Testing Room, Level 6 – City of San Cristov, ZenthCore Corporation
Joseph Marsol stared through the glass panel at the skyscrapers towering above him. San Cristov was a vertical jungle—majestic, overwhelming. His gaze always drifted to one building: the Burj, rising 2,000 meters into the sky. From where he stood, he couldn't even see its top.
His breathing quickened. His foot tapped nervously, up and down, without him realizing.
"Mr. Marsol, please enter the testing room," announced a protocol android.
The room was wide, windowless, its walls cold and reinforced. In the center stood a glass table. Around it, executives and evaluation agents. Intimidating figures. Most wore dark formal suits, while several displayed visible implants—cybernetic eyes, metallic necks, even a kind of mouthpiece mask that lit up whenever they spoke.
With its sharp, artificial voice, the android began the protocol:
"Final evaluation of the Phantom Skin project. Three years of development. Presentation by Joseph Marsol."
Joseph remained standing. The suit rested on a platform, unfolded like a foreign skin. The material was so thin and light that, at first glance, it was hard to believe the technology it contained. No weapons. No lights. Just a matte gray surface that absorbed light.
He drew in a deep breath.
"I call it Phantom Skin," he said firmly.
One of the executives, Louis, spoke with an artificial tone, his voice amplified by a vocal modulator:
"And why should we invest in your invention?"
Joseph allowed himself a faint smile.
"Because this suit changes the way we understand war. While others destroy from the outside, this one recovers what's most valuable from within: information. The true weapon of every conflict."
A female executive raised an eyebrow.
"So it's a suit for espionage?"
"Yes. But it goes beyond that."
A murmur rippled through the room. Joseph pressed on:
"Its fabric disperses thermal and electromagnetic signals. No radar can detect it. No camera can see it. It doesn't need a support pack—it delivers nutrients and water directly through microdoses into vital areas. It can keep its user alive for up to a month. It regulates internal temperature by adapting to the user's biorhythms."
"And I'm developing gloves with Van der Waals force, inspired by a unique animal: the Vecnu frog from Caracas. Experts in climbing all kinds of surfaces."
The main inspiration for Joseph's suit were the Vecnu frogs, native to Caracas, Venezuela. Agile, silent, and fast. Unlike other frogs, they possessed Van der Waals adhesion—very weak forces of attraction between uncharged molecules or atoms, caused by fluctuations in electron distribution. Though weak individually, thousands or millions of these forces acting together could generate real adhesion between two surfaces.
Joseph had first seen them two years earlier, during a visit to San Cristov's central zoo with his brother, Anton Marsol, a bioengineer studying this species.
"Hey, Joseph, what do you think of these frogs?" Anton had asked.
"I don't know much about animals, but they're agile and silent. I haven't heard a single one croak."
"They can't. Their evolution focused on going unnoticed—even when escaping," Anton explained, gesturing with his hands.
"Yeah, but they can't turn invisible like those ones over there," Joseph said, pointing to another terrarium with different frogs.
"You've got a point."
"So if a predator's faster, they'd be killed instantly. They've got no defense," Joseph added, playing along.
"Maybe. But this species built its own defense. They can move parts of their skeleton—like their bones—and use them to fight back."
"Yeah, that's interesting… but what really intrigues me is how they can climb like that. How do they do it?" Joseph asked, as an idea sparked in his mind.
Silence followed.
A woman with titanium plates on her forehead scribbled something on a tablet.
"No heat signature. No electromagnetic trace."
"In what contexts would this suit be best applied?" Louis asked with the same robotic voice.
"Covert espionage. Rescues in collapsed zones. Agent evacuation. Exploration in unstable areas. Even humanitarian operations. It can save the lives of agents stranded in the field."
"You already said that last quarter."
"No. Last time, it was just a concept. Now it's functional. It's been tested in high-radiation environments. It survived a full power outage in Zero Zone. And it kept a volunteer alive in isolation for 29 days without assistance."
After that, Joseph was bombarded with questions. He answered one after another, expanding, explaining, doing his best to convince them of his revolutionary creation. Between each response, he paused to steady his breathing.
"And how much would it cost to produce?" someone asked.
By the time Joseph stepped through the building's front doors, his hand was trembling. He clenched it into a fist, drew in a sharp breath, and walked out, gaze set forward, firm and determined.
"How did it go?" asked a voice in front of him.
Anton Marsol. Twenty-seven years old. Tall, pale-skinned. Black pants, a light-gray turtleneck. A thin, circular metallic implant protruded slightly from his right temple. He was leaning against a Toyota GR Supra.
"Fine, as always," Joseph replied with a faint smile. "They said they'll call me if I'm in."
Anton straightened, stepped closer, and smirked, meeting his brother's eyes.
"You think they'll fund your project?"
"No doubt, brother," Joseph said, glancing up at the tip of the skyscraper. "I'll reach the top. It's my purpose."
Anton chuckled softly, ruffling his younger brother's hair.
"I know, little brother."
"Cut it out!" Joseph snapped, frowning as he climbed quickly into the car. "Take me climbing, Anton."
In San Cristov—the land of innovation—getting dismissed, especially by a company like ZenthCore, meant signing your retirement from the tech world. An indelible mark. No other company in the field would hire you; they'd see you as useless trash. After all, every day new young minds surfaced with fresh ideas, most hired to develop a single project under constant evaluation. After three years came the final review: either your work was funded… or discarded.
On the way to the climbing center, the car was quieter than usual. Only the radio filled the silence, alternating between music and news fragments. The atmosphere felt like something invisible crawling between them.
Anton cleared his throat.
"Did you go to the doctor this week? To check your body and… your condition?" he asked, trying to distract him.
"Yeah. Same as always. They told me to be careful with climbing and come back next month."
Another heavy silence filled the car. Anton knew the stress and worry his brother was going through—he had gone through it himself, and passed. He believed in Joseph's project. Truly. In a world where 80% of new inventions were weapons or war tech, this was something different.
"So… your purpose?" Anton asked, switching stations.
"...and in other news, authorities in San Cristov confirm a heist involving a biotech arm in the financial district..."
"Yes, my purpose," Joseph repeated with a faint chuckle. "I know, it sounds childish or silly."
"No, no, it's fine… I just don't think it works that way," Anton said seriously, his eyes locked on the road.
"...authorities confirmed last night the death of a 40-year-old man after an animal attack outside Zone 7. The victim, Dorian Martínez, was found with severe injuries by emergency units after his wife's call..."
"Look at it this way: my purpose is to become one of ZenthCore's top engineers, and—"
Joseph's voice was cut off by Anton's raised hand.
"Wait. Quiet. The radio," Anton muttered, his frown deepening.
"...he was taken in critical condition to San Cristov General Hospital, where he died minutes later. It is presumed the attacker was a displaced bear. The F.Y.D. has been notified and is sending a small team to inspect the area. Experts warn citizens not to approach unauthorized forest zones and to report any unusual sightings..."
"...Breaking news: armed robbery at the Central Bank of San Cristov. Authorities confirm the attackers used heavy drones to access the vault..."
"The F.Y.D. handles these cases?" Joseph asked.
"They shouldn't," Anton replied, turning off the radio.
After the broadcast, his gaze grew distant, and his hands—though Joseph didn't notice—were no longer steady on the wheel. The composure that had defined him moments ago had vanished.
A white delivery van braked sharply about fifty meters ahead, waiting to turn left. Too close. Anton stayed lost in thought, eyes glassy, oblivious to the danger.
Joseph's heart lurched.
"Anton, watch out!" he shouted, his voice shattering the bubble of tension.
Instinctively, Joseph grabbed the wheel and yanked it hard to the right, his foot slamming the brake. Tires screeched. The car swerved violently. The white van skimmed past on the left—so close they could have touched. The smell of burnt rubber and the blare of another car's horn filled the air.
Anton gasped, pulse racing. His eyes, finally focused on the road, flicked to the rearview mirror. His hands trembled.
"What…?" he stammered, still disoriented.
Joseph glared at him, equal parts angry and relieved.
"You zoned out, brother. You almost killed us. What the hell's wrong with you?"
Anton closed his eyes for a few seconds. The adrenaline coursed through him, but a deeper shadow replaced it.
"Sorry, Jos. Work stuff…"
Before Joseph could reply, a faint beep sounded.
A soft blue light pulsed at Anton's temple.
He raised two fingers to it, activating the Inmo implant, his eyes shifting toward the windshield.
It was a high-tech communication implant, capable of projecting holographic interfaces and data displays.
Joseph couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but he saw his brother's expression harden.
"Yes, because of the news," Anton said quietly. A pause. "Yes. Emergency. I'll be there."
The Inmo dimmed. A sigh escaped Anton's lips. The worry from the near accident was replaced by a new, sharper tension.
Still shaken, Joseph asked:
"What was that? Who was it? What's going on?"
Anton shrugged, avoiding his gaze.
"Nothing important. Just… work stuff."
"Hey, why don't you get an Inmo and ditch that outdated earpiece?"
"You know I hate implants," Joseph replied.
The subject change was obvious. Joseph noticed the evasiveness, but didn't push. He knew Anton's habit of keeping important things to himself.
Moments later, Anton dropped him off at a dusty trail that wound toward the foothills of the mountain.