Chapter 5 - Science Fair

First Baptist Church of Poughkeepsie, Poughkeepsie, New York State

Sunday, October 6, 2002

The church reception hall buzzed with the lively hum of post-service fellowship. Martha Greene stood at one end of the room, her coffee cup warming her hands as she listened to the other young mothers in her circle chat animatedly. The aroma of freshly baked cookies mingled with the faint scent of floor polish, creating a comforting backdrop to their weekly gathering.

"...and Ethan's piano recital was just spectacular," gushed Linda, her pastel blouse fluttering slightly as she gestured. "He's only eight, but the teacher says he's got real talent. Might even skip ahead to some more advanced pieces next semester."

Several heads nodded in approval, murmurs of encouragement passing through the group.

"That's wonderful," chimed in Karen, her dark curls bouncing as she adjusted her scarf. "Our Emily just got her first ribbon in gymnastics. She's been practicing so hard, and it's really paying off. I can't believe how good she's gotten."

Martha smiled politely, waiting for her turn to brag. She sipped her coffee, her fingers tapping lightly against the paper cup. She knew this moment would come—this unspoken competition of maternal pride—and she was ready.

"What about you, Martha?" Linda prompted, turning her attention toward her. "How's Nathan settling into kindergarten? He must be having such a great time with all the fun activities."

Martha placed her cup down on the nearby table and let a soft smile spread across her lips. "Oh, he's doing wonderfully. In fact, we just started him with a new tutor."

"A tutor?" Karen echoed, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Isn't he only five?"

"Yes," Martha replied, her tone casual. "But his teacher and the school counsellor recommended it. They noticed he's... well, advanced for his age."

"Advanced how?" Linda asked, leaning in slightly.

Martha's chest swelled with pride as she recounted the story. "His assignments are beyond anything you'd expect from a kindergartener. For example, he was asked to practice writing his letters, and instead, he wrote an essay about the history of writing systems. Another time, his math homework turned into a detailed proof of irrational numbers. apparently, he's already operating near a college or university level."

The group fell silent for a moment, the chatter from other clusters in the room filling the gap. Karen's mouth opened slightly as if to say something but then closed again.

"That's... How? What?" Linda finally said, her voice shocked.

"According to the school counsellor and his tutor, he's absolutely brilliant," Martha said, her confidence growing. "The tutor the school referred us to is extraordinary. She's worked with students who've gone on to Harvard, MIT, Juilliard, and other Ivy League schools. She even tailored a special curriculum just for Nathan."

"Wow," Karen murmured. "And he's only five?"

"That's right," Martha confirmed, nodding. "She said he has the potential to achieve remarkable things. We're just so proud of him."

"Of course you are," Linda said warmly, though her smile faltered slightly. "It must be... a lot to manage."

Martha picked up her cup again, sipping slowly to hide her satisfaction. "It's worth it. He's such a bright boy, and he deserves every opportunity to shine."

"Well," Karen said, forcing a chuckle, "it sounds like you've got a little genius on your hands."

The rest of the group joined her awkward chuckle. For once, she had a story that made Nathan the centre of attention. It felt good to celebrate his achievements without the shadow of his unusual past looming over her.

Several other mothers hadn't had the chance to talk about their children yet but seemed hesitant to do so after Martha's bombshell. The conversation shifted to another topic, but Martha didn't mind. She had said her piece. As she listened to Linda talk about an upcoming bake sale, she allowed herself a moment of quiet pride.

Nathan was a handful—there was no denying that. But he was her handful, and no matter what challenges came their way, she was determined to support him. Even if it meant navigating the complexities of tutors, school meetings, and assignments she didn't fully understand.

Melissa Anderson's Apartment, Poughkeepsie, New York State

Monday, October 7, 2002

Melissa Anderson sat in the modest living room of her apartment, her hands clutching a mug of lukewarm tea as if it could ground her against the tension radiating through the speakerphone. The cheap beige wallpaper and generic furniture were rather plain, but it didn't really matter since she was only assigned here for the rest of the school year.

"Miss Anderson," Dr. Kim snapped, her clipped tone biting through the static. "Explain this tutor situation to me. Slowly."

"I was present at a meeting between Nathan's parents and the school counsellor, Dr. Price," Melissa began, keeping her voice measured. "Dr. Price recommended private tutoring after reviewing some of Nathan's recent assignments. His parents agreed, and Nathan is now working with a woman named Eleanor Tregarth."

"And you didn't think to intervene?" Dr. Kim asked, the skepticism dripping from her voice like venom.

Melissa felt her grip on the mug tighten, the porcelain edge biting into her fingers. "I tried, but Dr. Price presented a strong case, and Nathan's parents seemed eager. Overruling them would have drawn unnecessary attention."

"Unnecessary attention?" Eugenia scoffed. "What do you think this new tutor is going to bring you—"

"Eugenia," Richard Brinkerhoff interjected, his tone smooth but firm. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Melissa, what do we know about this Tregarth?"

Melissa set the mug down and reached for the folder on the coffee table, flipping through its contents even though she had already memorized them. "Vought ran a comprehensive background check. She's a retired university professor turned private tutor. Previously married to Andrew Tregarth, but widowed 8 years ago. Her specialty is gifted children, and her portfolio includes students who've gone on to Ivy League schools and prestigious arts programs. She has no known connections to any organizations that would be a threat to Vought."

It was hard to tell is the noise they heard over the line was Dr. Kim grumbling or just the normal static.

Melissa cleared her throat, trying to continue, and hopefully deflect some blame. "Nathan's parents were the ones who pushed for this. They were impressed by her credentials and success stories. I had little room to object without exposing myself."

"And what happens if she decides to exploit his intelligence for her own gain?" Eugenia demanded. "What if she's not who she says she is? What if she talks to the press?"

"Talks to the press about what?" Brinkerhoff asked, his voice tinged with exasperation. "So what if he comes out early as super-abled? Even if word got out, there are hundreds of super-abled kids across the country. He wouldn't even be the first super-genius."

"..." Silence on the line.

Brinkerhoff let out a long, measured sigh. "Eugenia, let's not overreact. It's not like she's going to be running blood tests on him."

Nathan's Lab, Poughkeepsie, New York State

Same Time

Nathan was looking at a sample of his blood, adjusting the focus knob of the microscope with careful precision, his small fingers deftly manipulating the controls. The slide beneath the lens came into sharp view, revealing a lattice of crimson blood cells spread out like a miniature map. Interwoven among the familiar red forms were faint traces of something alien—a web of dark blue flecks suspended in the fluid, faintly glowing with a neon-blue hue under the light.

"Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Beside him, an open notebook overflowed with detailed sketches, calculations, and notes on how the substance moved and behaved written in his messy scrawl.

The lab hummed with activity around him. Across the room, servers blinked and whirred as they processed simulations. The CNC machine emitted rhythmic sounds as it carved a block of aluminum into precise components for one of Nathan's latest personal projects. The atmosphere was calm yet charged with purpose.

Increasing the magnification, Nathan paused to refocus, his brow furrowing slightly. Under the enhanced view, the blue flecks became clearer—tiny, almost crystalline structures that shimmered faintly against the crimson backdrop. They looked alive, glowing faintly with an unknown energy. He was reminded of some things Tony had seen in the Marvel universe, like the Tesseract energy, Vibranium's effect on living tissue, and of course samples from gamma enhanced.

"What are you?" Nathan wondered. The presence of Compound V was unmistakable now, its alien properties both fascinating and deeply unsettling. His mind raced with possibilities. How to isolate it? Could a centrifuge separate the compound into a purer form? And if so, what could he do with it once he had it?

The quiet hiss of the lab door opening pulled him from his thoughts. Nathan straightened and looked up to see Eleanor stepping into the room, her movements precise yet unhurried. She carried two mugs, steam curling from their rims, and her expression was calm but appraising.

"How's the project coming?" she asked, her tone casual yet laced with expectation.

"Done," Nathan replied, his voice steady. "Let me just clean up."

He removed the slide from the microscope, carrying it carefully to the cleaning station. His movements were swift but deliberate as he sterilized the slide, dried it with a fresh towel, and disposed of his gloves. Eleanor, meanwhile, set one of the mugs down on the central table and inspected a neatly arranged folder.

Nathan joined her, picking up his mug and taking a sip. The hot chocolate was rich and velvety, a momentary comfort against the backdrop of his relentless curiosity. He gestured toward the file as Eleanor picked it up.

"Is that it?" she asked. "I was kind of expecting you to have a prototype already."

"Limited resources," Nathan said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I didn't have all the chemicals and tools needed to synthesize it, and I assume you'll want to manufacture and test it yourselves before deploying it. And I can't exactly bring people down here for testing."

Eleanor gave him a look for his snark, but raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to explain.

"It works sort of like a vaccine," Nathan continued, setting the mug down. "I engineered a chelation agent specialized for Polonium-210, but it works on other heavy metals too, and encased it in a nano-shell. The nano-shell is non-toxic and chemically inert, so it doesn't trigger an immune response. It's also incredibly stable but breaks down in the presence of alpha radiation—that's how the chelation agent is released."

Eleanor studied the vial, her expression unreadable. "And it stays in the body?"

"For about a year before it's completely flushed out," Nathan confirmed. "It continues to be effective for up to 6-8 months. The folder has everything you'll need: manufacturing instructions, dosage guidelines, storage protocols, and distribution recommendations. It's all there."

She nodded, her gaze shifting briefly from the vial to Nathan. "Impressive work."

Nathan smiled faintly but said nothing, his attention already drawn to the far end of the central table, where components of his personal project gleamed under the lab's bright lights. Eleanor followed his gaze, setting the vial down and crossing her arms.

"So," she said, her tone lighter, "how's your personal project coming along?"

Nathan's smile grew, a flicker of pride crossing his features. "It's right on track for March," he said, gesturing toward the sleek, polished parts arranged neatly on the table. "I think it's going to work perfectly."

Eleanor leaned against the edge of the table, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Nathan examine the polished parts of his project. After a long pause, she broke the silence.

"Nathan," she said, her tone quieter but no less firm, "are you sure about going public so soon? It goes against everything I've learned as a spy. This... all of this," she gestured to the lab and the parts on the table, "it feels premature."

Nathan didn't look up immediately. Instead, he carefully adjusted a component on the table, aligning it perfectly with another piece. "Everything will be in place by then," he said calmly. "You don't have to worry."

Her brow furrowed. "It's not about me worrying. It's about risk management. Timing is everything in this line of work, and this timeline feels... rushed."

Finally, Nathan looked up, meeting her gaze with a confidence that seemed almost out of place on a five-year-old's face. "Mallory okayed it," he said simply.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Eleanor shot back. "You're smart, Nathan, probably smarter than anyone I've ever worked with, but that doesn't mean you're invincible. Going public—even in the way you're planning—draws attention. And attention is dangerous."

Nathan's expression softened slightly, though his resolve remained unshaken. "I know," he admitted. "But the kind of attention we're going to attract is part of the plan. Vought can't afford to make a move on me if everyone's watching. I'll be too valuable to them as a public figure."

"And what happens when you're not a five-year-old wunderkind anymore?" Eleanor countered, crossing her arms. "What happens when the world moves on and Vought doesn't need to keep up appearances?"

Nathan smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried more weight than a child his age should be capable of. "By then, the world will need me more than Vought ever did."

Eleanor let out a soft sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're a hard kid to argue with, you know that?"

"I've been told," Nathan said, his tone light but with a glimmer of seriousness beneath it.

She straightened and picked up the folder with the chelation agent's instructions. "Fine. If Mallory's backing it, I'll trust you—for now. Just don't expect me to stop questioning everything. It's what I'm here for."

Nathan nodded, already turning back to his work. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

As Eleanor walked toward the exit, she glanced over her shoulder. "Just... don't get too confident, alright? Even the smartest people can overlook the obvious."

Nathan didn't look up, but his voice carried across the room with unwavering confidence. "That's why I have you."

Eleanor smirked at him.

"And, were you able to order those specialized lenses I asked for?" Nathan asked.

"Of course. They should arrive in a couple of weeks."

"Thank you," Nathan paused to enjoy sipping his cocoa again. "By the way," he said grabbing an envelope off the table, "I was hoping you'd be able to send this to someone."

Eleanor accepted the envelope from him and looked inside. He didn't stop her, after all, that's how this deal worked. He was just grateful they didn't install cameras and microphones all over his lab, he'd checked very thoroughly. Probably didn't want to leave any recordings as evidence or risk that they might be leaked.

Eleanor looked up from the letter, "Who's Jessica?"

Detroit, Michigan

October 28, 2002

The faint hum of a box fan and the creak of a rocking chair filled the small living room of a modest apartment. The furniture was old but well-kept, the floral patterns on the couch slightly faded. A crocheted blanket draped over the back of the loveseat, and the smell of something warm and sweet hovered in the air from the kitchen—a trace of her nana's peach cobbler still in the oven.

Jessica Bradley sat cross-legged on the couch, a large hardcover book from the local library balanced on her lap. The cover read Moral Philosophy: An Introduction to Ethics, its dense text a stark contrast to her youthful frame. Jessica was a small Black girl, all of ten years old, with her hair done up in two rounded little puffs on the sides of her head. Jessica's face held a focused intensity as her eyes scanned the page. She was critiquing a chapter on utilitarianism, her small hand occasionally jotting notes in the margin with a cheap ballpoint pen.

"That doesn't even account for marginalization," she muttered under her breath, the corners of her mouth pulling downward. "What good is maximizing happiness if you ignore structural inequities?"

Her grandmother, an elderly woman with short silver curls and warm brown eyes, sat in a rocking chair beside the couch. She was knitting, her needles clicking steadily as she worked on what looked like a scarf in bright blue yarn. Her gaze occasionally flickered toward Jessica, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

"You mumblin' to yourself again, baby?" her grandmother asked, her tone affectionate.

Jessica looked up from the book, her expression serious. "This guy—Rainier—he's oversimplifying. If you only measure happiness, then people in power will always skew the numbers in their favour."

Her grandmother chuckled, her voice a low, soothing hum. "Most kids your age are readin' about princesses and superheroes. You're out here arguing with dead philosophers."

Jessica smiled faintly, her seriousness giving way to a moment of warmth. "I like superheroes too," she said, glancing down at the book again. "But this stuff matters, Nana. People make decisions based on these ideas, and sometimes they're wrong."

Her grandmother reached over and patted Jessica's knee with her free hand. "You got a good heart, Jessica. Don't ever lose that, you hear me?"

Jessica nodded solemnly. "I won't."

The front door creaked open, letting in a faint chill from the Detroit evening. Jessica's parents stepped inside, both of them wearing tired but determined expressions. Her mother, a tall woman with short-cropped hair, carried a grocery bag in each hand, while her father, a plump man with calloused hands, balanced a toolbox under one arm.

"We're back," her father announced, setting the toolbox down by the door. "Jessica, you help your Nana with dinner?"

"I did," Jessica said, looking up from her book. "Peach cobbler for dessert."

Her mother smiled, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter. "Good girl. You hungry?"

Jessica shook her head. "Not yet. I'm almost done with this chapter."

Her father glanced over at the book and raised an eyebrow. "You sure you don't want somethin' lighter to read, Jess? Like somethin' with pictures?"

Jessica gave him a flat look, though there was a flicker of humour in her eyes. "No, Daddy. This is fine."

Her grandmother chuckled, her knitting needles pausing for a moment. "She's got her mama's stubborn streak, that's for sure."

"Speaking of reading, Jess, got somethin' for you," her father said, holding up an envelope.

Jessica's head tilted, curiosity flickering in her eyes. She unfolded her legs and got up from the couch, crossing the room to take the envelope. It was thinner than the usual bills and advertisements, with her name neatly typed on the front. It didn't have a return address or any other identifying marks beyond a postage stamp with a picture of a duck on it.

"Who's it from?" she asked, flipping it over.

"Don't know," her father said, setting his toolbox by the door. "But it's got your name on it, and it came first-class. Might be one of those folks you been writin' to."

Jessica's heart skipped slightly, though she tried not to let it show. She'd been sending out letters for months now, mailing them to professors, authors, and anyone she thought might be interested in her ideas. Most of the time, the responses—if they came at all—were polite but dismissive, praising her ambition before suggesting she "keep at it" and "consider college someday."

She looked at the envelope again, her fingers brushing over the neatly typed address. "Probably just another rejection," she murmured.

Her grandmother set down her knitting and gave her a pointed look. "You don't know that until you open it, baby."

Jessica nodded, her fingers carefully breaking the seal. Inside were several folded sheets of paper. She unfolded them and read the top one first, her eyes scanning the typed lines.

Dear Miss Bradley,

I've had the privilege of reading your work, and I must say, it is remarkable. Your insights on economic and governmental reform demonstrate a depth of understanding far beyond your years. You possess a rare gift, Jessica, and it should not go to waste.

This opportunity is yours, should you choose to accept it. I will be presenting on the final day.

Sincerely,
N

Jessica blinked, then looked behind the letter. There were also three other pages behind the letter. She pulled them out, recognizing the first immediately—it was one of her essays,A Treatise on Economic and Governmental Reform.

Her hands trembled as she flipped to the second page. It was a detailed critique of her essay, full of handwritten notes in an untidy scrawl. Each point was meticulously analyzed—some ideas praised, others questioned, and a few even expanded upon with insights she hadn't considered.

Her analytical mind went into overdrive. She'd had people critique her work before, but only in the sense of dismissing her as a child. They usually hadn't even bothered to read it, and certainly never checked the references. Whoever had written this critique had done so, and actually come up with some surprisingly good arguments, no obvious logical fallacies at all.

Back to the handwriting on the essay, based on how the individual letters were formed, they weren't just sloppy. It was like whoever had written them had very little practice, or maybe even lacked motor control, and had small hands. She came to the obvious answer in nano-seconds, a kid; another kid like her.

Jessica felt a swell of emotions—excitement, curiosity, and a little fear. She decided to look at the last page. It was a flyer for the International Science and Engineering Fair. Attached by a paperclip were four tickets, and a cheque made out to her father for $10,000.00. The name was John Smith, she assumed that was a joke, but the cheque still looked real. She checked the address and date on the flyer and tickets, Vought Convention Center, New York, May 11-17.

Jessica turned to where her family gathered around the table for dinner and spoke up to get her father's attention, "Daddy?"

"Yes, Jessica?"

"You remember that vacation you wanted to take?" she asked, holding up the tickets and cheque to his stunned face.

Vought Convention Center, New York

Evening, May 17, 2003

It hadn't been hard to convince his parents to bring him here. Nathan knew how to play to their aspirations, and Eleanor had been more than willing to nudge them in the right direction. A subtle recommendation from her—framed as a way to "inspire" their already gifted son and give him a glimpse of his potential future—was all it took to plant the seed. The fact that she just so happened to have some tickets already, courtesy of a "former student" who couldn't attend, sealed the deal. His parents had leapt at the chance to bask in the glow of their son's brilliance, imagining this as the first of many stepping stones toward a prestigious career. For Nathan, it was just another piece in his carefully orchestrated plan.

Nathan stood at the edge of the bustling convention floor, his small frame dwarfed by the towering displays and swirling crowds. The hum of conversation, the occasional cheer, and the faint whir of technological demonstrations filled the air. It was winding down now that the fair was almost over, but the air was still punctuated by flashes of bright lights and the hum of cutting-edge machinery.

His sharp eyes darted across the room, cataloguing the various booths and exhibits. The projects ranged from Astronomy to Software. Nearby, a group of college-aged students gathered around a display showcasing a new material designed to mimic spider silk. Across the aisle, a high schooler was demonstrating a working drone equipped with real-time environmental sensors.

Nathan sighed.

The International Science and Engineering Fair was supposed to be a beacon for innovation, a place where the best and brightest minds could come together to showcase their ingenuity. But that had changed when Vought took over in 1993. The corporation had co-opted the event, turning it into little more than a glorified recruiting ground for their own purposes.

He scanned the crowd, his gaze narrowing as he observed the telltale signs of Vought's influence. Scouts in cheap suits lingered near the booths, their keen eyes assessing which young minds might be ripe for exploitation. Booths showcasing medical breakthroughs were inundated with corporate reps, no doubt searching for the next big innovation to funnel into their pharmaceutical division.

Then there were the material engineers, whose brilliant designs would likely end up wasted in superhero costumes for overgrown children."Okay, maybe I don't have the right to judge there considering the Iron Man suits. Even so, Nathan clenched his small fists at his sides due to the wasted potential.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Nathan took a deep breath, adjusting the oversized badge clipped to his shirt. Everything was in place for his big show. He felt a little bad about hijacking the fair, but hey, he wasn't eligible for any prizes anyway. That suited him just fine. He only wanted the publicity. Speaking of which, there was the local news crew now.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself, a faint smirk curling his lips. "Time to shake things up a bit." He then turned and walked in the opposite direction right out the front doors.

Mia Carter adjusted her blazer for the hundredth time, trying to will the ill-fitting jacket to stop riding up her shoulders. She hated this assignment, and she hated the blazer even more. Her badge, which read – Mia Carter, Junior Correspondent, dangled awkwardly on its lanyard, and she felt every bit the junior lackey she was.

The convention floor was a sea of buzzing excitement, but none of it felt real to Mia. A bunch of teenagers showing off their pet projects to fawning parents and corporate stooges wasn't exactly Pulitzer material. This is a waste of time, she thought bitterly. I didn't spend four years at Columbia to spend a week covering a glorified high school science fair.

She helped shift the cameraman's tripod into place with a little more force than necessary, earning a pointed look from him. Mia ignored him, her lips pressed into a thin line. She knew exactly why she'd been given this gig. No one else wanted it, and after refusing to play nice with Cameron Coleman, this was her penance.

Coleman, the smug bastard, had smirked when she turned him down, practically guaranteeing she'd never get a real assignment at VNN. She could still hear his voice dripping with fake charm,"You're too ambitious, Carter. That kind of thing can make people uncomfortable."Now here she was, stuck in a cavernous hall full of earnest young faces and projects she barely cared to understand.

She glanced at the cameraman. "Let's just get some B-roll and a couple of soundbites, okay? I want this done in one take."

The cameraman grunted in response, adjusting the lens as Mia scanned the room for someone vaguely interesting to interview. The best she could hope for was a clean wrap-up piece—maybe a quick montage of smiling kids with voiceovers about innovation and dreams.

Her gaze wandered to a booth showcasing a clean water filtration system. The project looked impressive, but the student presenting it was barely audible over the din of the convention. Mia sighed. This is what my career has come to. Reporting on carbon-neutral water filters while that prick Coleman gets prime time.

And then, it happened.

The hum of conversation across the massive convention floor faded as a voice crackled to life over the loudspeakers.

"Attention, ladies, gentlemen, and students of all ages. Apologies for the interruption, but may I have your attention, please?"

Mia straightened, her hand instinctively gripping the microphone. The voice wasn't the usual robotic announcer tone she expected. It was clear, young, and confident—almost playful.

"If you'd all be so kind as to head outside to the main courtyard, we have a very special demonstration planned. I promise you don't want to miss this."

The voice faded, replaced by murmurs of confusion and curiosity rippling through the crowd.

A demonstration? Outside? Mia turned to her cameraman, her frustration momentarily forgotten. "Did anyone mention this in the program?"

The cameraman shrugged. "Not that I saw. Should we follow the crowd?"

Mia didn't hesitate. "Absolutely. Grab the gear. This might actually be something worth covering."

She hustled toward the door while the cameraman grabbed the camera and folded up the tripod under his arm.

As the attendees began streaming toward the exits, Mia pushed through the throng, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. Damn it! she thought. This would be so much easier if they didn't make us wear these stupid short skirts.

Please let this be big, she thought.

Stepping outside, the dark sky forced her eyes to adjust as she scanned the crowd gathering in the convention center's sprawling courtyard. People were craning their necks, murmuring excitedly. Near the center of the concrete ground, on the pedestal that supported the giant statue of Frederick Vought, a single podium had been set up, flanked by speakers. Beside it was a table, with something tall and thin covered by a white sheet. The area in front of the stage was lit up by floodlights and cordoned off with barriers, creating a wide open space. Various men and women in suits and sunglasses stood positioned around it to keep back the crowd.

"Set up here," Mia ordered, pointing to a clear spot with a good view of the stage. Her cameraman grumbled but complied, quickly setting up the camera as more attendees spilled onto the lawn.

Mia's grip tightened on her microphone. Whatever this is, it better be good, she thought. No more high school experiments. Give me something real.

The speakers crackled again, drawing the crowd's attention.

"Thank you for coming," the voice said warmly, amplified across the lawn. "I know you're all here to celebrate innovation, and I wanted to share something special with you."

Mia's eyes darted around, searching for the source of the voice. She spotted a small figure stepping onto the stage—a boy, no older than six or maybe seven. He had dark hair and was wearing a neatly pressed suit, the badge clipped to his chest looked oversized.

Her breath caught. A kid?

The boy stepped up to the podium with a poise that felt uncanny, his small hands gripping the edges as he scanned the crowd. He smiled, and the expression was both disarming and strangely calculated.

"Hello, everyone," he began, his voice steady and clear, "My name is Nathan Greene and I'd like to show you all a little something I've been working on."

Who the hell is this kid? Mia leaned forward, her eyes locked on the boy. If this is a stunt, it's a damn good one.

And then, with the flourish of a magician revealing a trick, the boy gestured toward the open space in front of the stage.

"Watch closely," he said. "This is only the beginning."

The courtyard fell silent as a series of blinding lights snapped on, startling the gathered crowd. The floodlights flared brighter, their beams crisscrossing the space as they illuminated the stage. Gasps rippled through the attendees, and the hum of quiet conversation stilled completely.

Projected onto the towering walls surrounding the courtyard were larger-than-life images of Nathan's face, his dark hair and eyes. Every curious tilt of his head, every confident smile was magnified and displayed in crisp detail. The live feed shifted seamlessly from one angle to another, showcasing the boy at the podium as if he were a seasoned presenter.

Nathan paused, allowing the moment to stretch, the silence drawing everyone's attention fully to him. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, amplified, and full of a conviction that seemed far beyond his years.

"Good evening, everyone," he began, his tone calm and measured, his hands gripping the edges of the podium. "Thank you for taking the time to join me out here. I know it's late, and you've probably seen plenty of impressive projects today, but I'd like to share something a little different with you."

He scanned the crowd, his expression serious yet approachable. "When I look around this convention, I see some of the brightest minds of our generation. Innovators, problem solvers, dreamers. It's inspiring. But it's also a little sad."

There was a murmur of confusion from the audience, and Nathan pressed on, his voice rising slightly.

"Sad, because I think we've forgotten something important—something humanity used to be really good at: looking up. Dreaming big. Building for the future. We used to do impossible things—buildings that reached the sky, splitting the atom, harnessing electricity, curing diseases that ravaged humanity for millennia, and let's not forget putting men on the moon But somewhere along the way, we lost that spark. Maybe it was a lack of competition. Maybe it was because we started looking for heroes in capes instead of ourselves. Either way, we stopped dreaming as big as we used to."

His words hung in the air, resonating in the hushed crowd.

"But I think we can get it back," Nathan continued, his voice brimming with quiet intensity. "I think we can reignite that spark, together. And tonight, I'd like to show you how."

With a dramatic flourish, he reached for the white sheet covering the tall object beside him. With a single pull, the sheet slid away, revealing a sleek, futuristic model rocket standing less than a meter tall. Its polished, aerodynamic surface gleamed under the stage lights.

The crowd murmured in surprise and confusion they were expecting something a little more impressive than that. The projectors shifted, zooming in on the rocket. A live feed of the rocket's intricate details filled the walls of the courtyard, the polished surface reflecting the lights like a mirror.

Nathan stepped aside slightly, giving the audience a better view of the rocket. "This," he said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of excitement, "is more than a model. This is proof of concept. A vision of what's possible when we combine imagination, innovation, and a little bit of science fiction turned fact. This is a fully functional rocket capable of reaching Mach 8 and flying into orbit."

This time the crowd reacted with disbelief, at least the ones who knew anything about rocket science. Mia heard one student murmuring about how that was impossible. Another one mentioned how the smallest rocket to ever reach orbit was over 10 meters long.

The projectors shifted again, displaying a series of schematics and animations. The diagrams showcased complex designs—layers of circuits, propulsion systems, and something labelled "Repulsor Engine."

Nathan pointed to the diagrams, his small hand steady as he gestured toward specific sections. "At the heart of this rocket is something I call Repulsor Technology. Unlike traditional propulsion systems that rely on combustion, mypatentedRepulsor Technology is cleaner, more efficient, and scalable to any size—from this rocket to full-scale spacecraft."

Nathan let the murmurs ripple through the crowd, his small smile unwavering. He stepped closer to the podium, placing his hands on either side of the microphone with deliberate ease.

"Maybe words and diagrams aren't enough," he said, his voice steady and confident. "Sometimes, seeing is believing."

He reached for a small remote on the podium and pressed a button. The projectors shifted, and some screens now displayed a live feed of the rocket, its sleek surface reflecting the stage lights. A camera mounted on the rocket's exterior provided a clear view of the crowd below, an ocean of faces staring up with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

"This is real," Nathan explained, his voice carrying over the murmurs. "The onboard camera will record and project the entire flight for you to see. You'll get a front-row seat to watch as this rocket reaches Mach 8 and achieves orbit."

The murmurs grew louder, disbelief and anticipation mingling in the courtyard.

Nathan's expression remained calm, even as he glanced at a few of the doubters. "Shall we?" he said with a slight shrug, his tone casual, almost playful.

He pressed another button on the remote, and the base of the rocket emitted a bright white glow. A high-pitched whine cut through the courtyard, the sound rising steadily as the rocket's engines came to life. The glow brightened, illuminating the stage brighter than even the floodlights.

The crowd gasped collectively as the rocket began to rise, slowly and smoothly. It hovered for a moment above the stage, the high-pitched whine reaching a steady hum, before tilting slightly upward. The engines intensified, and in a flash, the rocket shot into the sky, leaving a faint trail of shimmering ionized particles in its wake.

The crowd's eyes darted between the rapidly disappearing rocket and the projections now dominating the walls around them. The live feed from the onboard camera showed a steadily receding view of the courtyard, the crowd shrinking into tiny specks as the convention center's roof came into view.

Nathan's voice cut through the awe-struck silence. "As you can see, Repulsor Technology allows for a smooth, controlled ascent with minimal environmental impact. No combustion. No dangerous byproducts. Just clean energy and precision engineering."

The feed shifted, the camera now capturing the glittering lights of New York City sprawled below. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the rocket continued to climb, the skyline shrinking as the horizon curved into view.

"This isn't just theory," Nathan said, his voice growing stronger. "This is tested, proven technology. And the best part? It's designed to be affordable. Scalable. Accessible. Because if we're going to dream big again, it has to be something everyone can believe in."

A few murmurs rose from the crowd, this time sounding more like excitement than confusion. People began whispering to each other, their eyes never leaving the projection.

Nathan stepped back to the podium, his expression solemn but hopeful. "I don't want to see another generation grow up thinking the impossible is out of reach. I want to live in a world where kids like me—and kids like you," he said, pointing to a few young faces in the crowd, "can grow up knowing that the stars are just the beginning."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the crowd one last time.

"So, what do you say?" he asked, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "Are you ready to start dreaming again?"

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, a wave of energy sweeping through the courtyard. Even the most jaded corporate reps looked impressed, their previous detachment replaced by awe—or calculation.

Mia Carter stood frozen, her microphone clenched in her hand. This wasn't just a story. This was the story.

She turned to her cameraman, her voice low but urgent. "You're getting all this, right?"

The cameraman nodded, his own amazement visible as he kept the camera trained on Nathan, capturing every moment of his extraordinary debut.

I have to sit that kid down for an interview, Mia thought to herself.