We had brought the worst cases here first, the ones who hadn’t respended to Simon’s field serum, children who froze mid-sentence, mid-step, mid-breath. After the last round nearly broke me, we were supposed to stop.
I had collapsed in Richard’s arms, body unresponsive, field overextended, and barely managed to recover. But Simon said this group was different. He believed I could stabilize them without another shutdown.
This was a new’attempt, a different strain of resonance, and the only cluster we hadn’t yet reached. I didn’t argue, I just followed him into the new chamber.
The children were half-stabilized as I stepped inside, their bodies twitching in irregular intervals like the signal had released them only halfway. It wasn’t a full collapse, but it felt dangerously close, like something was lurking just below the surface and ready to take hold. If we waited even a few more minutes, I was certain it would spread, first seizing their vocal cords, then their lungs, then their minds.-
Simon had told me my body was becoming more efficient and less reactive. He’d used the word adaptive, and from him, it almost felt like a blessing. But the moment I crossed the threshold, I felt the pull, deep and immediate, strong enough to nearly bring me to my knees.
The hum wasn’t dormant, it was already coiled around the children’s bodies, building momentum in the delicate,
unconscious threads that kept them tethered. The energy Looped tighter, drawing breath from the room itself. This wasn’t just a present danger. It was an active force. The chamber dian’t just contain resonance, it pulsed with it, perfectly timed to their fractured rhythms.
The first resonance rolled from my chest before I could brace for it, and the second followed so quickly that I didn’t realize I’d already been overtaken.
It curled through my spine, warping my vision with overlapping color. The walls dimmed. The frequency kept rising. I tried to contain it, to press it down and keep it low and steady, but it tore past me. It had no interest in control. It filled the space in a single sweep, heavy and absolute.
Two of the children collapsed back onto their mats. One of them let out a hoarse, broken sob. Another curled inward and whispered a name over and over again. But the third child held my gaze. Her lips moved silently, forming the same shape without sound. When the resonance caught her, she froze. Her eyes emptied. Her fingers unfurled.
Something broke loose beneath my ribs.
When I opened my eyes, the ground felt far away. I couldn’t find my balance. The edges of the room shimmered and warped, refracting the light like a broken lens. My lungs clamped shut. I couldn’t inhale.


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