---
The eighth day began in silence. The kind of silence that wasn't empty, but dense—like the space between stars. Julian sat at the edge of his bunk, palms pressed to his thighs, head tilted toward the ceiling as if listening for something only he could hear.
Tick.
No pain. Just that now-familiar tapping against his ribs.
He stood slowly, watching the others stir awake one by one. Marvo stretched with a yawn and immediately kicked his blanket off. George rubbed his face and groaned. Ren mumbled something that sounded like "We better not have cardio this early." Tae said nothing, but his eyes were already scanning the room.
Julian's fingers twitched around the edge of his shirt. His skin itched. He needed air.
---
The STAR Program was the first of its kind.
Not just a televised idol competition. Not just another ratings grab. Not a branding playground or a talent vacuum. It was an experiment. A crucible. The quiet beginning of something far worse than anyone watching from their cushioned homes could imagine.
Only four groups had been invited. Not nine. Not even five.
Four.
Each handpicked from different quadrants of society—slums, outer sectors, elite academies, and unregistered zones. It was a trial run. An aesthetic culling. The goal: find the faces, limbs, and features that best suited the "New Model."
Julian didn't know that yet. Not fully. But he could feel something.
Something cold breathing beneath the stage lights.
---
The dorms were colder this morning. Or maybe it was the fog.
Julian stared out from the fifth-floor balcony, arms folded over his chest. The buildings in the distance—all smooth metal and mirrored glass—stretched so far into the smog it was impossible to see where the horizon ended. The complex they stayed in now wasn't like the stacked rotwood shelters back in the slums. These walls were sterile. Piping hummed softly through the halls. Every door was slide-sealed. Every surface was scrubbed into submission.
He hadn't seen a crack in a wall since arriving.
Below, a mag-rail train hissed past in silence. It moved too smoothly, like everything else in this part of the city.
The STAR Complex was perched in the Platinum Sector, a dome-reinforced elevation hundreds of floors above ground level. Only the rich and their institutions were allowed to build this high. And now, them—four idol groups, each contained, watched, studied.
This morning, the cameras felt closer.
---
They weren't given time for breakfast. Instead, they were ushered into the auditorium—a clean, sterile dome lined with digital projections. The room was vast, polished, cold. Cameras blinked in corners, and Miss Kira stood under the lights with a clipboard in hand, smiling like she'd never meant it once.
"This morning," she began, "the audience will be introduced to the future of this industry."
A hush fell over the room.
"Please welcome our four competing groups, formally."
The lights shifted. The walls behind her split into four massive screens. One by one, each group stepped forward as names appeared onscreen.
---
🔹 Group NOX
Julian Ash – Center. Quiet. Oldest. Mystery.
Marvo– Dancer. The firebrand.
George – Choreographer. Stern but loyal.
Ren – Mood-lifter. The soul of NOX.
Tae – Muscle. Watchful. Rarely speaks.
They were introduced first—not because they were popular, but because they were different. Because the producers needed the contrast.
---
🔹 Group HALO – Group A
Sol – Center. Silver-eyed. Ghostlike calm.
Nico – Dancer. Calculated. Never fumbles.
Vera – Vocalist. Angelic. Too flawless.
Jae – The strong silent type. Sculpted frame.
Lyric – Face of the group. Almost too beautiful.
They stepped forward like they'd been born under stage lights. When Sol's name was called, the room hushed. Julian saw the way the cameras lingered. Marvel muttered something under his breath, and Ren rolled his eyes.
---
🔹 Group KODE – Group B
Ryze – Center. Loud. Too charismatic.
Echo – Rapper. Smirks like he knows your secrets.
Tenji – Dance machine. Modified joints.
Mira – Viral star. Always camera-ready.
Riv – Background, but always watching.
KODE was the kind of group that lived online. Their followers weren't just fans—they were cults. Their movements were exaggerated for the camera. Ryze winked at Marvel. Marvel didn't return it.
---
🔹 Group VEIN – Group D
Yul – Center. Moves like smoke.
Mavi – Visualist. Eyes like painted mirrors.
Lux – Vocalist. Deep-voiced, ambiguous.
Thorn – All sharp angles. Unstable.
VEIN walked like a gallery. Even when still, they looked like a performance. Their group concept was minimalism, but it screamed louder than Ryze's entire wardrobe.
---
They were marched into the observation wing after breakfast. That alone was strange. No rehearsal. No prep. No instructions.
The hall they entered was white—too white. Ceilingless, windowless. The lighting came from unseen panels, and their reflections warped slightly in the sheen of the floor.
The four groups stood in clean rows. NOX, Group A, Group B, Group D. Their names weren't even shown anymore—just letters. Like subjects.
Julian stood between George and Marvo. His chest ticked faintly.
A screen flickered on.
It wasn't live footage. It was a pre-recorded feed.
A boy stood shirtless in a surgical chamber. Thin, pale, his eyes dazed. One of the idols from Group B—Julian recognized the jawline. A team of white-coated technicians surrounded him.
The procedure was silent, slow. They detached something from his temple—a piece of bone, not metal. And in its place, something else was added. Sculpted. Brushed over. Replaced.
Not a tweak.
Not makeup.
A change.
A new shape altogether.
"Mirror protocol," one of the producers said behind them. "Aesthetic convergence. Surgical alignment with future performance standards."
The room stayed silent.
Julian felt Marvo stiffen beside him.
"They're... cutting into them," Marvo whispered.
"Reconstructing," George said, low. "Not the same thing."
"No, it's exactly the same thing."
Julian watched the footage again. The boy didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. His eyes were blank, like they'd numbed everything but the muscle memory required to keep breathing.
---
Julian didn't look at Sol during the intros. But he could feel him.
After the presentation, the groups mingled under supervision. Julian kept to himself at first, but Ren was already striking up conversation with Mira and Thorn, while Marvo and Ryze exchanged snark.
Then it happened.
Julian turned and met Sol's eyes.
Grey. Still. Penetrating.
Julian looked away first.
---
That afternoon, the Mirror Protocol was activated. It was the name of the first official performance evaluation.
"Reflection of potential," the producers called it.
Each group would perform a half-set piece. Two songs. One choreographed. One freestyle interpretation.
They were given two hours.
And later afternoon, someone from Group A approached Marvo.
The boy was tall, porcelain-pale, with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. His name was Lyon. Julian remembered him now—he'd been the one who sang lead during Group A's showcase, moving like smoke and glass.
Marvel didn't trust the conversation. Julian could tell just by how far back Marvel leaned while pretending to be polite.
"We admire your group," Lyon said smoothly. "It's rare to see rawness. So unaltered."
"Yeah?" Marvo said.
"You've kept your... imperfections. I wonder how long that will last."
Julian stepped in before Marvo's fists could.
Lyon smiled again. "No harm meant. Just curiosity."
They walked away like nothing happened.
Marvo turned to Julian, still fuming. "They think we're placeholders."
"They're invincible," Julian said. "That's different."
---
Backstage, murmurs grew.
The producers took notes. One leaned over to another and whispered, "Too much emotion. That wasn't the design."
Another said, "Let's keep watching them. Carefully."
---
That night, Julian sat alone in the dorm bathroom, staring at the blue light of the diagnostic patch he'd hidden in the lining of his coat. He took a dose of his drugs and pressed the diagnostic patch to his chest again. Watched the readout twitch.
Tick.
Tick.
Not a pulse.
A pattern.
Whatever had been done to him—whoever had done it—there were no records. No files. Nothing Shane had shared. Nothing Julian could trace. Just the ticking. Just the silence.
And now, the surgeries had started.
Was this what he was?
An earlier model?
A prototype?
A solution?
He didn't know.
But he would find out.
Because this wasn't just a stage anymore.
And his body was already a battlefield.
---
The camera in their room blinked red.
Outside the dormitory walls, the first reports were sent.
The STAR Project's test phase was successful.
Harvesting was viable.
And NOX had just become... a problem.