[alancalverd]

What's wrong with that?

It's a case of Barbara Cartland versus Ernest Hemingway. You have a thrilling, imaginative plot, but your chatbot has smothered it in verbal treacle.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

Here's the opening of Book 3.

Book 3 - Chapter 1 : Super Stranger

The afternoon sun painted the schoolyard in long, warm shadows.
Harry slung his backpack over one shoulder and waved goodbye to Asha, who was already halfway down the street toward her bus stop. Behind him, the shouts and laughter of the other kids blurred into a fading background hum. Normally, he'd be running to catch up with them... racing Rowan or dodging Tyler's sarcastic comments... but today, something felt... different.

It wasn't the air. It wasn't the weather. It was the weight of it... the faint itch at the back of his neck, the way he kept catching himself glancing over his shoulder.
Twice during class, he'd thought he saw movement through the window. Once, he'd spotted a shadow at the far end of the street when Stephen dropped him off in the morning. Maybe it was nothing. Probably it was nothing.

Still, Uncle Sam always said: If your instincts whisper, listen.

Instead of heading straight home, Harry slowed his pace. Stephen wouldn't be back from work for another hour; Sam was at the barn, probably setting up some new exercise to make him regret having muscles at all. If there was someone following him, now was the time to find out.

He turned left instead of right, taking the long way home. Not too fast, not too slow. Just a normal walk. But at every street corner, he let his eyes drift... not turning his head, just letting his vision sweep the edges. The itch was still there.

When his house finally came into sight at the far end of the block, Harry didn't stop. He didn't even glance toward it. Instead, he kept walking. Past the fence. Past the mailbox. Past the point where any normal kid would turn in.

He counted in his head.
Thirty steps. Forty. Fifty. Just enough to reach the curve where the road dipped behind a thick wall of hedges and overgrown brush. He slipped into the greenery, the thorns catching at his shirt, and crouched low.

The world went quiet except for the rustle of leaves and his own heartbeat.

A few seconds passed. Then... footsteps.

A tall figure strode into view, the steady pace of someone who didn't want to look like they were hurrying. The man's eyes swept left and right, sharp and deliberate, like a camera scanning for a target. His coat was zipped up despite the mild weather, the hood hanging low over his face.

Harry's breath slowed. He kept still, muscles ready.

Whoever this was, they weren't lost.
They were looking for someone.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

chapter 1 - scene 2 : Chasing

Harry eased out of the bushes, silent as he could manage, and stepped onto the road.

"Hey!" he called.

The man's head snapped toward him. For the briefest moment, their eyes met... dark, focused, and measuring. Then the stranger turned and bolted.

Harry didn't hesitate. His backpack hit the ground, and he was already sprinting.
The man had a head start, but Harry's legs were faster than most kids his age... faster than most grown-ups, thanks to the training Sam had put him through. Asphalt pounded under his shoes, the rhythm steady, each stride eating away at the gap.

The road stretched ahead in a gray ribbon until the stranger veered sharply to the right, vaulting over a shallow ditch and tearing across a steep grass slope. Harry followed, the wet blades slick under his shoes, his feet sliding for purchase before he found the angle and pushed harder.

The man glanced back, eyes narrowing.
He picked up speed.

They tore through the slope into a patch of scrubby trees, ducking branches and leaping over tangled roots. Harry's lungs burned, but the fire in his legs felt alive... like every muscle had been waiting for this kind of test.

A creek cut across their path. The man leapt it clean. Harry hit the bank a second later, water splashing up to his knees. He didn't slow down. The stranger was still in sight, the gap closing inch by inch.

Hills rose ahead, dotted with fence posts and scattered boulders. The chase wound between them, the terrain tilting, pulling at Harry's calves. They darted through another stretch of woodland, then out into open pasture.

That's when Harry saw it.

The barn.

It stood like a dark shape against the sky, the late sun spilling gold over its roof. His barn. His home's barn. Somehow, in all that zigzagging, they'd looped back to the edge of his own property.

And there... just before the wide doors... the stranger stopped.

He didn't collapse or stumble. He just... turned.

Waiting.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

Chapter 1 - scene 3 : Fight

Harry slowed to a stop, chest heaving, keeping just enough distance between them to react if the man made a move.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded.

The stranger tilted his head, eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of his hood. His voice was low, almost testing.
"Who are you?"

Harry clenched his fists. "Why did you stalk me?"

The man's lips twitched... something between a smirk and a grimace. And then, without a hint of warning, he sprang forward.

Harry's instincts screamed before his mind caught up. He dropped his weight, twisting aside, the rush of air from the man's strike brushing his shoulder. His right foot pivoted, and his fist shot out in a sharp counter aimed at the man's ribs.

The stranger's arm snapped down, catching the blow in a hard block. Even so, the impact drove him back two steps through the dirt, his boots grinding against the ground.

For a moment, they just stood there, both measuring, both breathing hard. Harry felt the familiar alertness settle over him... the same state Sam had drilled into him at the barn. Every muscle was coiled, every sense sharpened.

This wasn't some random stalker.
Whoever this was... he knew how to fight.

The man came at him again... faster this time, heavier. A blur of jabs, hooks, and sweeping kicks that cut the air close enough for Harry to feel the rush on his skin.

Harry moved with them, blocking high, ducking low, twisting away from blows that could bruise but not break. His counters snapped out on instinct... a strike to the arm, a heel flick toward the knee, a shove to break the rhythm.

The tempo rose.
Each exchange was tighter, sharper, like a drumbeat quickening. Yet there was something missing. No follow-through to crush a joint. No aim for the throat. None of the kill-shots Sam had warned him about.

He's holding back.

The thought flickered through Harry's mind between a block and a sidestep. Maybe this was a test. Sam did the same sometimes... push him to the edge without crossing it, to see what he'd do under pressure.

But then the growl of an engine cut through the air.
Harry's eyes darted toward the road in time to see Stephen's old truck turning into the front gate of the farmhouse.

When his gaze snapped back, the stranger's expression had changed. The hood still hid most of his face, but Harry could feel the shift... the focus narrowing, the strikes coming harder, faster, less restrained. A palm strike slammed into Harry's guard hard enough to rattle his arms. A kick swept for his legs, forcing him into a roll just to stay upright.

Whatever game this was, it wasn't a drill anymore.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

Chapter 1 scene 4 : shock

The man's movements sharpened... every strike a little wilder, every step more urgent, as if winning now was the only thing that mattered.
Harry kept his ground, matching speed for speed, refusing to give an inch.

A sudden feint to the left drew Harry's guard up... too late, he realized it was bait. The man slid around him in a blur, arm snaking over his shoulder. In an instant, Harry felt the pressure clamp across his neck from behind.

Instinct took over. His left hand jammed tight against his own throat, protecting the windpipe and artery. His right hand shot back, fingers clawing for the man's face. He drove his elbow into the ribs... once, twice, three times... but the grip didn't break.

The fight froze into a brutal deadlock, both straining for control.
Harry could feel the man's breath against his ear.

This isn't working.

He switched tactics. A spark of bioelectric charge danced down his arms, snapping faintly against the man's skin. The stranger grunted, his grip loosening... but not enough. Harry pushed the current harder, muscles tensing with the output.

Still, the man held on.

Harry's jaw clenched. Fine. Max it out.

His legs locked around the man's left thigh, anchoring him in place. He pushed everything into the discharge... anterior and posterior electrocytes firing in perfect sync. His right hand clamped the back of the man's neck, the current driving straight into the nervous system.

The scream tore from the stranger's throat, raw and guttural. His body shuddered, legs buckling.
A few seconds later, he crumpled to the ground, motionless except for the ragged rise and fall of his chest.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 5 : Capture

Stephen's eyes locked on Harry. "You okay?"

Harry nodded, still catching his breath. "Yeah... I'm fine."

Stephen didn't waste time with more questions. He holstered the revolver, stepped back to the truck, and pulled a length of coiled rope from behind the seat. When he returned, he handed it to Harry without a word.

"Arms and legs," he said, watching the stranger carefully. "Tight."

Harry knelt beside the man, rolling him onto his stomach. The stranger groaned but didn't resist... either too dazed or too smart to try. Harry looped the rope around his wrists first, cinching it until the cords bit into the coat sleeves, then bound the ankles the same way.

When he was done, he sat back on his heels. The stranger lay still, breathing slow, eyes closed.

Stephen studied him for a long moment, then glanced toward the barn. "Let's move him inside. We'll talk there."

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 6 : Interrogation

An hour later, Harry felt the ache settle deep in his muscles, the sharp edge of adrenaline long gone. The water Stephen had handed him was cold, the second glass even better. He sat on a hay bale in the barn, facing his father, and went through everything... step by step.

The shadow at school. The decision to walk home. Pushing past the house, hiding in the brush. The chase across hills and creeks. And finally, the fight.

Stephen listened without interrupting, his gaze occasionally flicking toward the far corner where their uninvited guest sat, bound and leaning against a support post.

The man... hood down now... had the look of someone who belonged anywhere but here. His hair was cropped close, streaked with gray despite his strong build. His eyes were sharp, but they carried the wariness of a cornered animal.

He'd regained consciousness twenty minutes ago and hadn't said a word.

Stephen stepped closer, revolver holstered at his hip but still within easy reach.
"Let's stop wasting time," he said evenly. "What's your name?"

The man's eyes narrowed. He shut them again, head leaning back against the post, as if sifting through every possible response.

Seconds stretched.

Finally, he opened them and spoke, voice low but clear.
"Jonas Creed."

Stephen's gaze didn't waver. "Why were you following my son?"

Jonas exhaled slowly, as if weighing each word before letting it go. "Reconnaissance," he said at last. "Making an assessment... seeing if the boy could be useful to achieve my goal."

Harry felt a cold prickle along his spine.
Useful?

Stephen's eyes narrowed. "And what goal is that?"

Jonas's mouth twitched... half a smile, half something else. "Didn't expect the kid to be... what he is." His gaze flicked toward Harry, lingering just long enough to make it clear he'd seen more than most strangers ever did.

Harry tensed, unsure if it was pride or unease that rose in his chest. The way Jonas said it didn't feel like a compliment.

Stephen stayed still, but Harry knew that stillness... like the surface of a pond just before a stone drops in. "You don't get to decide what's useful here, Creed," Stephen said, voice low. "Start explaining, or I start assuming."

Jonas's eyes didn't drop. "Then I guess you should start assuming."

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 7

Stephen didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"That's your choice," he said evenly. "But don't expect us to watch you here overnight. We have things to do."

He crossed to the old wooden cabinet by the workbench, sliding open a door and pulling out a metal medical box. The hinges squeaked.
"But we can't expect that rope to hold you for that long either," he went on, setting the box on the table. "So the only option you've left us is to put you to sleep until tomorrow evening... when we have time to talk again."

Harry watched as Stephen flipped the latches on the box and lifted the lid. Inside, under neatly folded gauze and sealed pouches, lay a row of glass syringes. Stephen picked one up, checked the plunger, then reached for a small bottle filled with a clear liquid.

Jonas's face changed. The hard, calculating mask faltered, just enough to show something else underneath... nerves. His shoulders stiffened against the post, eyes tracking every movement.

Stephen drew the liquid into the syringe with the slow, steady care of a man used to precise work.

"Wait a second... " Jonas blurted, voice sharper now. His gaze flicked between Stephen and the needle. "Okay. You win."

He exhaled hard, tension shivering through his bound arms. "You leave me no choice but to talk."

Stephen set the syringe back in its tray, but didn't put it away. "Talk."

Jonas' eyes narrowed, gauging him. "You know about Autoclastin," he said.

Stephen's expression didn't change. "I helped make it."

Harry blinked, the words sliding past him like pieces of a puzzle he didn't have the picture for. His father had made whatever those were... and said it like he was admitting to building a fence.

Jonas shifted, the fight gone from his voice. "Then you know what it does. You know what it means to have it in your system."

Stephen didn't answer, and Jonas took that silence as permission to go on.
"My friend... my closest friend... just deserted. First time he's been free in years. But he's not like me. I was first generation. They didn't need Autoclastin just to stay alive." His jaw tightened. "He's second gen. They built the leash right into his cells. Without Autoclastin every week?" He trailed off, shaking his head. "You know what happens."

Harry could see the truth in his face. This wasn't just another mission to Jonas... it was something heavier, maybe the only thing keeping him moving.

"I want him free," Jonas said quietly. "You're the only one who can make that happen."

Stephen crossed his arms, eyes fixed on him. "You're asking me to undo my own work."

"I'm asking you to save a man's life," Jonas replied.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 8

"Why did he leave the project?" Stephen asked, his tone unreadable.

Jonas shifted against the ropes, gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. "Kael Draven was sent on a mission to kill a political leader in a conflict zone. The brief painted the man as a warlord... power hungry, ruthless. Someone who'd sacrifice his own people just to seize power, overthrowing a democratically elected government."

He closed his eyes for a moment, the pause heavy enough for Harry to notice.
"But during reconnaissance, what he saw... didn't match the story."

Jonas's voice slowed, like he was replaying it in his head. "So Kael did something stupid. Or brave. He went straight into the target's camp at night... slipped past their guards... found him asleep in his tent. Woke him up."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"To talk," Jonas said simply. "And after a long conversation, Kael decided the mission was wrong. That the man wasn't the monster they'd been told. So he abandoned it."

Jonas opened his eyes, locking them on Stephen. "You can imagine how the Project took that."

Stephen didn't blink. "And what," he asked slowly, "does any of this have to do with my son?"

Jonas's lips pressed into a thin line. He shifted his bound hands, rope creaking, then met Stephen's gaze. "Because I know what I'm about to ask you for is... expensive. Not in money... money's nothing compared to this... but in risk. You're the only one who can break Autoclastin dependency. That's leverage worth more than gold."

He leaned forward as far as the ropes would allow. "So if you refuse... I figured I'd better have something you'd actually bargain for."

Harry's stomach knotted. Jonas's eyes flicked toward him for the briefest second before returning to Stephen, and in that glance Harry felt the unspoken weight... whatever this bargain is, it's about me.

Stephen's stance didn't change, but his voice cooled a few more degrees. "Careful with your next words, Creed."

Jonas's faint smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then let's talk about what your boy might mean to people still inside Project David."

Jonas let out a slow breath. "At first, I only wanted to make sure this boy was really valuable to you. I didn't know he was your son."
His gaze drifted toward Harry. "But he surprised me twice. First, finding out he's a super soldier. Second..." His mouth curved faintly. "I didn't believe he could beat me. You trained him well."

Harry sat up straighter. "Uncle Sam trained me," he said, pride warming his voice before he could think twice.

Jonas's head snapped toward him. "You must be kidding... don't tell me... " His eyes sharpened, a mix of disbelief and something darker. "That bastard is still alive?"

Harry blinked. "You know... "

"Harry." Stephen's voice cut in, firm. "You don't have to tell him everything."

Heat rose in Harry's face. "I... I'm sorry, Dad."
Only then did it hit him... he'd given away something Stephen hadn't meant Jonas to know.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 9

Jonas's stare lingered on him for a beat longer before he leaned back against the post, the ropes creaking. "Interesting," he murmured.

Jonas's eyes caught the flicker of guilt in Harry's face, and something in his expression shifted.
"Sam was my mentor too," he said quietly.

Harry's head lifted before he could stop himself.

Jonas went on. "I was among the first to walk away from Project David. We left because some of our own... super soldiers who'd been poached and switched sides... came back and assassinated our comrades. Men we'd trained with. Fought beside." His voice hardened. "We realized then that we weren't untouchable... and that staying meant waiting for our turn to die."

Harry felt the chill of it settle in his stomach.

"This was before Autoclastin," Jonas added. "Back then, if you got out, you stayed out. No chemical leash to drag you back."

He shifted against the ropes, eyes narrowing. "The last I heard about Sam was after the botched mission."

Harry leaned forward despite himself. "What happened?"

Jonas's gaze flicked to Stephen, gauging whether he'd be allowed to answer. "That's a story with more than one version. And I don't know which one Sam would tell you."

Stephen's voice cut through the air, firm and final.
"Your friend is running out of time. When was the last time he got the drug?"

Jonas blinked, the question snapping him out of whatever story he'd been about to spin. "Kael was issued two capsules before the mission... enough to finish the job and get back to base. Three days ago, he took the last one."

Harry did the math in his head. Sam's lessons on stamina and limits had drilled into him the importance of knowing the clock in a fight. If the weekly window Stephen had mentioned before was true... Kael had maybe four days left before...

He swallowed, the unspoken outcome heavy in the air.

Stephen's gaze stayed locked on Jonas. "Then you've already wasted nearly half the time he has."

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

8 Rare Genetic Superpowers That Help You Survive the Apocalypse

If the zombie apocalypse hit tomorrow? would your genes help you survive? From pain-blocking mutations to stress-canceling brain chemistry, this video breaks down the rare genetic advantages that could turn you into the last one standing when the world goes sideways.

 WHATS INSIDE
8 rare mutations that boost your survival odds.
Pain, cold, viruses, starvation? all genetically hackable.
How ancient genes still shape your resilience today.

 TIMESTAMPS
00:00 ? Mutation #8: Pain Insensitivity
01:25 ? Mutation #7: Warrior Gene
02:43 ? Mutation #6: Viral Resistance
03:58 ? Mutation #5: Fast Blood Clotting
05:05 ? Mutation #4: Efficient Oxygen Use
06:23 ? Mutation #3: Cold Adaptation
07:32 ? Mutation #2: Super Memory
08:48 ? Mutation #1: Low Basal Metabolic Rate

This could be an interesting plot point.

[alancalverd]

Pain is essential for survival. Lack of pain sensation is the cause of diabetic gangrene. Pain can be temporarily suppressed by adrenalin.

A second X gene confers reduced oxygen demand, enhanced cold adaptation, viral resistance (at least to Man Flu) and low basal metabolism, plus "super memory" when it comes to holding grudges. Female haemophiliacs are rarer than males.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 10

Jonas's voice steadied, almost as if he'd been waiting for this turn.
"Then you'd better get prepared to save him," he said. "I may have failed to capture your son... but I've got something else almost as valuable."

His eyes slid toward Harry, lingering just long enough to make the boy's skin prickle. "His secret power. Imagine what happens if they learn about it... if you fail to save Kael."

The air in the barn seemed to tighten.

Stephen didn't flinch. "Then you leave me no choice but to kill you now."

Color drained from Jonas's face. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came at first. He'd been expecting a counteroffer, maybe a threat of leverage... not the flat, matter-of-fact promise in Stephen's voice.

Harry's pulse thudded in his ears. His father wasn't bluffing. He knew that tone.

Jonas swallowed, his eyes darting once toward the door, as if the bound ropes might somehow loosen just by wanting them to.

Stephen moved without raising his voice, but the motion was faster than Harry expected. The revolver came from his hip in one smooth draw, the hammer clicking back as he stepped forward.

Before Jonas could react, the barrel was pressed between his teeth.

Stephen's eyes were no longer calm. "What makes you think your life... or Kael's... is more valuable than my son's?"

Harry froze. He'd seen his father angry before, but never like this. There was no edge of restraint in his face now, just a cold, unshakable certainty.

Jonas' eyes widened, sweat beading at his temple, then rolling down his cheek. His breath came fast through his nose.

Stephen held him there for a moment longer before pulling the gun back.

Jonas doubled over coughing, a harsh sound against the ropes. "I... I'm sorry," he managed, voice hoarse. "I only meant to give you more motivation to save Kael." He gave a shaky half-laugh that went nowhere. "I guess that electric shock... kept me from thinking straight."

Harry wasn't sure if that was the truth or just the fastest lie Jonas could reach for, but either way, Stephen didn't look convinced.

Stephen's voice dropped lower, colder. "I want you to understand that my safest option right now is to kill you and liquefy your body." His gaze didn't waver. "But I also understand that it's not the most righteous one."

Jonas swallowed hard. "I understand that."

Stephen took a half-step closer, the weight of his presence pressing as much as the words. "Never-ever... let it cross your mind to harm my son again. If my calculations are correct, one day..." He paused, the words heavy in the air. "... the fate of the world might depend on him doing the right thing."

Harry felt a tightness in his chest. His father had never said anything like that to him... not so plainly, not with that kind of gravity. Whatever Stephen believed was coming, it wasn't just another mission or fight.

Jonas gave a small nod, his eyes flicking to Harry for a fraction of a second before returning to Stephen. "Understood."

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 11

Stephen straightened, holstering the revolver. "Before I do something with consequences that large," he said, turning toward the back of the barn, "I need to verify some facts about your story."

He started walking toward the lab door. "Give me two weeks."

Jonas's voice followed him, edged with urgency. "But Kael's life won't last that long... "

Stephen returned a minute later, a tiny glass bottle pinched between his fingers. Inside were two pale capsules. "That's why you'll give him these. Two doses. Enough to keep him alive until you come back here in two weeks. Then I'll decide."

He held the bottle out, his gaze steady. "Take it or leave it."

Jonas' jaw worked, but no words came at first. Finally, he exhaled. "I guess you leave me no choice." His voice lacked the fight it had earlier.

Stephen gave a single nod, then glanced at Harry. "Untie him."

Harry hesitated for half a heartbeat, then moved to the post. The ropes were stiff from the hours of strain, and Jonas' eyes followed every motion as Harry loosened the knots. Once the last coil fell away, Jonas rolled his shoulders and flexed his wrists, rubbing at the red marks.

Only then did Stephen step forward with the tiny glass bottle. "Two doses. That's it. Enough to keep him alive until you come back here in two weeks."

Jonas took it carefully, the glass cool in his palm. He glanced inside at the pale capsules, then back up at Stephen. "I'll be here."

Stephen's gaze didn't soften. "See that you are."

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 12

The sound of Jonas' footsteps faded down the gravel drive, then vanished into the evening stillness. Stephen stayed by the barn door until the man was well out of sight, his posture still sharp, like he was measuring the distance even after it was gone.

Harry stepped closer. "Dad... that thing you said earlier... about me deciding the fate of the world. Was that true?"

Stephen turned to look at him, studying his face as if weighing how much to say. "It can be," he said at last. "It could also be nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy."

Harry frowned. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Stephen said, "whether or not you believe it... you're right. What you believe shapes what you do. And what you do shapes what happens next." He rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "There are still too many uncertainties. Too many pieces I don't have yet."

Harry felt the weight of the words settle in his chest... not heavy like fear, but heavy like responsibility.

Stephen's eyes softened, just a fraction. "That's why we keep preparing. No matter what's coming."

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

Chapter 2 : Middle Name
scene 1

The next morning, Stephen drove Harry to school in the old pickup. The engine's low rumble filled the cab, neither of them saying much until the brick buildings of town came into view. Stephen had errands to run, so he didn't linger when they reached the school gate.

"See you later, Flash," he said with a small wave before pulling back into traffic.

Harry shouldered his bag and started toward the courtyard... only to notice Asha standing by the bike rack, looking right at him.

"Flash?" she said, one eyebrow arched. "Is that... your middle name?"

Harry blinked. "Uh? I don't think so. As far as I know, it's just a nickname."

"Really?" Asha tilted her head. "Because in the class attendance record, your name's written as Harry F. Webster. And I've heard your dad call you Flash before."

Harry frowned slightly, curiosity stirring. He'd never paid much attention to that "F." before.

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Tell you what... my dad's picking me up after school. If you want, I can ask him to drive you home. We can bring up the middle name thing then."

Asha's eyes lit with curiosity. "Really? You'd do that?"

Harry shrugged, trying to play it casual. "Sure. Might as well find out the truth instead of guessing."

Asha smiled, the kind that always made Harry's stomach feel lighter. "Alright then. Deal."

The bell rang in the distance, and they started walking together toward the building. But the question lingered between them, tugging at the back of Harry's mind through the morning classes... what exactly did that "F." stand for?

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 2

By mid-morning, Harry found himself in history class, sitting by the window while Mr. Collins paced at the front of the room. The teacher's voice was steady, practiced, but Harry's mind kept circling back to Asha's question. Harry. F. Webster. Could it really be a middle name? Why wouldn't Dad ever tell me?

"... and remember," Mr. Collins was saying, chalk tapping against the blackboard, "the American Revolution might have ended very differently if not for help from France. Military aid, supplies, and... perhaps most famously... General Lafayette."

A few students shifted in their seats, but Collins pressed on, drawing a quick outline of a tall figure with a torch. "And decades later, as a gesture of friendship, France gave the United States the Statue of Liberty... completed in 1886. It was meant to symbolize freedom and hope for all who arrived on America's shores."

Harry forced himself to jot down a few notes, though his handwriting slanted more than usual. The "F." in his name kept nagging at him. Harry F. Webster. Why would the school record it that way if it's just a nickname?

He glanced sideways at Asha. She was listening closely to Mr. Collins, pencil moving in neat lines. When she caught him staring, she leaned over just enough to whisper, "So? F for Flash, right?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "I don't know. Maybe. I always thought Flash was just... what Dad calls me."

Asha grinned. "Well, we'll find out this afternoon. I want to hear your dad say it."

Harry tried to focus again as Mr. Collins tapped the chalkboard.
"... and remember, the Statue of Liberty was France's gift to the United States in 1886, a symbol of freedom and hope for people coming from all over the world?"

The word freedom stuck in Harry's mind, echoing against the questions Asha had raised.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 3

When the final bell rang, Harry and Asha hurried out together. The afternoon sun threw long shadows across the schoolyard, and at the gate Stephen's old truck was already parked, engine idling.

Harry jogged up to the passenger side. "Dad, can Asha get a ride home? She, uh... wants to ask you something."

Stephen's brows rose slightly as he glanced past Harry at Asha. "Something, huh?"

Asha nodded, clutching her backpack straps. "I just want to know Harry's middle name."

Stephen's eyes flicked to Harry, then back to her. For a moment Harry thought he might refuse, but instead Stephen gave a small nod. "Alright. Hop in. We'll talk on the way."

Asha climbed into the back seat while Harry slid in beside his dad, his stomach buzzing with nerves. Finally... maybe I'll find out what the "F." really means.

As the truck rolled out of the schoolyard, Harry shifted in his seat. "Dad... Asha thinks my middle name is Flash. You know, since you call me that. And the school record shows my name as Harry F. Webster."

Stephen chuckled under his breath, eyes still on the road. "Flash isn't your middle name, kiddo. It's just a nickname. You always moved quick, learned quick. Even when you were little, you were ahead of yourself. So... Flash stuck."

Harry blinked. "That's it? Just because I'm fast at stuff?"

"Pretty much," Stephen said with a faint grin. "Though I'll admit, it does sound good out loud."

From the back seat, Asha leaned forward. "So what is the F for, then?"

Stephen kept his eyes on the road but spoke clearly. "Frank. Your middle name is Frank, Harry. It means free man. It also carries the meaning of being honest and straightforward."

Harry blinked, tasting the word in his mind. Harry Frank Webster. It sounded strange, like trying on clothes that didn't quite fit yet.

Before he could say anything, Asha huffed. "Honest? Straightforward? Please. He wasn't honest at all during the swimmer test."

Harry turned in his seat, caught off guard. "What?"

"You deliberately slowed down to hide your real power," Asha said, crossing her arms.

Harry shifted in his seat, cheeks warm. "Hey, you promised to keep that a secret, remember? At the cafeteria table?"

Asha leaned back, lips twitching into a sly smile. "I promised not to tell anyone else. But your dad doesn't count. He has to know, right?"

Harry frowned. "That's not how promises work."

Stephen cleared his throat, cutting through the back-and-forth. "Relax, both of you. Harry's already told me the story."

Harry glanced up, startled, but Stephen's eyes stayed on the road, calm as ever.

Asha smirked in triumph. "See? I wasn't breaking my promise after all."

Harry slumped back in his seat, half-relieved and half-frustrated. He'd thought she'd slipped, but she was right... Dad already knew. Still, the word Frank echoed in his head, heavier than he wanted to admit. Free man. Honest. Straightforward.

Harry crossed his arms, muttering, "Doesn't feel fair."

From the back seat, Asha grinned. "Life isn't fair, Flash."

Stephen chuckled softly, eyes on the road. "You two sound like an old married couple already."

Both kids shot him a look at the same time... Harry groaning, Asha rolling her eyes.

"Dad!" Harry protested.

Stephen just smiled to himself, as if he'd won some private game.

The rest of the drive passed in lighter chatter... Asha teasing Harry about his handwriting, Harry trying to change the subject by asking her impossible math questions. By the time they pulled up in front of her house, the earlier tension had dissolved into laughter.

Asha hopped out of the truck, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Webster." She leaned down to the window, looking at Harry. "See you tomorrow, Frank."

Harry groaned again as she darted up the walk, waving over her shoulder.

Stephen pulled the truck back into gear, grinning. "She's got spirit."

Harry sank into the seat. "She's impossible."

But he couldn't stop himself from smiling, just a little.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

scene 4

As they pulled away from Asha's house, the laughter faded and the hum of the truck filled the silence. Stephen glanced at Harry, then back to the road.

"You know," he said, "when I called you Frank, I wasn't just talking about the name. I meant it. I want you to be a free man. Free to make your own choices. Not like the later generations of soldiers they're making now."

Harry stared at him, the words heavy. "Free? you mean, like I don't have Autoclastin dependency? My body doesn't have that... autoclastac thing in it?"

Stephen shook his head slowly. "No, son. It's the other way around. Your body naturally produces Autoclastin. That's unique to you."

Harry frowned. "So? I'm already free?"

"Not exactly." Stephen's tone turned thoughtful. "Too much Autoclastin interferes with the body's natural system. You see, cells are supposed to die when they're damaged or old... regulated cell death keeps you healthy. But in you, unhealthy cells linger too long. They build up, and that leads to complications."

Harry sat back, trying to process it all.

"That's why we developed Autoclastac," Stephen continued. "To counterbalance your body. To keep the scales even."

The truck rattled over a bump in the road, and Harry stared out the window at the fading sky, the word free echoing differently in his mind than it had an hour ago.

Stephen's hands tightened slightly on the wheel. "We want you to be a free man, Harry. Not just a collection of free cells running wild in your body. That's not freedom... that's chaos."

Harry turned to look at him.

"That's how our society works too," Stephen went on. "There are rules. Boundaries. Without them, everything falls apart. Freedom isn't doing whatever you want... it's having the strength to choose the right thing, even when it's hard."

Harry thought about the history lesson earlier, about freedom and the Statue of Liberty, and how Asha had teased him for hiding his strength. His chest felt heavy and light at the same time, like he was carrying something important but didn't know how to use it yet.

"So... being free also means having rules," Harry said slowly.

Stephen nodded. "Exactly. Without rules, freedom doesn't last."

The truck rumbled on toward the farmhouse, headlights catching the first shadows of dusk.

[hamdani yusuf (OP)]

Chapter 3 : Someone's Trash Is Someone Else's Treasure

Dinner was quiet that night, the clink of forks and the soft creak of the old farmhouse filling the spaces where conversation didn't. Afterward, Harry stacked the plates on the counter, then turned to his father, the question bubbling too strong to hold back.

"Dad... about Jonas. Did you find out if he was telling the truth?"

Stephen leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His face gave away little, the way it always did when he was weighing his words. "I've already reached out to some of my information sources. They're reliable. But it'll take time."

"How long?" Harry pressed.

"Three days," Stephen said. "I should have the results by then."

Harry nodded, though impatience flickered in his chest. Three days felt like forever when someone's life was hanging on the line.

Harry sat down opposite his father, resting his elbows on the table. "Dad... how did you even find out about Autoclastin in the first place? I remember you saying Project David was halted after soldiers switched sides and deserted. They needed some way to keep that from happening, right? Autoclastin dependency was the answer."

Stephen was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant, as though reaching back years. Finally, he spoke. "Autoclastin was discovered by accident. By your mother."

Harry sat up straighter. "Mom?"

"She was experimenting with different substances to control metabolism. The goal was to influence super soldiers with as few side effects as possible." Stephen's voice grew heavier. "But those experiments exposed her to hazards... radiation, light, chemicals. Even with safety protocols, risks can never be eliminated."

Harry swallowed. "And something went wrong?"

Stephen nodded slowly. "Some of her cells mutated. Became cancerous. When she analyzed the samples, she found something unusual. A substance that prevented those damaged cells from dying like they should have. That was Autoclastin."

Harry felt a cold knot form in his stomach.

"To fight it," Stephen continued, "we developed Autoclastac. A countermeasure. It was meant to cure her, to balance the effect of Autoclastin."

He let out a long breath. "That discovery... born from her illness... became the foundation of the dependency system. A way to control future soldiers so they couldn't turn against their makers."

Harry stared down at his hands. The word control weighed heavier than the silence that followed.