The bus hissed as it pulled away from the curb, leaving behind the low electric whine of its engine and the faint ozone sting of spent energy cells. Steven and Toad stepped onto the street, their footsteps muffled by the matte-black pavement.
Caelumbra stretched out around them like a city trapped between waking and dreaming—its skies a dome of endless, shifting gray, dim but not quite dark. The light here never sharpened, never changed—just the same as it always was: heavy, filtered, and unreal.
Steven adjusted the collar of his jacket. It was sleek and functional—black with subtle cobalt trim along the seams, close-fitting with a high collar and minimal detailing. The fabric shimmered faintly under the ambient lights, built to absorb static and repel moisture. Beneath it, a thin armored vest shaped to his torso pressed tight against his chest, hidden under a charcoal layer. His boots were quiet, armored at the toes, designed for speed over comfort.
Toad stood out like a beacon in comparison, wrapped head to toe in pure, clinical white. His long coat swept just above his boots, spotless despite the city grime. White slacks. White buttoned shirt. White leather gloves. Even his hood, draped low over his face like a monk's cowl, was blindingly white, casting his features in shadow and making him seem slightly out of phase with the world around him.
They moved in step, heading down a broad, gently curving street lined with towering structures. Glass-and-metal buildings rose like frozen waves, their facades embedded with glowing threads of light that pulsed slowly, breathing in rhythm with the city. Signage in foreign scripts flickered above polished entrances, some shifting into standard script as they passed: security firms, biotech consultancies, research offices, Bureau satellite facilities.
People flowed past them in curated silence. No one spoke. No one needed to. High-collar coats and embedded visors were common. Subdermal tech pulsed beneath skin, illuminating veins in soft colors. A woman with scale-like plating across her jawline passed by without glancing up. A tall man with elongated limbs and transparent eyelids stared at something only he could see, his retina glowing with internal code.
Above them, narrow pedestrian bridges spanned the gaps between towers, crossing like connective tissue in a metal organism. A transport pod slid silently along a magnetic rail overhead, the shimmer of its shielding catching on the shifting mist. Down the center of the street, long, low Bureau vehicles glided in procession—gloss-black, windowless, their exteriors marked with the minimalist insignia of the state. Between them moved sleek civilian cars, humming softly as they skimmed over smooth pavement.
Even the air here was different—denser, carefully maintained. The hum of power flowed underneath everything, beneath the streets, inside the walls, behind the eyes of those who walked them.
A corner turned, and the BVA Assessment Center emerged into view.
It wasn't the tallest building on the block, but it didn't need to be. It stood like a monument to function—black stone fused with crystalline lattice, shaped into sharp, deliberate geometry. Cobalt circuitry ran along its exterior in symmetrical veins, pulsing faintly with power, like some enormous machine frozen mid-transformation. No windows. No banners.
Above the reinforced entryway, a single symbol: the mark of the Bureau. Framed by the Bureau's crest in the corner, the emblem depicted a fractured, vertical eye surrounded by nine concentric rings, the eye's pupil split into three jagged fragments. It stared outward with clinical detachment—less a symbol of authority than of surveillance, as though the building itself were watching them approach.
A pair of drones hovered silently near the entrance—small, spherical, equipped with weapons that didn't need to be visible to be effective. Their lenses tracked movement in smooth arcs.
Steven stopped for a moment, just short of the steps, and took it in.
Toad tilted his head slightly. "Looks friendlier every time."
Steven gave a breath that was almost a laugh and started walking again. His coat flared slightly behind him as he climbed the steps, boots landing with the quiet confidence of someone not sure if they were walking into opportunity or judgment.
The door slid open with a hydraulic whisper.
They stepped inside.
The doors whispered shut behind them, muting the drone of the city outside.
Inside, the BVA Assessment Center felt more like a sanctum than a government facility—clean, cold, and impossibly precise. The floor beneath them was sleek white stone, etched faintly with circuit-like veins that glowed pale blue underfoot. The lighting hovered at the edge of sterile, humming with quiet intensity. It felt less like a place built for people and more like one designed to evaluate them.
Just ahead, a tall vertical scanner stood like a sentinel. As they approached, it stirred to life, cool beams of cobalt light sliding across their forms in gentle sweeps. Steven tensed instinctively, but the scanner gave a soft chime of approval and folded back into stillness.
They stepped into the main atrium. Minimalist benches lined the perimeter. Inset terminals blinked softly, ready for use but currently untouched. At the heart of the room sat the receptionist, poised behind a monolithic obsidian-glass desk that gleamed like black ice.
She looked up as they approached. Her eyes—amber and slit-pupiled—met Steven's with immediate focus, but her expression was warm and welcoming. Her skin shimmered faintly, and her barbed tail—more decorative than threatening—curled behind her with an idle sway. When she smiled, it was genuine, not mechanical.
"Hi there," she said, voice smooth and pleasant, with a tone that suggested both professionalism and patience. "Welcome to the BVA. What can I help you with today?"
Steven stepped forward. "I'd like to get my ability reassessed."
Her brows rose slightly in interest. "Of course. Let's get you checked in." She tapped an unseen interface on her desk. "Name?"
"Steven Stein."
"And your Bureau tag?"
Steven retrieved a small black ID chip from his jacket and slid it across the desk's surface. It was drawn into the glass with a silent pulse, and a soft light shimmered as his file loaded.
"Bio-Spark," she said, reading aloud softly. "Primary Type: Interference. Class: H-2. Current status: Awakening." Her voice never lost its warmth. "I see you are still undergoing the awakening process?"
Steven nodded. "There've been two new sub-functions that have been developed recently."
Her tail twitched thoughtfully behind her as she read further, clearly interested.
"This will require you to undergo a preliminary class verification," she said, eyes lifting to meet his again. "Since you're reporting multiple undocumented developments, Bureau policy requires confirmation before formal reclassification. It's a short, non-invasive internal assessment; if verified, we'll begin processing your new class profile."
Steven nodded. "Sounds good."
Toad leaned one arm on the edge of the desk. "And do I get a sticker for moral support?"
The receptionist grinned, her sharp teeth oddly charming when paired with her kindness. "You get to sit in the nice chairs over there and not break anything."
"I'll take it," he said, walking backward toward the waiting area with exaggerated elegance.
A soft chime echoed from a door to the left. A blue light blinked to life above it.
The receptionist gestured toward it with a graceful motion. "Room 3C. Just down the hall. A technician will meet you there."
Steven gave her a nod. "Thanks."
"Good luck, Mr. Stein." She smiled again, this time warmer.
Room 3C was cool and quiet, lit by rows of recessed panels that glowed with an artificial daylight hue. The door hissed shut behind Steven, sealing out the world like a vault door. Everything in here was built to isolate, analyze, and quantify.
The room was circular, ringed with modular tech arrays embedded into smooth, brushed metal walls. No clutter. No exposed wires. Every inch was polished, intentional. Surveillance lenses the size of pinheads tracked him from above, adjusting quietly as he moved.
"Please remove your jacket and step into the scan circle," came a gentle voice—genderless, synthetic, but not robotic. It came from a recessed speaker near the ceiling.
Steven complied, stepping onto a matte black platform in the room's center. The circle beneath his feet pulsed with faint lines—geometrics that rearranged themselves the moment he was still.
A soft hum rose as scanners activated.
First came multi-spectrum body imaging. Dozens of translucent blue rods slid down from the ceiling, forming a rotating cage of light that spiraled slowly around him. These scanners swept across his frame, capturing detailed skeletal and muscular readings to identify wear, damage, or energy-induced strain—telltale signs of power exertion at the biological level.
Above him, a ring of biofeedback readers extended outward, emitting timed pulses of electromagnetic and radio frequency energy. These measured his body's reactive conductivity and nerve response—how his physiology handled, channeled, or resisted internal electrical flow.
A technician's voice—this one human—came through a hidden comm.
"Steven, we're going to initiate metabolic analysis. Stand by."
From the walls, a barely audible hiss: aerosolized nanobots, laced with trace markers, diffused into the air. Inhaled and absorbed through the skin, they would track how efficiently his body metabolized internal energy, especially important in detecting powers that draw from physical reserves.
"Pulse test next. You'll feel a mild pressure."
From behind, a floating cylinder extended—an autonomous test drone. It hovered before his chest and emitted a controlled electromagnetic burst meant to simulate an external trigger. The goal was to see how his power reacted instinctively under sudden, low-level stimulation.
Steven tensed slightly as a current tingled across his skin—raw, brief, involuntary.
The sensors documented every twitch, voltage spike, and heat bloom in his system, building a profile of his body's baseline—and how easily that baseline could shift.
"Now," the technician said, tone sharper, "we'll begin the active assessment. Clear your mind, Steven. Let the power respond naturally to stimuli. No resistance. If you fight the reading, we'll have to start over."
Steven exhaled through his nose and let his thoughts go blank.
From above, a holographic interface bloomed to life. Dozens of metallic points shimmered in mid-air—an interactive construct tied to conductive glyph plates hidden in the room's structure. Each plate was designed to absorb and replicate energy residue, allowing them to study how long his electrical traces lingered and how far his reach extended.
"Touch the plates in order," said the technician. "We'll monitor residue persistence and response time."
He reached out. Each time his hand met a glyph, a small spark jumped. With every contact, the system mapped the imprint, generating a flickering web of data: waveform intensity, decay patterns, and distance from origin. Small pops marked the vanishing of lingering traces, like micro-detonations of dissipating charge.
Some sparks vanished instantly. Others hovered, held together by instinctive tethers of control before fading.
Next came neural observation. A delicate lattice descended from above, spider-like in design. It hovered over his skull without touching, tuned for non-invasive EEG capture, monitoring electrical signals in the brain as he visualized using his power.
"Think about each spark before you release it. No need to act—just visualize."
He complied. Sparks rose behind his eyes—not real ones, but remembered. His synapses lit like fireworks in slow motion, and the rig caught all of it: motor region flare-ups, shifts across sensory processing centers, tight bursts near the cerebellum where intention met reaction.
Finally, the lights dimmed. The rig powered down. The residual hum in the room faded.
"Assessment complete," the voice said. "You may step off the platform."
Steven stepped down, muscles sore from tension he hadn't noticed. The door hissed open again.
He grabbed his jacket. The room had taken everything it needed.
Now it was time to hear what they thought of what he'd become.
Steven sat in a sterile room that looked part clinic, part government office. The lighting was a soft, neutral white — bright enough to read by, but deliberately designed not to cause glare or discomfort. The walls were a pale gray-blue, soundproofed and subtly lined with hidden diagnostic strips. A large, wall-mounted monitor displayed a serene looping animation of a gray sky slowly turning over Caelumbra, framed by the Bureau's crest in the corner, a fractured, vertical eye surrounded by nine concentric rings, the eye's pupil split into three fragments.
In front of him sat a glass-topped desk with a dark obsidian border. Centered neatly on the desk was a brushed steel plaque that read:
BVA Medical Consultant
Dr. Robert Chekif
Next to the plaque lay a neatly folded tri-panel brochure. Steven picked it up, flipping it open with one hand while the other absently tapped his leg. It was sleek and modern, printed on soft-touch polymer paper with raised ink on the BVA insignia — the nine concentric rings gleamed faintly under the overhead lights.
He skimmed over the bolded headers and short blocks of inviting copy:
'Welcome to the Bureau of Vestigial Activity
Understanding the Extraordinary
"You are not a danger. You are a phenomenon. We're here to help you understand what makes you exceptional."
— Dr. Selin Marrow, Director of the CRD
The Bureau of Vestigial Activity (BVA) is your ally in navigating the world of awakened potential. As a leading global authority on Vestiges — the scientific term for the latent abilities that manifest in each of us — we exist to help individuals manage, develop, and safely explore their powers.
While we are an autonomous agency, we operate with one goal in mind: Protecting lives — including yours. Our work has prevented over 18 major Vestige-related incidents in the last decade alone. When you walk through our doors, you're not just a citizen. You're a carrier of potential. And we treat you accordingly.
Classification & Registry Division (CRD)
"To Name is to Know."
We believe that understanding your Vestige is the first step toward mastering it. Through our CRD, we offer:
-Preliminary Class Verification
-Comprehensive Function Analysis
-Vestigial Behavior Mapping
-Eligibility Checks for Advancement & Access
Every test is conducted by certified experts in a secure, respectful, and judgment-free environment.
Assessment Centers
Clarity. Control. Confidence.
Our Assessment Centers are designed to feel as advanced as the powers they study. Across all major districts.
The CRD is responsible for all your assessment data. Your results are recorded securely into the Central Vestigial Registry (CVR) — encrypted, non-public, and maintained under the highest confidentiality standards.
Whether you're registering for the first time or reassessing new functions, the BVA is here to ensure your journey is safe, informed, and empowered.'
Steven flipped the brochure closed and let out a breath. He was truly bored waiting for the consultant. Normally, someone like him wouldn't have even rated a face-to-face meeting unless his case was volatile or flagged for risk. But Steven's situation had been considered "anomalous" ever since he was twelve — the day Chekif had been assigned to oversee his file.
His first assessment had labeled him a low Class 1 — his body capable of generating a faint, almost imperceptible static charge. He remembered sulking for a month, convinced he'd been cursed with the worst Vestige in Caelumbra.
Then came the alley incident. A dumb fight with some neighborhood thugs turned into a blackout — both for them and him. He'd shocked all of them unconscious, himself included. The hospital visit that followed led to his first reassessment — and Dr. Chekif.
Turned out, his ability hadn't finished awakening. His body was still adapting, still reshaping itself around a function it wasn't strong enough to handle yet. The new working theory was that Steven had a rare genetic disability — something in his cellular structure made his body weak to his ability, forcing his Vestige to throttle itself to avoid killing him.
Chekif had been managing his file ever since, monitoring every test, every fluctuation, every odd reading.
The door across the room gave a soft hydraulic hiss as it opened, and a tall man in a lab coat stepped in with a tablet in one hand and a worn smile on his face.
"Steven?" the man asked, with the calm certainty of someone who already knew the answer.
"You've grown taller since the last time I saw you."
Steven stood as the man extended his hand. As they both sat back down, Steven quipped without missing a beat.
"Tell me straight, doctor, I'm dying, aren't I?" He intended to mess with the man who had made him wait.
"Well, the scan did show an unknown poisonous residue in your body. Mind telling me how that got there?"
That shut Steven up immediately, killing whatever snark he had left. The last time he came in with a "poisonous residue" during one of his checkups, Toad's "miracle medicine" had almost gotten them both hauled in for possession and use of an unregistered substance.
Dr. Chekif ignored the pause and tapped his tablet once, pulling up a lightweight holo-display that projected just above the desk between them. A familiar pulse of blue traced across the air, flickering briefly before stabilizing. Steven leaned forward slightly as his name and identifier number faded into view, followed by a header labeled:
Vestigial Classification Summary: Subject #3231 - STEIN, S.
The doctor nodded toward the projection. "You've undergone a full function resonance scan, neural interface response test, and electro-metabolic mapping. Based on the results, your Vestige has been formally classified under Class 3 – High. That's a solid rating for an Interference/Sensory type — better than average, and with strong potential for tactical use."
He swiped the air gently, bringing up Steven's finalized registry description.
Name: Bio-Spark
Type: Interference/Sensory
Class: High 3
Abilities:
Spark Generation[Function]: Can emit and manipulate small electrical sparks.
—Electrical Resonance[Sub]: Can emit a pulse within a range of twenty-five to thirty meters that faintly detects electric fields — this allows the wielder to sense active electronics, faint neural signals, or moments of tension in nearby tech or powered gear.
—Static Marker[Sub]: The user can leave a small amount of electrical energy on any point within a range of twenty-five meters, and this small amount of energy can then be manipulated for a brief moment as long as the user is in range. Once the moment expires, the energy dissipates with a pop.
Restrictions / Side Effects:
Overuse:
—Severe muscle fatigue and spasms
—Risk of fainting due to rapid energy depletion
—Temporary numbness or loss of fine motor control
Sustained Overuse:
—Long-term strain on the muscular and nervous systems
—Electrolyte imbalance requiring medical attention
—Increased risk of physical injury due to instability
Dr. Chekif leaned back slightly, his expression shifting to something more measured, still professional, but with a tone of subtle concern.
"Here's the important part, Steven. Your body metabolizes energy at an accelerated rate to power these effects. That means heat loss, electrolyte drainage, and muscular wear come faster than in a normal physiological state. That spark may look small, but your cells pay a price for every one."
He pulled out a stylus and began writing a quick note on his tablet, the information syncing with Steven's registry in real time.
"To prevent serious complications: hydrate constantly, maintain a high-electrolyte diet, and avoid consecutive multi-trigger uses. If you start experiencing tremors or loss of grip, that's your body telling you to back off. Push through it and you risk nerve fatigue or a full system crash."
"I've issued a support prescription linked to your Bureau Tag. It includes neuromuscular stabilizers, electrolyte recovery shots, and a tiered pain management protocol. All legal and approved for law enforcement Vestige deployment."
He tapped the desk once more, finalizing the update. "According to the regulation, you must show your Bureau Tag to your Training Officer. Technically, they're not allowed to engage you in high-stress scenarios until your classification is verified. You're cleared for use, but only under supervised deployment."
The holo-display dimmed and retracted.
"Your new Bureau Tag will be encoded and printed in the next few minutes. You can collect it from the front reception. I've signed and authorized the prescription, and it's locked to your ID."
Steven stood up as the doctor extended a hand, this time with a firm grip and a more serious look.
"Do remember, Officer Stein. Power's not the hard part. Endurance is."
Steven gave a half-grin. "Thanks, Doc, I'll try not to die dramatically."