Project:Imagine

As Iris woke up, she once again found herself in the dimly lit, smoky jazz club. The room was filled with the haunting melodies of floating instruments playing smooth, melancholic tunes. The saxophone’s soulful notes blended seamlessly with the soft hum of the double bass, creating an atmosphere both soothing and eerie. Fate sat on the plush, black couch, engrossed in a thick, leather-bound book. The pages seemed ancient, filled with arcane symbols and cryptic text.

“When I said you had an ordeal that you needed to survive, a simple training exercise wasn’t what I had in mind,” Fate sighed, not looking up from his book. “Unless you're using the book I gave you, it's not good to use too much power. The burden will be too great.”

“Book… that book was from you?” Iris questioned, her voice a mixture of confusion and realization.

“Yes,” Fate replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “That, and the butterfly that led you away from having that fireball harm you.”

“I have one question,” Iris began, her voice trembling slightly. “You speak as if you know the future. Did you know in advance what would happen that night?”

“I did,” Fate admitted, finally looking up from his book. His gaze was steady, yet there was a hint of sorrow in his eyes. “I knew that your home would be attacked. I knew they would try to kill you, and I knew that your parents would die as well.”

“Why did you only save me?” Iris asked, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Her voice was a mix of anger and desperation.

Fate couldn't say a word. He simply looked at her with a regretful expression, the weight of his silence more telling than any explanation he could offer.

“Answer me,” Iris demanded, her tears now streaming down her face. “What is so special about me that I had to be saved?”

Fate remained silent, his expression pained. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wallace is probably worried about you. You shouldn't sleep for too long. It's time to wake up.”

“Wait, answer me!” Iris pleaded, her voice echoing through the club. But by the time she spoke those words, the surrounding scene began to fade. The music grew distant, and the jazz club dissolved into darkness.

Iris opened her eyes to find herself in the sterile, clinical surroundings of an infirmary. The stark white walls and the faint scent of antiseptic were a sharp contrast to the vivid, dreamlike atmosphere of the jazz club. She was lying on a narrow hospital bed, the cool sheets rustling as she shifted. Sunlight filtered in through a nearby window, casting a soft, warm glow on the room. Her heart monitor beeped steadily, a reassuring sign that she was, for now, safe.

Sitting nearby, Wallace was hunched over a stack of files, a half-empty mug of coffee in his hand. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes suggesting sleepless nights filled with worry and work. As he noticed Iris stirring, he set the mug down and looked at her, his expression a mix of relief and concern. The sight of his worn face and the familiar coffee cup brought a sense of normalcy to the surreal events she had just experienced.

“You’re awake,” Wallace said, his voice gentle but firm. “You overexerted yourself during training. How are you feeling?” His eyes searched her face for any signs of lingering pain or distress. Iris took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. The dream, Fate's words, and the intense training all swirled in her mind, but the warmth in Wallace's gaze anchored her to the present moment.

“You were talking in your sleep, what was your dream about? Usually, most dreams Awakened have can turn out rather significant,” Wallace said, taking a sip of his coffee. His gaze was both curious and concerned, indicating he knew there was more to her state than mere physical exhaustion.

“It was nothing, I’m fine,” Iris said, a sad look on her face. She couldn't bring herself to share the haunting details of her encounter with Fate, not just yet. The weight of his unspoken answers and the sorrow of her loss were too fresh.

Wallace scrutinized her face, not convinced. “You’re not a very good liar, but if you do not want to talk about it, I won’t pry. Your ability training should be easier from now on. Jonathan taking that position was only temporary until he could find someone better to fill that role.”

“Who will be in charge of us from now on?” Iris questioned, her expression still sad.

“You’re all stuck with Markus from now on. Good luck. I doubt an ability genius like him knows how to train students,” Wallace chuckled. “Though, from what I heard, your class is full of prodigies as well.” His attempt at lightening the mood brought a faint smile to Iris’s lips, a small comfort amid her turmoil.

Wallace walked over to a nearby cabinet, his movements purposeful and precise. He pulled out a stethoscope, the cold metal glinting under the infirmary's fluorescent lights. Next, he retrieved a sphygmomanometer, its cuff unfurling with a soft rustle, and finally, a needle, which he inspected carefully before setting it down on a sterile tray. The faint scent of antiseptic filled the room, mingling with the aroma of Wallace's coffee.

“I need to make sure you’re fully recovered, besides while you’re here I might as well perform your check-up” Wallace explained, his tone professional yet reassuring. He approached Iris, his eyes softening with concern as he placed the stethoscope’s earpieces into his ears and the diaphragm on her chest. The rhythmic sound of her heartbeat filled his ears, steady but quickened by the recent ordeal. He noted the slight tension in her muscles, a residual effect of both physical strain and emotional turmoil.

“Try to relax,” he said gently, wrapping the sphygmomanometer’s cuff around her arm. As he pumped the bulb, the pressure against her skin increased, the cuff tightening methodically. His movements were careful, and practiced, and he maintained a steady, comforting presence. “This is just to make sure everything is in order. You’ve been through a lot, but you're strong.” Wallace’s voice was a calm anchor during the storm still brewing within Iris, offering a semblance of normalcy and care.

“Lastly, I’ll need to draw a bit of blood. On the bright side, this will only be necessary once a month,” Wallace reassured, his voice soothing and gentle.

Iris closed her eyes, her breath hitching slightly as she turned her head away, refusing to look at the needle. Wallace, ever observant, noted her nervousness and used his ability to reduce the pain she would feel. A soft green aura emanated from his hands, casting a calming glow in the dimly lit infirmary. As he gently inserted the needle into a vein in her wrist, Iris felt only the faintest pinch, the usual sting dulled by Wallace's calming power.

He drew the required blood with practiced ease, his hands steady and sure. Once he removed the needle, Wallace placed a small band-aid over the tiny wound. The band-aid featured a cheerful teddy bear with a bow, its whimsical design a small gesture meant to bring comfort. “There we go,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “All done. You were very brave, Iris.” His words, coupled with the tender care he showed, helped ease the lingering tension, offering a sense of safety and reassurance amidst the chaos of her recent experiences.

“Wallace, I was wondering, why did you decide to become a doctor?” Iris asked, her curiosity evident.

Wallace leaned back, a thoughtful smile crossing his face. “While my job now includes much more than just being a doctor, it has always been my dream. I wanted to be able to help my brother, no matter how strong he is. He’s been injured before, and there have been times when I didn’t have enough energy left to fully heal him with my ability. But I could at least stitch his wounds, so I could heal him later.”

“You’re an amazing brother, Wallace,” Iris said, her smile returning, a glint of admiration in her eyes.

“Thanks, Iris. You’re pretty amazing yourself. I had a good laugh when Jonathan told me you all managed to injure him. I’m definitely going to hold it over his head at our next big meeting,” Wallace said, laughing heartily. “But you should head back to your dorm; it's already six o’clock. You were asleep for a few hours, I bet Xavier would be jealous if he knew how much sleep you got.”

“Alright, goodbye Wallace, have a good day,” Iris said cheerfully, making her way back to her dorm.

A few minutes later, Jonathan barged into Wallace's infirmary, his expression a mix of frustration and curiosity. “I’d like to take another look at Iris’s file,” Jonathan demanded.

“Why, are you salty that a kid caught you off guard?” Wallace teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

“It doesn't make sense,” Jonathan said, pacing slightly. “How is she so powerful? It makes sense for the rest of the class, but not her. Xavier has connections to our organization, Jacob encountered a supernatural before awakening, which increased his sensitivity to aura. Charles had extensive training before coming here, and the twins were lab rats who are probably even stronger than the average Awakened due to their experimentation. Lastly, Alice has an authority ability. But Iris? We don’t even know if she has an authority. It doesn’t make sense that she would be that powerful. Her combat knowledge and proficiency with that bow were exceptional, far beyond what I would expect from someone like her.”

“I've looked over every piece of information we have on her, and nothing explains a single aspect of her… peculiarities, well, besides one thing,” Wallace said, his tone measured.

Jonathan's curiosity piqued. “What would that be, exactly?”

“You'll have to wait until I finish running the analysis on this batch of blood,” Wallace replied calmly. “Just to make sure the original sample wasn’t a mistake. However, if my analysis is correct, it means she’s not entirely human.”

A perplexed look crossed Jonathan’s face as he processed Wallace’s words. “So, this is why the Bookkeeper wanted her. He clearly knows more than he's willing to say. So many secrets across the board… I’m getting sick of it,” Jonathan sighed, rubbing his temples.

“I agree,” Wallace said, leaning back in his chair. “Of all the members of the council, the Bookkeeper is easily one of the most suspicious. Though, that sentiment extends to the boss and that bag-faced bastard as well.” Wallace's voice carried a note of frustration as he vented.

“Wallace, have you seen anyone in the facility named Matteo Howel?” Jonathan questioned, his tone laced with urgency.

Wallace looked perplexed. “I haven't even heard of anyone with that name. Why are you bringing it up?”

Jonathan reached into his pocket and took out a small white orb, infusing it with aura. As he did so, a file labeled "Project: Dark Sun" appeared, and he handed it to Wallace. “Look over this document. If you find anything, let me know. I trust you, so make sure nobody else finds out about this,” Jonathan requested.

Wallace accepted the file, his curiosity piqued. “Alright, I'll do my best. Also, once I’m finished with the analysis of her blood, I’ll send the data to you. Whatever the Bookkeeper is hiding, we’ll figure it out.”

Jonathan nodded, a look of determination in his eyes. “We will.” He turned and left Wallace’s infirmary, leaving the doctor to his thoughts and the mysterious file now in his hands.

Deep within the Alpha Facility lay a hidden area, shrouded in secrecy and darkness. The corridor was long and narrow, its walls lined with cold, black steel that seemed to absorb the faint overhead lighting, casting eerie shadows that danced along the floor. The air was heavy with an unsettling silence, broken only by the occasional, distant hum of machinery, creating an almost suffocating atmosphere.

Each door along the corridor was a formidable barrier, crafted from reinforced metal and secured with intricate locking mechanisms. The doors were unmarked, their anonymity adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Two guards stood vigilant at each entrance, their expressions stern and unyielding. Clad in black tactical gear, they were the silent sentinels of this hidden realm, their eyes ever watchful, their hands never far from their weapons, embodying the strict discipline and secrecy of the facility.

Behind each door lay a room, its occupant sealed away from the world. The rooms were soundproofed, ensuring that no noise escaped to betray the secrets they held. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast a harsh, clinical glow, illuminating the stark reality of this place. The hidden corridor was a fortress of solitude and secrecy, its existence known to only a select few within the Alpha Facility. A total of seventy-two rooms were within this unknown area, each full of untold mysteries.

A man walked down the dark hallway, and the guards each tensed up as he passed them. He had cyan hair streaked with red, and his blue eyes were filled with indifference towards everyone. He wore a pristine white suit with a fur coat draped over his shoulders, giving him an air of effortless elegance. Despite the dark, oppressive surroundings, he stood out like a beacon of authority and menace.

He did not wear shoes, but while difficult to notice, he was floating ever so slightly off the ground, his bare feet never touching the cold steel floor. He would take steps in the air, touching only the air. A purple ring with a rune inscribed on it adorned his left hand, glinting ominously under the flickering lights. On his right hand was a tattoo of a clock without hands, an enigmatic symbol that hinted at untold mysteries and a mastery over time itself.

The guards, despite their stern and unyielding demeanor, couldn't help but show a flicker of apprehension as he floated past. His presence was like a silent storm, promising both awe and dread. The corridor, already a fortress of solitude and secrecy, seemed to grow even more ominous in his presence, as if the very air grew heavier with each step he took.

The man stopped at one door in particular, causing both guards to tense up even more, their postures becoming perfectly straight as they silently prayed the man wouldn't notice a single imperfection in their conduct. He stared at them for a moment, a gaze that seemed to pierce through their very souls, and then gestured to be let into the room. As the heavy door swung open, and he walked in, the two guards let out a sigh of relief.

“I worry each day here will be my last,” Guard A muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Seriously, why must our boss be such a crazed bastard?” Guard B complained, his voice tinged with frustration and fear.

“That man did kill one of the Seven Deadly Sins and practically rebuilt A.E.G.I.S. He can do whatever he wants. UnAwakened like us are worthless trash to him. He refuses to even touch the ground we walk on,” Guard A sighed, shaking his head.

“All these Awakened are so weird, and what’s with his outfit anyway? Why is it that every Awakened has such odd fashion sense?” Guard B asked, trying to lighten the mood despite the underlying tension.

As the two guards continued their hushed conversation, the leader of A.E.G.I.S. began his own, far more sinister discussion inside the cell.

Within the cell sat a twelve-year-old boy with tan skin and crimson-red hair. His eyes, matching his hair, were wide with fear as he stared at the man. Instantly, dark shadow tendrils erupted from the ground, attempting to skewer the intruder.

“Why must we go through this every time I visit you, brat?” Alexander said calmly, his voice carrying a chilling detachment.

The shadow tendrils were repelled in an instant as a blinding light emitted from Alexander, consuming the room and blinding the young boy.

“All the other test subjects gave up, so why must you, the one I’m so excited for, continue this?” Alexander asked, grabbing Matteo by the neck. His grip was firm, but there was an unsettling gentleness in his touch, as if he were handling something precious and fragile.

Matteo struggled, his crimson eyes burning with defiance even as he gasped for breath. “Let… me… go,” he managed to choke out, his voice trembling yet resolute.

“How many times must I tell you? You and your authority are too valuable to be released,” Alexander replied, his tone cold and dismissive as he dropped Matteo to the ground. Matteo fell, violently coughing and gasping for air.

“I didn't come to continue the experiment on you today,” Alexander chuckled. “A simple visit is all I desired.”

As Alexander laughed, his sinister delight echoing through the cold, steel walls of the cell, Matteo saw a fleeting opportunity. Without hesitation, thousands of shadow tendrils erupted from every surface of the room, converging on Alexander with deadly intent. Yet, as before, a blinding light emanated from Alexander, incinerating the tendrils before they could reach their target.

This time, however, Matteo had a new strategy. As the light blazed, he concentrated his shadows into a solid, razor-sharp sword. The moment the light began to fade, Matteo leaped forward, his heart pounding in his chest, and swung the shadow blade towards Alexander's neck with all his might. Alexander's eyes widened ever so slightly as he deftly dodged the attack, his movements fluid and almost graceful. In the same instant, he retaliated with lightning speed, a thin blade of light slicing through the air. Matteo staggered back, a sharp pain searing across his cheek as a small, precise cut appeared. Blood trickled down his face, but his eyes remained locked on Alexander, filled with a mix of fear and fierce determination.

“Impressive,” Alexander said, his voice dripping with condescension. “However, I could kill you before you even realize what happened, so stop playing this game.” With a dismissive glance, he turned and left the room.

The guards instantly stopped their conversation as Alexander exited. He walked down the corridor before suddenly stopping and looking back. Instantly, the head of Guard B was removed from his body.

“Don't delude yourselves into thinking that just because I’m in a soundproof room, I don't hear every single thing that goes on in this facility. Clean up that unsightly mess, or you will join it,” Alexander commanded as he continued to walk away.

“Now, what should I do about the other fools with even sharper tongues than that wretch?” Alexander mused to himself, his voice cold and calculating.

Meanwhile, Iris sat on her bed, her mind swirling with unanswered questions. The cryptic dream and Fate's unsettling words weighed heavily on her. She longed to confront Fate and demand answers, but the exact questions eluded her grasp. Her gaze drifted to the book resting on her bedside table, the birthday gift from Fate, an enigma in itself. Driven by a flicker of hope, she reached for it, hoping it might provide some clarity.

As she opened the book, a burst of radiant golden flames erupted from its pages, taking the form of delicate butterflies. The fiery butterflies fluttered around her room, their luminescence casting a warm, ethereal glow. Each delicate wing shimmered with a rich, opalescent hue, illuminating the room with an enchanting dance of light and shadow.

The golden butterflies swirled in graceful patterns, creating a mesmerizing display that seemed to draw Iris into a trance. Their soft, radiant light felt soothing yet profoundly mysterious, as if they were guiding her toward a deeper understanding. She watched in awe, her heart both anxious and hopeful, as the luminous creatures continued their dance, hinting at secrets yet to be revealed.

The pages of the book were blank, yet they began to write themselves in crimson ink, each stroke forming elegant, yet hauntingly familiar handwriting. Iris's heart raced as she realized that the script was her own. The words flowed with a fluid grace, but it was the voice that emerged from the book that truly unsettled her. It was the same feminine voice that had once urged her to open the book, now echoing with an ominous warning: “Read my message carefully; you must follow it, or you will regret it.” The voice sent icy chills down Iris’s spine, deepening her unease.

As the book continued to scribe its message, the diary entry emerged with a profound sense of weight and gravity. Each line seemed to press down on Iris with an almost tangible force, as if the very ink carried the burden of the author's regret and despair. The words, meticulously inscribed, conveyed a depth of sorrow and caution that felt all too real, as if the author's anguish was being transmitted directly through the page, resonating with a chilling urgency.

“It’s all my fault. I was reckless and foolish, wielding this power without fully understanding the consequences. I used it so carelessly, driven by a mix of ambition and desperation, and now I am left grappling with the heavy price. My heart aches with regret, knowing that my hasty decisions have brought me to this breaking point. If only I had been more cautious, perhaps things could have turned out differently.

In my desperation, I have resolved to make a deal with a devil, a pact so dark that it fills me with dread. The wish I will make now is to warn my younger self about the dangers of the red book. I need to convey a message across time, a warning that I hope will prevent the same mistakes from being repeated. No matter where or when this message finds you, I implore you to heed these words and avoid the pitfalls I fell into.

Please, do not rely on the red book, despite its tempting power. It promises much but delivers only regret and sorrow. I am filled with an all-encompassing sense of loss, knowing that the very tool I once coveted has become a source of my deepest anguish. If you can, take this warning to heart and save yourself from the path I have walked, one that I wish I could have avoided.

—Your future self, Iris Blackwell”

Iris stood paralyzed, her eyes scanning the final line: “—Your future self, Iris Blackwell.” The stark realization that the warning came from her own future self was overwhelming. She was left with a torrent of questions and a profound sense of dread, unable to reconcile the urgency of the message with her burning curiosity. The book, now a vessel of foreboding revelations, seemed to loom over her, its once mysterious allure now overshadowed by an inescapable sense of impending consequence. Her two greatest questions were why did her future self both urge her to open the book, then once again urge her to never use it, and what is the price for using this book.