PROJECT 0.7

The metal door slid open with a slow hiss. A team of guards entered, their faces emotionless as they gestured for the recruits to stand. None of them spoke. None of them needed to.

Ade's stomach clenched as he exchanged glances with the others. The tension in the air was suffocating. None of them had forgotten Dr. Lancaster's words from the day before—refusal is not an option.

One by one, they were led out of the room and down the endless white corridors. The deeper they went, the colder it became, as if the air itself was warning them of what was to come.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at another massive steel door. One of the guards swiped a keycard, and the door unlocked with a heavy click.

Inside, the room was vast and clinical, lined with medical equipment, monitors, and reinforced glass observation windows. Several scientists in lab coats moved about, adjusting machines and preparing syringes filled with an ominous, glowing liquid.

A woman stood in the center, waiting for them. Dr. Lancaster.

"Welcome to your first step toward evolution," she said, her voice calm, controlled. "From this moment forward, you are no longer who you once were. Your past names, your former identities… they are irrelevant. You exist only as part of this project."

Her cold gaze swept over them. "From now on, you will be addressed by your assigned numbers."

She gestured toward the first recruit. Ryan.

"You are Project 01."

Then to Darren.

"Project 02."

Then to Hinata, her expression unreadable.

"Project 03."

Ade felt his chest tighten as she continued down the line. Omar became Project 04. Arjun, Project 05. Jabari, Project 06.

Then her eyes landed on him. The youngest.

"And you," she said, her voice almost intrigued, "are Project 07."

Ade—Project 07—felt something crack inside him.

A name was more than just a word. It was a history. A family. A life.

And now, it was gone.

Before they could react, the guards moved in. One by one, they were restrained and led toward separate examination tables. Thick straps clamped over their wrists, ankles, and chests, locking them in place.

Ade's heart pounded as cold metal pressed against his skin. He pulled against the restraints, but they didn't budge.

A scientist loomed over him, adjusting a syringe filled with a clear liquid. "You may experience discomfort," he said, his tone devoid of emotion.

Without hesitation, he plunged the needle into Ade's arm.

A sharp, burning sensation spread through his veins. Ade clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out, but the pain was unlike anything he had ever felt. It was fire and ice all at once, flooding his body with an unbearable intensity.

The same thing was happening to the others. Across the room, Hinata's body jerked against the restraints as she bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. Omar let out a strained growl, his muscles tensing. Ryan cursed under his breath, his fingers twitching violently.

Ade's vision blurred. His breathing became ragged. Then, suddenly—darkness.

---

Inside the observation deck, separated by a thick glass wall, a heated argument was brewing.

Beulah's father, Nathaniel Caldwell, stood with his fists clenched, watching the restrained recruits writhe in agony. His sharp blue eyes darted between the monitors displaying their vitals—heart rates spiking, nervous systems overloaded. He turned to Dr. Lancaster, his voice cold with barely contained fury.

"This is reckless." His jaw tightened. "Their bodies are failing. You're going to kill them."

Dr. Lancaster barely looked up from her clipboard. "They will survive."

Nathaniel slammed his palm against the control panel. "And if they don't? If their hearts give out before the transformation completes? You're testing an unstable serum on children!"

"They are not children," Lancaster replied, her tone devoid of emotion. "They are assets. Soldiers. The moment they signed those contracts, their lives belonged to this project."

Nathaniel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You're playing god with their lives. I never approved of this level of experimentation—"

"But you funded it," Lancaster cut in, finally looking at him with cold amusement. "And now, when we're at the precipice of true evolution, you grow a conscience?"

Nathaniel clenched his teeth. He had known Project 0.7 was controversial, but the reports had been nothing compared to the reality before him. The suffering. The dehumanization. He had seen enough.

"Shut it down," he ordered.

Lancaster's expression didn't change. She simply turned to one of the scientists monitoring the process. "Increase the dosage."

Nathaniel's eyes widened. "You—"

Before he could react, two armed guards stepped forward, placing themselves between him and Lancaster. A silent but clear warning.

Nathaniel's hands curled into fists. He knew when he was outmaneuvered. But this wasn't over.

Without another word, he turned and walked out.

As the heavy doors sealed behind him, he made a silent vow: He would find a way to stop this. No matter what it took.

Here's the next part, continuing from where I left off:

Nathaniel's Last Stand

Nathaniel Caldwell sat in his dimly lit office, hands trembling as he inserted a flash drive into his computer. The screen flickered, displaying classified files—decades of research, blueprints, and formulas detailing the organization's work on Project 0.7.

He had to be fast.

With each passing second, the security system monitored his activity. He knew he had minutes, maybe less, before they realized what he was doing.

His eyes flicked to the files labeled Serum Variants.

A particular formula caught his attention—one assigned to the youngest recruit, Project 07. It was similar to the others but with subtle modifications meant to amplify physical resilience while maintaining cognitive stability.

Nathaniel smirked bitterly. Cognitive stability? That's what they called it? More like emotional suppression. They want weapons, not people.

A new thought formed in his mind. He pulled up the chemical sequence and, with careful precision, made a single change—a minor disruption that would go unnoticed.

A slight shift in the genetic binding agent. Enough to cause unexpected results. Enough to break the organization's control.

The file updated. The system registered the modification. No turning back now.

Nathaniel yanked the flash drive from the port, stuffing it into his pocket. Then, with one last glance around his office—the place where he had built so much, where he had believed he was making the world safer—he turned and walked out.

As he strode down the hall, alarms blared.

They knew.

Nathaniel exhaled and picked up his pace. He had already arranged his escape. His only regret? That he couldn't take those kids with him.

But maybe, just maybe, he had given one of them a fighting chance.