Rof's first observation was that she didn't drive anywhere. She just sat there in the car, engine humming, hands resting on the wheel, staring at the road as if she were deciphering a message etched into the asphalt. He waited. There was always a point to waiting with Vera, she just got there on her own time and conditions. Any attempt to rush her would only push the endpoint further away.
Finally, she broke the silence. "How much do you know?"
Rof listed what he knew, "Twelve kids. A private group. Funded by the government, but not run by them. Three visits I can't recall." He paused, then added, "Nullpoint."
Vera's thumb twitched on the steering wheel, a barely perceptible movement. "I've been searching for the Nullpoint children for two years," she revealed, "That's why I was in the audience the night you fought Tank. I wasn't there for the fight." She paused again, "I was looking for you, specifically."
The car engine idled softly. Rof maintained a poker face. "How did you know I'd be there?" he asked.
"I didn't. I knew you were in Philadelphia. Knew you were broke and your father was sick. I knew you were the type to tackle problems physically before mentally." She finally turned to look at him, her usually guarded gray eyes now vulnerable. "I had six potential locations. Underground events, loading docks, places a man like you might show up when the bills piled up. You appeared at the third location."
"Man like me," Rof echoed.
"Twenty-four. Two dismissed assault charges. Remarkable physical condition. No formal training, but three men from your neighborhood ended up in the hospital after encounters with you in the past four years — none of them pressed charges, all of them were bigger than you." Her tone was neutral, just presenting facts. "And you were Subject Eight in the Nullpoint study."
Subject Eight. The designation echoed in Rof's mind, stirring a cold, patient feeling in his chest. It wasn't anger or sadness, just the unsettling realization of being labeled and categorized before he even knew what that meant.
"What did they do to us?" he asked.
"I don't have the full picture," Vera admitted, turning fully to face him, an unusual move for her. "What I have are shards of information. Nullpoint was a cognitive enhancement program. Funded through three shell organizations from 1998 to 2006. They were experimenting to see if they could artificially speed up certain neural pathways in early childhood — before the brain completed its primary development. The idea was that a developing brain would incorporate the enhancement rather than resist it."
"Like installing something in a building while it's still being built," Rof interjected.
Vera nodded, "Yes, exactly like that."
As they spoke, the world outside the car continued its regular rhythm. A woman walking her dog, two kids on bikes, a typical Philadelphia morning oblivious to the revelations unfolding in the black car parked at the end of the street.
"The speed, that's the enhancement," Rof mused.
"Part of it. From what I can tell, each subject received something slightly different, tailored to their neurological profile. No two enhancements are identical." She held his gaze, "Which means the eleven other children — wherever they are — have something different. Not speed. Something else."
Twelve children. Twelve different enhancements implanted in twelve different young brains.
Rof kept his face impassive as he processed this. "Who ran it?" he asked. "Nullpoint. Who was behind it?"
Vera grimaced slightly, "That's the wall I keep hitting. The money trail ends at a structure that no longer exists on paper. Whoever created Nullpoint planned their exit first. By the time I started investigating, there was barely anything left." She paused, "Except one thing."
"What's that?"
"A name. One name. Found at the bottom of a document in a decommissioned medical archive in 2022. The man who signed off on the study's final report." She looked at him steadily, "The man who decided the program was complete and ordered it shut down."
"Tell me."
"E. Voss," she pronounced.
The car was deathly silent. Rof's expression didn't change, but inside, something immense and foundational shifted — slow, unseen, yet possessing the power to shatter everything above it.
Voss. His mother's maiden name. Her brother. His uncle. A man he had met only twice as a child and remembered as tall, quiet, and always looking at Rof with an expression he couldn't place as a child. He could now.
It was the gaze of a man evaluating his own handiwork.
"Rof," Vera said, breaking his thoughts.
"I'm fine," he said, cutting her off.
"You don't have to be—"
"I'm fine." He reached for the door, then stopped. "The special bracket. The three fighters who can take me down in sixty seconds." He turned to look at her, "Are any of them linked to Nullpoint?"
Vera's response came a beat too late. "Yes," she admitted.
Rof nodded, stepped out of the car, and took a deep breath of the cold morning air. He felt the chill seeping through his clothes and the weight of the cross against his skin. He said nothing. He went back inside, ate breakfast with his father, and didn't mention the name Voss.
Not yet. Some truths needed to be borne alone first, before they could be shared, before their full weight could be comprehended. He pushed the eggs around his plate as his father chatted about the weather. Outside, life continued as normal, oblivious to the man who had just uncovered a shocking truth about his past.
And the truth bore the name of his own family.
"The deepest betrayals aren't committed by enemies. Enemies are predictable. It's the hands you're born trusting that leave scars that never fully heal."