[Day 6]
Lance leaned back in his chair, his mind still reeling from the information overload. He rubbed his eyes, trying to process everything Dr. Patel had told him. The interface, the stats, the enhancements—it all seemed too fantastical to be real. Yet here he was, living proof of humanity's new link.
Curiosity gnawed at him. What was happening in the world outside BioNova's sleek offices? How many others were experiencing these changes? Lance's fingers hovered over his phone, then paused. No, he needed a bigger screen for this.
He booted up his laptop, it seemed almost primitive now, compared to the advanced interface in his mind. As the browser loaded, he inhaled deeply, preparing himself for whatever he might find.
The news sites were a barrage of information, with headlines progressively escalating in shock value. Lance scanned through articles at an unprecedented speed, absorbing information faster than he ever thought possible.
Worldwide gene therapy rollout: over 500 million doses administered.
Lance's breath caught in his throat. That was about 6% of the global population. How many of them were like him now? Enhanced, changed, navigating this new reality?
His eyes darted to the next headline.
Death toll: over 70 million worldwide.
Staggering.
The number hit him like a physical blow. His brain struggled, trying to comprehend the scale of the loss. Entire cities wiped out. Families torn apart. The world forever altered.
Lance's stomach lurched. He remembered his desperate act at BioNova, injecting himself with the genetic vaccine despite having alcohol in his system. The warnings, the potential fatality—it all came rushing back.
I was this close to…
His mother would have been devastated.
Survivor's guilt washed over him. Why had he survived when so many others hadn't? Was it just dumb luck? Was it simply because his 'Defense' was a '4'? Why was his defense a four? Was it because he ate balanced meals, exercised regularly, wasn't an alcoholic, didn't smoke, and was blessed with not having any preexisting conditions?
But it was the next statistic that made his blood run cold. In the United States alone, over 10 million deaths were attributed to the interaction between NARS and alcohol.
10 million deaths, sounded out inside his skull.
Lance blinked rapidly, surprised to feel moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. He couldn't pinpoint a specific loss—no faces came to mind, no names echoed in his memory. Yet the weight of countless mundane moments pressed on him: idle chatter by the break room’s coffee machine, halfhearted waves across cubicles, practiced smiles exchanged in Qualtech’s parking lot. All those small, forgettable interactions, now laden with an unexpected poignancy. He swallowed hard, unsettled by the hollowness in his chest where grief should be.
He scrolled through more articles, each one painting a grimmer picture of the world outside. Economic collapse, social unrest, governments struggling to maintain order amidst the chaos of the pandemic.
Lance's processed the information at lightning speed, drawing connections and seeing patterns he might have missed before. The gene treatment was undoubtedly saving lives, but something nagged at him. He scanned through article after article, searching for mentions of enhanced individuals like himself.
A handful of vague reports caught his eye—whispers of unexplained abilities, unverified claims of sudden cognitive leaps. But these stories were few and far between, buried beneath the overwhelming tide of pandemic statistics and recovery efforts.
Lance frowned, puzzling over the discrepancy. If his experience was any indication, shouldn't there be more concrete evidence of these enhancements? The scarcity of information and the ambiguity of existing reports left him with more questions than answers.
His eyes moved to the corner of his screen.
[10:43 AM]
Lance closed the browser, unable to bear any more grim news. He sat in silence, the weight of his newfound knowledge pressing down on him. The world was changing, evolving, and he was at the forefront of that change.
He needed a distraction, something to ground him in the present moment. His gaze drifted to Jiro, lounging in his dog bed across the room.
"Hey buddy, wanna play?"
The word “play” was all Jiro needed to hear. The shaggy-haired mutt bounded over, tail wagging furiously.
Lance grabbed Jiro's favorite chew toy, a worn-out rubber bone, and tossed it across the living room. As Jiro scampered after it, Lance marveled at how his enhanced vision tracked every minute movement of the dog's muscles.
Fascinating.
He could see the individual hairs on Jiro's coat rippling as the dog moved. It was like watching the world in ultra-high definition.
Jiro returned, dropping the slobber-covered toy at Lance's feet. Lance picked it up, grimacing slightly at the wetness. He could feel every ridge and groove of the rubber against his fingertips, his heightened sense of touch making the sensation almost overwhelming.
As he threw the toy again, Lance's mind wandered back to the anti-NARS treatment and its effects. He'd been so caught up in the fear and confusion of his transformation that he hadn't taken the time to appreciate the benefits.
I'm stronger, faster, smarter. My senses are off the charts. And I'm apparently more resistant to disease and injury.
Jiro barked, snapping Lance out of his reverie. The dog was waiting patiently for another throw, head tilted in that adorable way that always melted Lance's heart.
Lance smiled, reaching down to scratch behind Jiro's ears. The sensation of soft fur beneath his fingers was more vivid than ever before. He could feel each individual strand, the warmth of Jiro's skin beneath.
This isn't so bad, is it? Lance thought as he tossed the toy once more. Sure, it's weird and a little scary, but... it's also kind of amazing.
He watched Jiro chase after the toy, the dog's movements now seeming almost comically slow compared to Lance's new perception of time. He could probably outrun Jiro now if he wanted to.
I could outrun anyone.
The thought sent a thrill through him. What else could he do now? What were the limits of his new abilities?
Lance's stomach growled, interrupting his musings. Right, lunch. He headed to the kitchen, Jiro trotting along behind him.
As he opened the fridge, Lance was hit with a barrage of scents - no. He welcomed the aromas. He could smell everything - the crisp tartness of apples, the pungent aroma of cheese, the earthy scent of leftover vegetables. It was overwhelming at first, but as he focused, he found he could isolate individual smells.
Incredible.
Lance pulled out ingredients for a sandwich, every movement more precise and efficient than ever before. He sliced tomatoes with surgical accuracy, spread mustard in a perfectly even layer.
As he worked, his mind continued to race. He thought about his job at Qualtech, about the projects he'd been working on. With his enhanced cognitive abilities, he could probably solve problems in minutes that used to take hours.
I could revolutionize the industry.
But then another thought struck him. What if people found out about his enhancements? Would they see him as a freak? A cheat? A threat?
Lance paused, sandwich half-assembled on the plate before him. He looked down at his hands, turning them over slowly. They looked the same as always, but he knew the power they now held.
This is who I am now, he realized. There's no going back.
And did he want to go back? The old Lance couldn't run for miles without breaking a sweat. The old Lance couldn't process information at lightning speed. The old Lance was... ordinary.
A suit playing the system.
Lance finished making his sandwich, his movements now filled with a new sense of purpose. He'd been given a gift, hadn't he? A chance to be more than he ever thought possible.
As he took his first bite, savoring flavors more complex and nuanced than he'd ever experienced before, Lance made a decision. He would embrace this new reality. He would push the limits of his abilities, see just how far he could go.
After all, he thought, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, it beats the alternative.
Lance moved to the kitchen, a newfound spring in his step. He grabbed Jiro's cool, metal bowl and filled it with dog food. Crunchy, pungent, oily, grainy, meaty, earthy—
Focus.
He set the bowl down, watching as Jiro eagerly dove in. The rhythmic crunching filling the room, each bite distinct and clear to Lance's enhanced hearing. He shook his head, marveling at the intensity of his senses.
Leaving Jiro to his meal, Lance returned to his laptop. The screen flickered to life, its glow seeming almost harsh to his newly sensitive eyes. He adjusted the brightness, fingers flying up and down the keyboard with unprecedented precision. Y O U T U…
The familiar red and white logo appeared, and Lance found himself drawn to the search bar. What exactly was he looking for? Evidence of others like him? Proof that he wasn't alone in this strange new world?
He typed "NARS treatment side effects" and hit enter. The results flooded in, a mix of official news reports, amateur vlogs, and conspiracy theories. Lance's improved cognition processed the information at lightning speed, sorting through the noise.
Most of the videos were what he expected - people complaining about sore arms, fatigue, mild flu-like symptoms. Nothing like what he was experiencing. He clicked on a few, watching with growing frustration as people described perfectly normal gene therapy reactions.
There has to be something.
Lance refined his search, adding "enhanced abilities" to the query. This time, the results were... interesting. A handful of videos caught his eye, their titles hinting at experiences similar to his own.
"NARS Cure Gave Me Superpowers?!"
"You Won't Believe What Happened After My Shot!"
"Gene Therapy Changed My Life - Not Clickbait!"
Lance clicked on the first video, skepticism warring with hope. The screen filled with the face of a young woman, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Guys, you're not going to believe this," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "Ever since I got the NARS gene therapy, I've been... different. Stronger. Faster. I can see things I couldn't before, hear things from across the room. It's like... like I'm not even human anymore."
Lance leaned closer, heart pounding. This was it. This was what he'd been looking for. He watched, transfixed, as the woman described experiences eerily similar to his own. The sudden burst of strength, the heightened senses, the feeling of being... more.
But as the video dragged on, Lance's excitement began to wane. The woman's rambling intro stretched on for minutes, peppered with pleas to "like and subscribe." When she finally got around to demonstrating her supposed abilities, Lance couldn't believe his eyes—and not in a good way.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
The "super-speed" looked like badly sped-up footage. Her "enhanced strength" consisted of lifting a clearly hollow prop dumbbell. As for her "heightened senses," the less said about the laughably obvious cuts and edits, the better.
Fuck you, you clickbait-chugging attention leech, was the most restrained insult he wished upon 'SuperSally108'.
I should have checked the comments first,
Lance exhaled slowly, his frustration ebbing away. Let’s find someone trustworthy, he thought, navigating to Dr. Zoe Blackwell's channel. Her familiar blue hair and infectious enthusiasm filled the screen as he tapped on her latest video: "NARS Update: Light at the End of the Tunnel?"
"What's up, science seekers!" Dr. Blackwell's grin was wider than ever. "Dr. Zoe here with some seriously good news. Buckle up, because this rollercoaster is finally climbing!"
Lance sat back and reached for a bowl of roasted almonds he had brought from the kitchen.
"First off, mortality rates are finally - FINALLY - on the decline." A graph appeared, showing a steep downward trend. "And gene treatment rates? Skyrocketing faster than my coffee intake during finals week!"
She launched into a rapid-fire explanation, her hands gesticulating wildly. "Pharmaceutical companies are stepping up big time. Genetic vaccine distribution has hit warp speed as of today. Shout out to our last pandemic for prepping us for this beast!"
Lance nodded, a glimmer of hope kindling in his chest.
"Now, let's address the elephant in the room - or should I say, the potential superhumans in the room?" Dr. Blackwell's eyebrows waggled playfully. "Yes, we're seeing some individuals with enhanced abilities post-gene therapy. It's remarkable, but let's keep it real - we're talking 'win a few more medals at the Olympics' level, not 'leap tall buildings in a single bound.'"
She paused dramatically. "So no, I don't expect to see anyone flying around in tights and a cape anytime soon." She winked at the camera. "...Yet."
Lance snorted, his mind was already creating ridiculous images of himself.
"Word of warning: the internet's flooded with fake 'super-power' videos. Don't believe everything you see, folks! If you got the Synergy shot - you know, the one being mass-produced faster than memes - don't hold your breath for superpowers. So far, only GlobeMed and Nexus gene therapy recipients are showing these enhancements."
Lance's eyes widened. What about BioNova?
"Remember, science seekers: stay skeptical, stay informed, and for the love of all that's holy, stay away from alcohol! This is Dr. Zoe, signing off. Don't forget to like, subscribe, and hit that notification bell - trust me, you won't want to miss our next update!"
Lance sprang from his chair, energy coursing through his veins. Possibilities. Purpose. The decision to leave Qualtech behind now seeming more like an opportunity than a risk.
He paced the room, his senses picking up every detail. But these sensations were background noise to the whirlwind of ideas forming in his mind.
A business. My business. The thought thrilled him. But what kind of venture could harness his new abilities and the changing landscape of the post-NARS world?
A Survivor Network flashed into his mind. A platform for enhanced individuals to connect, share experiences, collaborate. He could see it clearly - a digital haven for those grappling with their new realities, a place to find support and understanding.
But is that enough?
His fingers twitched, itching to start coding. But another idea muscled its way to the forefront. An NARS Information Hub. An AI-driven platform aggregating and verifying NARS-related information from reliable sources. Cut through the noise, provide clarity in chaos.
He could feel the potential—fuck you SuperSally—the impact such a platform could have. But something still nagged at him.
What about the enhancements themselves?
Fitness tracker! An Optimization App materialized on the tip of his forehead. A tool to help enhanced individuals safely explore and maximize their new abilities. Track progress, set goals, share achievements. The possibilities were dizzying.
Lance stopped pacing. He needed to approach this systematically. Test his skills, research the market, outline a basic business plan. His brain could handle it all, but he needed to channel this energy productively.
He grabbed a notebook and pen. The pen felt strange in his hand, almost too light, too fragile. But as he began to write, his handwriting flowed across the page with unprecedented clarity and speed.
Skills:
Enhanced strength
Increased speed
Heightened senses
Accelerated cognitive processing
Improved memory retention
Lance paused, tapping the pen against his chin. These were the obvious ones, but what else? He covered his eyes, focusing inward. There was something else, something he couldn't quite grasp yet. A potential waiting to be unlocked.
Unclassified.
The word from his status screen flashed in his mind. What was that about? Would there be more abilities to develop?
He shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand.
He stood, stretching muscles that no longer seemed to tire.
Time to test.
Lance moved to the center of the room, Jiro watching curiously from his bed. He stood perfectly still, focusing on his body, on the energy thrumming beneath his skin.
He took a deep breath, then exploded into action.
Pushups.
His body moved with fluid precision, muscles contracting and expanding in perfect harmony.
One, two… ten… fifty... he lost count as his arms pumped effortlessly. The burn he expected never came.
I see. It's stopped bulking me up, but I'm still not getting tired. It's mimicking the results of a real workout, just... supercharged.
He switched to one-handed pushups, his balance impeccable. His enhanced proprioception allowed him to maintain perfect form, each repetition a mirror image of the last.
Next, squats. Lance's legs coiled and uncoiled like powerful springs. He added jumps, soaring higher with each repetition. On his final jump, he nearly grazed the ceiling.
Oops.
Jiro barked, startled by the sudden display of athleticism.
Lance grinned, adrenaline surging. He moved to the pull-up bar in his doorway, leaping up with ease. His fingers wrapped around the cold metal, and he began to pull. He already knew the limits of his normal pull-ups, so he experimented by switching to one-handed pull-ups, then adding a clap between each rep.
Okay, this is getting ridiculous. I love it.
He dropped from the bar with his gaze darting around the room. What else could he do? His eyes fell on the heavy oak coffee table.
No way.
He approached it and knocked twice on the solid wood. He gripped the edges. Lifted.
The table rose smoothly, as if it weighed no more than a cardboard box. Lance's enhanced muscles compensated for the awkward shape, maintaining perfect balance. He held it overhead, marveling at the lack of strain. While he had it up, he went ahead and did a few reps until he got bored.
Unbelievable.
Still wondering where his body’s ceiling was, he set the table down. His heart raced, not from exertion, but from the sheer thrill of discovery. What were the limits of his strength?
And before he knew it, while he continued asking himself that question, the entire bag of roasted almonds he'd just bought on Sunday at the big-box warehouse club was empty.
Okay, I'm doing this…
Lance moved out of his living room, passed the kitchen, and walked outside.
Am I really going to try this? he asked himself as the garage door ascended and revealed his midnight blue sports car
He circled the vehicle. He rarely drove it these days, preferring to walk or jog to nearby destinations. But now...
Lance placed his hands on the front bumper. He stretched his quads. Then he assumed proper deadlift form.
Here goes nothing.
He bent his knees slightly and began to lift. At first, nothing happened. The car remained stubbornly grounded, its weight seemingly immovable. Lance gritted his teeth. Pushed harder. Harder. Harder—
Suddenly, he felt a shift. The front tires left the ground by the barest of margins, hovering an inch above the concrete floor. His eyes widened.
Holy shit.
He held the position for a moment, marveling at the sensation of holding a thousand pounds—approximately—aloft. Then, slowly, he lowered the car back down.
Panting.
Lance stepped back, stunned. He had actually done it. He had lifted a car. Not completely, but still...
Determined to push further, he repositioned himself and tried again. This time, the front end lifted slightly higher, the tires clearing the ground by a good three inches.
One.
He lowered the car, then immediately lifted again. The strain was beginning to show, his muscles trembling with effort.
Two.
Lance's breath came in short, sharp gasps. His shirt clung to his back, damp with perspiration. One more. He could do one more.
With a herculean effort, he lifted for a third time. The car fought back, rising only an inch or two off the ground.
Three.
Lance released his grip, stumbling backward. His legs seemed to melt beneath him, his arms heavy and unresponsive. He had found his limit, and it was both exhilarating and humbling.
As the adrenaline faded, a new sensation took its place. Hunger. Not the mild peckishness of a missed snack, but a gnawing, all-consuming need for sustenance. Lance's stomach growled loudly, the sound a monster in the quiet garage.
Food. Stat!
The thought consumed him, pushing all other considerations aside. Lance turned, his brand new body already moving towards the kitchen, driven by a primal need to refuel.
Lance burst into the kitchen, driven by an overwhelming hunger. He grabbed the first ingredients he saw - protein powder, milk, a banana - and threw them into the blender. He only let it run for a few pulses before yanking off the lid and drinking straight from the container, gulping down the half-blended mixture.
It disappeared in seconds, the flavor missed entirely.
One day had yielded these results - what would a week bring? A month? The possibilities seemed endless.
Focus.
He needed to document this, to track his progress systematically. Lance grabbed his laptop, typing with lightning speed as he created a spreadsheet. He input his baseline stats from before the gene therapy, then added columns for his new abilities.
As he worked, text appeared in his field of view:
[Cognitive Processing Speed: 4.5 (+0.1)]
Another one he pushed away. Over the past few hours, his mind’s eye had been buzzing almost constantly, but he'd grown accustomed to the interruptions now. As his stats climbed higher, he noticed the frequency of these updates had steadily decreased. Diminishing returns, he thought, unconsciously tapping his index finger against his temple.
He leaned back. Thinking.
The fewer system messages he received, the more questions bubbled up in his mind. Was this normal? Had others reached the same plateau? He made a mental note to see if Diego was still breaking deadlift records.
His jaw stretched wide in an involuntary yawn. He blinked, suddenly aware of the heaviness in his limbs and the fog creeping into his mind. The adrenaline was no longer present, and had left behind a bone-deep weariness.
[6:46 PM] glowed accusingly on his phone.
Eight hours!?! He'd been pushing himself non-stop for over eight hours, riding the high of his abilities. Now, his body was demanding payment for that exertion.
His senses were now a burden. Every sound seemed amplified, grating against his nerves. The fading sunlight streaming through the windows was too harsh, too bright. Even the air against his skin felt abrasive.
Need... rest.
His mind, which a minute ago was a fountain of ideas and calculations, now struggled to form coherent thoughts. The constant stream of system messages had slowed to a trickle, but each one sent a spike of pain through his temples.
Lance stumbled towards the couch and let go.
He sank into it, feeling the fabric yield beneath his weight. As his muscles finally relaxed, a contented sigh escaped his lips. The tension melted away, replaced by bliss.
"Finally," he murmured with his eyes closed. “Some well-deserved shuteye..."
It only took a few seconds for the edges of his world to blur. He balanced on the precipice between two realms. Every feeling, every thought, every sensation dissipated like mist in the morning sun. He was in that miniscule, singular moment where consciousness is about to touch the other side when
‘Bzzt.’ ‘Bzzt.’
He blinked. Jerked upright. Disorientation.
A notification glared at him from the bright screen.
[Stock Market Reopens After Extended Closure]
Shit.
Sleep evaporated from his mind. Lance fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it in his haste. His enhanced vision made the text crystal clear, even as his brain struggled to catch up.
"Sleep'll hafta wait," Lance said out loud, surprised by how his words melted together like ice cream on a hot day.
But his fingers were already tapping furiously on the screen.
[Uninvested Funds: $23,592]
The number glowed, calling him. Twenty-three thousand dollars, just sitting there. Doing nothing. Wasting.
The market had been in a bull run before the pandemic hit. So he’d been letting his recurring investment and dividend payouts accumulate for the past few months. Now? He could almost smell the fear, the uncertainty hanging over every ticker symbol.
Opportunity.
His eyes darted across the screen, taking in the sea of red. Entire sectors had been decimated, their values slashed to ribbons by the NARS crisis.
[Travel Industry: -68%]
[Hospitality: -72%]
[Entertainment: -65%]
Lance's breath caught in his throat. The carnage was worse than he'd imagined. Airlines grounded, hotels emptied, theaters dark. But in that destruction, he saw potential.
They can't stay down forever. An evil laugh materialized in his mind.
His enhanced mind whirred, calculating probabilities, projecting recovery timelines. The world would bounce back. It always did. And when it did...
Fortune favors the bold.
Lance's fingers found the 'Buy' button with unerring precision. Without a moment's pause, he began to allocate his funds decisively.
[Congratulations! Order Filled: $8,300 - Diversified Airline ETF]
[Congratulations! Order Filled: $8,300 - Hotel Chain Index Fund]
[Congratulations! Order Filled: $6,400 - Entertainment Conglomerate Stock]
He paused, his fingers absently tapping out a victorious rhythm on his chest. Forty-three thousand dollars. It wasn't a fortune, but it was a start. A seed that could grow into something much, much, much bigger.
Lance lay on the couch, eyes closed, a wide, satisfied, and proud smile playing on his lips. Sleep enveloped him like a warm blanket, sweeter now with the thrill of potential...
On all fronts.