#sceince

A young crescent🌙

12

guys trust me we will get into the main story of requiem next chapter😭

Also, i’m not very good with storytelling so the amount of bold letters i’ve been putting just to make it look aesthetic is making me annoyed so i’m trying to fix that in other chapters

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Mina jolted upright in bed, her notebook slipping from her hands as the door creaked open. Of course, it was time for testing. What had she been thinking, believing she could relax, even for a moment?

She didn’t speak as the doctor entered. She never did.

He prepared the sedative with practiced ease. They always did this...kept her quiet, compliant.

After all, she was “crazy.”

Mina’s eyelids fluttered open, the bright, sterile light blinding her for a moment. She tried to lift her head, but the sharp pain in her neck made her flinch. The room around her was cold, too cold, and she could barely make out the faint hum of machines.

A figure appeared above her—one she knew all too well. Dr. Lee. His face was cold, clinical, as he adjusted the IV in her arm. He didn’t speak at first, merely checking the readings on the nearby monitor.

“You’re awake,” he said flatly, the words dull, as though nothing were wrong.

Mina’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to know what came next. Her body was already sore from the last round of experiments, and she could feel the familiar tension in her limbs as her stomach churned. 

They wouldn’t stop, would they? They’d keep doing this until she was nothing but a hollow shell, their experiment to mold as they wished.

“Not again,” she whispered, her lips moving, but the sound was barely audible. She strained, the air feeling thicker in her lungs as she tried to speak louder.

But Dr. Lee barely glanced at her. “You’ve been selected for the next phase,” he said in a monotone voice. He nodded to a nurse beside him, signaling her to prepare the tools.

Mina felt a jolt of panic. Next phase?

Before she could react, they strapped her down—familiar leather straps that held her arms and legs tightly to the cold metal table. Her breath caught in her throat, and she tried to pull against the restraints, her heart racing. She knew the routine—this was the part where they took more from her than she could ever get back.

“Please,” she tried again, her voice trembling, but there was no sound—nothing more than a desperate, dry rasp. Nothing.

Dr. Lee didn't respond. Instead, he prepared the injection. Mina could see the syringe in his gloved hand, a clear fluid swirling in the glass, and her blood ran cold. She had seen this before, used on others. She knew what it would do. It wasn’t just a sedative; it was F-virus, something to push her body further into the mutation. Something to make her more compliant. Something to break her, body and soul.

She struggled, trying to push the panic down, but her body was weak from the previous procedures. And with the sedative now entering her veins, the world started to spin.

Her vision blurred. The edges of the room became hazy, and her muscles grew heavy. She gasped for air, but everything felt so tight—like something was constricting her throat, pulling her down into a haze of darkness. She barely registered the cold metal of the syringe pressing into her skin before everything went black.

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Mina woke up slowly. Her head felt heavy, her body sluggish, and for a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The familiar cold light above her was still there, and the sharp scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils. But there was something wrong. The air around her felt thick, suffocating.

Her throat burned, the taste of the injection still lingering on her tongue. She tried to move, but she was once again restrained. Panic surged, and she tugged against the straps, her heart pounding in her chest. But the more she struggled, the more she noticed, something was missing.

Her throat. Her voice.

She tried to call out, to scream, but only a dry rasp emerged, like her voice was trapped somewhere far inside her. She pressed her hand to her neck, feeling the tightness there, the strangling emptiness. She swallowed, but the action was rough, painful, as though something inside her was too swollen, too foreign.

Her heart sank. She gasped again, trying to speak, but nothing—nothing—came out. She opened her mouth, but all that escaped was a hollow, airless sound.

The world tilted. She felt her chest tighten with a rising panic. What happened? She had spoken before, hadn’t she? She remembered her screams, her whispers, her shouts, her quiet moments with herself.

But now, nothing.

She screamed again, but it was raw—a broken, scream—and even that felt like it might tear her apart. 

She looked around the room, frantic now, hoping someone would hear her—someone who could tell her why her voice had disappeared. But no one came. No one even seemed to notice.

And that’s when the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. The silence was not just physical. It wasn’t just the absence of sound. It was deeper. It was suffocating. Her voice had been taken—just like so many other parts of herself. Her ability to express, to communicate, to be heard was gone.

All she had left was the noise of her pain. Her screams. Her primal, guttural sounds. That was all.

Victor’s words echoed in her mind: You’ll never be anything more than this.

Mina closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. But the tears came anyway. Silent tears, falling into the stillness of her muted world.

Later, Victor stood in the doorway, his cold mask staring down at her. The air around him seemed to grow even colder as he stepped closer. He didn’t speak at first, just watched her, noting the disarray, the frantic way she moved, the way her lips barely formed words that didn’t come out.

“You’re quiet now,” Victor remarked with a slight tilt of his head. “No more noise. No more defiance.”

Mina stared at him, her anger burning behind her eyes. But she couldn’t speak. The words were gone.

“You were always too loud,” he continued, stepping into the cell. “You screamed when I needed you silent. You begged for things I would never give. Now, you’ll learn. Silence is your only freedom. You’ll comply. You’ll obey.”

At this very moment, you could be looking at a star that has already collapsed, yet for you, it will continue to shine for another thousand years

On a universal scale, light is soo slow. To cross our galaxy (the Milky Way), light takes approximately 100,000 years

There is no universal "now." The universe is a collection of different moments that reach us with varying delays

The Orion Nebula:

The Orion Nebula is about 1,300 light-years away from us. This means the light you see in photos began its journey around the year 726 AD

If the nebula had been destroyed by a Supernova in the year 1500, we wouldn't find out for another 800 years( It also applies to other things!)

Aragonite

Actinolite

since my english exam is over and there is pretty big gap for my computer science exam my priority will be my entrance exam

i gave this advice before to but i will say it again , deepseek is saving lives! i asked it to draft a structured plan for my upcoming three weeks so i can plan out my prep and have everything organised which increased my efficiency

my target for the week is to finish atleast 6 chapters in each subject and give a mock test at the end of the week

i feel like i can concentrate better now that the stress of the exams have been put aside for a while. I thought i would fall asleep and stuff but i took only one nap at 5 and then i am still awake loll

overall, pretty productive day, i completed one whole chapter in maths in two sessions and organic revision is left ,and i am working on physics

Content: Male whumper, male whumpee, lab whump, burn descriptions Word count: 943

Blaine hid under the thin sheets his little cot had. They weren’t nearly enough to block out the horrible headache the fluorescent lights caused. He just wanted to sleep away the pain. He was sick of being in too much pain or too tired to do anything with the others in the little free time they had. He heard footsteps approaching. He could recognize them from a mile away. Atticus Thistle, surely here to drag him to something that will make him feel far worse than he does now.

“Blaine? Why are you doing that? We have things to do.” Atticus pulled the blanket off of his subject. The sudden light in his eyes sent a wave of pain through his head. Blaine groaned as he sat up.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense. We are doing a progress check today.” Atticus said curtly. Blaine followed him out of the room. He hated these. His handler needed him to improve, but he never improved. He was pretty sure he’d been significantly worse lately. Blaine was starting to worry they might just kill him. He wasn’t very useful and couldn’t even do regular activities most of the time. The day they found another elemental like him is the day he dies, he’s sure of it. 

“I know you haven’t been well lately… but I need you to put everything you can into this,” Atticus spoke, breaking the silence as they approached the testing room. Something wavered in the scientist's voice. Blaine had never heard him so nervous before. He wasn’t sure what Atticus had to be nervous about. The scientists were practically gods here, constantly doing whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Blaine tried to ignore it as he entered the testing room. He needed to focus, the pounding headache he had was enough of a distraction on its own. His handler wordlessly removed the power suppressant and made his way to the monitoring room. It must not have taken long for Atticus to boot up the monitors, because only a few minutes later the intercom buzzed to life.

“Okay Blaine, It’s a very simple test. We just want to see the hottest constant stream of fire you can manage to hold for at least a minute. Think you can manage that?” the scientist explained. Blaine could hear in his tone that he didn’t think he’d be able to do it. He had to push himself to do better than last time. He couldn’t let himself do worse. He nodded. A steady stream of fire wouldn’t take too much focus, but the heat could be a problem.

“Alright, start whenever you are ready.” Atticus said through the intercom. He turned his attention to the monitors. Blaine took a deep breath. He held out his hands and felt the heat spread through his arms, up his finger tips, and out. Fire burst out his hands. They weren’t at full strength or heat yet he already found himself wobbling slightly where he stood. They needed to be hotter, hotter than the last test. He wasn’t sure just how hot that was but he knew it had to be more than this. Slowly he made the flame hotter and hotter. He could feel his hands reaching their limit and he was starting to feel dizzy but he could not stop. The fire burned on; it had been about five minutes. The fire was too hot. His hands would burn if he did not stop, but Blaine couldn’t bring himself to. The heat was so overwhelming and he could feel his mind slipping. He was dizzy and nauseous. Finally it was too much, and Blaine fell to the floor unconscious.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Atticus watched the monitors closely up until Blaine passed out. He quickly ran into the room to check on him. He didn’t seem to have a head injury and there were no visible burns. That was good. 

“Hey! Get someone to help you bring him to his room and get him a medical check.” The scientist instructed an assistant.

“Yes sir!” The assistant replied, moving quickly to do as told. Atticus returned to the monitoring room to fill out paper work.

Subject:#3-89 AKA: Blaine Test 2.11 Notes: Subject’s fire was 73°C at its peak, about 20°C less than his best recorded temperature and 15°C less than the last test. The flames lasted 5 minutes and 38 seconds. Its hottest temperature burned for about 40 seconds. The subject seems to be steadily declining in strength and power. I am beginning to suspect some kind of autoimmune disease or some other chronic condition. Recommend medical testing to be sure.

Atticus sighed as he finished. She would not like this. They had never seen a subject decline like this before. His headaches and increasing fatigue made him believe that the subject had some kind of medical issue. The fact that the subject wasn’t injured this time was an improvement in a sense. Atticus was sure the lack of burns just showed how much worse the subject had gotten. He really hoped this wouldn’t put his job on the line. He made his way to the office and sat at his desk as he got to work transferring the file online. When he was done he tucked it away in his filing cabinet. Atticus always preferred doing things on paper. When he was done, he took another deep breath. He would be fine. He may lose his subject if this continues, but they couldn’t fire him for his subject’s shortcomings… could they?

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