LoLa

 LOLA

The air in the high-tech meeting room is thick with anticipation and the hum of cutting-edge machinery.  Sleek, metallic walls are lined with holographic displays showcasing reams of data, diagrams of biological pathways, and images of restored individuals.  The room buzzes with activity as a dozen scientists and Peacekeeper brass converse in hushed tones.  At the head of the table sits Dr. Martin Larsson, the lead scientist of the Lazarus Project.  A man of advanced years, his head is bald and gleaming under the harsh lights, crowned with a wreath of wild, white hair.  His eyes, magnified behind thick lenses, flit over the gathered team with an intense, almost manic, focus.

To his left sits Dr. Emmett Voss, an unkempt man of curious mind and sharp intellect.  His hair is a trickle of grey curls held back by a pair of sleek, silver-rimmed glasses. He chatters animatedly with a colleague, his mind darting  to discussion points.

Opposite him, Dr. Cronos leans back in his chair, every inch the quintessential scientist.  His lab coat is pristine, not a stain or smear to be seen.  He scribbles meticulous notes, his pen moving almost faster than the eye can follow.

And there, tucked between Larsson and Cronos, is LoLa, the unofficial mascot of the Lazarus Project, all of 21 in Peacekeeper years.  Her long, blonde hair is pulled back in a single, gleaming braid over one shoulder, the golden strands catching the light.  LoLa leans forward, her elbows on the table, her chin propped up by her hands.  Her eyes are bright and wide behind her mismatched lenses - one a vibrant blue, the other a striking emerald green.  They dance over the information flashing across the holo-screens, absorbing every detail.  She is a paradox, a bundle of contradictions.  A genius in technology and programming, her mind works in ways that baffle even her colleagues.  She's the kind of girl who can write code in her sleep and decrypt the most complex algorithms before her morning coffee.  And yet, there's a childlike wonder to her as she takes in the newest data on the restored individuals.

Her lip curls into a delighted grin, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink often seen on a blushing schoolgirl.  Her eyes widen with pure, unbridled joy as she skims over the latest subject analysis.  She leans forward, practically bouncing in her seat like an excited child on Christmas morn and turns to Dr. Larsson.

"Oh my gosh, Doctor, have you seen these Enhanced Cognitive Scores? The Unconscious Adaption of Tactile Feedback is off the charts! I mean, a 47% increase in neural plasticity since reanimation?  That's insane!" she blurts out, her voice pitches higher with each word, infused with tangible exhilaration.  She gesticulates wildly, blonde braid swinging behind her, silver rings glinting on her fingers.  "And listen to this!"  She points at a column of figures, nail polish sparkling.  "Short-term memory retention has skyrocketed over 70%.  Holy shit, Doctor, we're making breakthroughs that'll blow the ancients out of the water!"

Turning to Dr. Voss, she grins like a cat who caught the canary.

"Hey Emmett, bet you can't wait to get your hands on the latest prototype... Hehe, I've been tinkering with the Motility Enhancers during off-hours.  I think the PRT-EverFlex Polymer will do wonders for peak stride velocity and agility.  Maybe even blow past 50 km/h!  Can you imagine the combat implications?  Ooh, thefrei girls won't know what hit 'em when our pretty boys come for them!"

LoLa dissolves into giggles, unable to contain her enthusiasm. Her silver eyed, atomic glasses slip down her button nose in her excitement.  She pushes them back up only to have them slip down again a moment later, mirroring the frenetic energy pulsing through her lithe body.

Dr. Larsson eyes LoLa curiously.  Damn smarty pants.  He also looked a bit nervous.  The overall success hasn't been great.  50 men brought back, only half are still alive.  Of them, ten have been losing function at different rates.  Another ten seem to be fine.  Four have been improving.  And then John Smith, an utter outlier.  Maintaining but growing in a different way, not originating in the head, according to the neural monitor.

He gets up and walks to a lectern and clears his throat, adjusting his glasses nervously as he addresses the assembled team.  His voice takes on a somber, almost haunted quality as he speaks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues, peers... we stand at a pivotal juncture in the Lazarus Project.  Fifty souls we've restored to life, a feat unmatched in human history.  And yet, the path forward is shrouded in an unsettling haze of uncertainty."  He gestures to the holo-display behind him, flicking through images of casualties and stunted progress.  The room falls silent save for the occasional stifled gasp.  "Of the fifty, a mere twenty-five yet endure.  Half, succumbed to the ravages of their reconfigured physiology.  Another ten drift in a state of stagnant metamorphosis, their potential clipped, inhibited, lost to us."  Larsson's gaze drifts to John Smith and quarters, lingering on him a moment longer than the others.  A flicker of unease dances across his features before he continues.

"And ten more, a scant dozen, maintain... yet stagnate.  Illicit progress, a grotesque parody of vitality.  Our innovations, while impressive, have yet to yield the quantum leap we require."  A palpable tension fills the room as Larsson takes a deep, shuddering breath.  His hands tremble slightly as he grips the lectern, voice lowering to a grim whisper.  "Time grows short. Resources dwindle.  The future of the Lazarus Project hangs in the balance... and with it, the delicate web of hope we've woven for a world bereft of men."  Larsson gestures to the holo-display, his voice taking on a more measured, almost defiant tone.  "Be not disheartened, colleagues.  Amid the trials and tribulations, we have witnessed marvels that but a decade ago, we dared not even dream of.  The ten who endure... they are the harbingers of a glorious future."

The display shifts, illuminating images of whole and hearty men, their eyes bright and bodies strong.  Larsson gestures to one, a man with a cascade of curling black hair and a grin that could outshine the sun.

"Our subject 55, Marcus Gasspard.  Since his rebirth, he's not only regained but expanded upon his original capabilities.  His cellular regeneration rates are off the charts. . A shining testament to the success of our combined therapies and tissue engineering."  Next to him, the visage of another subject, 58, appears.  This man, with his golden skin and eyes the color of a summer's sky, radiates an almost ethereal beauty.  "And what of Donovan Myers, Subject 58, who's managed to not only retain but improve upon his original IQ, now a staggering 165?  His cognitive abilities, enhanced by Dr. Voss' novel neuro-programming techniques, have surpassed even our most optimistic projections."

Yet, the joy is short-lived as Larsson's gaze turns grim once more.  The display flickers to the sadder tales, the subject's holo-portraits seated in somber shades of grey.

"Subject 49.  Radial cellular degradation, an anomaly we've yet to unpack.  Regenerative capabilities waning day by day..."  The image of the once-robust man flickers, his form invariably dwindling, tissues and muscles withering away.  Another sad image of a different subject appears.  "Subject 87. Nervous system deterioration, neural impulses slowing, synapses misfiring..."  Larsson's voice wavers with barely-concealed despair, but swiftly rallies.  "These failures, maddening as they are, illuminate the path forward. We learn from our mistakes, adapt and evolve.  The future of humanity rides on the success of this endeavor."

Larsson's gaze turns pointedly to the senior Peacekeeper brass seated along the back wall.  General Cynthia Daven Blackwell, her fiery red hair a beacon of strength and authority, meets his gaze and nods grimly.  Her arm brushes against Colonel Melissa 'Riverfire' McCoy, a woman of such devastating beauty that even in a room of scientists and bureaucrats, she draws the eye like a muse.  The other brass envision the future it would be to have an army of warriors like John Smith at their disposal.

LoLa's mind races, a whirlwind of algorithms and biological pathways swirling behind her mismatched lenses.  She drums her fingers on the sleek metal table, rings clicking a staccato rhythm that echoes the frayed tension in the room.  Listening to Larsson's rundown of the Lazarus subjects, her lips purse in thought.  The successes are incredible, sure, but the failures... they gnaw at her.  And poor, anomalous John Smith, a glorious outlier with a trajectory that makes no damn sense.  The neural activity, the growth origins... it's maddening.  Cognitive Dissonance Level: Maximum.

She runs through the figures in her head, the statistics, the projected trends.  The math adds up, but the truth lies in the modeling.  And the models say the same damn thing: their techniques are flawed.  Flawed af.  Inconsistencies and inefficiencies abound, and she can't fucking figure out why.  LoLa's jaw tightens, refusing to admit defeat.  Failure is not an option - her druthers say as much.  Lives depend on her innovations, on her ability to push the boundaries of science and technology.  She fingers the silver duel pendant around her neck, a gift from-grandma drone, and grimaces.  No pressure, she thinks wryly.

Dr. Larsson clears his throat, adjusting his glasses as he turns to address the room once more.  His gaze lingers on the empty lectern for a moment before he speaks, his voice a mix of fascination and befuddlement.

"Now, let us turn our attention to the singular enigma that is Subject 48, colloquially known as John Smith.  Ah... where to begin with our dear John?"  He pauses, considering his next words carefully.  "Our initial analysis indicates that Mr. Smith's trajectory diverges from the norm in ways we... frankly, cannot yet explain.  His physiological regeneration and adaptive capabilities not only match but surpass all other subjects."  Larsson steps closer to the holo-display, a visualizer of Smith's inner workings illuminating behind him.  Glowing lines of energy pulse and swirl, beseeming impossible patterns.

"Observe these bioluminescent ecologies,... these cresting waves of..." He shakes his head in disbelief. "Apropos of nothing in our scientific literature, they defy explanation.  A spiritual aura, they say.  The Kundalini, or some would argue, the distillate of pure essence.  Love, in its most pristine and concentrated form, suffusing through every cell."

The room falls silent, a palpable air of awe and confusion permeating the space. Larsson throws up his hands, exasperated.

"Do we comprehend this phenomenon?  Nay we do not.  But I need hardly remind you that we are not dealing with a standard subject."  He looks to the High Command, his expression a mix of perplexity and hope.  "Whether our subject has tapped into a latent potential inherent within us all, or if his constitution remains an outlier forevermore, one truth remains clear: Smith's progress, however ill-understood, portends a future beyond the limited scope of our current enterprises."  Larsson turns back to the room, voice ringing out with fervent conviction.  "He is, in a word, extraordinary.  And it falls to us, colleagues, to unravel the mystery of his ascension - to learn from, and build upon, the denyingly of a man who wields the power of a thousand suns."

Dr. Emmett Voss leans forward, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he speaks up. 

"Martin, I have to concur. This... this energy field surrounding Smith... it's unlike anything I've witnessed before.  Perhaps a form of intensive meditation or... some manner of spiritual evolution?"

"Exactly!" Larsson exclaims, pointing at Voss.  "Dr. Voss is correct.  Meditation, eccentric diets, intensive therapy... it's as if Smith has somehow learned to tap into the very wellspring of life.  The essence of our 'chemistry' in its purest commune."

Dr. Cronos scoffs skeptically.

"Prescribing nonsense.  Emotions are not energy, they cannot be harnessed in this manner.  Far more likely Smith's readings stem from lab errors, instrumentation flaws.  Brain-latency phenomena that do not align with our current models."

Larsson shakes his head.

"No, I disagree.  Not only have the readings been replicated across myriad devices, but the sheer magnitude and consistency of this... phenomenon."  Larsson gestures to the dancing, swirling light on the visualizer.  "It testifies to something far more concrete, something we've yet to properly understand or describe."

LoLa pipes up excitedly, her eyes enlightened.

"What if... what if we don't have to?  I mean, I can try to plug the numbers, create algorithms to predict and replicate, but maybe..."  Her gaze turns introspective.  "There are some things in this world that can't be quantified, that don't fit neatly into equations and equations.  Maybe Smith has discovered something... something primal.  Level Zero, the core code of life."

Larsson nods eagerly, grasping at the concourse of Dr. LoLa's words.

"Yes, Dr. LoLa, precisely!  Discarding for a moment the scientific impossibilities of Smith's current state, we must contemplate the ramifications."  He paces before the room, glasses glinting under the harsh lights.  "Could it be that within our otherwise drab humanity lies an untapped wellspring of coruscating spiritual potential?  Enkindled by the trials and tribulations of the subject's past, he has somehow managed to corral this force and convert its supernatural transgressions..." Larsson appears lost in thought, thinking what he suggests.

General Blackwell clears her throat, heeding the room to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the enemy continues to move onerously on their supply routes.  Time is a luxury we no longer possess."  She glances to Larsson and the other doctors.  "If Smith's success can be replicated, the strategic advantages would be...significant.  A reanimated force of warriors, with supernatural resilience and abilities... it could turn the tide."

Colonel McCoy nods, a glimmer of hope in her large eyes.

"I agree, Cynthia.  But we must tread cautiously.  The high mortality rate and inconsistency of the prior... attempts was unacceptable.  Our mission is to safeguard life, not squander it."

Larsson waves a hand dismissively.

"Indeed, and to that end we have made strides.  Thankfully the errors of our earlier protocol are now well documented, and with them..."  He gestures to the glowing visualizer displaying Smith's luminous figura.  "A blueprint for success!"

Dr. Voss interjects skeptically.

"Blueprint may be a generous term, Martin.  We already lost two dozen subjects, and the remaining throngs are stagnant at best.  Ix-nay to play with the idea that we have the magic button for full replication."

"No no, you mistake me.  This is untested, yes, but hardly an impediment to proceeding."  Larsson sways, gesturing to the myriad holo-displays projecting the as-yet-incomprehensible

LoLa leans forward, a look of smug anticipation on her youthful face as she addresses the room.

"Listen up, my brilliant bitches.  I know we've hit a few... hitches.  But like, come on people, we can't let a few cosmetic deaths throw us off our game."  She stands up, moving to the visualizer and waving a hand over it, zooming in on Smith's radiant signature.  "Behold, the magnificent glory of the human spirit.  We've got Subject 48 over here permanently partying like it's 1999, and if you ask me, that's not just some freaky anatomy.  That's the future!"  LoLa spins to face the room, green and blue eyes alight with fervor.  "So what's stopping us from cranking out a whole rager of ascended warriors?  One word: dentistry.  And one name: John Smith.  Seriously, if he did it, any of us can.  We just need to figure out how."  As the words leave her lips, a renewed sense of determination sweeps through the room.

LoLa grins, teeth glinting, as she looks over to where John Smith would be if he were present.  Internally, her mind buzzes with a flurry of thought experiments and algorithmic projections.   She slumps back into her chair, a more subdued expression on her face now.  She drums her fingers on the table, considering the matter in a more pragmatic light.

"Look, I'm not saying it's going to be easy.  But we can't ignore the potential here.  If Smith's case is reproducible, then every body is a future asset sitting in cold storage, waiting for a shot at redemption."  She turns to Larsson and raises a quizzical eyebrow.  "Martin, you mentioned that Smith's ascension was tied to something primal... a code of life, you called it.  That implies it's not just about the science, but the soul.  Ergo, maybe all it takes is finding the cocktail that unlocks it.  And hey, if we can do that..."

Larsson sighs, looking around the room at the assembled onlookers.  Straightening his tie, he concludes the meeting.

"Very well, let us adjourn for now.  We shall reconsider this matter with fresh perspectives and renewed vigor.  Dismissed."

As the room begins to empty, Dr. Voss hurries over, a sheaf of papers in hand.

"Martin, I've been crunching the numbers on my latest genetic cloning.  If we can stabilize the necessary cell lines and optimize the regeneration factors..."

Larsson holds up a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"Not now, Emmett.  We've yet to fully comprehend the biological underpinnings of Smith's ascension.  Hardly the time for half-baked theories and wishful thinking."

Cronos scoffs, smoothing his lab coat.

"The good doctor raises a valid point, Larsson.  If we could replicate Smith's genome, the potential applications are... staggering.  And before you dismiss it out of hand, consider that he is, in essence, a successful test subject.  The first of a new breed of warrior."

LoLa, growing bored of the circular arguments, stands abruptly and snags her lanyard.

"You know what?  You lot can battle it out here, but I've got an ascension glitch that won't debug itself.  Catch you taterpounds on the flippity flip side."

With that, she strides out of the room, blonde braid swaying behind her. The door swishes shut, leaving the remaining egos to continue their personally-baked plans for world domination.

* * * * *

LoLa settles into her sanctum, the neon lights casting an eerie glow across her features as she leans back in her chair.  Her fingers dance across the keys, pulling up John Smith's file with a flourish.

"Let's see here... oh, what a fascinating life you've led, John. Reborn from pre-war, only to recover and then some.  Katniss Kitty Collins, assigned as your babysitter, but the two of you got caught up in your own little love story instead."  LoLa shakes her head in amusement, scrolling through the lovers' investigative files.  "Things got juicey with Kitty, and you did a runner, going AWOL.  But then came January - what a creepo, huh?  Well, creepy no more, because you iced him and his body melted like a popsicle in the sun.  Whoopsie!  Guess that's the Kundalini at work, huh?"

A wicked grin spreads across LoLa's face as she reads on. "And oh, the juicier bits! Chainsaw fight, but once again, an assassin emerges victorious. Violet rage, my ass! Looks like a certain someone was packing some heat, in more ways than one."

She cackles gleefully, scrolling through the intimate details.

"Then it was party time for Smith, with Kitty and, oh, like a vampire vixen too?  Damn, you don't mess around, do ya slut?  No time like the present to fall back in line after sowing your wild oats!"  LoLa leans in closer, eyes sparkling with mirth as she continues reading thread.  "Wowza!  Looks like our John's gone and ushered in a whole new era... with the Freedom Angels, no less.  Talk about a badass gang with a twist.  And... oh.  MY.  GOD."  She snorts with laughter, shaking her head in disbelief.  "Dominica and Mitsuki, huh?  You've just about written a manual on how to rock the ass combo, stud.  Been there, done that, now you're de-escalating the gang wars like a boss!"  LoLa leans back in her chair, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she summarizes John's dossier.  "Damn, John Smith, you've lived approximately thirty lifetimes in one.  Reborn as a superhero, fell in love, went rogue, killed a supervillain, survived a chainsaw fight, had the craziest of vampire sex, whipped up a mercenary group with your baby mama, and zapped wars out of existence with your psychic, spiritual death laser.  Apparently, storing you in cold storage was the smartest, and dumbest, mistake the Docs made!"  She grins, appreciating the poetic justice.  "Seriously though, if anyone in this messed up world has handled their second chance at life like a boss, it's this beefcake.  Fair play to ya!"  Leaning forward, elbows on knees, her tone turns intrigued.  "But what really gets me... is your sparkly secret.  That supernatural glow, the zero-element energy, the eldritch life force that makes you punched up and ready to rumble on command.  Makes me believe that there's more to us humans than meets the eye.  And?  Makes me wonder..."

Green and blue eyes focus, zooming in on the holo-image of John. 

"What's your deal, Smith? How'd you figure it out?  How'd you learn to juice up your battery and become one of the walking vim and vigor?  And more importantly..."  She looks up to the ceiling, voice laced with excitement.  "Can IT be taught?"  LoLa nods slowly.  "Fascinating stuff.  Like discovering gravity, I guess - it was always there, but it took someone to realize and exploit its potential."  She taps thoughtfully on the armrest, fixing her gaze on the holo-image.  "A spiritual awakening, that opened the third eye or whatever fancy term you want to use, came as a byproduct of the resurrection process.  An accident.  The first to come out of cryofreeze juiced to the gills with purloined life energy."  A mischievous grin snuggles its way onto her lips.

 "Mm, paradigm-shifting stuff.  I mean, if one lucky bastard can stumble into supernatural awesomeness just by chance, think of the possibilities if it could be... to anyone!"  LoLa leans forward, a wicked glint in her mismatched eyes.  "The potential is mind-blowing.  If we nailed down the science behind The Smith Technique - in this case, a combination of the resurrection mistakes, the biofeedback loops, and a dash of cosmic dumb luck - we could maybe, just maybe..."  She sighs wistfully, dreaming of the select possibilities.  "With that recipe for success, no more would-be soldiers in cold storage waiting for a second chance that'll likely never come.  No more wasted potential!  But, whew!" LoLa leans back, shaking her head.  "Figuring that out... that's the real kicker.  Making it happen on command, rather than relying on sciencey serendipity.  At least for now, it's an exclusive deal, reserved for that first lucky stiff who shuffled off this mortal coil, took a nap, and woke up a god.  A paradoxical chicken and egg scenario if there ever was one," she muses, staring at the glowing diode at the center of John's form.

"But hey, if anyone's going to crack that nut wide open, I'm betting my bottom dollar that sweet ride of a brain is the ticket.”  LoLa's mind races with the implications, juices flowing as fast as a speeding bullet.  "This is like... like the discovery of fire, or the wheel, or penicillin.  Something that was always out there, waiting to be harnessed by someone with enough brains and balls to seize it."  She spins around in her chair, a mad gleam in her eye as she ponders the majesty and madness of the situation.  A slow, conspiratorial grin spreads across LoLa's face.  "Of course, it won't be easy.  Hell, nothing worthwhile ever is.  What we need is a plan, a way to replicate his super special combo of, uh, supernatural mojo.  The docs are trying, sure, but they're missing the big picture"

The petite cyber-tech whiz sprouts upright in her chair, a brilliant idea blossoming like a rose in spring.

"Here's the thing, though: the missing piece of the puzzle.  No one's put their brainiac skills to use, the way nature intended - and that's the secret sauce to your spooky awesomeness."  She leans in, eyes glinting with excitement. "They can fiddle around with the formula all they want, but skip the basic, most fundamental thing as the catalyst for a breakthrough.  So let's give 'em a hand, yeah?  Roll up our sleeves, get in there and muck about until we find the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe..."  LoLa stops abruptly, shaking her head in disbelief.  "Fuck me sideways!   Have you seen the state of your virtual brain-snaps?  The way your noodle works, bending every rule in the book until it comes out the other side?  That's the secret weapon nobody's been using."

With a grin wider than a Cheshire cat's, LoLa drums her fingers on the desk.

"You're not just a super-soldier, John... you're a secret weapon disguised as one.  And figuring out how to bottle that brainpower is the key.”  LoLa looks up from her desk, the neon lights reflecting mischievously in her savvy eyes.  With a smirk, she continues, a glint of excitement in her convictions.  "Oh, I know it all too well, baby.  All too fuckin' well.  But hey, we're just gettin' started, so buckle up, buttercup!  This is gonna be one hell of a ride."