Flashback: Mariah - 11 Years Ago

  The Interview - Front Clinic, Day

  The fluorescent lights of Blake's Family Clinic made a weary buzz. They casted a flat, sterile glow over the waiting room. Worn plastic chairs, scarred from years of use, sat scattered across the linoleum floor. On the walls, faded public health posters offered cheerful advice that seemed jarringly out of place amidst the ambient sounds of muffled coughs, and low murmurs filtering from behind closed exam room doors. Nineteen-year-old Mariah sat rigidly on the edge of a chair opposite Dr. Elijah Blake's cluttered desk. Her knuckles were white, as she clutched a worn satchel containing her transcripts.

  Anxiety was concealed by the professionalism on her young face. Dr. Blake, sharp-eyed and radiating impatience, barely glanced at the resume she had offered. His focus lingered only briefly on the Institute letterhead before his gaze flickered back to her. He tapped his pen rapidly. He assessed her not as a promising student, but as potential cheap labor. A moment passed before he nodded curtly, offering the part-time position. It was low pay, menial tasks clearly implied.

  Visible relief washed over Mariah, loosening the tension in her shoulders. It was quickly followed by a hardening resolve in her eyes. She gave a firm nod. She was offering a silent assurance that she could handle the grit of the real world far removed from Institute theory. The desperation driving her left no room for failure.

  The Sub-Basement - Hidden Lab, Night

  Descending beneath the mundane clinic revealed a hidden world. The sub-basement lab was a space of damp concrete. It was lit by bare bulbs that cast long shadows from exposed pipes snaking across the low ceiling. There was a strange, sharp mix of tangy chemicals overlaid with the earthy, pungent aroma of boiling Indigo leaves. Despite the rough surroundings, specialized lab equipment – gleaming thermometers, precise scales, rows of glass beakers – stood meticulously arranged on metal tables.

  Mariah was initially nervous, but it dissolved into intense curiosity, as she watched Dr. Blake. Her dark eyes absorbed every detail. Unlike his behavior with patients upstairs, here he moved with a focused precision. He worked over a large, dented pot set precariously on a portable burner. The bluish liquid within boiled faintly, releasing tendrils of pungent steam.

  "Temperature is critical, Mariah," Dr. Blake stated without looking up. "Half a degree too high and you scorch the active compounds. Too low, the enzymatic reaction stalls. It renders it useless."

  Dr. Blake carefully added a pinch of crystalline powder from a small vial, stirring with a glass rod.

  "Precision. That’s what it’s all about. I’m sure they complicate it at the Institute."

  Mariah leaned closer, drawn by the almost alchemical process.

  "They teach the quantum principles, Doctor," she offered hesitantly, "the energy fluctuations, the cellular resonance… but not this. Not the… practical application."

  Dr. Blake let out a short, cynical bark of laughter.

  "Of course not, this isn’t for you to learn" he scoffed, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. "The Institute is but a puppet of the Firms and the elites that run them. What they do to you is sanitize the process, regulate it, wrap it in bureaucracy and ethical hand-wringing."

  He gestured towards the simmering pot with the glass rod.

  "This, Mariah, is the Aether stripped bare. Raw power, brewed in practicality, like our forefathers did it. Like the local herbalists did before they took the business away from them."

  He lowered his voice slightly.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "This batch is for a client. There’s a whole world of people out there who want it, and should have it without red tape or entry exams. Just like it was intended.”

  Mariah’s brow creased, trying to reconcile the complex quantum biology she studied with the gritty reality before her.

  "Aren’t there risks… the instability…"

  "Aside from the law, there shouldn’t be, if you know what you're doing," Blake interrupted, turning back to the potion. He continued.

  "Firearms are outlawed. The most a person can use to protect themselves are melee weapons. But what happens when you’re policed by Aether users who bend your tools to scrap. They get drunk with power, abusing it against the weak. And if you disagree, sure try paying a Firm to train you and give you the potion. But how many do you know who can afford that? The Institute wants controllable power. The street…"

  He stirred the mixture slowly, the blue liquid swirling hypnotically.

  "...the street wants power…needs power."

  He tapped the side of the pot.

  "Learn this, Mariah. This is where the real knowledge lies. Not in their sterile labs, but down here, where necessity meets chemistry."

  Data Theft - Institute Lab, Late Night

  The Institute lab was unnervingly silent, a sterile expanse of white surfaces and gleaming chrome under the harsh, unwavering lights. Rows of complex machinery stood dormant, humming with an electronic whisper. The only sign of activity was the cool glow of a single computer terminal, illuminating Mariah's tense face as she hunched over the keyboard. A tiny earpiece was almost hidden against her dark hair, a thin wire snaking down her neck.

  "Alright, Mariah, bypass the secondary firewall now," Dr. Blake's voice crackled softly in her ear. "Use the override sequence I gave you, before the system logs."

  Mariah inserted a floppy disc into the bulky machine. Her fingers moved with a frantic, practiced speed, inputting the complex string of characters. On the screen, lines of code scrolled past. Then, file directories opened, revealing restricted access folders.

  "I'm in," she whispered, full of adrenaline. Her eyes scanned the file names.

  Dormant Gene Research - Classified. Aether Resonance Studies - Restricted. Project Hidden Home - Level 5 Clearance.

  "Good," Blake's voice replied. "Focus on the Dormant Gene files first and Hidden Home. That's the priority. Don't waste time on anything else."

  Mariah's eyes darted nervously around the empty lab. The profound silence amplified every soft click of the keys.

  "Doctor, this is… this feels wrong. Hidden Home? What the heck is that?"

  "Curiosity is a luxury you can't afford right now, Mariah," Blake snapped back through the earpiece. "Just get the data. Initiate the transfer to the disc. Now."

  Progress bars crawled across the screen, marking the slow transfer of forbidden data. Mariah chewed nervously on her lower lip, watching the percentages tick upwards.

  "It's taking too long," she whispered, glancing towards the lab doors. "What if security does a sweep?"

  "They won't," Blake said dismissively, though a faint static betrayed his own tension. "Just finish the transfer. Remember why you're doing this, Mariah. This knowledge is power, power they hoard."

  For a heartbeat, her fingers hovered over the final command to wipe the access logs. Guilt and hesitation crossed her features. The faces of her professors, the ethical codes drilled into her at the Institute, feuded with Blake's cynical pragmatism. Then, with a renewed sense of determination, she pressed enter. The theft was complete.

  Black Market Transaction - Alleyway, Night

  Rain slicked the grimy pavement of the narrow alleyway, reflecting the lurid neon from the bars and shops of Bonao's South Side. Dumpsters and exhaust fumes overflowed the area with a stench. Wails of sirens screamed. Mariah huddled deeper into the shadows. She clutched a small, discreet package that contained the freshly brewed Indigo potion. Fear overwhelmed her. Her eyes darted nervously from one end of the alley to the other, as she scanned the darkness.

  A figure detached itself from the deeper shadows at the alley's mouth. It was tall with indistinct features that were deliberately obscured. \

  The figure approached, silent and menacing. With a trembling hand, Mariah extended the package. The exchange was swift, impersonal. The package disappeared into the figure's coat, replaced by a thick wad of crumpled cash pressed into Mariah's palm. The client melted back into the darkness as quickly as they had appeared.

  Mariah leaned against the cold, wet brick, clutching the cash tightly. The rough paper shocked her reality. Her skin filled with goosebumps. She was relieved and excited. If you dared to play with the dangers of Synoro, this was the pay you received.