The testing lab was so much more than Mark could ever have imagined.

His eyes widened the moment they set upon the room the first time—which wasn't very enlightening, so to speak, as it was cloaked in darkness. He took a hesitant step forward, and the moment the sole of his sneaker hit the floor of the laboratory, the spot lit up. Bars of electric blue crossed the length of the room along the walls, like points of light leaving a luminous trail behind them, and connected at the other end. As soon as the square had been traced out, the room came to life—not too suddenly, but with random parts lighting up at once, bathing his face in the shadows of blue fire.

Welcome, Mark Lee, said the same pleasant female voice that had greeted Taemin back in the meeting room, and Mark gaped at recognizing it.

"Sybil?" he exclaimed, incredulous, as if meeting an old friend after a long time. A machine started whirring somewhere, producing clicking noises that were as familiar to him as the lines of his own palm. He glanced around, unable to believe his own eyes, feeling like a much more grateful Alice after landing in Wonderland.

Most of the walls were behind large screens, and there were podiums scattering the floor of varying sizes, each displaying an assortment of different devices that Mark longed to get his hands on. The room itself was large, with a lower ceiling than the meeting room, but with a larger floor area and much better taste in furniture—which is to say, none.

I will be here as your guide for the evening, said Sybil, surprising him. In his awed inspection of the contents of the room, he had almost forgotten the AI was accompanying him. I will leave you to your devices unless you require my assistance, upon which, you are free to ask me whatever you like, be it the location of a part or to perform another function. Mark nodded slowly, wondering if she (he respected the computer's pronouns) could see him. Have fun.

"I sure will," he said breathlessly, feeling overwhelmed and overjoyed at the thought of being left alone to tinker with the inventions of the Lee Taemin himself. Up until now, the superhero campaign had seemed much like a dream, but this was like hallucination, a false oasis for someone lost in the desert. I'm in Nova Tower's testing lab, he thought gleefully, barely believing it to be true. He was in the testing labs. Perhaps not the ones for the company, but for something much more secret and super-cool. Quite literally super­-cool.

A device on one of the podiums caught his eye, and Mark went over it to examine it. It seemed like a metallic sleeve or a developed watch, a contraption of metal and plastic that was hollow and cylindrical, but slightly misshapen. He ran his fingers lightly over the surface, discovering that it was uneven, with buttons and closed screens built into it. He recalled the time he had first met the entirety of the team, waiting by the window-wall with Baekhyun, remembering seeing the same device covering Baekhyun's forearm.

"So that's what you are," he muttered in awe, bending to get a closer look at it. It looked like a black metal cast, but he knew it was only an extended wristwatch. With an extreme delicacy as if he were picking up a butterfly by the wings, Mark lifted the device and cradled it in his arms, surprised at how light it was. "Hey, Sybil, will wearing this give my arm a third-degree burn?"

The voice was around him again, seeming to come from everyone and nowhere all at once. For a split second, he wondered if it was actually inside his head. According to my recent records, updated four twenty-one p.m., it is perfectly safe to use.

"Thanks," he said shortly, feeling like he was getting used to the voice and not wanting to. He wanted everything to feel fresh and as good as new, something that could surprise him every morning when he woke up, even if that morning was twenty years later. "But if something happens to me, it's totally on you."

We will see to that.

Mark smiled as he slipped on the watch. It seemed like artificial intelligence did have a sense of humor. He pressed a button, and the groove-like lines all along the watch lit up from within as it came to life. The machine emanated a low, humming sound, like a second heartbeat, and he held his breath as it started shifting—parts of the watch like puzzle pieces moving and settling, locking against his skin like adapted armor.

"Microsensors," he whispered to himself, feeling his entire body buzz with excitement. He flipped a lid near the outside of his wrist, and a hologram projected the time in tiny blue pixels in the air, next to it smaller barcode-like stats that he simply skimmed through, far more excited to look through the other toys at his disposal. "What else does it do?"

The Bracelight is equipped to monitor standard motor functions, but can also be used to access archive files connected directly to the Blue Room. The lining of Mark's chest felt like electricity was arching through it, he felt so full of adrenaline at the information. It has been engineered to recognize the wearer and provide other means of assistance specifically related to the wearer, and your biocode has been programmed into it. You can enhance it to perform whichever functions you like—within its bounds, of course.

"Of course," Mark echoed, but his head was spinning. "Bracelight—like, a play on bracelet and light? Smart." He licked his lips. "We should've started using this way earlier, though."

Hear, hear, said Sybil's cool voice.

He laughed, glancing up at the ceiling, though he knew she could very well be all around him. "You have a wicked sense of humor," he said, grinning from ear to ear, and looked back down at the Bracelight. "You said I could program it to do anything I wanted," he said, and looked around at the other devices in the lab, waiting to be examined. "Can I connect it to other stuff?"

Do whatever your heart wishes, excepting anything that might compromise the safety of the laboratory. Taemin's instructions were express.

"You got it," he said, whooping with joy, and skidded over to where something that looked like a more badass hot glue gun was located. He popped open a hatch on the Bracelight, reaching behind the trigger of the gun, and pulled out its wires. "Wait—Sybil, where are the tools?"

A section of the podium slid out like a drawer, exposing the materials inside. Mark stared at it, raising his eyebrows, then shrugged. "Thanks."

You're very welcome.

He smiled in acknowledgement, turning back to the screws that spilled from the plastic box, winking in the blue light. The gun looked like a normal gun, except with extra metal parts attached to it, and he set to work.

His grandpa had once told him that he had a gift. Whenever he remembered the old man, his mind conjured up a picture of a dusty shed—shadows like spilled ink, long behind the wooden boxes, white sheets covering shapeless objects, curls of sawn-off wood littering the floor. Most of the time, he used to stay with his grandparents while his parents were away, and his young hands delighted in nothing more than yanking off odd covers and sending up collected dust like plumes of smoke, making him cough and bringing tears to his eyes. Despite being neglected for most of his childhood by his parents, he remembered it with fondness.

He remembered when the news of his parents' death had first come. His grandpa had come up to him with eyes that had long sunk into his cheeks and lines wrinkling his face, like memories of smiles and frowns, collected over years. He had told him something then—Mark had only been a child then—no more than eight or nine, but the words he had said to him had stuck like glue, the way only some words did.

You have a gift, little one, his grandpa had told him, as Mark had looked up at him with blinking confusion, sitting atop a work desk. And gifts always come with a price, though it is not always the receiver who pays them.

Upon being questioned, his grandfather had sighed. Not many can lose themselves in projects as completely as you, he had said. Perhaps it is a gift, perhaps a curse, but it is what it is. You are different, my boy. No young hands can bring engines to life like you can, and no eyes can focus as well as yours.

He remembered his grandpa's smile as he had lifted him into his arms, like a sliver of the sun. He had placed a hand against Mark's chest, and his eyes had been warmer than coals in the fireplace. You have a fire in your heart, he had said. The fire of passion. Do not let it be extinguished by the world, but do not let it burn so bright as to consume it.

His nine-year-old brain had struggled to reach the conclusion that it was his life that his grandpa had called his gift, and his parents the ones to pay for it. I have a gift, Mark thought fervently to himself as he worked on the gun and Bracelight, as he had told himself his entire life. He had a gift, and it was all he had, all that gave him his position in the team. I want what's in there, Taemin had told him, tapping the side of Mark's head with a sliver of a smile. His intelligence. That was all Mark had, and he would give all he had to the team.

His fingers flew over the keyboard, perspiration gathering on the bridge of his nose as he bent over the controls. I have a gift, he thought, as the high-pitched noise of the implement filled the lab, echoing around the corners. I have a gift.

And I'm damn well going to use it.