Chapter 2- The False Destiny

1 January 2191- 6.30 pm, A bar near Research Facility

Karl sat at the bar, a heavy glass clutched in his hand. The amber liquid swirled, catching the dim light of the room, but he wasn't really looking at it. His mind replayed the chamber — the cold straps locking him down, the rising hum of the TerraSync machine, the eyes of every soldier and scientist watching him like he was their salvation.

And then... the failure. The words still rang in his ears.

"Subject incompatible."

Karl's jaw tightened. His entire life — every medal, every victory, every brutal hour spent sharpening himself into a weapon — reduced to that single moment. Rejected. Cast aside.

He drained the glass in one motion.

"Drinking away today's glory, champ?"

Karl didn't bother to look. He recognized the voice — Harry. Of course it was Harry. Always trying to talk, always trying to smile, like the world wasn't falling apart.

"Get lost," Karl muttered, his tone sharp enough to cut.

Harry slid onto the stool beside him anyway, ordering nothing, just watching. "You're still the best soldier we've got. One machine doesn't change that."

Karl turned then, his eyes narrowing, cold as steel. "If I'm the best, then why did that machine spit me out like trash?"

Harry opened his mouth, searching for an answer, but the room saved him.

A piercing chime cut through the bar — every wrist device flashing red. The low murmur of voices died instantly. Soldiers stood, chairs scraping back, boots pounding as they rushed for the exit.

Harry's eyes widened. "An emergency. Something's happening in the lab."

He jumped to his feet, tugging at Karl's arm. "Come on!"

Karl didn't move. He sat there, still as stone, his gaze fixed on the empty glass in front of him. The red glow from his wrist device painted his clenched fist in warning light.

"Dammit, Karl!" Harry's voice cracked with urgency. "This could be serious!"

Karl pulled his arm free, his tone low and venomous. "Why should I care? That project already rejected me. Let someone else play their hero."

Harry stared at him for a moment, torn between duty and friendship. Finally, he cursed under his breath and ran out with the others, the door slamming shut behind him.

Silence returned, broken only by the faint buzz of the alarm.

Karl sat alone, the bar now empty, the red light still flashing on his wrist. He stared into the void of his glass, his reflection twisted by the drink.

"If anyone deserves that power..." he muttered, voice heavy with bitterness.

"...it's me."

The back alley behind the bar smelled of smoke and rain-soaked asphalt. Karl leaned against the cold brick wall, head tilted back, staring at the night sky. He hadn't touched his drink, but the taste of failure still clung bitter on his tongue. Every word from the commander, every spark from that cursed chamber, replayed in his mind.

I was supposed to be the one.

The faint buzz of alarms echoed from his wrist device. Red light blinked, urgent, but Karl barely glanced at it.

Then—

"Karl!"

Harry's voice crackled through the communication device, urgent, firm. In the faint glow, his projection flickered into view above Karl's wrist. The sound of alarms bled in from Harry's background. "We went to check... urgent call, remember?"

Karl lean his back on the wall at the alley, the alley filled with dark except for the faint glow of the communication device on his wrist. He didn't answer right away. Just silence.

Harry kept going, words spilling out in uneven breaths. "Someone got into the our secret research lab. Not one of us. A janitor, I think... He—he accidentally triggered the TerraSync." His voice cracked, a mixture of disbelief and shock haze. "And now they've rushed him to the hospital facility. Straight to emergency care."

Finally, Karl spoke, voice low, bitter, and cold. "So what?"

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief, his projection flickering faintly. "So what?! Karl, this is serious! A civilian touched the system and lived through it. That shouldn't even be possible—"

"He won't live long," Karl cut him off, his words dripping with venom. "No one survives that tech. He's probably dead already. Dead, because of a stupid mistake. Dead, because of that cursed biotech."

Harry gritted his teeth, pressing a hand to his forehead. "You don't get it... I saw him, Karl. He was still breathing when they carried him out. Still alive."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Karl's hand clenched tight into a fist, his jaw grinding. He killed the call without another word.

The alley fell into darkness again, the only glow the faint red blink from his wrist. Karl stared at it for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the night sky. His reflection shimmered faintly in a puddle at his feet, distorted and unfamiliar.

Harry stood there on the research facility, the device beeping in his hand. "Dammit, Karl..." he muttered, before rushed to facility back.

2 January 2191 — 08:00 a.m.

The morning sun filtered through the smog above, casting a dull orange glow across the massive complex. Workers filed in, their boots striking the steel pathways with the rhythm of routine. From a distance, the structure rose like a fortress — a relic of human ambition reshaped by necessity. The building called The Ryze Command Complex.

Once, this place had been a pure research hub under Ryze Corporation. A temple of science, humming with discoveries, white coats, and theoretical breakthroughs. The air used to smell of sterilized halls and coffee machines working overtime. Back then, soldiers were a rare sight.

But now—things were different.

The world had changed. Beyond the stars, something was coming. Signals intercepted. Unexplainable activity approaching Earth. The threat was no longer a rumor, no longer speculation in a classified file. It was imminent.

And so, the Ryze Research Facility had transformed into something new: a joint U.S. Military–Ryze Corporation stronghold. A fortress where innovation was sharpened into weapons, and where soldiers became experiments.

The ground levels, once crowded with laboratories, were now filled with soldiers in black combat gear, their drills echoing through reinforced corridors. The sterile white floors had been replaced by heavy plating, scuffed by boots and equipment. Guns and prototypes were tested daily, the air often trembling with the recoil of new inventions.

The upper floors still housed the research divisions — bioweapons, exoskeleton projects, advanced energy systems. The work carried on much like it always had, scientists pacing the glass corridors with datapads in hand, their conversations clipped and precise. But every step, every experiment, now unfolded under the shadow of military oversight.

And among all those projects, one stood above the rest. Project TerraSync. The crown jewel. The most secretive, the most dangerous — whispered about in the halls, yet rarely spoken of openly. A program locked behind reinforced doors and layers of clearance, where only a handful truly knew what was happening inside.

Below, deep underground, stretched the hidden backbone of the facility. Hostels lined the subterranean halls — cramped bunks, humming lights, and recycled air. This was where the janitors, contractors, and laborers lived, unseen and uncelebrated, cleaning up after the empire of science and war above them. Their pay was enough to survive, nothing more.

The mid-levels in the underground were carved into training arenas — colossal spaces where soldiers tested new weaponry, or where selected recruits endured "specialized programs" meant to reshape them into something more than human. This was where the first TerraSync trials had begun, where men like Karl had been strapped into machines that whispered promises of power.

Now, as the day began, the facility buzzed like a hive. Soldiers reported for duty. Scientists carried datapads and schematics. Janitors pushed cleaning carts toward the lift shafts that would drag them to upper floors they weren't supposed to question.

Everything was running like clockwork. Order. Precision. Control.

And yet... beneath it all, whispers ran through the ranks. About the alert last night. About the civilian — the janitor — who had somehow survived the TerraSync chamber.

Something was shifting inside the fortress.

Although Project TerraSync was the most tightly guarded secret within Ryze Command Complex, rumors still began to slip through the cracks. Soldiers whispered in the barracks, contractors traded stories in the smoking areas, and even janitors carried tales back to their underground hostels.

The story of a janitor stumbling into the forbidden lab spread like wildfire. Nobody knew the truth, so every retelling twisted into something new.

Some swore the man died instantly, his body burned from the inside by unstable biotech. Others claimed he survived — but changed — muttering that he rose from the chamber half-mad, eyes glowing, like a zombie bred from science. A few even joked that he had turned into some hulking monster locked away in the lower levels.

The wildest rumor painted him as something else entirely: a "super-janitor," able to climb walls and sweep ceilings, or mop an entire hallway in seconds. It was half-joke, half-nervous suspicion — because deep down, no one outside the project truly knew what TerraSync could create.

And so, from the mess hall to the training grounds, from the upper laboratories to the underground hostels, the name of the unknown janitor lingered in whispers. To some, he was already dead. To others, he was something far worse.

The rumors eventually climbed higher than the barracks and the hostels. Whispers turned into quiet reports, and those reports reached Commander Tyson — the man responsible for shaping the TerraSync candidates.

He sat in his office, blinds half-drawn, a file open on his desk but his focus far from the paperwork. The chatter was unavoidable now, even seeping into the discipline of his unit. A janitor, they said. A civilian inside the chamber. Tyson rubbed the bridge of his nose, his jaw locked in frustration. This was no ordinary gossip — this was the kind of rumor that could unravel morale.

Across the facility, in the candidate gym, Karl was hammering away at the punching bag, his knuckles wrapped and his body slick with sweat. The other candidates were grouped near the benches, whispering and laughing between sets.

"Did you hear? They said the janitor survived the chamber."

"No way. My buddy swore he turned into some kind of zombie."

"Ha! Zombie janitor, that's a good one."

Karl's punches grew harder, each thud against the heavy bag echoing sharper. His breathing deepened, his muscles flexing with raw frustration.

Another candidate chuckled. "Or maybe he's stronger than all of us now. Imagine that — a janitor beating out the commander's golden boy."

The words hit Karl like a knife. The bag snapped against its chain as he drove his fist into it with brutal force, silencing the laughter. His glare cut across the room — sharp, venomous, unblinking.

The chatter died instantly. No one dared to push further.

Karl ripped the wraps off his fists and stormed past them, shoulders rigid, every step radiating fury. To him, the rumor wasn't funny. It was an insult.

The metallic sirens blared through the training halls, a sharp alert that cut through every corner of the Ryze Command Complex.

"All TerraSync candidates report to the lab. Immediate assembly."

Karl, still seething from the earlier gossip, marched with the others toward the glass-walled facility. His fists were clenched, his mind burning with the rumor that had gnawed at him since morning. Harry walked alongside him, trying to keep up, though the look on Karl's face warned him not to start a conversation.

Inside the lab, the candidates lined up in disciplined rows. The humming of machinery filled the vast room — consoles blinking, scientists moving like clockwork. At the center, Dr. Sturgis stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes glinting with something Karl didn't like: pride.

When the room quieted, Sturgis's voice carried like a sermon.

"Candidates... what occurred yesterday was nothing short of a miracle. A man — no soldier, no athlete, not even one of you trained specimens — but a janitor... has achieved what none of you could. His name is Noah Hale."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the candidates. Some chuckled nervously, others exchanged skeptical glances. Karl's jaw locked tight.

Sturgis continued, pacing slowly. "The synchronization rate we recorded was perfect. Beyond perfect. His body didn't reject the biotech. It embraced it."

He raised a hand, signaling to one of the monitors. A recording blinked to life, showing Noah sitting up awkwardly in a medical bay. His hair was a mess, his hospital gown loose, but then—he sneezed.

Fwoosh!

A spray of white, sticky threads burst from his nose, plastering across the room like a wild spider web.

A roar of laughter broke out among the candidates. Even some of the scientists couldn't hide their chuckles. But Karl didn't laugh. His face twisted with fury, his eyes narrowed, his jaw grinding as he stood stone-still, the only one not amused.

"Yes, yes, amusing. But crude as it may be, what you just saw is proof — his body has accepted TerraSync at a cellular level. He is alive. He is healthy. He is stable. And tomorrow..." Sturgis paused for dramatic effect, his sharp eyes sweeping the rows of soldiers. "...he will join you all as a candidate. I expect you to give him guidance, support, and yes... your respect."

The murmurs grew louder. Some looked shocked, others doubtful, but one voice rang out cheerfully.

Harry grinned, whispering loud enough for a few to hear, "Finally! A new face. Can't wait to show him the ropes."

Karl turned his head, his glare slicing into Harry like a blade. His eyes were dark, seething with rage. To Karl, this wasn't a miracle. It was an insult.

Tomorrow, a janitor would stand among them — where he should have been.

Harry felt Karl's gaze burn into him, his smile faltered. His chest tightened, and he quickly looked away. Karl's silent fury was enough to shake even his easy-going spirit.

The laughter had died down. The candidates were dismissed, and the day's shift carried on with training, drills, and evaluations. By nightfall, the facility had grown quieter, its once-bustling corridors now echoing only with the hum of machinery and the distant clatter of boots.

Karl sat alone in the locker room, the fluorescent lights above flickering softly. The smell of sweat and iron lingered in the air, the benches empty except for him. His hands rested on his knees, knuckles white, veins standing out as though his body itself struggled to contain his emotions.

The others had gone to the mess hall, laughing, still joking about Noah Hale's "spider-sneeze." The echo of their voices still rang in Karl's ears. He could hear Harry's laugh too, faint but distinct — like salt on an open wound.

Karl clenched his jaw. His reflection in the steel of his locker stared back at him, distorted, angry.

"A janitor," he whispered bitterly. "A nobody."

His fist slammed into the metal door with a deafening clang. The locker rattled, echoing across the room, but he didn't care. He leaned forward, breathing hard, the veins in his temple throbbing.

"I bled for this. I earned this. And they hand it to... to him?" His voice cracked into a low growl.

For a moment, he sat in silence, chest heaving. His thoughts burned with images of Noah Hale tomorrow — standing among the candidates, fumbling awkwardly, yet hailed as the "miracle" that Karl could never be.

His eyes narrowed, fury darkening his face.

"If anyone deserves that power..." he muttered, repeating the same words from the bar, this time laced with venom.

"...it's me. Not some janitor."

He slammed the locker shut, the echo carrying like a warning through the empty room.

Karl sat there, alone, consumed by jealousy so thick it gnawed at him from the inside — a storm waiting for the right moment to break loose.

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