Project Obsidian

The hum of servers and bio-consoles pulses softly in the background. Harsh fluorescent lights bathe the lab below in a sterile glow. On one of the observation deck's high-mounted monitors, Kade's vitals form sharp, unnatural patterns: stable but uncanny. Beneath his name, his subject number flashes—DPS-7.

Dr. Desmond—tired, angular, the type who's gone years without missing a day—leans over a bio-console, eyes darting between charts and movement logs. Every time he recalibrates the data, it returns with the same impossible truth.

DR. Desmond(snaps)"This should be a corpse."

Behind him, younger and visibly rattled Dr. Halden adjusts the zoom lens on the lower chamber. DR. HALDEN" But it's not. That's the point, isn't it? DPS-7 wasn't meant to be safe."

Desmond slams a hand on the console, silencing him.

DR. Desmond, "It's not surviving, Halden. It's rewriting him. DPS-7 wasn't designed for bonding. It was an atmospheric disruptor, a stress test—nothing more. There was no protocol for this."

DR. MEI, standing farther back with arms folded, stares silently down at Kade. The boy lies motionless on the gurney beneath blinding lab lights, pale skin almost translucent. Restraints lock him in place. Tubes feed into his arms. Electrodes cling to his scalp like parasites. And yet—

DR. MEI(quietly)"His EEG spike pattern is accelerating. Not random. Organized. Rhythmic. He's… absorbing it. Recalibrating around it."

She brings up a chart. Neural activity is forming loops—repeating patterns, evolving complexity. Almost like language.

DR. HALDEN: "You're saying his brain is syncing with the particle?"

DR. MEI" No. I'm saying it's syncing with him."

Desmond blinks, thrown.

DR. Desmond: "That's not adaptation. That's cohabitation."

Halden takes a half-step forward."Look—his O₂ saturation is at 102%. Pulse is steady. Reflexes are returning. He should be in multi-organ failure, but he's—he's stable. Better than stable. You don't get it, do you?"

The lights in the chamber flicker—just briefly.

All three scientists turn toward the glass.

Down below, the boy's shadow is wrong.

It stretches too long. Too narrow. Its edge trails up the far wall at an angle that the light shouldn't reach. It pulses with a faint shimmer, not unlike heat distortion—but the temperature reads a steady 19°C.

DR. HALDEN(softly)"That's not how shadows work…"

DR. MEI" I told you. His shadow's clinging to him. Even under full-spectrum lighting. Photons aren't displacing it."

Desmond finally turns to the glass, murmuring more to himself now.

DR. Desmond "Shadow retention in high-light conditions… quantum drag effect? Or…"

Kade twitches. One restrained hand clenches. Muscles tighten.

And the shadow jerks. Not quite in sync. A beat too late, like a puppet relearning its strings.

DR. MEI(taking a step back)"No. It's not following him. It's watching him."

The silence in the observation deck is suffocating. Then:

[INTERCOM STATIC]"Admin to Lab 4A. Neural restructuring protocol authorized. Proceed with Phase 2 induction."

Desmond doesn't answer. Mei keeps her distance. Halden taps a shaky finger against the biometric panel, freezing the shadow-feed for closer analysis.

On the screen, frame by frame, they see it.

Kade is still.

His shadow moves first.

DR. Desmond (softly, horrified)"We've made something we can't measure."

There is no sound. No movement. No color.

Only the pale, sterile white of artificial light, and the dim hum of embedded machines vibrating through reinforced steel walls. This is Observation Night Cycle—a simulation of rest in a place where rest is impossible.

CAMERA 1 – STANDARD OPTICAL FEED: Subject #DPS-7 remains motionless on the central slab. Limbs slack. Head tilted slightly to the left. Chest unmoving.

CAMERA 2 – THERMAL VISION: Body temperature normalized at 35.4°C. Brain activity—elevated. Not chaotic. Structured. Heat blooms in the prefrontal cortex and spirals inward, forming repeatable sequences.

CAMERA 3 – MOTION SENSOR SWEEP S light distortion flagged. A delay was detected between physical movement and shadow displacement. Timestamp mismatch: 0.74 seconds.

In the center of it all, Kade lies on the slab.

But something has changed.

Where a human would twitch, stretch, or shift even in sedation, he is utterly still. Skin pale. Jaw slack. Eyes closed. Restraints are still in place, though none are locked. They were never needed again.

The room is silent—until the cameras begin to tick. One by one, they recalibrate. Software is struggling to reconcile data that shouldn't exist.

Then—

His finger curls.

Barely. Not enough to trigger a response team, but enough to draw attention.

And beneath the slab… his shadow curls with it. Not delayed—anticipating. Like a twitch that started beneath him before it reached the surface.

[SURVEILLANCE FLAG: SHADOW DISTORTION OUTSIDE LIGHT VECTOR RANGE]

Another twitch. A shiver beneath the skin.

And suddenly—

His eyes open.

No alarm blares. No voice calls out.

But every monitor flickers for a second, like they recognize what's changed. As though the very system feels it.

Kade doesn't move yet. His eyes don't dart. They simply… exist. Open, blacker than they should be. Not just dark—but deep. Unfathomable.

In that moment, there's no emotion in them. No confusion or pain. No fear. Just awareness.

The heart monitor reactivates—soft, irregular pulses. But instead of accelerating, his heartbeat slows.

From 52… to 46… then 38.

But his brain activity spikes.

Looping patterns form on the neurographs. Not chaotic—elegant. They spiral into themselves like coded instructions. Language. Music. Something not meant for human minds, yet born inside one.

Then he rises.

Not violently. Not groggily. But smoothly. Like he already knew how.

The restraints fall away, not snapped or broken—simply undone. As if they were never really attached to anything.

He sits up.

But the shadow moves first.

It glides upward a full second before his spine flexes, stretching unnaturally from the floor in a twisting spiral before falling back into place.

His bare feet lower to the floor. He stands. Slowly. Precisely.

The cameras track his posture, but their software chokes again.

[ERROR: Subject Motion Predictive Model - Offline][Manual Override Requested]

The cell's bright lights flicker once. Then again.

Kade turns his head toward the one-way observation mirror.

He doesn't squint. Doesn't blink. He sees through it.

And behind the glass, unseen but felt, every technician freezes. Something primal hums in their chest. Some ancient reflex—older than reason—warning them:

That's not him anymore.

The shadow doesn't follow as he steps forward.

It leads.

Crawling just ahead of his feet like it's guiding him somewhere, only it understands.

For a moment, his lips part like he wants to speak.

But only silence comes.

No words. Just a low hum—resonant, hollow, like two frequencies misaligned in perfect harmony.

Then, suddenly—

He smiles.

Not wide. Not cruel. But knowing.

And the shadow behind him twists in kind, mimicking the grin with a flicker of unnatural movement.

[INTERCOM STATIC]

Desmond (O.S.)"He's awake. Lock the chamber. Lock it—now."

But nothing happens.

The doors don't hiss shut. The restraint system doesn't reactivate. The system is watching, but it's no longer responding.

All it can do is record.

Kade's shadow slithers back beneath him.

And as he steps deeper into the room, the floor seems to darken beneath his feet, just slightly.

Enough to suggest that: He is not alone in there.

A mechanical whir echoes through the underground facility as floodlights activate one by one, clicking into place in concentric rings along the ceiling. With each new layer, the brightness intensifies, until the entire chamber is saturated in white light so pure it leaves afterimages even through security visors.

Walls vanish into glowing nothing. Corners—gone. Floor and ceiling blur into one continuous field of sterilized brilliance. It is an engineered crucible—meant to blind, burn, and erase.

Subject DPS-7, formerly known as Kade, stands still at the center.

He should be disoriented.

Instead, he's serene.

Wearing a black Cadmus-issued bodysuit, he doesn't squint. Doesn't shift. Doesn't sweat. The ambient temperature sits at 19.2°C, but heat sensors pick up no perspiration. No dilation of pupils. No stress indicators.

INT. CONTROL BOOTH – OBSERVATION DECK, ADJACENT

Behind reinforced transparent steel, Dr. Desmond, Dr. Mei, and Dr. Halden observe silently.

Desmond leans in, jaw tight.

DR. Desmond "Initiate Phase 3 light cascade. Max exposure. I want everything but his atoms erased."

DR. MEI" Pushing to 110% saturation. Pulse modulation activated."

[CAMERA 1 — OPTICAL FEED]The light becomes too much for the sensors. The walls blur to white. Even Kade's silhouette begins to lose its edge definition.

[CAMERA 2 — THERMAL]Still perfect. Heat signature—normal. Brainwave activity—ascending.

But something is wrong.

[CAMERA 3 — SHADOW PROFILE]It still exists.

His shadow, under conditions designed to annihilate it, remains visible. Dense. Sharp.

Not behind him. Not below him.

But beneath and around, like a second skin made of pure darkness, refusing to be displaced.

DR. HALDEN(staring)"That's impossible. That's—full-spectrum nullification. There shouldn't even be diffusion artifacts. It should be—"

DR. MEI"Gone. But it's not."

Kade blinks slowly, calmly.

The light floods him. His skin should be reacting—tightening, reddening, recoiling.

It doesn't.

And then—he tilts his head.

And the shadow tilts first.

Milliseconds ahead. Like it was waiting for his choice before he made it.

DR. HALDEN(faltering)"It's not a cast. It's not following the light source. It's responding to him."

Mei leans closer. Her voice is hollow.

DR. MEI" No. It's not responding. It's connected. It knows what he's going to do before he does."

Kade shifts again—slight, barely perceptible—and the shadow smiles.

Not a true smile. Not shaped with lips. But the way it curves along the floor, the way it twists—you'd swear it was grinning.

Kade doesn't react. Or maybe that is his reaction.

[CAMERA FEED — ERROR LOG]

SHADOW RESPONSE: PREDICTIVE TIMING OFFSET: -0.83s STATUS: ADVANCING

Desmond takes a step back from the screen, his voice flat.

DR. Desmond, "Shut the lights down. Now."

DR. HALDEN "But the test—"

DR. Desm:ond "Do it."

Before anyone can respond, the shadow twitches.

It rises for a mom, not reaching toward the light itself, as if tasting it.

The brightness flickers—not from equipment failure, but something deeper. A system pulse chokes, as if the light itself is retreating from whatever that is.

DR. MEI(barely above a whisper)"It's not a shadow anymore. It's… tethered."

Outside, no alarms sound.

Inside the chamber, Kade finally speaks—but there's no sound.

His mouth moves. Barely.

And the shadow's shape ripples before he finishes. A split-second echo in reverse.

DR. Desmond (coldly)"This isn't Kade anymore."

His hand drops to the emergency override.

Before he can press it, the light dies.

Just for a second.

Enough for the shadow to swell—stretch—and reach.

When the brightness surges back, Kade is still standing there.

But now they know: he's not alone.

The room is windowless. Subterranean. The air is filtered but never fresh. The lighting is—low-blue glow from monitor banks, casting long, synthetic shadows. The hum of servers pulses like a heartbeat. Everything here is cold, metallic, and unfeeling.

A live feed dominates the central wall: Subject DPS-7 lies sedated, en route to neural reconditioning. His vitals scroll beside him—stable, almost serene.

Three figures stand watching:

Dr. Desmon, arms crossed, face carved in disapproval.

Admin 1, tall, impassive, voice like a metronome.

Admin 2, sharper, more calculating—fingers clasped behind their back.

ADMIN 1"Phase three is complete. Biological adaptation confirmed."

ADMIN 2: Then we proceed to psychological realignment. We've been too slow before. Letting subject identities linger leads to instability. To escape attempts."

They don't mention names. Not anymore. Past subjects are statistics.

Desmo exhales through his nose.

DR. Desmond, "He shouldn't have survived the infusion. But now? He's a neural fortress. There's no point softening it."

He taps a command into the console. A new display flashes:I DENTITY SUPPRESSION SEQUENCE: STANDBY

ADMIN 1"We won't make the same mistake twice."

INT. SUBLEVEL CORRIDOR – EN ROUTE TO NEURAL LAB

Kade's body is wheeled down the narrow corridor by two armored Cadmus handlers. He's strapped down, eyes closed. Not unconscious—sedated. Limbs slack, breathing steady.

But his shadow doesn't lie flat.

It slides along with him like liquid tar, curling beneath the gurney—not dragged by movement or light, but self-animated. Occasionally, it pulses, reacting not to light but to Kade's slowed heartbeat.

A surveillance camera pivots, tracking them silently.

CAMERA FEED — ANOMALY DETECTED: SHADOW RETENTION PERSISTENT.

INT. NEURAL LAB – STAGE 1 REPROGRAMMING BAY

The room is pristine and cold. Lit by surgical white fluorescents that should sterilize every shadow.

But the shadow still lingers.

In the center, a neural reprogramming chair waits—its frame gleaming chrome, padded with obsidian-black polymer that flexes like muscle. Above it, a halo of micro-emitters and pulse regulators forms a crown. The headrest bristles with data jacks.

The chair is not meant for comfort.

It's meant to overwrite.

The gurney locks in. The platform raises and rotates. Kade's body sinks into the chair as if it knows its place.

DR. Desmond (O.S.)"Secure the restraints. No sedative drip. I want him to be aware of the edge."

Technicians obey without question. Restraints hiss and lock. Electrodes snake across his scalp. The console lights up like a heartbeat monitor.

SHADOW VIEW: Below the chair, Kade's shadow thickens. It pools. Rises slightly along the legs of the chair as if it's bracing it. Or maybe... protecting him.

It doesn't move with the fluorescent light.

It moves with intent.

INT. OBSERVATION DECK ABOVE THE LAB – MOMENTS LATER

Desmond stands at the central console. A technician hands him the updated mind-mapping protocol.

TECHNICIAN"Subliminal mantra prepared. Six-hour loop. Layered conditioning. Three phrases, randomized rhythm."

DR. Desmond "Good. Inject the trigger phrase sequence at intervals. We're burying everything else."

TECHNICIAN"Designator confirmed?"

Desmo nods once, eyes locked on the screen where Kade's vitals blink calmly.

DR. Desmond. His name is gone. His designation is Phantom."

ADMIN 2" And what of the… secondary anomaly?"

"We're not wiping him," Langston muttered. "We're binding the unknown to protocol."

Desmond doesn't answer. He looks back toward the lab.

Onscreen, the shadow curls up along the side of the chair like a snake, coiling around the footrest and back down into the floor. It waits. It watches.

Desmond speaks slowly.D R. Desmond: "If it chooses to follow, we'll find a use for it. If not… we've already built a strong vessel to contain it."

He presses the final command.

INT. NEURAL LAB — MOMENTS LATER

A subtle hum begins—a low-frequency vibration only felt in the bones. The room vibrates with a synthetic mantra:

"You are Cadmus. You were made in darkness, forged for the Light."You are Phantom. You do not question. You do not remember."The mission is the truth. The Light is order. Emotion is error."You were Kade. Kade is dead. Phantom serves."You are not pain. You are functioning."You are the silence between heartbeats. The strike before sound. The shadow beneath the Light." You are Cadmus. You belong to the Light."

Kade doesn't stir.

Then—

His eyes flicker.

Lids flutter open mid-sedation. Pupils are dilated. Almost black. No recognition. Just… pressure. Awareness.

His lips part. The faintest motion, like he's about to say something.

Nothing comes out.

But the shadow pulses once, as if reacting to whatever he didn't say.

And then—

The lights flicker.

One by one. Not like a surge. Not like a fault.

But as if something is… watching from beneath the circuits.

INT. OBSERVATION ROOM

Desmond doesn't look away from the monitor.

DR. Desmond (into mic)"Begin suppression protocol. Load Cadmus Doctrine, Series B."(beat)"Use full mantra integration."

[Audio begins—cold, rhythmic, relentless.]

"You are Cadmus. You were made in darkness, forged for the Light…"

As it plays:

Kade's neural map spikes—resistance.

The shadow coils tighter around the chair.

One of the technicians glances at the screen and murmurs, "It's… listening too."