Day 6 - Day 1/3

Genesis Response Pt. 057 — Day 6 Day 1/3

Van stopped inside the doorway and glanced from treadmills to the resistance machines lining the left wall. A padded mat covered the far corner. Clear cabinets held adhesive sensors, sterile wipes, sealed needles, and folded clothing packets. Tiered seats and a whiteboard remained at the front, stranded behind the equipment.

Cassie entered behind him and looked from the treadmills to Professor Mirel Dane. “Did Alpha do the decorating in here?”

Dane closed a cabinet. “No. I need the machines to survive the week.”

Fiona came in last. She had not relaxed since breakfast. The Hotel’s gray training clothes did nothing to soften the set of her shoulders.

Dane indicated training machines, “Since Van will be joining in your training, some physical baselines will help up to adjust our methods.”

Dane handed each of them a paper packet. “Change in the booths. The sensors require skin contact. The treadmills will increase speed and incline gradually, they stop when your readings reach the safe limit or when you tell it to stop.”

Fiona took her packet, sneering over her shoulder at Cassie and Van. “Try not to drop out too early, I don't want to get bored.”

The booths were small, separate, and aggressively neutral. Van changed into fitted black training shorts and a sleeveless gray compression shirt. A diagram inside the packet showed where to place the sensor tabs. He followed it twice, peeled one from his ribs when it went on crooked, and tried not to imagine the matching diagrams in the other booths.

When he returned, Fiona was already beside the treadmills. White tabs marked her shoulders, upper chest, ribs, and thighs. She stood loose and balanced, as though the equipment had finally given her a language she trusted.

Cassie emerged next and looked ready to file charges.

Cover Girl had shortened the issued shorts to the lower curve of her ass and pulled the top into a narrow crop that left most of her ribs bare. The neckline had deepened enough that she kept tugging it upward without improving anything.

“Don’t comment,” she muttered to Van, as she tried to get her shorts to cover both cheeks simultaneously.

He raised both hands.

Fiona looked her over. “You look like the ‘slutty volleyball player’ Halloween costume.”

Cassie pointed at Van. “See? He has restraint. You are just being gross.”

Dane checked the sensors with a handheld scanner. She retaped one on Van’s shoulder, adjusted Cassie’s wrist tab, then paused when the device passed over Fiona.

“Your stress markers are elevated.”

Fiona stared toward the treadmills. “It has been a restful morning.”

Dane made a notation. “That is why I measure before I interpret. Everyone on the machines.”

Cassie took the left treadmill. Van stepped onto the middle. Fiona chose the right.

The belts began at a walk. Numbers appeared on Van’s display: heart rate, oxygen use, stride length, recovery estimate. The room smelled of disinfectant and warm rubber. For the first minute, the soft mechanical rhythm almost made the exercise feel ordinary.

Fiona checked his screen, then faced forward again.

Van kept walking. “Just say whatever it is, you’re making a face.”

Cassie made a small sound that might have been agreement.

Fiona’s belt increased to a jog. “Do you think this is a fair comparison?”

“No. Empowered people are usually stronger and faster than ordinary humans. Everyone knows that.”

“Good.”

Cassie glanced across Van. “You wanted him to admit it?”

Fiona lengthened her stride. “I was waiting to see whether his newly granted ownership had made him stupid.”

“It hasn’t,” Van said. “The whole ‘Master’ thing mostly makes me tired.”

Fiona looked at him then. “The system calls you Master while it surrounds you with women who have spent years fighting things that would tear you apart. ”

Van let the treadmill carry him through several steps before answering. “I understand the gap between us. I don’t want the title, and I don't want to be treated like anyone's Master.”

Cassie’s eyes moved to Fiona. “Fiona, this whole thing is getting boring. Leave the dude alone until he does something.”

Fiona faced forward. Her pace stayed even.

Dane increased the incline from the monitoring desk. “Less chatter, you're throwing off my readings.”

Cassie pointed at her without breaking stride. “We’re having a breakthrough over here.”

—--------------------

Celia Hart had brought them to the stars.

Lizzy stopped at the planetarium entrance. The dome rose above the reclining seats in deep darkness, and the first points of light seemed less projected than uncovered. A pale band crossed overhead. Earth hung near the center, blue and familiar enough to make her chest ache.

Celia sat in the front row with a travel mug in one hand. She wore a soft blue blouse beneath a cream cardigan and looked prepared to host a library fundraiser rather than explain the machinery of an interdimensional prison.

Evelyn remained standing until Celia settled fully into her seat.

“You wanted to know whether I would take the front before you gave me your back,” Celia said.

Evelyn chose a seat on the aisle. “And now I know you noticed.”

After the others had taken their seats, Celia looked up. “This is a planetarium, but the name is doing limited work.”

Claire looked around in wonder. “That sounds expensive.”

“It is not our most expensive room.”

The Earth above them divided. A second world appeared beside it, then another, then dozens. Some were green where their Earth was blue. One carried rings. One turned beneath a red sun. Another was split by lines of gold light that reached from pole to pole.

“I cannot tell you whether the multiverse is infinite,” Celia said. “I can tell you that it is large enough to confuse certainty. There are human worlds close enough to yours that the coffee tastes the same and the wars rhyme. There are worlds where humanity never existed. Worlds where magic is a measurable force. Worlds where physics behaves more like local custom than law.”

Katherine watched the worlds turn. “And Harem Hotel operates across all of them.”

“I don’t know.” Celia's answer came without embarrassment.

Katherine leaned back, unsatisfied but listening.

Celia moved the display outward. The Earths became points connected by thin threads of light. “Romance, family, partnership, obligation—none of those have one universal form. They can be arranged by law, algorithm, gods, or committee. Sometimes several at once.”

Claire’s mouth opened, then closed.

Celia smiled. “You had a joke.”

“I lost it at committee romance.”

A few of the women laughed. Lizzy did too, quietly enough that the sound stayed near her seat.

“Normal is local,” Celia continued. “Your normal matters because you lived inside it. It is not worthless because someone else would be scandalized by it.”

Mara folded her hands in her lap. “Then what does the Hotel use as a standard?”

“That depends on the Host.”

The crown-shaped projector at the center of the room opened one black petal and cast a new field of stars.

“Hosts differ,” Celia said. “Some are sentimental. Some are crude. Some mistake cruelty for education. Some care about romance. Some care about control. Some care about audience heat and build a philosophy around whatever receives the highest response. Verena is not the best of them. She is not the worst.”

Evelyn’s attention remained on Celia. “Do you trust the framework?”

“No.” Celia took a drink from her mug. “I trust in people mostly. They tend to make the most honest things inside difficult systems.”

Lizzy pressed her fingers together. Above them, the threads of light crossed without forming a pattern she could understand.

—--------------------

By the tenth minute, Cassie had stopped talking.

Sweat darkened the collar of her top and ran down one temple. Her feet landed with stubborn force, but the machine kept correcting her stride through short pulses beneath the belt. She lasted another thirty seconds after Dane told her she had reached the useful end of the test, then hit the stop control herself.

She stepped onto the side rails and bent over with both hands on her knees. “I’m fine,” she wheezed.

Van’s lungs were working too hard for an easy answer. “Obviously.”

Cassie lifted one hand without looking up and gave him a rude gesture.

Fiona’s treadmill increased again. Van’s matched it two seconds later.

Fiona checked his display in brief, exact glances. “You have decent endurance.” Her tone was grudging acceptance.

“I’ll take decent.” He didn't have a lot of spare breath to banter.

The belts drove them faster. Dane watched from behind the monitors. “Van, your stride is shortening. Correct it or stop.”

He adjusted his pace. Fiona didn’t seem to need the reminder.

“Where did you train?” she asked.

“I didn’t.”

Her head turned. “No one runs like that without experience.”

“I said I didn’t train. I didn’t say I never ran.”

“Why?”

The question reached him before he could prepare an answer.

Gray streets came back first. Cracked pavement behind the housing block. Cold air before dawn. His own shoes striking concrete while most windows stayed dark and the city pretended that monsters didn't lurk in the dark to tear families apart.

“It was free,” he said. “Didn’t need a gym. Didn’t need equipment. Didn’t need anyone to invite me. I could leave before work and run until I was too tired to think.”

Cassie had straightened. Her breathing was still rough, but she was listening.

Fiona kept pace. “Too tired to think about what?”

Van’s fingers touched the rail, then released it. “An Alter killed my parents when I was a kid. For a long time I was sure it would come back and finish the job. Running helped me sleep. Sometimes.” He winced before continuing, “I still feel like that most of the time, but Evelyn is helping me with it.”

The treadmills kept counting.

Fiona’s expression didn’t offer sympathy. “You thought being exhausted would stop the dreams.”

“Some nights it did.” He shrugged. “Some nights it didn't.”

Cassie wiped her face with the towel Dane had given her. “Jesus, Van.”

He wished she had made a joke. “She asked,” he said defeatedly.

Fiona increased her pace before the treadmill required it.

Dane looked at her monitor. “Fiona, remain inside the protocol, please.”

“I am.”

Van’s machine followed the new demand. His calves burned. Sweat loosened the sensor near his collar. He kept his breathing measured because panic wasted air, and old habits kept him moving forward. He knew when he would collapse.

Fiona held the pace. Van managed another minute, then half of one. When the belt accelerated again, his body gave him a clear answer. He hit the stop control and caught the rails while the machine slowed.

Fiona continued.

Van stepped onto the side platform, chest working hard. “That’s it. I'm done for.”

Dane ended Fiona’s test forty seconds later. The belt slowed under her feet. Her breathing was heavy but controlled, and the brightness in her eyes did not fade with the speed.

Van accepted a towel. “Congrats, you're a hell of a runner. You should be proud of the work you've done.”

Fiona wiped her face. “Yeah.” Fiona studied him over the towel. “You lasted longer than I expected.”

Dane checked the final report. “His aerobic estimate is above the average for an unpowered man in his age range. Approximately the top ten percent, allowing for the limits of this sample.”

Van looked at her. “Really?”

“The estimate is conservative. You have a strong aerobic base.”

Fiona stepped down from the treadmill and rolled one shoulder. “I want to see how strong you are.”

Van was still catching his breath. “That sounded less medical and more menace.”

“You lost the run. I choose the next test.”

“That is not how assessments work.” Van protested.

Dane checked the recovery timer on his display. “The strength baseline is next regardless. You have twelve minutes before I begin it.”

Cassie sat on a bench and drank water. “Mad science has chosen a side.”

—--------------------

The planetarium showed them a season beneath a lavender sky.

Celia moved through examples without naming every person involved. One Host had framed each challenge as courtship. Another had run a season through military rank. A third built everything around domestic service and watched several contestants become more attached to one another than to their Master. There had been seasons organized around music, monster courts, criminal reform, dynastic marriage, and survival after the end of a world.

Claire leaned forward. “Do Hosts learn from each other?”

“Yes.”

Katherine’s fingers rested against the arm of her chair. “That answer should frighten us more than it does.”

“It frightens me,” Celia said. “That is why I choose examples carefully.”

The lavender world disappeared. A stylized crown formed from the stars.

“This morning, Verena showed you invitations connected to Queen Sam,” Celia said.

“The bachelor party,” Claire said.

“And the wedding,” Mara added.

“Yes. Sam entered a season centered on her male best friend, Andy. Sam is a lesbian.” Celia allowed the sentence to stand before continuing. “She was not secretly undecided. Her season did not treat her as a woman waiting for the correct man to repair her orientation.”

Lizzy waited for the exception. She did not know she had been waiting until Celia continued without giving her one.

“Sam scored exceptionally well. She protected people, challenged her Master, supported another contestant she came to love, and reached one hundred Victory Points first. The system made her Harem Queen.”

Naomi’s fingers moved against her bare wrist. “She is still bound to the harem.”

“Yes.”

“And Andy?”

“Her best friend and her Master within the system’s structure. He is not her sexual partner. Sam is in a committed relationship with another woman from the harem, who is bisexual and also one of Andy’s partners.”

Claire’s voice came smaller. “Andy has never been required to sleep with Sam?”

“Neither of them has been required to make that relationship sexual.”

Katherine looked up at the crown. “Successful, in this context, means the Hotel approved of the result.”

“Successful means several things at once. Sam survived. She gained power and authority. She built relationships she values. She also remains inside a structure she did not choose.”

Mara’s hands loosened in her lap. “Verena told the truth about the system.”

“On that point,” Celia said. “Verena prefers exact truths because they give her authority. Do not confuse precision with generosity.”

Lizzy stared at the crown until its edges blurred. No rule would require Van to choose her. He would not be forced to touch her, kiss her, or pretend to want her to keep her from being eliminated. Relief should have followed.

Instead, another possibility opened beneath it. He wouldn’t be forced to choose her.

Claire was close enough to see Lizzy stop breathing. She didn’t ask what was wrong. She placed one hand on the shared armrest, palm down, near enough to find and far enough to refuse.

Lizzy kept both hands twisted in the hem of her shirt.

Celia looked from the crown to the women beneath it. “When this system changes you, do not ask only whether the result is normal. Ask what it gave you and ask what it took.”

Katherine’s gaze remained on the projection. “And when the answers disagree?”

“They will,” Celia said. “That is when you need one another.”

—--------------------

Fiona went first.

The hydraulic deadlift station had two vertical handles rising from a slot in the floor and a display mounted at eye level. A pressure plate mapped foot position while the handles adjusted to the user’s reach.

Dane checked Fiona’s recovery data, then demonstrated the starting stance. “The resistance releases if your position becomes unsafe. It also stops the attempt if the load shifts into your spine instead of your hips and legs. Warm-up first. Two hundred pounds.”

Fiona stepped onto the plate and closed both hands around the grips. Her feet settled under her hips. The teasing expression she had carried from the treadmills disappeared.

She pulled. The handles rose in one smooth line until the machine chimed.

“Good,” Dane said. “Set it down under control.”

Fiona did. “Three hundred.”

The second attempt moved more slowly. Muscle tightened across her legs and back. The handles reached the marked height and chimed again.

Cassie crossed her arms, then uncrossed them when her altered top pulled tighter across her ribs. “I resent how impressive that is.”

Fiona glanced at her. “That sounds personal.”

“Oh, don't worry, it is.”

Dane allowed them two minutes, checked Fiona’s heart rate, then set the machine to three hundred seventy-five.

This pull made Fiona work for the first inch. Her thighs tightened beneath the shorts. Her shoulders held level. The handles stalled once, then continued until the chime sounded.

Van had seen Fiona fight, threaten, coach, and hold him down during the worst moment of his life. The concentration on her face now belonged to the same woman, but none of it was aimed at him. She had narrowed the world to the grips in her hands and the force trying to keep them near the floor.

Dane increased the resistance. “Four hundred. Final attempt.”

Fiona reset her feet. The machine resisted from the start.

Nothing moved for the first second. She drew a deeper breath, drove through her legs, and shifted the handles one inch. Then another. Her teeth showed. Sweat ran unchecked down one cheek. The grips stopped below the target line.

Fiona made a low sound and forced them the remaining distance.

The chime rang.

She returned the handles to the slot before stepping away. Her legs held, though she kept one hand on the frame for several breaths.

Dane read the display. “Four hundred completed. A very high result, even among the Empowered.”

Cassie clapped twice. “Terrifying. Well done, you freakish Amazon.”

Fiona accepted the towel Dane offered and looked at Van. “Your turn.”

His recovery timer had cleared, but his legs still trembled a bit from the treadmill. He stepped onto the second station anyway.

Dane adjusted the handles to his reach. “The plate estimates your starting load from body mass, and limb length. It recommends two hundred fifty.”

Fiona’s eyebrows rose. “That low?”

“He is untrained,” Dane said. “Don’t rush to see him get hurt.”

Van wrapped his hands around the grips. He set his feet where the display showed green and tried to copy the sequence Fiona had used.

“Pull.” Came Dane's measured tone.

Two hundred fifty rose without drama. He felt the strain in his thighs and back, but the handles reached the target cleanly.

Dane watched the data settle. “Three fifty.”

Cassie sat forward. “That is a big jump.”

“The first attempt was well below his measured output.”

Van flexed his fingers and took the grips again. Three hundred fifty dragged at the start, then moved once his hips and shoulders found the same rhythm. The machine chimed.

Fiona had stopped drying her face.

Dane gave him two minutes, checked the sensors at his ribs, then set four hundred.

Van looked at the display. “Are you sure? That was Fiona’s maximum.”

“Yes.”

He glanced at her.

Fiona folded the towel over one shoulder. “Don’t hesitate on my behalf.”

Four hundred did not lift cleanly. The first inch pulled through his legs, hips, and back at once. His grip bit into the textured handles. Old muscle memories from his work returned in pieces: water tanks, damaged doors, machine parts, salvage that had to reach the truck before the weather turned worse. Nobody on those crews had cared whether effort looked correct. The load either moved or it didn’t.

After an uncertain moment, the handles reached the line. The chime sounded.

Cassie’s mouth opened, but no joke followed. Her eyes were locked on the corded lines of his shoulder and thigh, muscles tight with strain.

Dane looked at the display longer than she had after Fiona’s attempts.

Van lowered the handles. “Was that wrong?”

“The movement was inefficient.” She gestured at the readouts, “You are wasting a lot of force and overtaxing your joints.”

Fiona stepped closer, attention fixed on his hands and shoulders.

Dane ran the station through a calibration cycle. The handles descended, rose empty, and returned to the slot. “Four fifty.”

Four hundred fifty hurt. The resistance caught halfway up. His breath jammed behind his teeth. Sweat dropped from his jaw onto the pressure plate. For an instant the handles remained fixed.

Then the memory of warehouses, stairwells, flooded loading docks, and bad equipment moved through his body. He drove upward. The handles rose the last fraction and the chime sounded.

Van released them too quickly and had to catch his balance on the frame.

Cassie stood. “What the hell did you do for a living?”

“Maintenance. Salvage. Whatever needed doing.” He breathed through the burn in his arms. “It was pretty physical.”

“Furniture movers have physical jobs. They are not all human forklifts.”

Dane checked his vitals and waited until his heart rate dropped below the line on her screen. She replaced one loosened sensor, then looked at him. “One more attempt. The safety system will terminate it if your form degrades.”

The display changed to five hundred.

Van stared at the number. “There's no way.”

Fiona and Cassie’s answer came at the same time. “Yes.”

He looked at them.

Fiona’s face was still flushed from her own lift. Sweat had darkened the gray fabric at her chest and waist. She didn’t smile or taunt him. She just waited.

Cassie looked between them. “I would like the record to show that this stopped being normal several minutes ago.”

Dane kept her attention on Van. “You may refuse, of course.”

The simple permission took some of the pressure out of the number. Van flexed his aching hands. “Will trying tell you something useful?”

“Yes.”

He stepped back onto the plate. Five hundred didn’t move.

The machine held him in place while the sensors streamed data to Dane’s monitors. His thighs trembled. Heat spread down both sides of his spine. He could hear Fiona breathing nearby and Cassie shifting her weight behind him.

The Alter had always been faster. Stronger. Patient enough to return whenever daylight failed. Van had spent years with only his own body between the memory and sleep. He focused on the memory of that thing with red dripping claws. He saw himself in his mindscape standing in the intake room with Verena introducing ‘his’ contestants. He saw his red dripping hands in his own mind.

He opened his eyes and pulled.

The handles rose by a fraction. His shoulders and legs locked into the effort. Sweat crossed his mouth, sharp with salt. The machine gave him another groaning inch.

Then another. His muscles bulged, his breathing stopped altogether as his body stole energy from every part of himself that was not lifting.

After a dazed moment of half crazed effort, the chime finally sounded.

Van dropped the handles into the slot and stumbled back. For several seconds, breathing was the only thing he could manage as the complaints of his body rushed back in to fill the gap left by the lack of strain.

Dane did not write anything immediately. She recalibrated the empty machine a second time, checked Van’s sensor feed, then compared it with the readouts on the secondary screen.

Cassie’s voice had lost its edge. “That cannot have been normal.”

“No,” Dane said. “It does not fit the rest of his profile.”

Van rubbed one palm with his thumb. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I repeat the measurement before I explain it. I also want a second blood sample after your recovery period.”

Fiona’s eyes moved from Dane to Van.

He tried to make the result smaller. “It was just one lift, I don't think I could do it again.”

Fiona didn’t answer.

Cassie watched her roommate instead of him.

Her mouth opened once before the words came. She looked at the handles, then at his shaking hands.

“Okay,” she said. “I lost.”

Van straightened as much as his legs allowed.

Fiona met his eyes. “What’s the consequence? Don’t make it gross, or I’ll kill you. I don’t care if they eliminate me for it.”