Experiment X

The Depths of X

CHAPTER
1

The water cradled her body like a second skin, cool and weightless, as Aria Voss moved with fluid precision through the indoor pool. Every morning began like this: the rhythmic push and pull of her muscles, the soft lap of water against her ears, and the quiet that enveloped her, both inside and out. It was the only place she felt truly in control of her environment, where everything made sense. The water obeyed her movements, predictable and soothing, unlike the chaotic, ever-shifting demands of the world outside.

For Aria, the pool wasn't just a place to swim-it was an escape. Here, the sharpness of the world was dulled, the relentless noise softened. As someone with autism, sensory overload was a constant companion, a shadow that trailed her through every aspect of life. But in the water, she could control the input, drown out the unnecessary, and focus only on the gentle ebb and flow of the currents. Every stroke was a metronome, every breath a measured interval. It was perfection, a system of patterns she could predict, and that brought her peace.

She turned in the water, performing a flawless flip before gliding back across the length of the pool. Her mind, always whirring with information and theories, stilled during these moments. Here, she didn't have to think about gene sequences or alien DNA structures. Here, she didn't have to consider the next breakthrough or how to outpace the rest of the scientific community. It was just her and the water-a universe stripped of all its complexities.

After twenty laps, Aria finally let herself stop, her breathing controlled and steady as she floated on her back, staring at the pristine ceiling of the facility. Everything here was pristine. The research facility she called home was a towering marvel of glass and metal, built for the future, a testament to the advancements of humanity. It stretched hundreds of stories aboveground and descended even further below, where the real work happened. The pool was one of the few recreational areas provided for the staff, but most didn't use it. Most of them preferred the gym, or their virtual reality lounges. The pool was hers.

With a small sigh, she turned and began swimming toward the edge, her morning routine nearly complete. She always swam before work-before the endless hours of dissecting genomes and studying alien specimens in her lab. It was the one ritual that allowed her to center herself, to start her day on her own terms before the world demanded more from her than she wanted to give.

As she climbed out of the pool, water streamed off her lithe frame, the slick material of her swim suit clinging to her skin. Aria was graceful in her movements, every step measured and purposeful. She grabbed a towel from the bench, wrapping it around her shoulders as she padded across the cool tiles toward the locker rooms.

Once inside, she moved with her usual efficiency. Every action was methodical, a routine she had perfected over the years. She dried off, pulled on her lab clothes-pristine white pants and a fitted lab coat-and meticulously dried her short, dark hair. Everything had to be in order. That was how she maintained control.

Finally, Aria reached for the case on the counter. Inside were her glasses, large and black, with lenses so thick they made her look slightly owl-like. She put them on, immediately shielding her uniquely colored eyes from the world. When she was born, her eyes had been bright blue-like the sky before a storm. But when she was five years old, she'd made the choice that would change her vision forever.

Aria had always been a prodigy, a genius beyond her years. By the age of five, she was already experimenting with rudimentary genetic editing-small changes in her environment, in her toys, in herself. Her fascination with the human body, with its biological components, had started young. But that year, in her room under dim lights, she'd figured out how to change her eye color, adjusting the pigment of her irises through a minor genetic alteration. What she hadn't expected was the side effect.