The First Age

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 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.”