I can remember it like it was yesterday: I was seven years old, and it was pouring rain. My parents, their voices hushed but frantic, hurriedly packed bags in the dimly lit apartment of one of my father's colleagues. I sat on the worn couch clutching my stuffed rabbit, watching them with wide, confused eyes.
"Sebastian, sweetheart, we have to go," my mother said, kneeling in front of me and cupping my face in her trembling hands. Her normally steady voice cracked, betraying her fear.
"But why? Where are we going?" I asked, glancing toward my father, who was locking the door.
His face was pale, and his eyes darted around the room like a trapped animal's. He didn't answer me, but his movements were quick and deliberate, stuffing papers into a leather satchel.
My mother smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "We'll explain everything later. Just trust us, okay?"
I nodded reluctantly, still clutching the rabbit. She leaned in and kissed my forehead. "We love you, Sebastian. Always remember that."
It wasn't until years later that I realized the weight of her words, the way she said them like it might be the last time.
"Mr. Infinity!" Mrs. Ramirez's sharp voice jolted me awake, dragging me back to the present.
I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. Around me, the snickers of my classmates echoed in the room. I felt my cheeks flush as I straightened in my seat.
"Are we boring you? Or do you think calculus is optional now?" she asked, tapping her clipboard against the edge of her desk.
"No, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
The bell rang, saving me from further embarrassment. "Class dismissed," she called, sighing. "Sebastian, even if you're my favorite student, you can't sleep in my class. Don't make it a habit."
I nodded and gathered my books as my classmates filtered out. Despite my embarrassment, my mind lingered on the dream—or rather, the memory. It wasn't the first time it had surfaced, but it always left me feeling hollow. It had been ten years since my parents disappeared, and the trail of their absence had grown colder with each passing year.
The rest of my day passed in a blur until I returned to my dorm room. The moment I stepped inside, I noticed the envelope. Its pristine white stood out against the chaos of my desk, and my name was embossed on the front in bold, black letters: Sebastian Infinity.
Curiosity overtook me as I tore it open. The contents were surreal:
> Dear Sebastian Infinity,
Congratulations! You have been selected as one of forty individuals worldwide to participate in a groundbreaking experiment. This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity offers unparalleled rewards, including:
Lifetime financial compensation exceeding $10 million.
Comprehensive health insurance.
Unique training and enhancements.
And the potential to uncover answers to questions about your family's past.
Your participation is vital to the success of this experiment, and we eagerly await your decision. Transportation will be arranged upon your acceptance.
The words hung in my mind, particularly the last line: answers about your family's past. My pulse quickened. Was this some cruel trick, or was it real? The letter included a time and place: 7:00 PM tomorrow at a private facility downtown.
I stared at the letter for what felt like hours before making my decision.
The next evening, I adjusted my tie nervously as I stood in front of the Nexus Research Facility. Its glass façade loomed over me, illuminated by the evening lights. My fingers brushed against the letter in my pocket for reassurance.
Stepping inside, I was greeted by a receptionist who confirmed my name and directed me to Room 1A. Small lights embedded in the floor guided me down a long, sterile corridor. The silence was oppressive, and the artwork lining the walls felt out of place—like a veneer over something darker.
When the metal doors slid open, I stepped into an auditorium filled with people. Rows of chairs formed a semi-circle around a raised platform where a woman in a lab coat stood, flanked by two men. Forty chairs in total.
I took a seat near the back, observing the others. Some looked nervous, like me, while others sat with a confidence that felt rehearsed. Whispers filled the room:
"...military project, maybe?"
"They're offering a fortune. I'll do whatever they want."
"Next step in evolution? Sounds like sci-fi crap."
The woman on stage cleared her throat, silencing the murmurs. "Welcome," she began, her voice carrying an air of authority. "You have all been selected for a reason. Out of millions, you are the forty chosen for this monumental project. You are pioneers in the next step of human evolution."
A screen behind her lit up, displaying a rotating DNA helix. She continued, "The abilities you will acquire through this program will redefine humanity. Each of you has been assigned to a team. Your team will be your family, your allies, and sometimes your rivals. Together, you will push the boundaries of what it means to be human."
The word abilities sent a shiver down my spine.
One of the men stepped forward, holding a tablet. "Participation is voluntary, but leaving now will require you to sign a confidentiality agreement. If you stay, your journey begins tonight."
No one moved to leave.
"Good," the woman said. "You will now meet your teams. Your team rooms are ready, and your training begins tomorrow. Over the next week, you'll develop your abilities. After that, you will reconvene for Phase One."
Unknown Perspective
I arrived at the room first, settling into the far corner. My fingers drummed on the armrest of the chair as I waited. The sterile, white walls felt suffocating, but I maintained my calm exterior.
The first person to arrive after me was a woman—mid-twenties, athletic build, and a tomboyish confidence that radiated from her stride. The abrasions on her knuckles caught my attention, as did the way she scanned the room like it was a boxing ring. She had the swagger of someone raised in a household full of brothers, always fighting for dominance.
Next, a man entered, clearly uncomfortable in his own skin. His tie was slightly askew, and he adjusted it nervously. He carried himself with exaggerated righteousness, but I could see through it. A coward compensating with a mask of bravado. His inability to maintain boundaries was apparent in the way he lingered too close to others.
Finally, a high schooler walked in. He was calm, collected, and observant—too observant. Something about him was unsettling. He wasn't like the others. I couldn't place his strengths or weaknesses, which only made him more intriguing.
Third Perspective
A figure stepped inside, clad head-to-toe in a pristine white hazmat suit that gleamed under the overhead lights. The faint mechanical hum of their respirator filled the silence, adding an unsettling edge to their presence. They carried a sleek tray with an array of small, color-coded capsules and a neatly folded stack of uniforms, each bearing the Nexus insignia.
The figure paused in the center of the room, their helmeted head sweeping over the seated participants. When they finally spoke, their voice came through a modulator, calm yet unnervingly detached.
"Welcome, Team 7." The title hung in the air, heavy with implication. "As of this moment, you are no longer ordinary individuals. You are part of an initiative that will redefine the boundaries of human potential."
Sebastian straightened in his chair, his gaze flickering to the tray of pills. A mix of apprehension and curiosity churned in his gut. Around him, the other participants leaned forward, their expressions ranging from nervous anticipation to outright skepticism.
"These capsules," the scientist continued, gesturing to the pills, "are designed to activate your latent genetic potential. Each one has been tailored to you specifically, based on your unique physiology and psychological profile. They will prepare your bodies for the abilities you are about to unlock, as well as the rigors of the training to come."
A low murmur rippled through the room. Words like abilities and genetic potential stirred unease, but no one spoke up. The scientist let the silence stretch for a moment before continuing.
"Over the next week, you will train individually
The training room assigned to Sebastian Infinity was a sterile chamber, its metallic floor reflecting the harsh white light above. The observation window loomed on one side, concealing whoever—or whatever—was monitoring him. The walls bore no marks, no fixtures, no distractions. It was as if the room itself was daring him to discover his potential.
The pill had gone down easily, but within minutes, the effects became apparent. A wave of nausea hit him first, followed by a sharp, burning sensation coursing through his veins. He fell to his knees, his body convulsing as his muscles tensed and his heart pounded violently in his chest. The searing pain brought tears to his eyes, but he gritted his teeth, determined to endure.
Then, the changes began.
Sebastian's vision sharpened first. The room, once stark and clinical, now seemed alive with details he'd never noticed before. The faint scratches on the floor, the almost imperceptible hum of the fluorescent lights, the muffled whispers behind the observation glass—everything came into focus.
He raised a trembling hand, only to watch in awe as his fingers stretched unnaturally, elongating into dark, sinewy shapes. His skin rippled like water, shifting and reshaping with a will of its own. Fear and fascination warred within him as he took an experimental step forward, the sound of his bare feet on metal echoing loudly.
Over the next hours, Sebastian pushed himself to understand this newfound malleability. At first, his transformations were clumsy and inconsistent—his hands extending into crude, wobbly shapes before snapping back to their original form. But with persistence, he began to refine the process.
By the end of the first day, he could produce the Black Hands—dark, jointless tentacles tipped with dexterous hands that obeyed his every command. Each appendage moved with a strength that felt almost alien, capable of lifting objects twice his weight without strain. He marveled at their flexibility and precision, using them to manipulate objects, climb the walls, and even form makeshift shields.
On the second day, Sebastian discovered something deeper, more primal. While experimenting with the Black Hands, he willed them to harden, imagining them as weapons. To his surprise, bone-like spines erupted along the lengths of the tentacles, giving them a deadly edge.
He practiced relentlessly, honing their control and testing their durability. Slamming them against the metallic walls left deep gouges, and their weight felt satisfying in his grip. These Bone Tentacles became his offensive tools, combining strength with lethality.
By the fourth day, Sebastian's transformations had grown more sophisticated. While experimenting with smaller, more delicate appendages, he inadvertently created razor-thin tentacles lined with spines.
Later that day, a moment of frustration led to the discovery of the Black Armor. Exhausted and battered from his self-imposed training, Sebastian instinctively willed his skin to harden. Dark, sinewy flesh enveloped his body, reinforced by thick, bone-like plates. Though it reduced his agility, the protection it offered was unparalleled.
The final breakthrough came on the last day. Channeling everything he had learned, Sebastian combined multiple tentacles into a single, massive weapon—a Bone Spear. The weapon was heavy, powerful, and felt like an extension of himself. He practiced with it tirelessly, each strike leaving deep dents in the metallic floor.