The room was dimly lit, the kind of place where conversations weren't meant to leave its four walls. A long table stretched through the center, surrounded by government officials, military personnel, and intelligence officers. The air was thick with tension, and the mood was somber. At the head of the table sat a man in his fifties, gray-haired, with sharp eyes that gave nothing away. He tapped his fingers against a file marked "CLASSIFIED" in bold red letters. Across from him, others exchanged uneasy glances.
The subject on everyone's mind was Malik.
"So," began the man at the head of the table, his voice cold and commanding, "we successfully neutralized Malik. What's the latest update on his condition?"
A younger man from the intelligence division cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Sir, Malik is currently held in a secure facility, sedated. The drug we developed, derived from his blood, remains effective. He's stable, but still dangerous if we loosen any of the restraints."
"Dangerous," another official muttered. "This man can bend metal at will. If he wakes up…"
The room fell silent, as everyone considered the implications. Malik had been a threat—reckless, powerful, a wildcard. It had taken months of planning and resources to bring him down. The use of a woman to draw his blood, poison him, and incapacitate him without his knowledge had been a strategic gamble. In the end, it worked, but at what cost?
"We had to act fast," said a military officer with a hardened face. "He was showing up too often, drawing too much attention. If we hadn't taken him down, there's no telling what damage he could've done next."
Another man, from the research division, leaned forward. "The question isn't just about keeping him sedated. What are we going to do with him now? Brainwashing? Conditioning him to work for us? He's a resource we can't ignore."
A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the room, but there were also hesitant glances exchanged.
"Brainwashing is dangerous," said a woman from the psychological operations unit. "We don't fully understand the mental capacity of someone like Malik. He's shown no signs of improved mental resilience, but we can't be sure how his ability interacts with his brain. If we push too far, we might end up triggering something worse."
"Agreed," another voice chimed in. "But what's the alternative? Keep him locked up forever? The public will eventually notice he's missing. His antics made him a minor celebrity."
"Let them speculate," the gray-haired man said, voice steely. "We've already managed that. The fabricated sightings and staged rumors are holding up well. For now, people think he's gone underground, which is exactly what we need them to believe."
"And what if another like him shows up?" an older, skeptical official asked. "It's been months since Malik, and no other case has surfaced. Despite all those idiots out there playing daredevil, no one's manifested anything even close to his power."
There was a tense pause.
"I don't think Malik's an isolated incident," the younger intelligence officer said slowly, drawing out each word. "We've seen a rise in unusual events—nothing quite like him, but strange all the same. If Malik could appear, there's every chance others will too. It's only a matter of time."
"Even if others do appear," the skeptic continued, "what are the odds they'll be as reckless as Malik? We may never get another chance to capture one so easily."
"Easily?" someone else snapped. "It took months of planning and an entire covert operation. The lady we used barely made it out in one piece."
"And that's the key," the gray-haired man said, raising his hand to silence the room. "We learned from Malik. We now know how to take someone like him down. Blood samples. Poisons. Exploiting weaknesses. If another emerges, we'll be ready."
"What about experimentation?" asked the man from the research division, his voice low and calculated. "We have Malik now. We could study him, dissect his abilities. We need to understand the mechanics behind this... metal manipulation. What makes him tick?"
"Experiments are risky," the military officer said, frowning. "We don't fully understand his biology. What if it triggers something worse? We don't know the extent of his power."
"Risk or not, we need answers," the gray-haired man said, his eyes narrowing. "We have an opportunity here, and we can't afford to waste it. We need to know where these powers come from, how they're triggered, and if they can be replicated—or suppressed. If there are more people out there like Malik, we need to be prepared."
The woman from psychological operations crossed her arms, looking skeptical. "Even if we do proceed with experiments, the ethical and legal ramifications are enormous. Are we really willing to cross that line?"
A cold silence followed her words. They all knew the answer, though no one was eager to say it.
The gray-haired man finally broke the silence. "We'll monitor him for now. No drastic moves until we have more data. But rest assured, if another one appears, we'll be ready."
"And Malik?" the military officer asked.
The man at the head of the table leaned back in his chair, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. "We keep him alive. For now. Until we know what we're dealing with."
There was a collective sigh of relief, though it was clear that no one felt any more at ease. Malik was under their control, but for how long? And if others appeared, would they be as fortunate next time?
The meeting concluded with the officials filing out of the room, the weight of their decisions hanging heavily in the air. None of them liked the idea of keeping Malik alive, but the need for knowledge, for understanding, outweighed their fear. Malik was just the beginning, and they all knew it.