Stephen still remembered his Affinity Test.
Fifty years of data and records were enough for the corporations to find patterns. Alchemical manifestation only occurred before the age of sixteen. The body's natural development could trigger—or not—the Red Aurora's residue within a person. Chance could define your life forever — to be ordinary, or...
To be a Resonant.
Sure, the world still needed doctors, lawyers, advertisers, and other professionals. Some even more than before. But being a Resonant wasn't just about money — though it paid well, depending on your affinity. It was a VIP pass. Resonants lived in the Central District, fortified and protected. Their families too. As far as possible from sudden attacks or spontaneous transformations. No. That fate was left for mediocre people. People like Stephen.
"Stephen Marlowe, step onto the platform and remove your gloves."
That voice was unforgettable. Harsh, monotone. He obeyed and stepped onto a simple metal platform, white as snowflakes. Everything in the room was white — to the point of irritating the eyes. The floor reflected the lights so harshly it looked wet. The textureless walls seemed even smoother under the intense LEDs.
A nurse approached him carrying a tray. Seven vials.
One shimmered with a resinous, almost greasy glow. Another contained a metallic liquid that trembled like it had a mind of its own. The Antimony vial formed a radiant needle-like crystal.
Stephen wanted to be a Hydrarch. He really wanted to be a Hydrarch. More job options, more security, and the exclusive ability to harvest chemical ingredients from dissolved monsters.
His body shivered when the nurse cracked open the first vial. Mercury. Hydrarch. His dream was right there, moving slowly like some psychotic taunt from the universe, the vial tipping over his bare hands. The silvery liquid fell like a veil... metallic. Cold, like death tightening its grip.
And Stephen blacked out.
Not literally. His brain had erased the memory, hiding the fact that he had stepped off the platform before the sixth vial was even done. The seventh would've confirmed his lifelong mediocrity. No decent profession, because his parents couldn't afford the few good universities left. No future. Stephen Marlowe, the mediocre.
"Excuse me, are you done cleaning the room?"
A female voice pulled Stephen back from the depths of bitterness, dragging him to the surface of reality. His knuckles ached from how tightly he'd been gripping the mop handle.
He looked up from the translucent floor and saw a girl around his age, maybe sixteen to eighteen. A sharp face. Narrow, focused eyes that seemed to search for flaws in everything they saw. Red lips. Dark hair falling in two long cascades.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen her in the lab. Stephen hoped it wouldn't be the last.
"Sorry. Got a little caught up. I'll be done in five minutes, okay?" He forced a smile. Idiot. He definitely looked like an idiot.
She nodded, clutching a leather bag against her body — she wore a gray lab coat and a red cotton shirt underneath.
Gray coats were for interns.
Stephen swallowed the growing lump in his throat and tried to clear his mind as he resumed the work. Affinity. Test. Mercury. Sulfur. Cinnabar. He moved the mop as if pushing those tainted words out of his head.
As if that were possible.
When he finished, he blinked. Looked around the room — it was narrow and overlit, with steel counters and sealed cabinets marked with a red plaque warning of maximum risk. The glass panes on the storage cases were fogged from the inside, as if old reactions had never been properly cleaned. The air carried a faint metallic scent, with something mineral in the background, almost salty. The floor bore burn marks that the boy would never manage to erase.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and walked to the door, where the girl was still waiting.
"I'm done. Sorry for the delay."
"No worries."
He placed the mop in the left compartment of the bucket and picked it up. She stepped aside. Stephen walked past her, avoiding eye contact. He was tired of wanting what he could never have.
"Do you smell something strange?" she asked, suddenly.
This time, Stephen met that sharp gaze. Just for two seconds, but he held it. He inhaled, trying to catch something unusual in the air. Something that didn't belong in a chemical lab.
"I don't think so. What do you smell?"
"I'm not sure. Kinda reminds me of Mercury, but it's so faint I might just be imagining things."
Stephen frowned.
"Well, I'll leave you to it."
She smiled politely, but her eyes swept the hallway again, as if trying to locate the source. Her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her leather bag.
Stephen couldn't return the smile.
The lab wasn't nearly as busy as he had imagined back when he first learned what the Affinity Test was. Probably because this was a minor district, underfunded, staffed only with low-level Resonants who had little battle experience.
Some people moved about — usually in lab coats, faces distant. The sound of footsteps echoed off the glass floors like dry snaps, interrupted only by the high-pitched hum of the automated vents. It was white on top of white. Walls. Doors. Window frames. A pale mist clung to the corners, as if the cold never fully went away. He was starting to hate the color.
He was starting to hate a lot of things.
Stephen headed to the next room, still on the third floor. The Resonants on this level were away on an expedition in the Central District — something he was silently thankful for.
He entered the room — identical to the last — and shut the door. The walls shimmered under the fluorescent lights with a sickly softness, as if the environment were breathing.
He finished the job in a little over thirty minutes. When he opened the door again, he dropped the mop and ran.
His shoes skidded when he remembered the intern from before. He paused to see if she was still working nearby. She wasn't. Three seconds later, an alarm blared. We-oo, We-oo, We-oo. The smell had intensified. It was more sulfurous now — like lit phosphorus and burning iron.
Stephen tripped on the stairs. We-oo. Grabbing the handrail, he reached the second floor. People were rushing past him faster than he could process. He scanned the hallway. We-oo. The girl wasn't there. He kept descending.
The smell thickened. The phosphorus turned viscous as the air warmed before he even reached the ground floor. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it was rising through his throat like a cannonball. He swallowed hard. He searched every corner, but couldn't focus. The blend of the alarm, stomping footsteps, and overlapping voices was suffocating him.
We-oo.
Stephen looked toward the emergency exit, halfway between him and the main one. People were shoving, tripping. A few silhouettes remained on the second floor — probably more experienced Resonants. They seemed to be discussing a solution.
We-oo.
Stephen rubbed his hands over his face and picked up the pace toward the emergency door. He overheard part of a conversation.
"...call the RCD. There could be transmutations," a woman in the line was saying.
Stephen froze, ten steps from the door. Transmutations. Alchemy. What if—
The air ignited. The world followed.
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