June 21, 1935: Alaska
A convoy of military trucks and two black cars rumbled along a winter road in Sagwon, Alaska. The wind howled, gusting up to 40 miles per hour, biting through the thin fabric of their uniforms. The trucks bounced over the uneven surface, tires crunching against the packed snow.
After several miles, the convoy veered left onto a dirt road. A few moments later, they arrived at a military checkpoint. Four soldiers approached the first truck.
"Identification and clearance," one soldier said, his voice steady despite the cold.
The driver handed over a stack of documents. The soldier scanned them quickly before returning them with a nod. "You're good to go."
The convoy pressed on, the mountains looming closer with each turn. Tents dotted the landscape, watchtowers rose like sentinels, and another checkpoint awaited them. Sandbags piled high surrounded machine guns that glinted in the weak sunlight.
They stopped again. The driver sighed and handed over the documents once more. The soldier read through them carefully before moving to the black cars in the middle of the convoy. He knocked on the window, which slid down to reveal a man in a general's uniform and another with slicked-back hair clutching a briefcase.
The soldier saluted sharply. "Let them through."
As they entered the perimeter, military activity buzzed around them—tanks rolled by, planes took off and landed, soldiers marched in disciplined formation. The atmosphere was thick with tension and purpose.
At the end of the road, a large tunnel loomed ahead. The convoy halted again. Soldiers disembarked from the trucks while men in professional-looking coats emerged from the black cars. Among them was General Thompson and President James Harrington. A staffer rushed up to the President, whispering urgently.
"Sir," said the aide, glancing nervously at the tunnel entrance, "we need to discuss Nazi Germany's movements before we proceed."
"Not now," President Harrington replied tersely, his eyes fixed on the tunnel as if it held answers he desperately sought.
Every soldier they passed saluted sharply as they moved toward the tunnel. Inside, concrete walls echoed with footsteps and muffled voices. Guards stood at attention beside a massive metal door that sealed off whatever lay beyond.
Once inside, the men shed their coats. President Harrington approached Dr. Finch with a curt nod.
"Mr. President," Finch said smoothly as he extended his hand to greet him, "it's good to see you."
"You as well, Dr. Finch," replied the president curtly.
"Shall we proceed?" Finch asked, gesturing toward a smaller tunnel branching off from the main chamber.
"Lead the way" said the president, his voice firm but laced with uncertainty about what lay ahead.
They walked toward another smaller tunnel that opened into a vast chamber featuring a circular metal platform and a pedestal at its center. A soldier pressed a button; an elevator descended slowly from above, marked with a large number one on its concrete wall.
As it reached levels 999 and 1000, it came to a stop with an audible thud. The doors opened to reveal a pristine white hall bustling with scientists and military personnel. They moved into a large room where more personnel awaited them around a projector.
The men settled into their seats as documents were distributed. Dr. Finch gestured to the projector operator. Lights dimmed, casting long shadows across their faces as an image flickered to life on the wall.
"Mr. President, Welcome to Project Phoenix," he began, his voice steady but lacking warmth.
Footage rolled showing a boy—a child—on February 19th, 1925. He stood in an open field using his hands to disassemble and reassemble an adult male figure before him. The scene was unsettling; limbs twisted unnaturally before snapping back into place like broken toys.
"Here we see Caelum demonstrating his ability for molecular manipulation," Finch explained as murmurs rippled through the room. "He can alter physical structures at will."
Another clip followed: this time, destruction—a building crumbling under unseen forces as if it were made of sand rather than steel and brick.
"Notice how he doesn't exert any visible effort," Finch continued while pointing at the screen. "This suggests an innate understanding of physics that defies our current scientific knowledge."
Then came scenes from Europe's battlefields—scorched earth where trees once stood tall—blackened ground littered with remnants of war. In an astonishing display of power, Caelum restored everything in mere seconds: green sprouted where there had been ash.
"This footage is particularly significant," Finch said gravely. "Caelum's regenerative abilities extend beyond himself; he can revitalize entire ecosystems by reversing entropy in localized areas."
The footage shifted again to show Caelum standing still as bullets ricocheted off him; injuries appeared only to vanish moments later as if time itself rewound.
"And here we witness his remarkable healing factor," Finch noted. "His cells regenerate at an accelerated rate—far beyond what any human should be capable of."
Finally, they witnessed something more horrifying: an experiment where he transformed a bird into a lizard using its own biomass—a grotesque manipulation of life itself.
"This is where ethical boundaries blur," Finch said quietly but firmly. "We've documented Caelum's ability to repurpose biological matter for new forms—an ability that raises questions about identity and existence itself."
The room fell silent except for the hum of machinery outside and distant echoes of soldiers preparing for whatever lay ahead.
"What do we do with this information?" asked one scientist hesitantly after several moments of contemplation.
"We harness it," Finch replied without hesitation. "This boy represents not just potential but power—a power we cannot afford to ignore."
The president leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. "And what about his safety? If he can do all this… what happens when he realizes it?"
Finch met his gaze steadily. "That's why we're here today—to ensure he remains under our control until we fully understand his capabilities."
In that moment, curiosity mingled with dread among those present; they were not just witnesses but participants in something far larger than themselves—a dark mystery unfolding beneath Alaska's frozen surface.
As they prepared to delve deeper into Project Phoenix's secrets, whispers of Nazi Germany's aggressive expansion loomed in their minds—a reminder that while they sought knowledge and power within these walls, danger was gathering beyond them.
President Harrington glanced at General Thompson before continuing, "We must also consider how this knowledge could impact our national security strategy given recent developments abroad."
General Thompson nodded slowly but remained focused on the screen where Caelum's abilities played out in chilling detail—a boy whose powers could change everything they knew about science… and war.
The atmosphere in the room shifted as President James Harrington leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And where is this Caelum? Let me see this boy up close."
Dr. Harold Finch nodded, a hint of excitement in his voice. "Of course, this way." He stepped toward the door, gesturing for the president to follow. As they walked through the sterile corridors of the facility, the hum of machinery filled the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of soldiers moving about.
"You don't really hold back in building this place," Harrington remarked, glancing at the concrete walls and heavy steel doors that lined their path.
"For the sake of national security," General Thompson replied, his tone serious, "we'll do everything in our power to keep our country safe."
"Very well," Harrington said, his voice steady. "Let's see if Project Phoenix can help us in the coming storm."
At the end of the corridor stood a massive steel door guarded by two soldiers. Finch gestured for them to open it. The doors slid apart with a heavy clang, revealing a vast tunnel lined with military jeeps.
"After you," Finch said, leading the way into the tunnel. The men climbed into the jeeps and navigated through the dimly lit passageway.
As they drove deeper into the facility, the tunnel widened and darkened, illuminated only by flickering overhead lights. After several miles, they reached a large steel wall with a small door. Concrete barriers were reinforced with slots for machine guns; more military personnel stood guard.
The jeeps came to a halt. Finch motioned for everyone to disembark. They entered through the small door and were met with a stark contrast: machines and electronics hummed quietly around them. Scientists moved purposefully, monitoring screens that displayed data from beyond a large glass window.
Inside that space was Caelum—a young man now—surrounded by books, a bed, and sofas. A radio played softly in one corner, broadcasting a baseball game. Caelum sat on a couch, eyes glued to the radio as he listened intently.
Harrington observed him closely. "He's not as dangerous as he seems to be."
Dr. Finch nodded slowly. "Don't let appearances deceive you, Mr. President. He's quite innocent and ignorant of everything happening outside these walls. He has yet to learn about the world."
"What do you mean?" Harrington asked, curiosity piquing his interest.
Finch continued, "After a bit of 'tutoring,' he's just like any American teen you might see on the streets—full of potential but unaware of its implications." He paused, watching Caelum as he laughed at something he heard on the radio. "But he possesses a depth of wisdom that belies his age."
Harrington frowned slightly. "So instead of sealing him away…?"
"We're protecting him," Finch replied firmly. "From outside forces that would take an interest in him—forces that might exploit his abilities for their own ends."
General Thompson stepped forward, crossing his arms. "If we don't keep him safe here, who knows what could happen? There are whispers of interest from abroad—Nazi Germany is expanding its reach."
Harrington nodded thoughtfully but remained focused on Caelum through the glass. The boy—now a young man—looked so ordinary in that moment, yet they all knew he was anything but.
"What do you think he would want?" Harrington asked suddenly.
Finch considered this for a moment. "Freedom, perhaps? A chance to live like anyone else? But we have to balance that desire against what he represents."
"Why don't I ask him instead?" President Harrington said, his voice steady yet bold.
Everyone in the room exchanged surprised glances. They knew Harrington's personality well, but they hadn't expected this kind of initiative from him. General Thompson quickly interjected, "I stand by that statement, Mr. President. Your security is our utmost priority."
Harrington straightened his suit, determination etched on his face. "How can I become the leader the people voted for if I appear a coward? With the rising tension in the West, I am expected to face the storm head-on. Now, why don't we have a little chat and find out?"
"Very well, Mr. President," Dr. Finch added, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
The general hesitated but then ordered some soldiers to escort the president. As Dr. Finch and Harrington made their way toward a hall leading to a high-security door, tension hung in the air like a thick fog.
"Mr. President," Finch said as they walked, "I must emphasize that Caelum is still a mystery to us. We don't fully understand his abilities or how he might react to outside influences."
"I appreciate your concern, Dr. Finch," Harrington replied, his tone firm but calm. "But I need to see for myself what we're dealing with here."