Morning had fully claimed the city by the time Bhramak returned to the agency compound.
The administrative facade looked no different from the previous day, a neutral government structure framed by trimmed hedges and controlled access points. Yet after what he had experienced beneath it, the ordinary surface felt less like truth and more like a carefully maintained layer.
Security processed him quickly. The guard scanned his temporary clearance, returned the card without comment, and gestured him through.
Inside, the corridors were already active.
No one rushed. No one lingered. Footsteps moved with quiet purpose. Conversations were brief, measured, and rarely louder than necessary. The building carried the rhythm of an organism that functioned without wasted motion.
As he walked, Bhramak noticed something he had not registered before: people rarely made prolonged eye contact. Glances were brief, assessments efficient, and attention returned to tasks without hesitation.
He followed the directions given the night before and arrived at the medical wing.
Today, he hasn't gone to the same room he was in yesterday.
The door slid open with a soft hydraulic whisper.
The room inside was brighter than the underground chamber, but no less controlled. Equipment lined one wall. A diagnostic console glowed faintly near the bed.
The young doctor from the previous day stood at a workstation, checking data.
Today, he noticed the name stitched in dark thread above the pocket of her white coat.
Riva Darshita
She looked up as he entered.
"Good morning," she said.
"Good morning." He replied with a gentle smile.
He took the seat she indicated.
She began the follow-up checks without small talk, then placed a pulse monitor, checked his pupil response, and briefly placed a neural rhythm scanner at his temple.
"Any dizziness?" she asked.
"No."
"Sleep disruption?"
"No."
"Emotional fluctuations?"
He considered. "No… not fluctuations."
She waited to look at him.
"Clarity," he added.
Her stylus paused for a fraction of a second before continuing.
While she adjusted the monitor, he spoke without thinking.
"Mrs. Riva Darshita."
Her eyes lifted.
"Yes."
"You wore the same coat yesterday," he said. "I didn't notice the name plate."
"You were not observing professionally," she replied.
There was no sharpness in her tone, only fact.
He remained silent a moment, then spoke again.
"The left cuff is slightly frayed. You hold the tablet closer when reading vitals. Yesterday you stood half a step farther from the bed."
She looked at him for a bit longer than expected.
Then she returned to her tablet screen.
"That's better," she said.
The comment carried neither praise nor criticism.
He didn't have any reason to pursue it.
After a few moments, curiosity surfaced.
"You're an Esper too?" he asked.
She did not look up.
"Yes."
Nothing more.
He watched her hands move with calm precision, adjusting readings, recording metrics, and aligning cables that did not appear misaligned.
She looked physically unremarkable, slender, composed, and younger than most personnel he had seen in the facility.
Yet the room seemed to settle around her presence rather than the other way around.
Inside, He wondered how strong she might be.
Personality already strong, mentally also strong. If she has combat traits, then it would be unimaginable.
He's still deep in thought. Then…
She looked up then, not sharply, not abruptly, and a faint smile touched the corner of her lips.
Suddenly, his deep thought broke up, and he looked away first.
-
The door opened behind him.
Dr. Raghav Iyer entered, accompanied by the same uniformed officer from the previous day.
"Feeling good," the doctor said, scanning the readings. "Neural rhythm stable, Integration completed."
He moved closer, folding his arms as he studied the monitor.
"How do you feel this morning?"
"Clear," Bhramak answered. "Heavy, but stable."
"That is expected."
The officer remained near the door, silent.
Dr. Iyer turned slightly toward him.
"Catalyst integration is ongoing. Your nervous system is adapting. Emotional sensitivity and
perceptual acuity may fluctuate during this phase."
He spoke in the tone of a man describing weather patterns.
"Improper regulation," he continued, "can result in instability."
Bhramak nodded.
Riva disconnected the scanner and stepped back.
Dr. Iyer continued.
"Stabilization precedes development. Until your system completes early integration, control remains the priority."
"Control before power," Bhramak said.
The doctor's gaze flicked to him briefly.
"Yes."
"You've to meditate properly to succeed in the Flow of Catalyst Integration in your body, no rush."
Dr. advised him.
-
"Now you've to go through training to trigger the evolution," the Officer said calmly.
He hesitated, then asked the question they had waited for since morning.
"I understood then when does training begin?"
The officer and doctor exchanged a glance so brief it might have been missed.
"There is no assigned training unit at present," the officer said.
Bhramak frowned slightly. "Because I'm newly awakened?"
Dr. Iyer answered instead.
"Joker-type classifications are rare."
Silence lingered.
He was surprised but hid it and waited.
"There is no standardized training protocol," the officer added.
"Meaning?" Bhramak asked.
Dr. Iyer's voice remained calm.
"It is not considered weak. It is considered unpredictable. Historical cases demonstrate wide variance in manifestation and stability."
The officer continued:
"Training divisions prioritize pathways with measurable tactical outcomes."
Bhramak absorbed this without reaction.
Riva resumed typing.
"Joker-type manifestations," Dr. Iyer said, "tend to occur within psychological and perceptual domains. Their applications are situational and difficult to standardize."
A pause.
"Some abilities are not ineffective," he added, "only difficult to measure."
The words settled with quiet weight.
"So, I train alone?" Bhramak asked.
"You will receive stabilization guidance," the officer said. "Development beyond that requires personal discipline."
Dr. Iyer nodded once.
"Self-observation is totally normal."
-
Bhramak leaned back slightly.
"Why performance environments?" he asked.
Riva glanced up briefly.
Dr. Iyer answered.
"Historically, individuals with similar profiles gravitated toward performance settings. Structured expression reduces emotional overload and allows controlled interaction with audiences."
The officer added:
"It provides a controlled feedback loop."
Bhramak pictured laughter, masks, applause, and the release he had witnessed in the vision.
"So, the public interpreted it as entertainment," he said.
"Yes," Dr. Iyer replied. "Interpretation is not equivalent to function."
Riva looked at him again, the faint hint of that earlier smile returning.
-
Dr. Iyer gestured toward the chair opposite the bed.
"Let us begin a control exercise."
Bhramak sat.
"Focus on your breathing," the doctor instructed. "Then isolate a single sound."
The room contained several: the soft hum of ventilation, the distant roll of a trolley in the hallway, the faint electronic pulse from the console.
He chose the ventilation hum.
"Maintain awareness of that sound," Dr. Iyer said. "Allow others to recede."
At first, it was simple.
The hum remained steady. The other sounds blurred.
Then something flickered.
A faint echo, laughter, distant and layered, brushed the edge of awareness.
Not heard.
Remembered.
The hum wavered.
He inhaled slowly and refocused.
The echo faded.
"Continue," Dr. Iyer said.
He did.
After several breaths, the hum returned to clarity.
"Good," the doctor said.
Riva made a note on the tablet.
He did not ask what she had written.
-
As the exercise ended, Riva briefly reattached a sensor to confirm the readings.
"All parameters within expected range," she said.
Dr. Iyer turned toward the door.
"Continue daily stabilization practice. Avoid sensory overload."
The officer added:
"Avoid crowded environments for several days."
"Why?" Bhramak asked.
Riva answered this time.
"Your system is still learning boundaries."
No further explanation followed.
-
In the corridor outside, activity had increased.
A technician pushed a cart of sealed containers. Two officers spoke in low voices before separating without acknowledging one another. A camera near the ceiling shifted slightly, adjusting its angle.
Bhramak noticed.
He did not react.
Near the intersection of two corridors, a reinforced door bore a discreet sign:
CONTROL TRAINING UNIT
The door remained closed.
A faint vibration, perhaps from equipment within, hummed through the floor.
He paused only long enough to register the sign, then continued walking.
-
As he passed a reflective glass panel, his movement caught his eye.
His expression was unchanged.
Yet there was a deliberateness to it now, not stiffness, not tension, simply control.
He did not linger.
-
Back in his room, he opened the stabilization manual again.
The text was concise, almost austere.
He read slowly.
One line drew his attention:
Control precedes expression.
He underlined it.
The agency hummed quietly beyond the walls.
Somewhere deeper in the building, systems operated with precise intention.
His brothers had walked this path before him.
Now he stood at its beginning.
Unstructured. Unpredictable. Unmeasured.
He closed the manual and sat in stillness.
The quiet felt deeper than the day before.
Not peace.
Not danger.
Something between.
Outside, the city continued its ordinary rhythm.
Inside, the stillness remained, steady, grounded, waiting.