Inside the pristine, sterile medical wing of the Global Defence Agency, Stephen lay motionless on an advanced medical bed, surrounded by softly humming machinery and discreet monitoring devices. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, visibly healing even as the GDA doctors and scientists moved swiftly around him.
Cecil Stedman stood to one side, arms crossed, watching silently as medical staff attempted to take a blood sample. The needle, gleaming sharply under the stark white lights, pressed against Stephen's skin, dimpled slightly, then bent and snapped uselessly. Cecil raised an eyebrow.
"Try again," he instructed quietly, curiosity masking his underlying concern.
The attending physician exchanged a worried glance with the nurse before picking up another needle, this one specialized, reinforced with advanced alloys typically reserved for enhanced individuals. Yet again, the needle failed spectacularly, bending completely without even breaking the skin.
"It's no use, sir," the physician admitted nervously, wiping sweat from his brow. "His skin... it's far too dense. Our best equipment isn't enough to pierce it."
Cecil sighed slightly, eye narrowing thoughtfully. "Is there no other way?"
Another technician stepped forward hesitantly. "We may be able to collect traces from superficial wounds—maybe from around his mouth or lips. It's not ideal, but..."
Cecil gave a quick nod. "Proceed."
The team moved rapidly, meticulously swabbing Stephen's lips and the small injuries still healing. A minuscule amount of blood was carefully extracted, sealed within a vial as if it were precious gold.
Hours later, Cecil observed quietly from behind reinforced glass as scientists struggled to analyse the sample. Frustration rippled through the room, tension palpable.
A senior geneticist approached Cecil, visibly weary. "We have a problem."
Cecil's brow furrowed slightly. "Explain."
The geneticist hesitated, then continued carefully. "This DNA, it's... beyond our understanding. Even with the most advanced sequencing methods at our disposal, we're barely scratching the surface. Whatever he is, it's far beyond standard human capabilities. Hell, sir—this DNA makes cloning seem trivial by comparison."
Cecil's eye narrowed sharply. "Are you saying we can't replicate it?"
"Not effectively. Even if we attempt cloning—which itself would take years, given the scarcity of viable samples—any resulting being would be unpredictable. A genetic wild card, potentially dangerous. At best, a superhuman capable of challenging a few conventional threats. At worst..." The geneticist trailed off, expression grim.
"Say it," Cecil demanded quietly.
"At worst," the scientist admitted slowly, "it could turn into another uncontrollable catastrophe. We're simply not equipped to predict or control the behavioural traits something like this might exhibit."
Cecil considered this quietly, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily upon him. He knew he'd gambled, bringing Stephen here—this was beyond his calculated predictions. He'd expected challenges, certainly, but this? Stephen's DNA wasn't merely extraordinary; it defied scientific comprehension.
"Secure the sample," Cecil finally instructed. "Continue analysis discreetly. Keep me informed. No one else gets access without my authorization."
"Yes, sir," the geneticist responded, visibly relieved as Cecil turned and departed swiftly, leaving the laboratory behind.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Elsewhere, amid the debris-strewn ruins of downtown, Mark sagged against a partially collapsed wall, exhaustion heavy in every muscle. He'd searched relentlessly, desperately, until his strength finally gave out. Guilt gnawed at him relentlessly. He'd promised his mother he'd find Stephen, but now…
A soft beep interrupted his spiralling thoughts, startling him. Looking down, Mark realized it was the discreet tracker his mother had embedded in their communicators—a hidden function she'd casually mentioned, part of her habit of always ensuring she knew her family's whereabouts. Mark let out a shaky breath, a fleeting smile touching his lips. Of course, she would know. Debbie always knew.
Seconds later, the air shifted subtly. Mark raised his head, relief washing over him as Nolan—his father—descended swiftly from the sky, landing with effortless grace. The lines of concern etched deeply into Nolan's face told Mark all he needed to know: Debbie had seen, heard, or hacked into something significant enough to urgently alert Nolan.
"Dad," Mark gasped, voice strained and weary. "Stephen—he's missing. I searched everywhere, I can't find him."
Nolan's expression hardened slightly, jaw tightening as he scanned the destruction around them. He placed a reassuring hand on Mark's shoulder, voice low and steady. "I know. Your mother alerted me as soon as the news broke. She picked up transmissions, the GDA thought were secure. We'll find Stephen. Follow me."
Mark nodded slowly, drawing strength from his father's calm resolve. Nolan gently helped Mark to his feet, preparing to lift off again when a sharp beep interrupted them. Nolan's communicator buzzed insistently, and he quickly activated it, expression instantly softening upon hearing the familiar voice on the other end.
"Nolan Grayson," Debbie's voice trembled slightly yet held fierce determination, "You're not leaving me behind. I'm coming with you."
Nolan hesitated only briefly, a mixture of admiration and concern flickering across his face. Debbie had always been resourceful, sharp—more capable than even he sometimes gave her credit for. He knew better than to argue. Instead, he responded quietly but firmly, "Alright, We'll pick you up now."
Ending the call, Nolan looked firmly at Mark. "Your mother's right. This concerns all of us. Let's go get her."
With renewed purpose and unity, father and son soared skyward, leaving behind the devastation below, each silently resolved to reclaim Stephen, whatever it took.
End of Chapter 33