The Astral Dogma

Days passed in a blur of sterile white rooms, holographic screens, and relentless experimentation. x-01, now designated X-01, was subjected to a relentless barrage of tests. Some were physical, others mental. Quentin observed from his station, monitoring every response, every fluctuation in X-01's behavior. The boy's blank expression remained constant as he endured test after test, as if the world around him held no significance.

For the most part, Quentin had been impressed with X-01's resilience, his ability to recover from physical trials at an almost supernatural rate. But now, as they reached the more advanced stages of testing, things began to change.

"Alright, X-01, we're going to attempt a neural feedback loop," Quentin said one day, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

X-01 didn't respond. He merely reclined in the chair, his body hooked up to various electrodes and sensors. The neural feedback loop was a complex procedure designed to stimulate the subject's mind, forcing it to adapt to new, intense stimuli. The goal was to break through the cognitive barriers that would allow for rapid evolution.

Quentin activated the system. A series of patterns flashed across X-01's visor, each more intricate and disorienting than the last. It was meant to overwhelm him, to force his mind to grow beyond its limitations.

But something unexpected happened.

X-01's breathing remained steady, his eyes unblinking as the patterns continued to assault his senses. Then, without warning, the feedback system began to malfunction. The flashing patterns grew more intense, but X-01 showed no sign of distress. Instead, the opposite occurred. His neural readings began to spike, not out of confusion, but out of adaptation. His mind, in real-time, was restructuring itself.

Quentin's fingers hovered over the controls. "This… this isn't supposed to happen." His voice was tinged with awe, and perhaps a bit of apprehension. He quickly lowered the intensity of the feedback, but the damage was done. X-01 had adapted faster than anyone had predicted. He was no longer simply enduring the procedure; he had surpassed it.

The scientist looked at the data, his expression shifting from amazement to frustration. "This isn't supposed to happen so quickly," he muttered to himself, tapping at the screen. He could see the results now—X-01's brain activity was off the charts. The boy's cognitive growth was outpacing the machine's ability to track it.

"Adjusting the protocols isn't going to work," Quentin said, more to himself than to anyone else. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "What are you?"

But there was no answer from X-01. The boy simply sat there, his gaze unwavering. His body had become a subject of their design, but his mind… his mind was beginning to evolve beyond their control.

In the weeks that followed, the experiments became more complex. Quentin adjusted the variables in an attempt to control X-01's progression. Each test was carefully calibrated, but X-01 continued to surprise him.

At first, the boy's physical strength and stamina had been remarkable, but now, it was his cognitive abilities that were causing concern. His problem-solving capabilities had skyrocketed, and he had begun to demonstrate a profound understanding of the world around him. He could predict outcomes before the data was fully processed.

But Quentin wasn't the only one observing X-01's growth. Word spread through the facility, and soon, a new directive was issued.

"Start introducing new test subjects," Quentin was told one morning. "We need to test his social reactions. We've been experimenting on him, but what happens when we introduce him to other people?"

Quentin hesitated. The idea of bringing in new test subjects—people who would interact with X-01 in a more personal, unstructured manner—was a sharp departure from their usual methodical procedures. But the higher-ups had made their decision.

He was to prepare X-01 for a social experiment.

Quentin led X-01 into a new room, one that felt different from the cold, clinical spaces they had been working in. This room had walls lined with cushioned seating, small tables, and even a few plants. It was a space meant to resemble a more human environment, an attempt to simulate the complexities of human interaction.

Sitting on one of the benches in the corner was a girl, her posture withdrawn, her gaze focused on the floor. She had long, dark hair that cascaded past her shoulders, and her face was pale, her features sharp and delicate. Her eyes, however, were the most unsettling thing about her—completely blank, as if she were staring into nothingness.

Quentin motioned for X-01 to approach the girl. "This is a new subject," he said. "Her name is Seraph. You're to interact with her. Observe how she responds to you."

X-01 stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he slowly made his way toward the girl. His steps were measured, purposeful, as though he were calculating the best approach.

The girl—Seraph—didn't react when he approached. She didn't acknowledge his presence. She simply sat there, motionless, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

X-01 stood in front of her for several long moments before speaking.

"Are you… real?" he asked, his voice soft, but clear.

Seraph didn't answer. Her eyes remained unfocused, and her breathing was shallow, almost imperceptible.

X-01 waited for a response that didn't come. He tilted his head slightly, studying her with an analytical gaze.

"Why are you here?" he asked again, though this time, his tone was more inquisitive than before.

This time, Seraph moved. Slowly, she lifted her head and met his gaze. Her eyes, though empty, seemed to flicker with something—a recognition, perhaps. She didn't speak, but her silence was almost palpable.

X-01's brow furrowed slightly as he analyzed her. She wasn't responding the way he expected. She wasn't reacting with the fear or curiosity that most test subjects had. Instead, she simply sat there, as if her very presence was a question to him.

"Do you understand me?" he asked, stepping closer.

Seraph didn't move, but there was a shift in the air—a subtle change in the atmosphere between them. X-01 reached out a hand, hovering just above her own. It was a silent offer, an attempt at connection, but she didn't take it.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Then, Seraph's voice broke the silence.

"I don't think I'm real," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

X-01 froze, his mind racing.

"I don't think I'm real," she repeated, her gaze distant.

Quentin observed from the doorway, his eyes narrowing. This was unexpected—this wasn't part of the plan. Seraph's response, her words, were not the typical reaction they had seen from other test subjects. It was almost as if she were aware of her own existence, yet chose to ignore it.

X-01 continued to stand there, processing the words. He looked at her, his mind trying to parse the meaning behind them.

"I don't think I'm real," Seraph said again, her voice growing softer with each repetition.

And in that moment, something inside X-01 shifted. The connection between them, however brief and fragile, felt… significant. For the first time in the experiment, he found himself wondering if there was something more to this than just data and analysis.

Quentin, however, was growing impatient. "X-01," he said sharply. "We need a reaction. We need more data."

But X-01 didn't respond. He simply stood there, staring at Seraph, as the weight of her words hung in the air. For the first time since his existence had begun, X-01 felt… uncertain.