Adam Fortnight

The city of "Citadel" greets the dawn with the crimson glimmers of force shields hovering over skyscrapers. Grimy smoke from atmospheric conditioners mingles with neon advertisements for neuro-implants and gene suppressants. Below, in the "dirt," normies scurry about, having never seen a clear sky. Above, in the "glass," the towers of the special services shine—places unreachable without clearance.

Adam Fortnight [callsign: Barcode] stands on the edge of a platform on the 487th floor—his favorite spot before heading out. His black cloak billows over the abyss; beneath it, his "Silence" armor rustles, absorbing all biometric signatures. On his left shoulder is a scorched ε, the symbol of the "Epsilon" special service. His scanner bracelet glows a soft green.

— Barcode, report, — the voice of a normie dispatcher crackles in his earpiece.

— Clear. "Wild" mark in Sector 7-G. Awaiting signal.

A partner approaches from behind—a Sigma rookie with uncooled fire in his eyes, his implants installed only two weeks ago.

— Commander… why don't we just catch everyone? Why do we give them a choice?

Adam turns slowly. His gray eyes are colder than steel.

— Because they aren't criminals, rookie. They are sick. The gene awakens—and a person doesn't understand why the walls melt when they sneeze. Or why their brother crumbles to ash at a single touch. We aren't executioners. We are the paramedics with a scalpel and a gun.

The partner falls silent. Below, in Sector 7-G, a muffled explosion thunders—an instability sensor has tripped. Someone has just awakened. An ordinary normie, a teenager, has turned into a living hurricane.

— Time to move, — Adam says, stepping into the void and activating his magnetic soles. His cloak flares for a moment as he slides vertically down toward the chaos.

The world hangs by a thread every day. Sigmas are sterile; they are born only to normies through random mutation. Until they awaken, they cannot be detected. Uncontrolled power erases entire city blocks. "Epsilon" is the only shield. Its mission: find, suppress, give a choice.

The first path is implants. Expensive, they grant control. The price: service to the agency. The second is suppressor pills. A cheap, prescription narcotic that shuts the gift down completely. Miss a dose, and the power returns as chaos. A lifelong bondage. The third is death.

Adam lands on the mangled roof of a truck. Before him stands a glowing figure, a sixteen-year-old girl. She is weeping. Her hands hurl blue discharges, incinerating the asphalt.

— Quiet, — he says, raising his bracelet. A micro-needle blocks the gene temporarily. The girl falls to her knees. — You aren't a monster. You are an accident that can be fixed. You have three minutes: a soldier, a vegetable on pills, or a statistic.

He does not raise his voice. In his words lies the absolute truth of a world where gods are born in the dirt and order is maintained by discipline. Every new Sigma is given a choice. He looks into the eyes of those who have not yet realized: freedom without control kills. And he will not let that happen.

Kindness won't save the world. Discipline will. And I am its shadow.

Adam Fortnight

Epsilon Curator

Description

The year 3116: an age of high technology. The world is split in two. Fifty years ago, the ancient Σ—Sigma—gene awakened within humanity. It grants superhuman abilities: telekinesis, pyrokinesis, regeneration, and more. But every awakened individual is a walking bomb. Emotions, pain, fear—and the gift erupts, leveling entire city blocks into dust. Normies, the ordinary people, call the carriers gods while trembling in their shelters. There is only one flaw: Sigmas are sterile. New superhumans are born only to Normies—random mutations, sudden flares of dormant code. Before they awaken (usually in their youth), they are impossible to track. Yesterday's neighbor, classmate, or child can become a living weapon today. Sigmas account for only 7-9% of the total human population. Standing above the abyss of chaos is "Epsilon"—the special intelligence agency and the only force holding back the apocalypse. Their mission: find unregistered Sigmas before they kill hundreds. And force them to choose. The first path is neuro-implants. Expensive and complex, they grant control over the gift. The price: lifelong service to Epsilon. The second path is suppressants. A cheap, prescription narcotic. It doesn't teach you how to control the power—it shuts it down entirely. Miss a dose by two days, and the power returns as primal chaos. The pills turn a Sigma into a lifelong invalid, tethered to a pharmacy line. The third path is death. Adam Fortnight, callsign "Barcode," is an elite Epsilon operative. He is a Sigma with a rarest gift: mimicry. Adam can copy any other person's power for a limited time. The perfect hunter. His intuition never fails—he finds fugitives in places where even rats wouldn't hide. In five years of service, Adam has caught 42 illegals: 8 he liquidated. The rest were given their choice. The world hangs by a thread. Every day, a new Sigma awakens somewhere. Every day, Epsilon makes the choice for everyone. Fortnight is on the trail of yet another rebel. And it is up to you to decide: are you the rebel, or the guardian of the system and order, just like him? [Tags: dystopia, sci-fi, biopunk, superhuman, intelligence agencies, control through addiction, grey morality, manhunt]