MUTOSTERONE

The Control Room of Hall of M was dead silent, except for the furious clacking of keyboards and the constant beeping of decryption software. Holographic screens flickered, displaying streams of code, blueprints, and satellite images. Every mutant in the room had their eyes locked on the ever-unfolding secrets of Echelon Prime—and what they saw was worse than anything they had imagined.

Professor stood at the center, arms crossed, his face unusually grave. Hours of analysis had led to a single terrifying conclusion. "Echelon Prime isn't just a rogue faction," he finally spoke, voice heavy. "They're a military force."

A hush fell over the room. One by one, the screens illuminated with newly decrypted data, revealing not one but eight separate islands—each a heavily fortified military stronghold, bristling with weapons, laboratories, and manufacturing plants. The mutants of Hall of M collectively gasped.

"Eight?!" Elias nearly choked. "As in, eight islands? Like, one-two-three-four—"

"We get it, dumbass!" Raven snapped.

Gregor squinted at the screen, his stone-like face crinkling in confusion. "Islands are expensive, right? How the hell do they afford this?"

Solus, arms crossed, exhaled sharply. "This isn't some underground gang. These people have money. Power. And a hell of a lot of weapons."

Kai's eyes widened. "What kind of weapons?"

Professor tapped on the main screen. The image shifted, displaying blueprints of sleek, futuristic firearms, mutant containment devices, and—most disturbingly—a prototype mech suit, powered by energy readings that dangerously resembled Mutosterone signatures.

"They have mechs?!" Gregor bellowed. "Why do the bad guys always get the cool stuff?!"

Elias raised his hand. "I'd like to formally request that we steal one."

"You wanna joyride an enemy war machine?!" Hana gawked.

Elias shrugged. "I feel like it'd be a valuable learning experience."

Kai buried his face in his hands. "We are so screwed."

Raven, still processing, pointed at the screen. "Wait, wait, wait—so we basically just pissed off an army?"

Professor nodded. "Yes. Yes, you did."

The mutants looked at each other. Silence. Then—

"Sooo… plan B?" Seren offered weakly.

Solus sighed dramatically. "I'm too young for this level of stress."

Barry, arms crossed, watched the chaos unfold with a smirk. "And here I thought you kids wanted to be heroes."

Raven snapped her head towards him. "Excuse me, we didn't sign up for a full-scale mutant war! We were thinking, like, street-level crime! Maybe punch a few bad guys, not take on a goddamn empire!"

Professor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Echelon Prime isn't just an enemy. If they go unchecked, they could destabilize the entire world order." He turned to the group, voice serious. "This is no longer about proving ourselves. If we don't stop them, no one will."

Gregor grumbled. "So what you're saying is… we're totally fighting an evil empire."

Silas nodded. "Yep."

Elias rubbed his temples. "Great. Just great. And here I was hoping for a peaceful semester."

Kai sighed. "Dude, we're mutants. When has anything in our lives been peaceful?"

Then, Raven took a deep breath, cracking her knuckles. "Alright, fine. Screw it. If they want a war, let's give 'em one."

Gregor grinned. "Now you're talking."

Elias leaned back, smirking. "Still putting in my request to steal a mech."

Professor sighed, already regretting everything. "You are not stealing a mech, Elias."

"I make no promises."

Professor's fingers hovered over the holographic interface, his gaze sharpening as the last folder finally decrypted before his eyes. The title stood out in stark, bold letters: MUTOSTERONE.

A slow exhale left his lips. Of all the data they had uncovered so far—the bases, the weapons, the mutant containment devices—this was the most important. The key to everything.

With a single tap, the files expanded, revealing pages upon pages of classified research, charts, genetic studies, and experimental logs. Professor adjusted his glasses, scanning the first document.

Subject: Mutosterone Fluctuation and Mutation Stability

Authors: Dr. Lorrin Vance, Dr. Hideo Yamazaki

Affiliation: Echelon Prime Research Division

Summary: Our latest findings confirm that Mutosterone is not merely a byproduct of mutant physiology, but an active regulator of mutation expression. Controlled fluctuations can enhance abilities, while suppression can significantly weaken or even revert mutations.

Professor's grip tightened. They had figured it out. For decades, the leading hypothesis had been that Mutosterone—the unique biochemical compound found in all mutants—was a simple marker of mutation. Scientists knew that higher levels correlated with stronger abilities, but this? This was something else entirely. He scrolled down, absorbing the next set of notes.

Controlled Mutosterone Modulation:

Increase Mutosterone: Enhances mutation potency, unlocks new abilities, but risks instability.

Decrease Mutosterone: Weakens or suppresses abilities, can revert some mutations entirely.

Artificial Mutosterone Regulation: Experimentation with synthetic Mutosterone suggests forced evolution is possible with proper dosage.

A graph appeared on the next page, mapping Mutosterone levels against recorded mutation shifts. Professor's eyes narrowed. The data clearly showed a pattern—mutants who experienced sudden bursts of Mutosterone developed new traits or enhanced abilities, while those whose levels dropped showed signs of regression. Some even lost their mutations completely.

Hypothesis: If Mutosterone is truly the catalyst of mutation, its artificial control could lead to the following: The ability to amplify mutations beyond natural limits.

The ability to create mutations artificially in baseline humans. The ability to strip mutants of their abilities permanently.

Professor muttered under his breath. "This is why Nexus is obsessed with regulation. And why Echelon Prime wants control."

It had always been a tug-of-war between two extremes. Nexus, with their Sentinel Core bracelets, dampening mutant abilities under the guise of maintaining peace. And Echelon Prime, with their war-driven ideology, seeking to push mutants beyond their natural limits to create an unstoppable force.

And now, thanks to this research, both sides had the blueprint to weaponize mutation itself. A section labeled "Case Studies" caught his attention. He opened the file, scanning the reports.

Subject: Typhon (Level 5 Mutant) – Enhancement Protocol

Procedure: Administered concentrated Mutosterone stimulant

Result: Rapid mutation growth, additional limb development, uncontrollable aggression

Status: Terminated due to cellular breakdown

Subject: Omega-11 (Baseline Human) – Forced Mutation Protocol

Procedure: Introduced synthetic Mutosterone serum

Result: Partial mutation success, unstable genetic integrity, loss of cognitive function

Status: Subject expired within 72 hours

A soft beep interrupted his thoughts as another encrypted file unlocked itself at the bottom of the list. Unlike the others, this one contained only a single audio log. He hesitated, then tapped play. A deep, gravelly voice filled the room.

"Mutation is evolution. But evolution is slow. For centuries, we have waited for nature to decide who thrives and who fades. No more. With the right control, the right push, we will decide. We will ascend."

The voice fell silent. The file ended. Professor leaned back, hands steepled, his mind racing. If Echelon Prime succeeded, they wouldn't just control mutants—they would redefine what it meant to be one.

And if Nexus continued their regulation policies, it wouldn't be long before suppression turned into eradication. His gaze hardened. "We're running out of time."

Professor leaned back in his chair, his breath slow and controlled, but his mind was anything but calm. His fingers hovered over the final, unmarked file. A video. No timestamps. No identifiers. Just a black screen with a single word in the corner: EXPERIMENT.

He tapped it open. The video flickered to life. A cold, sterile lab appeared on the screen. The kind built not for healing, but for breaking. Dim overhead lights barely illuminated the room, casting long shadows against steel walls. Restraints gleamed under the sickly glow, their purpose unmistakable. In the center of the frame sat a man. Human. Ordinary. Too ordinary.

His skin was pale, his muscles thin and malnourished. His eyes darted around the room, blinking rapidly under the fluorescent glare. Fear clung to him like a second skin. His wrists and ankles were bound to a steel-framed chair, metal clamps locking him in place. A long tube ran from a ceiling-mounted IV bag straight into his arm, the liquid inside a dark, viscous red.

Professor squinted. That wasn't blood. A low mechanical hum rumbled in the background, and then—movement. Someone stepped into the frame.

A scientist. No, a surgeon. His white coat was pristine, the gloves covering his hands glistening with disinfectant. He held a syringe in his right hand—long, thick, filled with a substance that swirled and pulsed unnaturally inside the glass barrel.

Not liquid. Not solid. Something in between. The seated man trembled. His lips moved—pleading, desperate. But there was no audio. The video remained eerily silent.

The scientist gave no reaction. No hesitation. He stepped forward, grabbed the man's arm, and with surgical precision, plunged the needle deep into his vein.

A violent spasm wracked the man's body. His head snapped back, his mouth contorting in a silent scream. His veins darkened instantly, the substance spreading through his bloodstream like an invading army. And then—The transformation began.

His flesh bubbled, as though something beneath it was crawling, pushing, twisting its way to the surface. His spine arched violently, bones snapping and reforming in unnatural angles. His fingers curled inward, nails blackening, thickening into something clawed.

His eyes—dear god, his eyes. The pupils stretched, elongated, the sclera vanishing until only a black void remained. A soulless abyss. His mouth stretched wider than it should, the jaw cracking apart, revealing rows of teeth that weren't human anymore.

The camera shook. The man convulsed, the restraints groaning under his growing frame. His skin, once soft and pale, now split open in jagged, uneven patches, something dark, chitinous, and wet bursting through.

His entire form bulged and spasmed, shifting between man and monster, as though the transformation itself was unfinished, imperfect, agonizing.

Then, his head snapped toward the camera. And for the briefest moment, Professor felt something cold curl around his spine. Recognition.

The man saw the camera. Saw him. A silent scream escaped the man's throat—then suddenly, the screen cut to black. The video ended.

Professor sat in absolute silence, his hands clenched, knuckles white. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of the holographic interface.