Ready the trials for Seven."
"Yes, sir," one doctor said with an obedient nod before hurrying off.
As he was left with the sole person, they unzipped their uniform, revealing a surprisingly young woman underneath of silken, blonde hair and round-rimmed glasses.
"I'm Dr. Goldstein. It's a pleasure to meet you," the pretty doctor extended her hand.
"It is?" Seven asked.
"Of course. You're the one chosen by the Origin—you'll be the hero who finally stands against the Fulminare," Dr. Goldstein clarified.
He accepted the gesture, though finding the woman wincing as he normally grabbed her hand.
"Ah—" Dr. Goldstein let out.
"Oh, sorry—I didn't mean to," Seven apologized, quickly letting go, though perplexed how such little force spurred that reaction.
"It's alright…I understand your physiology has been altered by the Origin. That's why we will begin your trials, to see what you're capable of," Dr. Goldstein said, caressing her hand as she breathed out.
"Alright—let's do it," he accepted.
He was led from the secured chamber even deeper into the facility, guided through steelclad corridors.
Before any testing could begin, he was briefly checked up on, having his temperature taken along with his new measurements.
A specialist had him step onto a black square in the center of the room of pale curtains as a light hummed. It seemed to take multiple measurements at once: height, weight, and even vitals.
"You were five-seven when you arrived here this morning, Mr. Moore," the doctor who measured him said. "You've sprouted to six-two now."
"Woah," Seven acknowledged, already aware of his growth spurt though not knowing the exact amount before.
"Everything looks good, Dr. Goldstein," the check-up doctor said, sitting down at his computer. "This man's vitals are the best I've ever seen—he's at peak health."
"We can proceed then," Dr. Goldenstein said, leading the way out of the room. "Let's go, Seven."
"Right," he followed.