Potential

Civilians lived in constant terror. Witnesses described soldiers moving impossibly fast, appearing and disappearing like phantoms, striking only when necessary to accomplish orders. Entire cities were locked down at the sight of them, and rumors spread about their inhuman endurance and strategy. Joan tried to warn the world through hidden messages and encrypted posts, but the government intercepted every attempt. Every word she wrote seemed to accelerate the soldiers’ deployment. Families whispered about seeing a shadow, a figure without expression or hesitation, and children would cry at the mere mention of the perfect soldier. Fear became an unspoken law.

She attempted to reach the public directly, but her network of contacts was compromised. The military controlled the information, and the soldiers were trained to seek out anyone spreading resistance. Her home was raided, her personal notes confiscated, and she narrowly escaped. Hiding in the outskirts of a city, she realized that what she had created could not be stopped with reasoning or negotiation. Each soldier was programmed, loyal, and enhanced beyond human limits. Resistance required ingenuity beyond human capability, and even then, success was unlikely. She began documenting the consequences, creating a record of humanity’s descent into fear at the hands of its own evolution.

The world began to change under the soldiers’ influence. Governments relied on them as both defense and offense, deploying them to conflict zones with unmatched success. Entire battlefields were won with minimal human casualties on one side, while destruction rained upon the other. Urban centers were patrolled, ensuring compliance, and those deemed unstable or non-compliant were quietly removed. Cities fell silent under their watch. People stopped speaking openly, fearful of attracting attention. She wandered through abandoned towns, her heart heavy, knowing she had unintentionally created a new class of enforcers—perfect humans, yet devoid of empathy, now instruments of war rather than evolution.

Despite the horror, some believed resistance was possible. Small groups of civilians began documenting every encounter, studying the soldiers’ patterns, and trying to predict behavior. She secretly provided information, teaching them what she knew of the human brain’s adaptability. But every engagement ended in bloodshed or near-capture. The soldiers were too fast, too efficient, and their obedience was absolute. Rumors circulated that some had begun hunting individuals who tried to replicate Joan’s method, ensuring no more rogue enhancements could occur. The dream of awakening human potential had become a nightmare, and every step to reverse it felt futile.

Reports emerged of soldiers acting beyond immediate orders, demonstrating tactical improvisation. Their perfection was not just obedience; it included instinctive understanding of strategy, combat, and human psychology. Entire teams of armed forces were decimated in hours. She realized that the very enhancement meant to optimize humans had surpassed her comprehension. She began recording her warnings in secret, detailing every step of the process, the dangers of mind rewiring, and the consequences of militarizing such power. Even hidden and anonymous, her messages rarely reached the public. The system was too pervasive, and the perfect soldiers were too numerous. Humanity had underestimated its own creations.

Some survivors spoke of soldiers without names, only designations and purpose. They appeared in urban centers, industrial zones, and isolated villages alike. Witnesses described eerie calm in their approach, followed by instantaneous, calculated elimination of threats. Civilians tried to resist, but fear and inefficiency made them easy targets. Joan’s heart ached knowing that each face she once considered ordinary had become a weaponized nightmare. The streets were no longer safe. Ordinary life ceased. Every step outside homes carried risk. The perfect potential had become a tool of oppression, and the world had no choice but to comply or vanish.

Her warnings began to take the form of encrypted messages and underground broadcasts. Small enclaves of humanity used her notes to prepare defenses, building shelters and warning signals. Yet each encounter proved futile. Soldiers adapted instantly, analyzing strategies faster than humans could implement them. Joan realized that her own creation had outgrown her guidance. The technique she discovered for self-fulfillment had become a blueprint for destruction. No moral framework could contain it. Every enhancement, once meant to liberate, now enslaved. Humanity had chased perfection, and in doing so, had created predators that could not be reasoned with, stopped, or predicted.

Stories circulated of towns that vanished overnight. Surveillance footage captured shadows too fast to track. Military reports were sanitized; civilians were never mentioned. Joan knew the truth: entire populations could be eliminated in hours by perfect soldiers. Resistance was futile because they were not human in the ordinary sense—they were faster, smarter, stronger, and perfectly obedient. Only instinctive fear remained in the humans they encountered. Communities learned to hide, to whisper, and to hope they were invisible. She wandered the world, documenting horrors that could never fully be shared. She knew one day, someone would stumble upon her records and learn the price of potential.

The soldiers’ presence extended beyond battlefields. They enforced law, controlled regions, and responded to perceived threats instantly. Cities learned to fear shadows, because a glimpse could mean death. Families stayed inside, and whispers replaced conversation. She realized that human civilization had been altered irrevocably. The pursuit of personal potential had been corrupted, weaponized, and spread. No law or diplomacy could challenge them. Each day, the perfect soldiers became more ingrained in society. Fear became the primary language. And Joan, once a hopeful guide, now walked among a world terrorized by the very dream she had tried to share, powerless to reverse it.

Eventually, she withdrew completely, retreating to isolated wilderness to record every detail. She cataloged soldiers’ abilities, the method, the transformations, and the fallout. She hoped that her archive might educate future generations or serve as a warning. Yet even in isolation, she could feel the reach of her creation: reports of sudden disappearances, cities emptied, and individuals altered beyond recognition reached her ears. The world had embraced perfection as a weapon, and she had unleashed it. Nightmares of her own making haunted her—dreams of soldiers chasing her through empty streets, their precision perfect, their loyalty unwavering. Humanity had paid the ultimate price.

Her final recordings are cryptic, warning of the dangers of unbridled potential. The world outside her safehold is dominated by enhanced soldiers, unstoppable and precise. Attempts to stop or replicate them are futile. Civilization survives only under constant surveillance and fear. What began as a quest for self-fulfillment became a global nightmare. Ordinary humans are shadows of their former selves, living in fear of those who are perfect. Joan’s method, once a gift, is now a cautionary tale. In the end, humanity learned that achieving perfect potential comes with a cost no one could imagine—and some costs are irreversible.