"We need to talk, Agent Steel."
Agent Miller calls out from a distance, his voice carrying across the dimly lit room as he steps closer to the man sitting in the leather chair. The man, Agent Steel, is stone-faced, his stern gaze fixed forward, exuding an air of absolute authority.
"Advance someone's mission, you say?" Steel replies, his voice deep and commanding, sending a ripple of tension through the air.
Miller nods. "V. There's something...off about him. He isn't what he seems, but I can't quite put my finger on it. I need clearance to keep an eye on him, constantly."
Steel studies him, his silence laced with skepticism. "You're aware this 'boy' was your own recommendation, correct? A nobody you picked from obscurity—a simpleton from the depths of the unknown."
Miller steps forward, leaning over the desk, his voice firm but hesitant. "I'm fully aware, sir. However—"
"However, what?" Steel's eyes narrow, his tone slicing through Miller's words. "What's gotten into that little mind of yours, Miller?"
Miller steadies himself. "Sir, this boy is no simpleton. His IQ is beyond anything we've seen—over 300, I'd wager. He didn't just ace the entrance exam; he redefined it. Without any prior knowledge of the material, he answered each question perfectly. And then he went further—correcting mistakes in the test itself. It's as if he's operating on a level far beyond normal intelligence."
Steel's eyebrows rise, the first real sign of interest breaking through his controlled demeanor. "So you believe this...V...is more than he appears?"
Miller nods, his expression tense. "Yes, sir. I don't think he's just another gifted student. There's something about him—something that feels...calculated. And dangerous. He has a presence I can't ignore, a darkness beneath the surface."
Steel leans back, considering Miller's words. "Then keep him under observation. But remember, Miller: if V isn't who he seems, you may be in far over your head. Handle this one delicately. One wrong step, and he could unravel everything."
"Yes, sir," Miller replies, a note of unease creeping into his voice. He turns to leave, his mind racing, already working through the implications of Agent Steel's warning. This wasn't just about watching V. It was about surviving him.
Steel studies Miller with renewed interest, his gaze sharpening. "So what exactly are you suggesting, Miller? That he's some kind of prodigy? A genetic anomaly?"
Miller takes a breath, a flicker of something darker passing across his face. "It's more than that, sir. I think... I think he might be Graves' son."
At this, Steel's face hardens, and for a moment, an uneasy silence falls between them. The mere mention of Graves brings a weight that lingers in the room. Graves—head of the global government, a man whose intellect and influence had reshaped entire nations, a figure as feared as he was respected. His intelligence, a monumental gift to human nature, had bordered on the inhuman.
"Graves?" Steel's voice is low, his tone controlled. "The same Graves who vanished off the grid years ago?"
Miller nods. "Yes. His child would be about the same age as V now. And this...unbelievable intellect V has—it's disturbingly similar. I've seen records on Graves' IQ tests, his ability to dissect complex systems, his almost unnatural mastery over human psychology. V exhibits the same traits."
Steel's eyes narrow, though a flash of something—maybe understanding, maybe fear—flickers behind them. "Graves was a man unmatched in intellect, yes, but a dangerous one. If V is truly his son, we're dealing with a mind that could rewrite the rules...a mind that could see through every layer of subterfuge we've built."
Miller swallows, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "That's why I need to keep him under surveillance. If he has even a fraction of Graves' potential, he could be a force unlike anything we've ever encountered. And if he's here, in our system, it's not by chance. I have no doubt V has his own agenda."
Steel's face remains unreadable, his gaze hardening. "Very well. Keep him under close watch. But be careful, Miller. If V is Graves' blood, he won't be easy to control. Graves had a way of twisting the people around him, manipulating their very thoughts. You think you're watching him, but he might already be watching you."
Miller's face pales, but he nods, resolved. "Understood, sir."
Steel leans back in his chair, the full gravity of the situation settling over him. "If he shows any sign of threat, any indication that he's following in his father's footsteps, you report to me immediately. No mistakes. No second chances."
"Yes, sir," Miller replies, turning to leave. As he steps into the shadows, he can't shake the chilling thought: if V truly was Graves' son, then he might be the only one capable of reviving the shadow Graves left behind. And that shadow could consume them all.
As Miller closes the door behind him, his mind races with thoughts of V. In his years working under Steel, he's encountered some formidable minds, but nothing quite like this. Graves was the kind of genius that left a permanent scar on anyone who tried to outwit him. And now, if his son was here… if he was indeed hiding in plain sight among their ranks, the implications were staggering.
As Miller moves down the dimly lit corridor, he nearly collides with Jensen, a fellow agent, who gives him a bemused look. "You alright, Miller? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Miller forces a smile, though his hands feel clammy. "Just another assignment. You know how it is." He tries to sound casual, but his mind is far from settled.
Jensen raises an eyebrow. "Whatever Steel has you doing must be serious. Haven't seen you this rattled in a long time." With a shrug, he adds, "Be careful out there, Miller."
As Jensen walks away, Miller watches him go, feeling a pang of envy. Jensen doesn't know the first thing about Graves, about the legend that haunts their agency like a specter. He wishes, for a moment, that he was in Jensen's shoes—oblivious and unburdened by the knowledge of just what they might be dealing with.
Miller heads down to the surveillance room, where his team has set up an array of screens, each one capturing a different angle of V's life. Classroom sessions, dorm hallways, the college library—any place V might go, they have an eye on it. He takes a seat and begins scrolling through the feeds, studying V's movements with a new intensity.
As he watches, he notices something peculiar: V, seated in the campus library, appears to be reading a book on advanced quantum mechanics—a subject that even some of the agency's own scientists struggled with. But V isn't just reading it. He's taking notes, rapidly, flipping through pages as if already understanding the material.
"What do we know about his background?" Miller asks one of the analysts nearby.
The analyst, a young woman with sharp eyes, taps on her tablet. "Not much. Records suggest he's just an average student from a middle-class family. No red flags."
Miller frowns. "And yet he's tackling topics most adults couldn't grasp in a lifetime," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.
Another screen catches his attention—V's dorm room. He's back with his roommate, Lucy, who's hunched over a notebook, scribbling furiously. She seems entirely absorbed in her writing, while V lounges on his bed, glancing her way occasionally with a faint, unreadable smile.
Miller leans forward, watching them interact. There's something oddly… calculated about V. His expressions, the timing of his glances, his body language—it's all too deliberate. As if he's performing, as if he's conscious of the eyes on him. A chill runs down Miller's spine.
"Sir?" the analyst's voice interrupts his thoughts.
"Yes?"
She points to her screen. "We've got movement. It looks like V is leaving the library. Should we follow?"
Miller considers it, then nods. "Yes. Keep the surveillance discreet. I want to know everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to."
He leans back, feeling the tension coiling within him. If V truly is Graves' son, then they're not just dealing with another prodigy—they're facing a mind that could alter the course of everything they've worked to maintain. And V, with that unsettling calm and calculated demeanor, might already be several steps ahead.
As the surveillance feeds continue, Miller can't shake the uneasy feeling that Steel's warning was spot on: the hunter was indeed becoming the hunted. And if he wasn't careful, he might find himself ensnared in the web Graves had left behind—a web now woven by his enigmatic, possibly dangerous son.
I know they're watching me now. I saw the look in Miller's eyes—sharp, calculating, the look of a man who thinks he's found something, someone, worth watching. He's close, closer than I'd like. But that doesn't matter; it only means the game has truly begun.
As I settle back into my dorm that evening, the weight of their attention presses against me, invisible but unmistakable. I feel their eyes in every corner, following my movements like silent specters. A camera blinks from the hallway, and I can almost imagine Miller on the other end of the feed, watching, waiting. His confidence would be amusing if it weren't so pathetically misplaced.
Lucy sits across from me, completely unaware, lost in her own world of words. She's scribbling away, so immersed in her writing that she barely even glances up. She trusts me, sees me as a friend, maybe even the shy, harmless guy she's pieced together in her mind. I crafted that image for her—and for everyone else around me—with careful precision. Each interaction, each momentary smile, it's all calculated, engineered to hide what lurks beneath.
I feel it now, that familiar pull. The dark passenger, waiting, urging me to shed this mask, to let my real thoughts slip through. But I keep it at bay, carefully controlled, restrained. It's a whisper in my ear, a shadow in the back of my mind, but it won't get the better of me. Not yet.
I glance at Lucy, imagining for a moment how easily I could drop this mask, let her see the real V. The temptation flares briefly, a dark thrill I allow myself only for a second. But it fades. She's not part of the game. Not yet, at least.
Outside, the sky darkens, casting long shadows through the window. I tell Lucy I need to step out for some air, and she barely nods, too absorbed in her writing to notice. The street is quiet as I walk, empty, save for the faint hum of distant traffic. I know they'll follow me, so I choose my route carefully, weaving through darkened paths, taking turns that give me just enough of a glimpse behind me.
There. A shadow flickers a block back. They're not as stealthy as they think, not nearly as skilled at blending into the night. They still think I'm their prey, a puzzle they can solve if they just watch me closely enough. They think Miller's insights, his theories, will somehow unlock my secrets.
They have no idea I'm leading them, luring them into a web I've spent years perfecting. The darkness surrounds me, familiar, comforting. I almost laugh at the thought of them trailing behind, unaware of how deeply they've underestimated me.
I knew this moment would come. Miller's here, standing in front of me, his eyes burning with the kind of intensity I've only seen in people who've uncovered something they were never meant to know. But he's still searching for some sign, some reaction, anything to give me away. It's almost impressive—the lengths he's gone to get here.
"Do you know who Graves was?" His voice is low, but there's a hardness in it, as if he's grappling with something beyond his comprehension. "Do you have any idea what he really was?"
I tilt my head, feigning curiosity. "A politician? A scientist? Depends on who you ask, I suppose."
Miller's eyes narrow. "Graves wasn't just a man, V. He wasn't even human—not really. He was something beyond us all. Something… more." He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully, struggling to convey the truth he's come to believe. "Graves was what we call a Remnant. They're like gods, V. Supreme beings with intelligence that makes the brightest human minds look primitive."
His words hang heavy in the air, and I let them settle. Remnants—he's right about them, at least on the surface. The stories about them are hushed, almost mythological, whispered among those who think they know something about the edges of reality. They're beings with powers that break the rules of existence itself, reality-warping abilities that go far beyond what humans could ever comprehend.
"Imagine," he continues, leaning closer, "a mind so vast that it could dismantle entire systems, rewrite them with a thought. That was Graves. He could see through people, manipulate them as easily as moving pieces on a chessboard. And those who tried to understand him—those who tried to control him—ended up fearing him, because Graves was something we couldn't contain. A Remnant in human form."
I study his expression, a mix of awe and fear. He thinks he's finally telling me something I don't already know, that he's unlocking some terrible truth. But there's something desperate in his eyes, too, as if he's hoping this revelation will unmask me, force me to react.
"So, you're saying Graves was some kind of… god?" I ask, keeping my tone flat, measured.
Miller shakes his head slowly. "Not a god, no. More than that. A Remnant is beyond our idea of gods. They don't have limits. They can manipulate reality, mold it to their will. We could never understand the full scope of what he was capable of. But he left a shadow over everything he touched—a shadow I think you've inherited."
He watches me closely, as if expecting some flicker of recognition, a slip in my facade. But I give him nothing. If he truly knew who he was dealing with, he wouldn't be here, wouldn't have dared to corner me like this.
"And you think I'm… like him?" I let a slight frown slip into my expression, the hint of unease he seems so eager to see.
"I think you could be his son," Miller says, his voice a tense whisper. "I think you have his mind, his instincts. Maybe even a trace of his power. I've seen your intelligence, V—how you manipulate, how you stay two steps ahead. It's unnatural. And if you're anything like Graves… if you're even a fraction of what he was, then we're facing something we don't have the power to control."
He doesn't realize the irony of his words, the quiet fear underlying his tone. They're watching me, hunting me, but they're afraid, as they should be. He believes he's warning me, but all he's doing is exposing his weakness.
I lean forward, letting just the barest trace of something darker slip into my gaze. "So what are you planning to do, Miller? Keep watching? Keep waiting until I reveal some godlike trait?"
His face tightens. "If you're a threat, V, we'll do whatever it takes to stop you. Graves may have escaped us, but you're still here. And I'll be here every step of the way."
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, just enough for him to see. "Then I guess we'll see if your surveillance is enough."
Miller's face hardens, but there's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He thinks he knows who I am, but I know the truth: I'm already several moves ahead. He's a piece on the board, a pawn who's only just beginning to understand the game he's walked into. And if he ever does glimpse the real me, the shadow I'm carrying, he'll wish he hadn't.