---
Mara Virelle tore through the sterile corridors of Site-09, her boots slamming against the permalloy floor, her heart a drumbeat of urgency and resolve. The buzz from N-O1's voice still clung to her ears, a stubborn hum that refused to fade, like a shadow etched into her skull. Her headache pulsed, a tingling presence worming through her consciousness, but it wasn't just fear of his wall-piercing gaze or potential mind-reading that drove her now. She needed to *test* something. She needed to know the **range** of his influence, to understand why her time manipulation—her lifeline—had crumbled in Sublevel-Ω's cell.
*He's doing something to me,* she thought, her mind racing as she shoved past a startled Lambda-tier tech. *My power didn't just fail. It was blocked, suppressed, like he's a void swallowing time itself. I need to know how far he reaches. I need to know what he is.*
She skidded to a stop near a maintenance hatch, her gauntlet flashing as it synced with the facility's grid. Fifty meters from Sublevel-Ω's cell, give or take. Close enough to try. Mara closed her eyes, reaching for the threads of time, her Gamma-tier ability to rewind or accelerate reality. She focused on five minutes back—just enough to see the cell's lights flicker again, to confirm she was free of him. The threads stirred, faint and frayed, then snapped, a backlash of static that made her gasp.
*Failed. Fifty meters, and he's still got me.* She jotted it on her tablet, her fingers trembling: *50m from target, no effect.* Her power was a scalpel, precise but limited. For objects—missiles, machines, even a near-exploding warhead—she could rewind or fast-forward **24 hours** with ease, no matter their motion. But for sentient beings? The rules changed. **Lambda-tier**: 8 hours max. **Beta**: 6. **Alpha**: 4. **Gamma**, like herself: a measly 1 hour. And **Omega**? She'd never tried, never had the chance, and doubted it would work at all. Omegas weren't human, not really—godlike in power, will, presence, their souls a weight that didn't belong in mortal flesh. Thinking about it worsened her headache. *What if I face a rogue Omega someday?* she wondered, shoving the thought aside. *Focus, Mara.*
She pressed on, testing at 60 meters, then 70, 80, each attempt a failure, each noted: *60m, no effect. 70m, no effect.* Her power was hers, damn it, not his to choke. At **120 meters**, near the edge of Site-09's containment wing, she tried again. The threads caught, shimmering like gossamer, and her tablet's clock blinked—five minutes earlier. Her breath hitched. *It worked. 120 meters, and I'm free.* She noted it, her heart slowing, but her mind didn't stop.
*So, 120 meters is his range. Or is it?* Her thoughts spiraled, sharp and relentless, the inhuman calculation Dr. Renis had praised now kicking into gear. *What if he's limiting himself, like I am? The Organization thinks I can only shift time 12 hours, objects or not, and only within 100 meters. They don't know my real range—10 kilometers, max, though I keep it at 50 or 100 to avoid suspicion. A Gamma-tier with that kind of reach? Too risky to show. But N-O1… he just sat there, smug, doing nothing, and I nearly lost it. A Gamma like me shouldn't feel that kind of fear.*
She leaned against a wall, her tablet heavy in her hands. *If he's an Omega, or peak Omega, he'd have presence, will, a soul. Emotions, even rage at being locked up. But I felt nothing. No presence, no will, like he knows we can't touch him. So why stay? He could break free anytime. How did they even find this monster?* Her frustration flared. *And those cowards didn't give me his files, didn't even clarify my tasks. Just threw me in and ran.*
Her soul-impression mapping twitched, unbidden, catching echoes of N-O1's cell even from here. Static, a void where a soul should be. Not empty—something *else*, a shadow that swallowed thought. *What are you?* she thought, her headache spiking. *And why do I feel like you're still watching me?*
---
In the office room of the N-O1 Special Committee, a sterile chamber lined with monitors and crackling with tension, Dr. Renis stood before a semicircle of agents, his face etched with exhaustion. The committee—peak Gamma-tier operatives, analysts, and enforcers—sat in uneasy silence, their eyes flicking between Renis and the flickering screen showing N-O1's cell. The anomaly sat as always, cross-legged, his smug smile unchanged, like a statue carved from arrogance.
Renis cleared his throat, his voice steady but heavy. "Subject N-O1's latest actions—or lack thereof—remain consistent. No new developments. He breathes, eats, stares, as usual. We're no closer to understanding his nature, capabilities, or intent."
John, a junior member in his thirties with brown hair and forest-green eyes, leaned forward, his tone cautious but edged with unease. "So, N-O1 took interest in the Virelle girl, huh? Are all the oracle lineage tied to some bad omen, isn't it?"
Veyra, a sharp-eyed woman and Omela's sister, shot him a glare, her voice tight. "Don't talk like that, John. Mara has nothing to do with Nyssara."
John smirked, undeterred. "As if I believe that, Veyra. You, me, everyone knows what happened after Nyssara dreamed that day. The Mind User Incident—"
"I said it before, and I'm saying it now," Veyra cut in, her voice flaring, "Nyssara had nothing to do with that incident. We should be grateful for her. If not for her visions, humanity might not have survived."
"Yes, and it's her fault she didn't tell us more before it hit!" John snapped, his face reddening. "She saw it coming and kept it vague, and now we're dealing with—"
"Enough!" Dr. Renis's voice boomed, carrying the weight of command and a hint of old trauma. "You two are peak Gamma-tier, not children bickering over a past we can't undo. Focus." Both fell silent, John muttering an apology, Veyra nodding stiffly.
Renis sighed, turning to the screen. "Omela, report on the subject's capabilities—or our lack of understanding."
Omela, her scowl deepening, leaned forward. "Nothing's changed. He breathes, eats, stares like he's watching a drama unfold, and we're the actors. He doesn't talk—or can't, we don't know. No name, no origin, no confirmed abilities beyond… anomalies. He sees through walls, occasionally through us, that is what we think. But our attempts to engage him? Nothing works. Physical, mental, soul-based—every attack fails."
"Elaborate," Renis said, his tone sharp.
Omela's eyes narrowed, her voice laced with frustration. "Physical attacks? We tried everything. Sidearms in perfect condition—standard-issue plasma pistols, calibrated to Omega-tier specs—won't fire in his direction. The trigger locks, the energy cell shorts, like the gun's refusing to exist near him. Outside his cell, say 150 meters out, they work fine. Explosives? Same deal. A C-7 detpack, primed and stable, failed to detonate in his cell. No spark, no reaction, like time itself stalled. Took it to the test range—130 meters away—and it leveled a bunker. His influence range, whatever it is, shuts it all down."
John shifted, uneasy. "Mental attacks?"
"Worse," Omela said. "Alpha-tier telepaths tried psychic probes. Their minds hit a wall—not a shield, a *void*. One said it felt like her thoughts were dissolving, unraveling before they reached him. She's still in recovery, babbling about shadows that think. Beta-tier empaths got nothing—no emotions, no intent, just silence. It's not resistance; it's absence."
Veyra's voice was quieter, almost reverent. "And soul-based?"
Omela's scowl twitched, a flicker of fear. "Gamma-tier seers, like me, tried soul-impression mapping. My threads hit something… wrong. Not a soul, not even a lack of one—just a shadow that pushed back. It felt like my own soul was fraying, like I was the one being read. An Omega-tier soulbinder tried once, early on. Her binding ritual collapsed, and she passed out, muttering about a hole in reality. Whatever he is, he's untouchable. Physical, mental, soul—it all fails within his range, but works fine outside it."
"Nothing new, then," Renis said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're grasping at shadows."
Omela's scowl deepened. "Even seduction didn't work," she muttered, her cheeks flushing.
John chuckled, teasing. "You're just mad he ignored you but showed interest in the Virelle girl, right?"
Omela opened her mouth to retort, but a sharp knock cut her off. The door swung open, and Mara Virelle stumbled in, her face pale, her gauntlet sparking. "Virelle, Mara," she gasped, her voice raw. "Gamma-tier, Hybrid Seer."
The committee froze, eyes locked on her, N-O1's smug smile flickering on the screen behind them.
---