Reverberated clangs emit from the collision between a silver boot and a translucent surface that radiates a gentle blue hue above a desolate abyss. The boot lifts forth before landing back on the surface, continuing the marching pattern as it approaches a silver surface at the end of the blue bridge.

Adorned in the silver boots is the man in the sullied leather jacket, its hood down to expose the few distinct locks of white hair that glide in the soft cavernous breeze. Every footstep made triggers another clang to erupt from his sole, echoing endlessly in such daunting manner that it awakes claustrophobia yet kenophobia too from even the most fearless of humans. Exceptionally, its one inhabitant is not bound by such a natural classification.

Upon drifting past the blue bridge and making contact with the silver surface of the pad, the sharp clangs vanish, as the footsteps soften dramatically. The man continues gliding towards the center of the pad where the four tables hover about the origin, the chair levitating on the very eye of the pad, facing his direction already as though propped perfectly for him.

Sleeved arms remain by the man’s side as he approaches the center, and as he migrates from the edge of the pad, the translucent bridge suddenly disappears into the darkness that coils its doomy fingers around the silver colony that beams light into what otherwise would be entirely black space.

Below the warden of razor sharp stalactites that stalk the colonist, the man steps between two of the central tables, and upon entering the center screens project from all four tables at an instant, coiling around him in a bubble of information. His body becomes concealed by the curved screens, being consumed by the void by the curiosity that propels his will.

Within the bubble, the man in the leather jacket turns his head as the screens surrounding him project windows indicating various visuals such as bar and line graphs, charts, and diagrams of both human bodies and specifically the cranial region. While being bombarded by information, he gazes around himself at animated infographics of human body diagrams with pulsating streams looping within the brain and out throughout the body.

Engulfed in this swarm of contextless graphics, he softly inquires, “So, you finally found something. While I feel as though the environment within the house only provided more distractions, I’ve conceived and revised infiltration plans for all but the last two strongholds, thus I expect you've made progress too. It was becoming a trial of its own dealing with the inconveniences of socialization, and now it seems I must order a set of new exercise equipment.”

In a timely response, the British male voice acknowledges, “I heard, I have already deployed a restoration unit for the damages of the walls. It seems you have indeed made great progress in planning, and I can confirm I too have results of my own exploration. In fact, I do believe I’ve uncovered far more detail about the nature of these aberrations than I initially sought out.”

Intrigued by the favorable claims, the man invites, “Give your report.”

The voice explains, “Well, it appears your hypothesis was more accurate than I initially estimated, as in summary, there have been mutations to the Exhumans that have amplified their abilities. After thorough analysis of the data you collected last night in your little impulsive mission, I deduced that there are vast anomalies within the systems of the brain responsible for superhuman ability functionality compared to samples collected in the past. The anomalies are clearly unnatural, well relative to the supernaturality of Exhumans of course, as they are distinctively different from the readings of a genuine expert in Exhuman ability utilization, as specific regions are amplified that exclusively bolster raw strength of abilities and control over such abilities, yet exclude the tuning effects known to be caused by the aging union between an Exhuman and their Key.”

“Hmm…I see…I knew something was up…I know I’ve noticed these kinds of spikes before. Although…advancement in control over abilities is new to me…it’s like they’ve sped the process of familiarization with their own abilities. But still…this sounds similar to something in the back of my mind…these enhancements are similar to that of which a steroid would produce, improving raw strength but with the caveat of lacking those natural smoothing effects. Still, unless you’ve found some potent side effects, it seems this enhancement is only strengthening them. Still, I am highly impressed with just how detailed this report is…I expected excellent examination of their brains and potential differences but for you to have been able to also conclude the practical results of these aberrations, usually that’s what I need to do,” calmly interprets the man, his hand under his chin as he paces around the chair, passing the various windows of information presented for him.”

“Praising me, are you?” snarks the voice.

“Shut up, explain how you did it,” callously demands the man, impeding on the pride the voice was basking in.

“Very well, I was able to cross examine these anomalies with similar traits in past experiments, and in terms of deducing the increase of raw strength, I found congruences in both these samples and samples of the past that also housed Exhumans of increased raw strength. For concluding the improved control, while it wasn’t as perfect as a match, I was able to find that some of these newly discovered mutations are connected to the ones with congruences, in fact they seem to be more complex variants of similar mutations that were found in enemies that posed more precise threats, although this seems to be a refined mutation, clearly proven by the strains that squad put on you,” proudly lectures the voice.

Although rather than appreciating this intelligent usage of past material, the man has frozen in place, his eyes with a dulled, hollow expression, as rather than staring at the screens ahead it seems he’s instead staring at an abyss that’s devoured his soul.

A strangely foreboding aura emits from him as while his expression is mild, a dreadful horror exudes nonetheless, as words spoken to him had triggered something deep within him, something deeply disturbing.

“I hope you understand, you are right in that usually my expertise only reaches simple analysis of the brain, however due to the immense depth of the database we’ve collected over the years of our operation, I was able to find vital past information that helped make these connections. Although unfortunately I am unable to find any leads on potentially reversing this effect, as creating an antidote for this would be far more complicated and likely extend beyond your current plans due to the complexities of these mutations. You’ll likely need to engage with these advanced Exhumans regardless, my best advice is to use your Anti-Exmatter systems next time you engage, although I do understand why you were unable to last time but current doses should still be just as effective,” continues the voice, befuddled by the lack of reaction from the man, and hoping this addition of information would better help explain the technicalities of the report that he may have missed.

Instead however, the man doesn’t seem specifically concerned about confrontations with more Exhumans, rather he’s become infatuated by a previous detail. His eyes still dull, carrying the same unchanged morbid expression, he simply speaks without moving his body, asking, “Wait…these mutations…are similar to others in the past…this ‘Exhuman steroid’ is similar to ones I’ve examined in the past…. Wait…pull up all of the previous cases you used as reference. I want dates, titles, imaging, what exactly did you pull from?”

A few moments of silence follow after the bizarre question, before the voice accepts in a perplexed tone, “Okay…I’m unsure how exactly this will assist in the success of Operation Entropy and any of the proceeding plans, but regardless, I shall present my references as you wish.”

Windows begin projecting on the surrounding screens once again, covering up the previous ones as they assume first priority. These windows contain similar graphics of brain diagrams with charts and graphs, with graphical lines connecting certain graphics to different bars composing a log, with various titles and dates listed top down.

Immediately the man’s focus centers on the logs, which seems to be the base that the graphics are components of, and specifically the dreary blue eyes set their gaze on the dates. Several of the dates read are, ‘4/16/2842,’ ‘7/14/2840,’ and ‘12/25/2843.’

Upon analyzing the dates, the man approaches the screen, placing both of his hands on the edges of the table while leaning towards them with an intentful glare. As though in disbelief, he silently glares at the dates, continuing to read down, as they all fall within the time between 2840 to 2844.

His pupils dance around their irises frantically as he seemingly finds difficulty in accepting something outwardly insignificant, at least compared to the degree to which he seems to place importance on it.

Rightfully concerned, the voice checks, “Uhm…hello? Does it make sense now?”

Staring at the dates without moving his body, the man answers with a cold, defeated voice, “Yes…it all makes sense…I understand it now…”

The voice relieves, “Ah, you had me worried for a sec-.”

“These mutations aren’t new…they’re far from…this is something we’ve dealt with from the beginning. They’re variants of an old formula…taken from a state of discontinuation from the original producer and modified over time…built upon likely without even the knowing of the original creator…. I don’t know how long this has been in the working…something of this caliber likely took time to be made, but at the same time it’s clear this is a new avenue for the group, a desperate push for power as both sides of the war begin closing on each other,” mutters the man in a jittery, almost anxious voice.

Only more disoriented, the voice once again questions, “Uhm, what-?”

“These steroids that are strengthening the Exhuman fighters, they’re variants of the old master serums. The ones that were produced and distributed…by Dana,” realizes the man, his dread coming to a head as the truth dawns on him, and now on his invisible companion.

Hours pass in a blink, the caverns remaining silent without a word spoken, the presence of the inhabitants as silent as the unwavered dark waters far below, delicately illuminated by the pads above, forcefully exposed to an alien entity never meant to invade its space.

Up in the pads, the cylindrical screen displays a vast assortment of windows showcasing various intelligence: schematics such as graphs, diagrams including human bodies, maps detailing facilities in diverse biomes, and other notes surrounding the sole being in the chambers, alone and soundless.

His dull blue eyes examine information as he welds it into his strategizing and work, yet while he continues to progress, his mind flutters in an entirely separate ecosystem, one distant from that which he had deemed priority.

In the routine of his eyes bouncing between windows, they occasionally halt and dwell, being focused not on the contents of the screens but rather a spiritless abyss that bounds him more intimately than the holograms.

Distracted in the cold space nested within his skull, his disorientation is suddenly shaken by a crying pitch that pierces straight through the infinite abyss of his mind, immediately shattering his pivot so much so that he staggers from the crudely abrasive call. He shakes his head, snapping back to reality to properly react to the exclamation. Breaths become heavy as he acknowledges the ironic disturbance, needing a few moments to reorient himself especially given the nature of this confrontation, and after two long breaths he catches himself. He stands up straight, having regained balance, and steps back to his spot right in front of a table, calmed and ready to respond.

He manages to return his voice to a collected monotony, greeting “Is there a problem?”

A voice speaks straight into his head, but rather than it being the British male voice, it’s the too familiar yet female voice of Dana, who invites, “No, no problem! I was just calling to say, it’s about dinner time so I made something for the two, but I uh…made ‘extra accidentally’ so I was wondering if maybe you could come up here and help us finish it!”

“You could store it,” bluntly suggests the man.

A long awkward pause follows the short abrupt response, to which Dana clarifies, “I err…I mean yes I could…but I thought maybe instead it would be a better idea to share this food with you! You know, all of us could have a meal together for the first time! Besides, I mean like…I don’t know if you forgot but I’m not the technical homeowner here…maybe the host should eat with us…at least sometimes, it doesn’t have to be every time. But uh…I made lasagna, and I make great lasagna. Kokei and Ekitai said it smelled great when I was baking it! So…come on…come out of that…’man cave.’”

In response the man returns a heavy sigh mixed with exhaustion and exasperation before verbally catechizing, “You know you don’t need to bake anything, you can just use the printers, the quality should be identical anyways.”

“Well, first off that’s a bit rude of you after I put all that effort into making it, and second Kokei doesn’t like the printers, she said it’s not ‘real,’” retaliates Dana in a dramatically defensive voice.

“If you want to go by that logic, none of the food is ‘real’,” bluntly debates the man.

“My man…please just come up…I promise you’ll like it. I know we saw you in the morning but it’s been so long since we all actually were with each other,” Dana delivers the ultimatum with a soft, almost pleading voice.

Silence follows her request as the man stands in place for a few moments, contemplating, surrounded by the paramount work he pledged to. He steps back and places his hand on his forehead before he raises his face to the spiked ceiling while releasing a gloomy groan. He stands in silence for a few seconds after the groan before delivering his decision.

“Fine.”