Out of the Zone and into the centrifuge

[Kaelan]

The journey out of the Zone felt unreal. Kaelan kept waiting for symptoms. On the drive back to the airport, he monitored himself obsessively checking his pupils in the rearview mirror, palpating the lymph nodes at his jaw, tracking his heart rate on the portable wallet-sync patch still adhered beneath his collarbone. He half-expected nausea, vertigo, and a metallic taste blooming across his tongue any minute but nothing came.

Nazariy sat beside him in the transport van. He did not marvel at the paved roads or the returning traffic. He didn’t ask questions. He simply watched. At the checkpoint, Kaelan insisted on a radiation scan. Twice. The portable dosimeter passed over his body in smooth arcs. Elevated exposure, yes, but not catastrophic. Within tolerable limits for short-term presence. Kaelan reasoned that his bone marrow would survive. His genome, for now, remained obedient, but he was going to do advanced testing on himself weekly for the next six months just in case. By the time they boarded the jet to Moscow, Kaelan’s anxiety had thinned to a manageable hum. He could think again and strategize. He had done it. He had walked into Chernobyl and walked out unconsumed. And he had brought something with him.

Moscow rose in glass and light. After the skeletal silence of Pripyat, the city felt obscenely alive, with traffic highways like glowing arteries and towers piercing the clouds like spears. Paragon dominated the research district. The skyscraper twisted upward in elegant defiance of gravity, its surface reflecting sky and garden alike. Kaelan allowed himself the smallest flicker of pride as he watched Nazariy’s reaction. “This,” he said quietly, adjusting his coat, “is where real work happens.”

They crossed through the main entrance. Replica technologies stood in illuminated cases like relics of a benevolent future: bionic limbs with synth-skin seamless as flesh, retinal implants displayed in rotating holographic projection, testimonials glowing in soft blue script overhead. The AI assist chimed gently as they stepped inside. “Welcome to Paragon Group. How may I assist you today?”

Kaelan ignored it. He didn’t need assistance. He belonged here, and a glance at the scanner’s direction should flag the system of his arrival within seconds. The human receptionist recognized him immediately however. Clearance codes transferred with a subtle flick of his wrist against the security panel, and the elevators opened without delay. Nazariy’s reflection multiplied in the mirrored walls as they ascended. Like the various high clearance divisions, the Genome Division required deeper clearance. So did Ascendant, and Kaelan had both.

Before anything else, he routed himself through Medical. Full panel bloodwork. Bone marrow scan. Rapid cytogenetic screening. Gamma burden quantification. Nanoscopic sweep for foreign bioactivity. He submitted to it all with clipped impatience, standing beneath white light while machines hummed around him. Hours later, preliminary results populated his tablet, but he only gave it a cursory scan before taking a deeper dive into the results once he could be alone. It was enough to feel clean, for now.

Nazariy, meanwhile, drew attention. Not alarm, but curiosity. He’d already informed Ephraim and the team of Nazariy’s imminent arrival as a research subject. Given that he had no birth certificate or any legal existence at all, Paragon had special ways to hand wave the paperwork.

“He’s with me,” Kaelan said simply whenever he was asked. That was enough for the underlings.

Temporary residential quarters were arranged in one of Paragon’s internal housing levels similar to the controlled accommodations used for certain research participants. It was comfortable, but most important, it was  ontained.

The room had reinforced walls and discreet monitoring systems embedded behind panels as well as adjustable climate control, private washroom, and fresh clothing laid out. Real food would be delivered on a schedule.
Not a cell, but not entirely freedom either.

Kaelan watched Nazariy take in the space. The clean lines. The absence of rot. The quiet hum of climate filtration.

“You’ll be comfortable here,” Kaelan assured him. “Safer than the Zone. No Shaykra. I promise.”

Testing protocols were already drafting themselves in his mind. Controlled exposure trials. Dermal response mapping. Electromagnetic field analysis during spore activation. Genetic sequencing. Whole genome comparison against baseline human markers. Epigenetic irregularities. Possible chimerism screening. Proteomic profiling.

And the spores.

He had secured many viable samples from the concrete smear. Stored in negative-pressure containment in Genome Division.

If the black responded to Nazariy biologically, pheromonally, thermally, or electromagnetically, Paragon would find the mechanism. And if it was something more…

His thoughts flickered briefly toward Ascendant Division. Toward the gap between channelers and non-channelers. Toward Project Visakanya. Toward severance.

What if this wasn’t fungus? What if it was a superintelligence interface? Kaelan clasped his hands behind his back, watching Nazariy from across the room.

“You’ll rest tonight,” he said, voice measured. “Tomorrow we begin.”

He felt that thrill from the concrete slab in Chernobyl again. The moment the black recoiled from him but embraced Nazariy. This wasn’t just discovery. It was leverage. And for the first time since Shayka stripped him to shivering bone, Kaelan felt something stronger than fear.

Control.

Until then, he had to meet personally with Ephraim and explain everything man to man.

[Nazariy Moroz]

Nazariy stood in the middle of the room and did not sit. For nearly a minute he simply turned in place, studying the walls. They were smooth. That was the first thing he noticed. Smooth walls without cracks, water stains, or strips of fallen plaster hanging like old skin. There were no dark corners where insects had made their homes, no rust bleeding down from pipes, no smell of damp concrete. He ran his fingertips along the wall and looked at them afterward. They came away clean.

He pressed his palm against the wall again, harder this time. He crouched and examined the seam where the walls met the floor. He touched it, then knocked twice with one knuckle.

Tap. Tap.

He looked up at the ceiling. It had no holes. “It’s inside the ceiling,” he said quietly.

His attention moved to the ventilation grate. He approached it, tilted his head, and listened to the soft mechanical breathing coming from behind it. After a moment, he glanced back toward Kaelan.

“Everything is inside.”

He opened the washroom door and stopped. The room was almost painfully white. A clean sink. A mirror. A toilet. A shower. Nazariy stared at the toilet for several seconds before looking into the mirror.

He approached his reflection cautiously.

The bright lights made him look even paler than he expected. He raised one hand and touched the glass. His reflection did the same. He leaned closer, studying his own eyes, then pulled his hand away.

He returned to the main room and approached the bed. He pressed one hand into the mattress. It sank beneath his palm and slowly returned to its original shape when he lifted it. Nazariy pressed again, harder this time, watching with growing interest.

When he sat down, the mattress gave beneath him. Nazariy immediately stood.

“What the-”

He walked around the bed once, inspecting it from every angle, then apparently decided it posed no immediate threat. He sat again and bounced once, experimentally. The mattress moved beneath him.

The corner of his mouth lifted. He looked toward Kaelan.

“Your bed is broken. It moves.”

He reached for the clothing that had been left for him and examined the shirt between his fingers. The stitching was clean and even. There were no stains, no holes, no smell of mildew. He held it against himself for a moment before folding it neatly and placing it back where he had found it.

Then he heard the hum. It came from somewhere inside the walls. Low and steady, almost too faint to notice. He turned his head toward it and listened. The sound continued.

He looked at the ceiling, then the floor, then the vent.

The building was full of noises, but they were hidden noises. Machines breathing behind walls. Electricity passing through unseen wires. Water moving through pipes that had no visible source. Nazariy put his ear against the wall.

The hum was stronger there. Everything inside the walls... He remained like that for several seconds before straightening.

His eyes moved around the room again. He seemed to consider the walls, the ceiling, the strange machines hidden behind them.

“You said real work happens here,” he said. “Do people live here?”

He didn't wait long for an answer. His attention had already settled on a small sensor near the ceiling. He walked beneath it and looked up.

“That watches?”

Nazariy studied it for another moment.

Then he smiled. Good

He reached into his pocket and curled his fingers around one of his painted rocks. The familiar shape seemed to settle something in him. His hand remained there as he looked toward the door, then at the walls surrounding him.

“No Shaykra,” he said.

His thumb rubbed absently over the rock.

“None of my friends.”

He seemed to find that more disappointing than frightening.

Nazariy crossed to the bed and sat down again. This time he did not immediately stand. He lowered himself onto his back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the hidden machinery.

After a while, he lifted one hand toward the sensor and gave it a small wave, wondering who watched.

“Good night.”

[Visha]

After the procedure Visha had been inconsolable, and even Ephraim could not risk being in the same room as her. It was not just that the pain triggered defensive biological processes, but her own surprised reaction to what increasingly felt like a violation. The doctor had not been kind despite being handsome, and she struggled to reconcile those two things in her mind. It didn’t make sense. He had said she could trust him. And then he’d looked right through her like she was not even a person. Unable to untangle it, or just unwilling, Visha focused on the promise of a cure, but just the thought of Dr Müller made her heart race and her skin tingle and burn. Physically she had healed quickly, but the memory embedded itself far deeper.

When she was finally calm enough for reason, Ephraim had sat with her like he had when she was a child, his voice calm and reassuring while she curled around her pillow. He told her how proud he was. He promised her concessions and rewards for her bravery. With the doctor’s help, they could begin arranging small freedoms. Of course she thought immediately of Seven, though she had no idea where to find him, and Kallisti was hardly likely to be the kind of place Ephraim would escort her. Besides, the fantasy was too precious to her and she was loath to reveal it. Maybe, when things had died down some more, she could convince Catch to let her out again. She pandered to herself with that possibility when her mood spiralled, but the truth was months had passed by now. It was unlikely he even remembered her.

That thought made her even more miserable.

Her only reprieve in that time was discovering Dr Müller had been temporarily commandeered for other work, or at least that was what she was told when she begged and howled not to have to see him again. Catch seemed to think it was true though, because when she asked he said he hadn’t been checking into the security systems. It made her feel all cold when he finally prewarned her of the doctor’s return, and she had to spit venom out into the bathroom sink. Her body felt primed for battle, and clutching onto the porcelain she forced herself to breathe slowly until her heart stopped racing.

A plan. That’s all she needed. A plan to make him kinder.

There was something else though, and when the wave of panic receded she turned it over curiously in her mind, pleased with the new distraction.

Catch said Dr Müller hadn’t returned alone.

It was unlikely the newcomer would be as beautiful as Raffe, but she decided she did not mind that so long as they were not disfigured like Ghost. She avoided his room after that first brief visit out of curiosity, and had been belligerently disinterested when Ephraim had once dangled the possibility of a mysterious companionship like it was a wrapped gift. Visha would have preferred jewellery or a dress, or even access to a new show. Ghost looked like an experiment, and Visha didn’t want that reminder. She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like the others here.

Patience not being foremost among her virtues, and she did not wait beyond nightfall before sneaking into the newly occupied cell. The surveillance was everywhere, but Catch would take care of it so long as she behaved. Likely the occupant would be asleep – it was how she preferred her first assessment. They usually woke up if she waited long enough, and she could always creep back out if she was disappointed with what she saw. Covered throat to toes, she was little more than a ghostly, blonde shrouded face in the dark.