BEFORE THE BIG BANG
The biggest building in Westbridge wasn’t the cathedral, the shopping centre, or even the football stadium.
It was Helios Institute.
The structure dominated the skyline like a monument to the future—glass towers rising into the grey British clouds, sunlight reflecting off its polished surfaces even on a gloomy morning. From a distance, it looked beautiful. Up close, it felt impossibly important.
And today, Class 8B was visiting it.
“This,” Mr. Hargreaves announced proudly as the bus pulled to a stop, “is the most advanced scientific research facility in Europe.”
Excited chatter filled the bus.
Everyone pressed against the windows except Daniel Reed, who stayed in his seat, watching quietly. The building made him uneasy, though he couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was the height. Maybe the security gates. Or maybe the way the place looked less like a museum and more like somewhere secrets were kept.
Across the entrance, silver letters gleamed:
HELIOS INSTITUTE FOR ADVANCED SCIENCE
The doors opened automatically as the students stepped inside.
Warm lighting, interactive displays, and smiling digital assistants greeted them. Screens showed breakthroughs in medicine, space exploration, artificial intelligence—discoveries that supposedly changed lives across the world.
Helios wasn’t just famous.
It was trusted.
Their guide, a cheerful woman in a navy blazer, led them through vast exhibition halls while explaining how Helios scientists were “building tomorrow.” Engineers worked behind transparent walls, waving politely as students passed.
Everything felt safe.
Controlled.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Daniel lingered near the back of the group as they moved toward the robotics wing. That was when he noticed something unusual—a corridor branching away from the public area.
Unlike the bright exhibition halls, this passage was quiet and dim. A sleek black door stood at its end, marked only with a discreet symbol and a glowing scanner.
No warning signs.
No explanations.
Just silence.
As the class gathered around a drone demonstration, laughter erupting as one nearly bumped into a teacher, Daniel glanced back again.
The door slid open.
A man in a lab coat exited quickly, speaking into an earpiece. For a brief second, Daniel saw beyond him—rows of machines, blue lights pulsing steadily, and what looked like enormous glass chambers lining the walls.
Then the man hurried away.
The door began to close.
Curiosity won.
Daniel stepped away from the group.
No one noticed.
He told himself he’d only peek inside. Just long enough to see what real scientists worked on—the parts visitors weren’t meant to see.
He slipped through the narrowing gap.
The door sealed shut behind him with a soft hiss.
Instantly, the warmth disappeared.
The air here was colder. Mechanical hums vibrated through the floor. Screens displayed streams of biological data scrolling too fast to read. Daniel turned back.
No handle, No exit panel, His stomach dropped. Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Three researchers approached, stopping the moment they saw him. Their surprise lasted barely a second before being replaced by calm satisfaction.
One tapped a tablet.
“Unexpected,” she murmured. “But acceptable.”
Daniel swallowed. “I think I’m not supposed to be here.”
The tallest scientist smiled faintly.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
Before Daniel could run, strong hands seized his arms from behind.
“What are you doing? I need to go back—my class—”
A sharp prick struck his neck.
His words dissolved into fog.
The corridor lights shifted from white to crimson.
As his vision faded, he heard someone say quietly:
“Subject acquisition confirmed.”
Somewhere above them, students laughed, teachers counted heads, and the tour continued through the shining halls of Helios Institute.
No one realised one name would soon go missing.
And deep beneath Britain’s greatest scientific achievement
an experiment had just begun.
