The smell of cheap coffee hovered in the room. Biologist Emanuel Rodriguez brought a steaming mug to his lips, and took a sip. His brown eyes studied the three senior NTC staffers huddled around the table in the front of the briefing room.

At the head of the table was Dr. Hoffman. To his right was Amy Carlson, a tall and beautiful redhead with a face peppered by freckles. In her five years at NTC, she had risen from being an assistant to become Vice President of Science. Her rise to power was often attributed to her looks, but Emanuel knew that behind her pretty face was a keen mind.

To Dr. Hoffman’s left was NTC’s vice president of security, Sean Edwards. Edwards was a sixty-year-old retired British special operations veteran who had been Dr. Hoffman’s right-hand man for several years. The left side of his face was normal for a man his age—wrinkled and a pasty white. The right side, however, was grotesque. His eye was sunk into his skull, the victim of shrapnel from a grenade that should have killed him. The skin was weathered and scarred from the burns that had consumed his face after the explosion went off. Even without the scars, he would have been frightening, but his appearance wasn’t the only thing that intimidated his opponents. Rumors of his brutality were widespread, even outside the company.

Emanuel brought the cup back to his lips and took another sip, cringing at the bitter taste. His eyes flicked from the table to the corner of the room, where two NTC soldiers stood, their rifles strung over their shoulders and their red goggles emitting the familiar glow of the world’s most powerful security and science firm. Their eyes may have been hidden, but their stoic faces radiated intimidation.

He wasn’t sure why Dr. Hoffman had elected to show off the company’s muscle. After all, the room was packed with Dr. Winston’s team and the support staff who would be monitoring them from a facility in Colorado Springs. And once the Biosphere doors closed, the only thing that could open them was Alexia. No one, not even Dr. Hoffman, would be able to persuade her to open the doors early. It was a safeguard programmed to protect the Biosphere mission at all costs. The rules were clear—no communication with the outside unless absolutely necessary.

Dr. Hoffman began the presentation, pacing to the center of the room, where he scanned the crowd imperiously.

“For the sake of everyone else in the room, I’m going to start with a brief introduction of the Biosphere team. We should all know who we’ll be watching.” Dr. Hoffman smirked. “In the front row we have Dr. Holly Brown,” he said, turning to the petite blonde, who smiled brightly and waved. “First in her class at Johns Hopkins with a doctorate in psychology. Dr. Brown, you’ll be in charge of monitoring your team’s mental and emotional health.” He paused and scanned the crowd. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Roberts,” he said, pointing next at the young, curly haired programmer. “Timothy Roberts, the infamous ex-hacker. Recruited by MIT at seventeen, kicked out at nineteen, and recruited by the federal government at twenty. Isn’t that correct? I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.”