004

Six years ago...

Dr. Mendietta strode purposefully through the hallways of the N.O.V.A. Facility (Neogenic Optimization and Viability Advancement), a cutting-edge institute dedicated to furthering human evolution. His polished shoes echoed against the pristine floors as he approached a massive chrome-walled room.

Inside, several children stood in hospital gowns, their expressions a mix of apprehension and determination. The room was enormous—easily the size of a stadium—with advanced machinery lining the edges. Technicians in lab coats monitored displays, ready to document every result.

"Ready to begin, Dr. Mendietta?" one of the technicians asked.

He nodded before turning his attention to the children. "Alright, everyone. Let's get started."

"We're not kids anymore," a voice snapped.

Dr. Mendietta's gaze landed on Kai, a lean boy with sharp eyes and a defiant scowl. "Calm down, Kai," he said, bemused, though he offered a small apology. "Alright, take your places."

The group shuffled slightly as Kai stepped forward.

"Let's start with you, Kai," Dr. Mendietta instructed, settling into one of the consoles.

Kai rolled his eyes but moved toward the glass door separating the experimental area from the rest of the room. He entered, the door sealing behind him with a soft hiss.

Dr. Mendietta activated his recorder. "Entry 2244. Subject abilities are showing significant specialization."

Kai ignored him, closing his eyes to focus. The air around him seemed to warp as an aura of crimson energy began to pulse and flare. The room trembled slightly, a low rumble reverberating through the walls.

"Remarkable," Mendietta muttered, eyes fixed on the console's readings.

Kai extended his hand toward a metallic dummy positioned in the center of the testing zone. A split second later, the dummy flash-froze, ice crawling over its surface before it shattered into a thousand shards with a loud crack.

"Negative 200 degrees Celsius," Mendietta announced, awestruck as he stared at the temperature readout. "The coldest output we've recorded from him yet."

"Alright, Kai, that's enough," he said into the intercom.

Kai swaggered back through the door, his face a mixture of smugness and boredom. "Yui, you're up next," Mendietta said, motioning to a short, dark-haired girl. "Excellent work, Kai," he added, but Kai barely acknowledged the praise.

When it was Ren's turn, he hesitated. Ever since his abilities had first manifested, they'd been underwhelming compared to the others. While the rest of the group showed extraordinary progress, his telekinesis remained weak, unreliable, and frustratingly slow to develop.

The other neogenes, as they were called, didn't let him forget it.

"Alright, Ren," Dr. Mendietta encouraged. "Whenever you're ready."

Ren stepped forward, his heart pounding. A metal plate lay on the ground ahead of him, waiting to be launched at the dummy. He fixed his eyes on it, clenching his fists as sweat formed on his brow.

With a grunt of effort, the plate wobbled into the air, hurtling forward—but it lacked any real velocity. It struck the ground with a dull thud, far from its target.

Ren hung his head as he returned to his spot, Mendietta offering quiet words of encouragement.

"Yeah, I bet you'll get it next time," Yui said, smiling at him.

But Ren barely heard her over the muffled snickers of Kai and a few others. Words like "useless" floated through the air, stinging more than he wanted to admit.

Later that night, as they were finishing up their meals, Kai and his lackeys approached Ren. Their smirks were enough to set him on edge before they even opened their mouths.

"Still useless, huh, Ren?" Kai sneered, crossing his arms. "I mean, it's almost impressive how bad you are."

One of the lackeys snickered. "Yeah, maybe we should call you Deadweight Ren from now on."

Ren clenched his fists, his eyes stinging, but he couldn't find the words to fight back.

"Why don't you just give up already?" Kai continued, leaning closer. "You're holding us back. No wonder Mendietta's always looking disappointed when it's your turn."

"Stop it, Kai!" Yui interjected, stepping between them.

Kai scoffed. "What're you gonna do, Yui? Cry for him? Face it, he's dead weight, and you know it."

Yui glared at him but said nothing more, clearly outnumbered and overpowered. Ren, his face burning with shame, shoved past them and bolted out of the room.

He ran down the dimly lit hallway, tears streaming down his face. He hated it—hated feeling this weak, hated himself for being so far behind everyone else. He stopped near a room they were forbidden to enter, pressing his back against the wall and trying to steady his breathing.

That's when he heard Mendietta's voice coming from inside.

Curiosity overtook his misery as he edged closer. The door was slightly ajar, and Mendietta's voice carried through the gap.

"Yes, I understand," Mendietta was saying. "But his abilities have… stagnated."

Ren froze. They were talking about him.

The other voice, sharp and impatient, came through the speakerphone. "You promised results, Mendietta. Are you telling me this is the best you can do?"

"No, no," Mendietta replied quickly, his tone placating. "We're doing everything we can. I assure you, we'll try our best to push him further."

Ren's chest tightened. He backed away, his mind racing. He didn't stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

He returned to his room feeling worse than ever. His abilities weren't just weak—they were a failure. Even Dr Mendietta, the one person who always seemed to believe in him, had doubts.

The next few weeks were more of the same. Kai's abilities continued to grow at an alarming rate. When he managed to crack the absolute zero point, the entire facility buzzed with excitement. Kai soaked up the praise, his ego inflating with every word of admiration.

Ren, meanwhile, struggled in silence. Each failed attempt only widened the gap between him and the others. And Kai never missed an opportunity to remind him of it, rubbing his achievements in Ren's face every chance he got.

One day, Dr. Mendietta was conspicuously absent from the morning routine. Instead, he arrived later than usual, accompanied by a man dressed in military fatigues. The stranger exuded authority, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if assessing each of them.

Dr. Mendietta cleared his throat. "Everyone, this is General Kalor. He'll be overseeing some of the operations here today."

The children exchanged glances but said nothing as Mendietta instructed them to follow the general to the testing area.

As Ren turned to leave with the others, the general's voice stopped him. "Not you, Ren Ketter. Stay back. I need to speak with you."

Confused and a little nervous, Ren hesitated before stepping forward.

The general studied him for a moment, then spoke. "I've heard about your… situation. About your abilities not growing as expected."

Ren tried to stammer a response, fumbling over his words. "I—I've been working on it. I swear, I just need—"

The general raised a hand, silencing him. "It's fine, Ren. I understand. You're not the problem. What you need is specialized training, and that's why you're being sent to a special facility."

Ren blinked in surprise. "A… special facility?"

The general's lips curled into a smile. "That's the best part. It's on the moon. You'll be receiving one-on-one attention in an advanced environment. You're going to be an astronaut, Ren."

The words hit him like a lightning bolt. "The moon?!" Ren's voice was practically a shout. His heart raced with excitement. He couldn't believe it. After all the disappointment, he was finally being given a chance to prove himself.

Hours later, Ren was boarding a rocket, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in the sight of the towering launch vehicle. It looked outdated, running on organic fuel instead of the sleek fusion-powered ships he'd seen in simulations, but he barely noticed.

As the engines roared to life and the rocket began its ascent, Ren could hardly contain his excitement. He was leaving Earth. He was going to the moon.

Back on the ground, General Kalor stood with Dr. Mendietta, watching the launch from the control room.

"Nice work keeping your mouth shut," Kalor said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "The brat doesn't suspect a thing."

Mendietta swallowed hard, his face pale. He struggled to maintain his composure, avoiding the general's gaze.

The atmosphere in the room was tense as the rocket climbed higher, the countdown to the designated altitude ticking away on the monitors.

One of the scientists at the console called out, "Trajectory nominal. Ignition of secondary boosters confirmed."

Kalor pressed a button on the small device in his hand.

"Detonation sequence initiated," a voice from another console announced.

The rocket disappeared from the screens in a blinding burst of light.

"Explosion confirmed," the scientist said as she studied the data feed. "Combustion reached 4,000 Kelvin. Total incineration of onboard materials achieved."

Dr. Mendietta turned away, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with tears he refused to shed.

Later, the others were gathered in the central hall, their expressions ranging from somber to indifferent as General Kalor informed them of Ren's "untimely passing."

Kai leaned against a wall, arms crossed, looking unfazed. "Well, guess he couldn't handle the pressure," he muttered under his breath.

Yui, on the other hand, was devastated. Her face crumpled as she broke into sobs, her cries echoing in the sterile room. She refused to believe it, clutching at the possibility that there had been some mistake.

General Kalor approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I understand your grief," he said in a tone meant to sound empathetic. "But we must move forward. Ren would have wanted that."

As Yui tried to compose herself, Kalor turned to address the entire group. "This is why your mission is so important. So that nothing like this ever happens again. You will be humanity's first line of defense. The protectors of Earth."

Kai's ears perked up. "Like superheroes?" he asked, an eager glint in his eyes.

Kalor chuckled. "Something like that."

And so, the first hero association was born, heralded as a new era for humanity. The announcement swept across the globe, capturing the imagination of billions. These neogenes, not tied to any specific country, were positioned as defenders of the entire world, a universal symbol of hope and progress.

The global community embraced the initiative with open arms, rallying behind the promise of safety and unity. NOVA ramped up its operations, producing more and more neogenes to join the cause, cementing its place as the cornerstone of this new age of heroes.