Silence.
The mist had vanished, but it left behind a stillness so heavy it pressed against their skulls.
Elias sat with his back to the wall, watching faint trails of vapor rise from the vents. The others lay scattered, half-conscious, each caught in their own private war.
Aria's armor was receding, leaving pale scars along her shoulders — like marble cracking after centuries of pressure. Magnus's hands trembled, faint sparks flickering between his fingertips. Nora still whispered in her sleep, eyes moving beneath their lids as though chasing ghosts.
Elias stared at them — the broken, the unwanted, the "infected."
And yet… they'd survived something no one should.
1. The Meaning of Survival
The door hissed open. No guards entered. Only the sterile hum of the corridor beyond.
Magnus groaned. "They're not even coming in to check?"
Elias stood, his voice low. "They're afraid. Not of what we did — but what it means."
Aria sat up, rubbing her arms. "Means we're monsters?"
"No." Elias turned, his gaze sharp. "It means we changed the rules. They built this place on one assumption — that sickness equals limitation. But we just turned limitation into synchronization."
Nora stirred awake, whispering, "The mist was alive. I could feel it thinking. It saw through us, Elias. It tested what kind of gods we'd become if we stopped being afraid."
Her words lingered like prophecy.
2. The Philosophy of Mutation
Elias moved closer to the glass wall. Beyond it, he could see the observation deck, empty now. Instruments still blinked, recording endlessly.
He spoke softly, almost to himself.
"Humanity fears what it cannot classify. So it names it disease, disorder, defect. But what if those 'errors' are the body's language for a higher pattern? What if our illnesses are evolution's syntax?"
Magnus scoffed weakly. "You sound like one of their scientists."
"No," Elias said. "They ask how to cure us. I ask why we exist."
Nora's voice broke the silence. "Maybe the universe needed anomalies to wake itself up."
Aria frowned. "That sounds poetic, but I still feel like a freak."
Elias smiled faintly. "Then poetry is just physics we haven't deciphered yet."
For a long time, no one spoke. The hum of the air vents became a metronome for thought.
3. The First Whisper of Rebellion
Then, from the corridor, a sound — faint footsteps.
Not guards. Softer. Hesitant.
A figure appeared in the doorway — young, trembling, holding a clipboard. The badge read Intern: Dr. Lian Korr.
His voice shook. "They told me to clean up… but… what happened here?"
Elias studied him. His pupils dilated — fear mixed with awe.
"What's your name?" Elias asked.
"Lian."
Elias nodded. "Then remember this, Lian: You just witnessed the first controlled synchronization of divergent pathologies in human history. Don't call it a miracle. Call it proof."
"Proof of what?" the intern asked.
"That the line between sickness and transcendence is thinner than truth itself."
The intern hesitated, torn between curiosity and terror. Then he whispered, "You're not supposed to exist."
Elias's smile was faint but unshakable. "That's what every new species is told at first."