Pop 2

The boardroom at Symbion Labs was a study in corporate precision.

A long black table stretched the length of the room, matte and fingerprint-proof.

Floor-to-ceiling glass walls offered a panoramic view of the city below—sunlight glintin

off distant skyscrapers like blades of steel.

Minimalist lighting fixtures hovered overhead like silent sentinels.

The air smelled faintly of cold metal and expensive coffee.

On one side of the table sat the executives and board members of Symbion Labs,

all suits, silence, and scrutiny.

On the other side—more unsettling—sat a trio of military officers in full dress uniform,

their decorations gleaming under the lights.

Their expressions were unreadable, carved from stone.

Dr. Sebastian Mireles stepped into the room and immediately regretted

the coffee he drank earlier. His stomach twisted.

His legs nearly gave out. He hadn't even sat down,

and he already knew this wasn’t a meeting.

It was a reckoning.

At the head of the table stood Lucien Drake, CEO of Symbion Labs.

Impeccably dressed, every strand of hair in place, posture straight as a ruler.

His presence sucked the air from the room. He didn’t even smile as he gestured to the chair directly across from him.

“Sit down, Dr. Mireles.”

Sebastian obeyed.

His voice cracked as he tried to speak. “Lucien, what’s going on? Am I in trouble?”

Lucien gave a sharp, humorless laugh—short and brittle.

No one else joined him. The room remained icy and silent.

“Trouble?” Lucien echoed.“Sebastian, you are far beyond trouble.

Let’s just say… you left us with no choice but to take things to the next level.”

Sebastian frowned. “Take things to the next level? What’s that supposed to mean?”

One of the military officers stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping the tile like a blade.

“We have to immediately shut down your lab, confiscate all the Chrono Pills including all physical and

digital data, materials and effects related to this project” he barked.

“You violated national security protocols Dr. Mireles” He slid photos of Sebastian handing out an envelope

to a guy in leather jacket.

“That has nothing to do with Chrono Pills, nor my research, I know how to protect the data, I’ve been doing

this for over three decades, I’m not stupid, Mister General what ever your rank is.”

“The envelope?” Lucien, snapped back.

“Lucien look, that’s not what you think it was, it has nothing to do with Symbion Labs and everything we do

here, I’m your man Lucien, I will never do anything to compromise the security of this company. That’s a

love letter.”

“Love letter?” The military snapped again. “Explain in precise terms.”

Sebastian blinked. “I like him. What can I say, I’m an old fashioned guy, I write love letters”

Lucien raised his eyebrow, “Does Pam know this?”

“Yes, she’s aware if that’s what you’re implying. We’re doing therapy on this, couple therapy."

Lucien inhaled slowly through his nose, as though speaking to a child he was deeply disappointed in.

“Sebastian, the guy you’re in love with is just using you. He works for our competitors, and who knows, other

governments? Didn’t you see the big picture: You’re the brain behind Chrono Pills.

Everyone wants a piece of your brain and it doesn’t matter how they get there, even through your pants.

We’ve talked about this. And I warned you of the consequences. But you ignored my warnings.

You initiated human trials in Liberia—without authorization from corporate, from the board, or from our military partners.

Now, thanks to you, we’re neck-deep in back channel negotiations with Liberian brass and our own military-industrial stakeholders.”

Sebastian’s mouth dried.

“But the results were beyond 95% successful, as you said, there’s a big picture involved here everything else

are a bliss. I have to do what I have to do, not only because time is of the essence but all our lab data

revealed that Chrono Pills are working. It can change things, Lucien you brought time back to humanity,

The Chrono pills work, Lucien. This is beyond anything we could have imagined.

Do you understand what this means?”

Another military officer slammed a hand against the table.

“Only for five minutes, Dr. Mireles.”

Sebastian leaned forward, desperate now, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“I know! That’s what we intended at this stage of the testing. But we’re just scratching the surface.

My team has already begun adapting the molecular structure.

If we can extract deeper sequences from our aquatic test subjects, there are other marine species—beyond jellyfish—that show promise.

We believe we can extend the results from five minutes to thirty, maybe even hours.

We’re talking about a leap in human biology!

Think about what this could mean for military applications—elite units rejuvenated mid-combat,

soldiers returning to base without a scratch.

And it won’t stop there.

This could change aging itself. Your grandparents, Lucien. They could be young again.”

Lucien’s hand came up like a guillotine.

“Enough!”

The word sliced the room in half.

Sebastian froze. The officers leaned back. The board members shifted uncomfortably but stayed silent.

Lucien took a long, measured breath, then folded his hands in front of him. His voice was soft now. Too soft.

“You betrayed the protocols, Sebastian. You’re so called boyfriend is an industrial spy.

You exposed us. You’ve made us vulnerable. And now you’ve brought something into the world that you can’t control.”

He leaned forward, eyes dark and cold.

We’re not here to debate the ethics of aging. We’re here to clean up your mess.”

Sebastian’s heart pounded. He wanted to speak. Wanted to fight.

But instead, he sat still…

...with the stolen bottle of Chrono Pill still burning like ice in the pocket of his lab coat.

Suddenly everything happened so fast.

A quiet office clerk—barely older than a college intern—slipped through the glass door

and approached the table without making eye contact.

With robotic precision, she placed a thin black folder in front of Sebastian and exited as silently as she came.

Sebastian stared at it. Something about the way it sat there—plain, sterile,

unassuming—made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

He slowly opened it.

Inside was a passport. Not his.

Well—technically his. But the name wasn’t.

He didn’t even recall posing for this passport photo.

Also inside: a one-way plane ticket to Monrovia, Liberia.

Departure: tonight. A small slip of paper with a phone number and

a contact name—“Dr. C. Osei – Solara Biotech.”

His throat tightened. He looked up at Lucien, his eyes wide, confused, angry.

“What is this?”

Before Lucien could respond, the military officer answered instead, his voice clipped and firm.

“You’re flying to Liberia under a different identity. Tonight.”

Sebastian’s breath caught in his chest. He almost laughed—almost. Instead, it came out as a sputtered protest.

“Liberia? Tonight? Why?!”

Lucien interlaced his fingers and leaned back in his chair with the polished calm of a man who’d already planned this out weeks ago.

“I know you’re very surprised right now, Sebastian. But this is the only way out of this.”

“Surprised?” Sebastian snapped, his voice cracking. “I’m beyond that now, Lucien. I’m actually scared.

What the fuck is this? A different identity? Liberia? What the fuck, Lucien?!”

Lucien’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile—not kindness. Something else. Something colder.

“Ten million dollars. Transferred to your account as soon as your plane lands. Initial payment to get

you settled. Corporate will negotiate further deals somewhere down the road.

You’ll be working with a local biotech partner in Monrovia.

Civilian use trials. Limited oversight. Clean slate.”

Sebastian stared at him, stunned.

“So that’s it? You’re just... exiling me?”

“With Ten Million dollars and more to come. We’re offering you protection,” Lucien said calmly.

“And a chance to continue your work.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Sebastian asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The military officer straightened, his expression suddenly hard.

“Mr. Mireles, this is the only choice. If you refuse to comply...” ‘

He paused, then let the next words fall with surgical precision:

“...we can’t guarantee that you’ll walk out of this board room. Alive.”

Silence.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Sebastian felt his vision blur, a high whine rising in his ears. His sweat had returned, pouring now—dripping down his spine,

soaking into the waistband of his slacks. His hands trembled against the cool black folder.

This wasn’t science anymore.

This wasn’t medicine.

This was war.

And he had just been drafted.