Steel bit into Tom's wrists. Cold, unyielding bands held him fast to the chair, the kind of chair designed for compliance, not comfort. Overhead, a single fluorescent strip hummed, casting a sickly yellow glow on the sterile white walls. He kept his smile fixed, a practiced curve that reached his eyes, but never quite settled there. They called it his 'cooperative' look. A lie, of course. Everything here was a lie, or at least a distortion of truth. A sharp hiss filled the air. A drone, no bigger than a hornet, darted from a vent in the ceiling, its tiny optics focusing on him. He tracked its movement, a mild distraction from the dull ache in his shoulders. Footsteps echoed in the observation room beyond the one-way glass. They always watched. Always. He imagined the clipboard-wielding figures, their faces impassive, their gaze clinical. He was Subject T-7, not Tom. Never Tom, not in this place. Seconds later, a door slid open, revealing Doctor Aris. Her white coat was pristine, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. No warmth in her eyes. Only calculation. She carried a tray with a single, slender syringe. "Good morning, Subject T-7," she said, her voice smooth, devoid of inflection. "Time for your daily assessment." Tom chuckled, a light, airy sound that felt forced even to his own ears. "Already? Seems like I just had breakfast. What's on the menu today, Doc? More mind games?" Aris didn't react. She approached, the syringe glinting under the harsh light. Its needle, impossibly fine, promised a sting that was more psychological than physical. He watched her prepare his arm, swabbing a patch of skin with cold alcohol. The scent stung his nostrils, sharp and antiseptic. He braced himself, not against the prick, but against what came after. The serum. It stripped away layers, peeled back the cheerful veneer he so carefully maintained. A tiny pinch. The needle slid in. He felt the cool liquid spread through his vein, a sensation like icy tendrils reaching into his core. His muscles twitched, a reflexive response. He focused on his breathing, slow and steady, trying to keep his mind a blank slate. Too late. The serum worked fast. His thoughts, once disciplined and locked away, began to unravel. The smile faltered, a slow, agonizing crack across his face. Memories surged, unbidden and brutal. Not the typical ones they wanted – details of his telekinetic 'incidents' or his current feelings about the Directorate. No. These were deeper, darker. Darkness. That was the first thing. An absolute, suffocating darkness that swallowed the world whole. The Great Blackout. He remembered the sudden silence, the complete absence of light, sound, everything. The entire nation plunged into an unforeseen abyss. His apartment, usually so full of life, became a tomb. Fear, thick and palpable, filled the air. His mother's gasp. His father's frantic fumbling for a flashlight that wouldn't work. His little sister's whimpering cry. They were trapped. Helpless. The words echoed in his mind, sharp-edged and cruel. *Helpless*. He remembered reaching out, not with his hands, but with something else. An instinct, raw and unformed. A desperate urge to make things right, to protect them, to push back the encroaching terror. His small, plastic toy car, left on the coffee table, had trembled. Just a tremor, barely perceptible. But he saw it. Felt it. A spark in the overwhelming dark. His family's faces, illuminated briefly by the distant flicker of a neighbor's emergency light, contorted with a fear that wasn't just of the dark, but of the unknown. That fear had carved itself into his soul. And the tremor he felt now, deep within him, wasn't of the serum's effects or the impending interrogation. It was the same tremor. A deep, primal fear of *his own power*. What if it had been stronger then? What if he couldn't control it? What if he hurt them, instead of saving them? "Subject T-7," Aris's voice cut through the haze, calm and probing. "Describe your emotions regarding the blackout event. Specifically, the moments leading to your manifestation." His jaw clenched. The serum loosened his tongue, but his mind fought it. He could feel his telekinetic energy stirring, a quiet hum beneath his skin, a response to the internal turmoil. A defiance. "Scared," he managed, the word gravelly, rough. His cheerful mask was completely gone, leaving behind a raw, vulnerable expression. "We were all scared." "And you?" Aris pressed, taking notes on a datapad. "What did you feel, personally?" He closed his eyes, fighting a wave of nausea. The memory of the toy car, shaking. The immense, terrifying potential he'd glimpsed. It had been like looking into an abyss, not of darkness, but of pure, untamed force. "Powerless," he whispered, the greatest lie he'd ever told himself. The greatest truth, too. Powerless to stop the blackout, powerless to truly protect them. And then, the opposite fear: the fear of *having* power, of it being too much, too unpredictable. A double-edged sword that could destroy just as easily as it could defend. His hands, still strapped, began to subtly strain against the steel. Not physically, but with an invisible pressure. The air around them grew heavy, almost viscous. A faint whine started in the room, the high-pitched protest of stressed metal. Aris looked up, her expression unchanging, but a slight tension in her shoulders betrayed her attention. She made another note. "Interesting," she murmured. "And the manifestation itself? How did it feel?" "Like… pushing," Tom rasped, his voice strained. The invisible pressure intensified. The small drone, still hovering near the vent, wobbled violently, its tiny rotors struggling against an unseen force. He hadn't meant to do that. It was an involuntary leak, a tell-tale sign of his fraying control. He focused, trying to rein it in. He was Tier D. Barely able to lift a few ounces. This was too much. The serum was amplifying his abilities, or perhaps just stripping away the mental blocks he'd constructed over years. "You're demonstrating an unusual amount of kinetic feedback, T-7," Aris observed, her eyes now on the trembling drone. She looked almost... pleased. "Your perceived tier ranking may be inaccurate." The whine grew louder. The drone spun, dipping dangerously close to the floor before righting itself with a desperate whir. Tom's head pounded, a drumbeat against his skull. Every nerve ending felt exposed, raw. He could feel the fine vibrations in the air, the faint hum of the fluorescent light, the blood rushing in his own ears. It was overwhelming. Too much. He wanted to scream. Wanted to push it all away. The room, the chair, the doctor, the memories. All of it. He focused on a single point, the drone, willing it away, willing it to cease its annoying buzz. Suddenly, the drone shot backward, slamming into the wall with a sharp crack before falling to the floor, inert. Silence. A heavy, ringing silence. Tom panted, his chest heaving, his body drained. Aris stared at the defunct drone, then back at Tom. A flicker of something, surprise perhaps, crossed her face before she regained her composure. "Remarkable," she stated, her voice a low hum. She tapped a command into her datapad. "Terminate session. Prepare for advanced diagnostics." --- Behind the one-way glass, a man in a crisp Directorate uniform turned from the observation screen. His face was grim, his eyes sharp with calculated interest. He held a secure comms device to his ear. "The serum is having an unexpected effect," he reported, his voice low and precise. "His control is failing, but his output is… significant." Another figure, unseen on the other end, spoke. The man listened, a small frown creasing his brow. He looked back at the screen, where Tom, pale and shaking, was being unstrapped from the chair by two technicians. His face was still a mask of haunted exhaustion, but a flicker of something new, something dangerous, seemed to simmer beneath his eyes. A chilling voice echoed in the observation room, "Subject T-7, telekinetic potential beyond D-tier. We need to know his limits before he breaks."

Chains of Starlight