The lab’s sterile calm lasted exactly nineteen seconds longer.

Then the HUD shifted.

A sharp amber warning pulse spread across Adrian’s vision, cutting through the sea of blue and green diagnostics.

**ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL APPROACHING**  
**ELEVATOR ACCESS: ACTIVE**  
**STAIRWELL MONITORING: CONFIRMED**

A schematic of the building appeared instantly, its architectural layout unfolding in transparent layers before his eyes. Red markers illuminated with unsettling precision—multiple heat signatures, coordinated movement, military formation.

Adrian’s stomach dropped.

“Oh, crap.”

He turned sharply toward the central access hall, instinctively knowing what he’d see before visual confirmation arrived.

“Those are the only ways out of this building.”

His pulse spiked on the HUD.

For a fraction of a second, there was silence.

Then Luma responded.

“That assessment is not entirely accurate.”

Adrian blinked.

His HUD recalibrated.

The building schematic rotated, then expanded outward toward the far side of the lab. A new route illuminated in bright cyan.

Directly through the reinforced exterior windows.

Adrian stared.

Then physically turned toward the towering glass wall overlooking the city below.

A nervous, disbelieving laugh escaped him.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

His voice was half panic, half incredulous amusement.

“We’re ten stories up.”

Luma’s reply came immediately.

“I am not shitting you.”

Even in the moment, Adrian almost choked on the absurdity of how clinically she delivered that sentence.

“Our laboratory tests indicate the suit’s adaptive gel layer can absorb impacts from approximately ten times this height without critical operator injury.”

Adrian slowly approached the glass, each footstep unnaturally heavy in his own mind despite the suit’s effortless motion.

The city sprawled below in a dizzying vertical drop of steel, concrete, and distant movement.

Far.

Very, very far.

“Right,” he muttered. “Of course it can.”

He placed a hand against the window.

Solid reinforced security glass.

Then his brow furrowed.

“…Luma.”

“Yes, Professor Voss.”

“Did you account for the fact that these windows don’t open?”

A beat.

“Correction acknowledged.”

The HUD shifted again, almost instantly.

Structural analysis of the glass overlaid his vision. Stress points. Fracture patterns. Reinforcement weaknesses.

A circular marker appeared roughly two feet from center mass.

**OPTIMAL STRIKE LOCATION IDENTIFIED**

“Strength enhancement should be sufficient to breach the barrier,” Luma stated.

Adrian stared at the targeting reticle.

Then down at his hand.

The suit’s glove flexed with him, nanotech musculature subtly tightening around his fingers as he slowly curled them into a fist.

He could feel it.

Power.

Not wild. Not unstable.

Measured.

Engineered.

His breathing steadied.

Behind him, another alert pulsed.

**ELEVATOR ARRIVAL: 18 SECONDS**

“Okay…” Adrian whispered.

He drew his arm back.

The HUD compensated instantly—trajectory lines, force estimates, skeletal reinforcement calculations.

“Let’s see if I built this thing as well as I thought.”

And then he swung.

The strike landed with devastating precision.

For a split second, nothing happened.

Then—

A violent spiderweb of fractures exploded across the glass.

A deep structural groan followed, and the entire reinforced pane collapsed outward in a cascade of glittering shards.

Wind roared into the lab.

Cold. Violent. Immediate.

Warning indicators flashed from the sudden environmental breach, but Adrian barely registered them.

He stepped toward the ruined opening and looked down.

Ten stories.

His heart rate surged again.

“Oh, this is a terrible idea,” he muttered.

“Probability of survival remains favorable,” Luma replied.

Adrian exhaled sharply.

“Your definition of favorable is gonna kill me someday.”

**ELEVATOR ACCESS: ARRIVED**

Heavy footsteps echoed faintly beyond the lab doors.

No more time.

Adrian took one final breath.

Then jumped.

 

LUMA: Breach Protocol