Find Him

The Cortex buzzed with activity. Rows of monitors flickered with data streams, surveillance footage, and bio-readouts. The room was large and circular, its walls lined with high-tech equipment that hummed softly. Technicians in sleek uniforms moved between stations, their voices a low murmur of reports and commands. The air was tense, crackling with urgency and focus.

Director Thorn entered with her usual controlled stride, her heels clicking sharply against the metallic floor. Heads turned briefly as she passed, some technicians straightening their posture instinctively before turning back to their work. Her grey eyes scanned the room, sharp and calculating, taking in every detail.

In the center of the Cortex, a massive screen dominated the space. On it played a series of videos, each more unsettling than the last.

The first showed Alex—or what appeared to be Alex—in a dimly lit nightclub, the scene chaotic and pulsing with neon lights. He was dancing wildly, a confident smirk on his face, his movements almost predatory. Bottles of alcohol littered the table around him, and his laughter, captured by the surveillance footage, was loud and unrestrained.

The second video cut to a different scene: an alleyway. It was grainy, taken from a security camera, but the events were clear. Alex—or someone who looked like him—stood over the bodies of three men. The ground was scorched, flames flickering in the air like embers caught in a breeze. His expression was cold, his hazel eyes alight with something unnatural. As he turned to walk away, the camera captured the remnants of fire trailing his footsteps.

The final clip was mundane by comparison but no less jarring. It showed Alex at a quiet desk job, his posture slouched and his expression distracted. He typed on a keyboard, occasionally glancing at his phone. The date on the footage suggested it was only two days before the other incidents.

Thorn stopped in front of the screen, her arms crossed tightly. Her sharp features were illuminated by the flickering images, her expression unreadable but her lips pressed into a thin line.

"What am I looking at?" she asked, her voice cutting through the noise.

From the side of the room, a man approached her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin a rich, deep brown that contrasted sharply with the white of his uniform shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms, and he carried a tablet in one hand. His movements were deliberate, each step confident but not rushed.

"Director," he began, nodding respectfully. His voice was smooth but carried a weight of authority. His name tag read Dr. Elijah Cole, but his reputation had long preceded him—one of the top experts in abnormal psychology and enhanced individuals.

"These are all recent activities linked to an individual named Alex Harper," Dr. Cole explained, tapping his tablet to bring up additional files. "We've been tracking him since the first anomaly was reported. At first, we thought it was a case of latent powers manifesting under stress, but…" He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

"But what?" Thorn's tone was clipped, her patience thin.

Dr. Cole exhaled, his jaw tightening before he continued. "We believe Harper is suffering from dissociative identity disorder—DID. The man you see in these clips isn't always the same person. He has at least two distinct identities. The one in the nightclub is charismatic, impulsive, and aggressive. The one in the alley… he's something else entirely. And that's the problem."

He gestured toward the video of the alleyway, the flames pausing mid-flicker on the screen. "One of these personalities has the ability to manipulate fire, and from what we've observed, it's not just basic pyrokinesis. It's precise, controlled, and highly destructive."

Thorn's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she processed the information. She tilted her head slightly, her fingers tightening against her forearm. "And the third clip? The office?"

Dr. Cole nodded. "That's his baseline personality—or what we assume to be his original self. Average, unremarkable. Likely unaware of what the other identities are doing when they take over."

Thorn's gaze lingered on the video of Alex at his desk, her lips pursing slightly. She shifted her weight, her stance stiffening. "How is this possible? Dissociative identity disorder doesn't just create powers."

"It doesn't," Dr. Cole agreed, his voice lowering slightly. He glanced around the room, ensuring no one else was listening too closely. "But in this case, it might be amplifying them. We've seen rare instances of trauma triggering latent abilities in enhanced individuals. If Harper's mind is fractured, each identity could be accessing his powers differently—or suppressing them entirely."

Thorn looked back at the screen, her sharp gaze fixed on Alex's face as it cycled through his different personas. "Have we made contact?"

Dr. Cole shook his head, his expression grim. "Not yet. His primary personality seems harmless, but if the others take over… It could be catastrophic. Especially if he's not aware of what's happening."

Thorn let out a slow breath, her jaw tightening. She turned to face Dr. Cole fully, her stance authoritative. "Then we need to find him before anyone else does. I don't want another incident like this."

Dr. Cole nodded, his expression serious. "Understood, Director. We're already working on his last known location. I'll keep you updated."

As he stepped away, Thorn's gaze returned to the screen, her eyes narrowing as Alex's face flickered between personas. For a brief moment, her expression softened, a hint of something almost like regret flickering across her face.

But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by her usual steely resolve.

"Find him," she muttered to herself. "Before it's too late."