Testing Chamber, Level 6, San Cristov City – ZenthCore Corporation
Joseph Marsol watched through the glass panel as the skyscrapers rose above him. San Cristov was a vertical jungle. Majestic. His gaze always settled on one tower in particular: the Burj, two thousand meters high. So tall that, from where he stood, he couldn't even see its peak.
He felt his breathing quicken. His foot moved unconsciously, up and down.
"Mr. Marsol, please enter the testing chamber," announced a protocol android.
The room was spacious, windowless, with cold, reinforced walls. At the center stood a glass table. Around it sat executives and evaluation agents. All of them intimidating. Most wore dark formal suits, and several displayed visible implants: cybernetic eyes, metallic necks, even a kind of face mask with lights that flickered on when they spoke.
The android, in a sharp, artificial voice, initiated the protocol:
"Final evaluation of Project Ghost Skin. Three years of development. Presentation by Joseph Marsol."
Joseph remained standing. The suit rested on a platform, unfolded, like someone else's skin. The material was so thin and light that it was hard to believe the technology contained within it. It had no weapons. No lights. Only a matte gray surface that absorbed light.
He took a deep breath.
"I call it Ghost Skin," he said firmly.
One of the executives, a man named Louis, spoke in an artificial tone amplified by his voice modifier:
"Why should we invest in your invention?"
Joseph smiled faintly.
"Because this suit changes how we understand warfare. While others destroy from the outside, this one recovers what is most valuable from within: information. The true weapon of any conflict."
One of the executives raised an eyebrow.
"So it's a suit for espionage?"
"Yes. But it goes beyond that."
A few murmurs rippled through the room. He continued:
"Its fabric disperses thermal and electromagnetic signals. No radar can detect it. No camera can see it. It doesn't require a support pack: it injects nutrients and water directly through microdoses into vital areas. It can keep its user alive for an entire month. It regulates internal temperature through biorhythm adaptation."
Joseph continued his presentation as he moved across the room, explaining his project in detail. Trying not to appear insecure, he adopted a straight posture, his gaze discreetly fixed on the grayish wall at the back.
"And I'm developing gloves with Van der Waals force, inspired by the Vecnu frog from Caracas. Specialists in climbing all types of surfaces."
Silence.
A woman with titanium plates embedded in her forehead wrote something on a tablet.
"Continue, Mr. Marsol."
At that moment, Joseph made a mistake: for the first time, he looked directly into the executives' eyes. They weren't eyes—they were dry slits in their faces, devoid of any trace of emotion. Fallen eyes. Unsatisfied.
Joseph inhaled and went on:
"It emits no heat. It has no electromagnetic signature."
"In what contexts would this suit be best applied?" Louis asked, in the same robotic voice.
Joseph didn't realize when he had gone completely still, while his right leg trembled rapidly.
"Covert espionage. Rescue operations in collapsed zones. Agent evacuation. Exploration of unstable areas. Even humanitarian missions. It can save the lives of multiple lost agents."
"You already said that last quarter."
"No. Back then it was a concept. Now it's functional. It's already been tested in extreme environments," Joseph replied indignantly.
After that came a constant barrage of questions. Joseph elaborated more and more, trying to convince them of this revolutionary product. Between each question, he took a breath to refocus.
"And that… how much does it cost to produce?"
Before exiting through the building's doors, Joseph stopped at the entrance. He clenched his trembling hand, took a deep breath, and walked out looking straight ahead, his expression firm and determined.
"How did it go?" a voice asked in front of him, followed by a quick blinding light and the sound of an old camera shutter.
It was Anton Marsol, a tall, pale 27-year-old. He wore black pants and a light gray turtleneck, holding a Sony Handycam DCR-HC. A thin, circular metallic protrusion emerged from the right side of his temple. He was leaning against a Toyota GR Supra.
"Good, as always," Joseph replied with a simple smile. "They said they'll call me if I make it in."
Anton straightened up and stepped closer with a crooked grin.
"And why the photo?"
"Today's a special day, Jos," Anton replied, flipping the camera's screen. "Do you think they'll fund your project?"
"No doubt about it, brother," Joseph said, turning his gaze toward the tip of the building. "I'll reach the top. It's my purpose."
Anton let out a short laugh and ruffled his hair.
"I know, little brother."
Anton positioned himself beside Joseph and extended the camera; the same blinding light flashed, followed by the old photographic sound.
"Hey, stop it!" Joseph protested, frowning as he quickly got into the car. "Take me climbing, Anton."
On the way to the climbing center, the atmosphere inside the car was quieter than usual. The only sound came from the radio, alternating between songs and news fragments. It felt as if something invisible were crawling between them.
Joseph, eyes closed in the passenger seat, spoke first.
"Anton… can I tell you something?"
"Sure."
"I'm… I'm scared, Anton," Joseph said, opening his eyes and lowering his gaze.
"You know what'll happen to me if they fire me from that company, right?"
"It's not going to happen, Jos. They'll accept you. I know it."
"If they kick me out, I'm finished, Anton," Joseph murmured, resting his forehead against the cold glass. "In San Cristov, if ZenthCore spits you out, no one else picks you up. I'll be nobody."
"They won't fire you. The suit is good."
"It's not about the suit. It's about me. I'm scared. My purpose… I'm scared," Joseph whispered.
Silence returned to the car.
Anton cleared his throat.
"Did you go to the doctor this week to have your body and condition checked?" he asked, trying to distract him.
"Yes. Same as always. They told me to be careful with climbing and to come back next month."
Another deathly silence filled the car. Anton knew the stress his brother was under. After all, he'd gone through the same thing—and had been approved. He believed in Joseph's project. Truly. Eighty percent of new inventions were weapons or war technology. This was something different.
"So… your purpose?" Anton asked as he changed the radio channel.
"…and in other news, San Cristov authorities confirm a robbery involving a biotechnological arm in the financial district."
"Yes. My purpose," Joseph repeated with a soft laugh. "I know, it sounds a bit silly or childish."
"No, no, it's fine… I just don't think it works like that," Anton replied seriously, eyes fixed on the road.
"…authorities confirmed last night the death of a 40-year-old man following an animal attack on the outskirts of Zone 7. The victim, Dorian Martínez, was found with severe injuries by emergency units after a call from his wife…"
"Think of it this way: my purpose is to become one of the most important engineers at ZenthCore, and—"
Joseph's voice was cut off by Anton's raised hand.
"Wait. Quiet. The radio," he murmured, his frown deepening.
"…he was transferred in critical condition to the General Hospital of San Cristov, where he died minutes later. It is presumed the attacker was a displaced bear. The Federal Yoke Department (F.Y.D.) has been notified and is reportedly sending a small team to inspect the perimeter. Experts warn the population not to approach unauthorized forested areas and to report any unusual sightings…"
"…Breaking news: armed robbery at the Central Bank of San Cristov. Authorities confirm the assailants used heavy drones to access the vault…"
"Does the F.Y.D. investigate cases like this?" Joseph asked.
"They shouldn't," Anton replied, turning off the radio.
After the news, Anton's gaze grew distant, and his hands—though he didn't notice—were no longer steady on the wheel. The calm that had defined him moments earlier had vanished.
A white delivery van had come to an abrupt stop about fifty meters ahead, waiting to turn left. It was too close. Anton remained absorbed, glassy-eyed, unaware of the imminent danger.
Joseph's heart skipped.
"Anton, watch out!" he shouted, his voice breaking the tension.
Instinctively, Joseph reached for the steering wheel and yanked it sharply to the right as his foot slammed the brake. The tires screeched. The car swerved violently. The white van brushed past on the left, so close it felt like they might touch. The smell of burnt rubber and the distant horn of another car filled the air.
Anton gasped, his pulse racing. His eyes finally focused on the road as he checked the rearview mirror. His hands were shaking.
"What…?" he stammered, disoriented.
Joseph looked at him, a mix of anger and relief in his expression.
"You zoned out, brother. You almost killed us. What the hell is going on with you?"
Anton closed his eyes for a few seconds. The adrenaline still coursed through him, but something darker replaced it.
"Sorry, Jos. Work stuff…"
Before Joseph could respond, a soft beep sounded.
A faint blue light blinked on the right side of Anton's head.
He raised two fingers to his temple, activating the Inmo implant as he stared through the windshield.
It was an "Inmo," a high-tech communication implant capable of projecting a holographic interface and data displays.
Joseph couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but he noticed how his brother's expression hardened.
"Yes. About the news," Anton said quietly. A pause followed. "Yes. Emergency. I'll be there."
The Inmo powered down. A sigh escaped Anton's lips. The concern from the accident was replaced by a new tension.
Joseph, still shaken, asked:
"What happened? Who was that? What are they talking about?"
Anton shrugged without looking at him.
"Nothing important. Just… work stuff."
"Hey, why don't you get an Inmo implanted and ditch that obsolete headset?" Anton added.
"You know I hate implants," Joseph replied.
The subject change was obvious. Joseph noticed the evasion but didn't push. He knew Anton had a habit of keeping the important things to himself.
Not long after, Anton dropped him off at the entrance of a dusty trail that snaked toward the foothills of the mountain.