The day had arrived.
It started with silence.
No hum of machines. No whir of servos or rhythmic pings from diagnostics. Just a breathless moment suspended in the stillness before history.
Then came the light.
The morning sun crested over Central City like a promise fulfilled. The clouds parted to reveal a sky so blue it might as well have been curated for this one event. Outside the newly refurbished S.T.A.R. Labs conference center—a bold, modernist structure of glass and polished alloy—a growing crowd swelled with anticipation.
Bright banners waved in the crisp spring breeze, each one bearing the same phrase:
S.T.A.R. LABS PRESENTS: THE VIREL CORE CONFERENCE
Camera drones hovered above the plaza like lazy hawks, snapping images and streaming feeds to hundreds of live newsrooms. The crowd below was a collision of industry titans, skeptical academics, eager tech journalists, and global dignitaries.
All were ushered through the gates by a meticulous registration system manned by new staff and overseen by JANUS. Security was airtight. August and Cisco had spent weeks fine-tuning protective protocols, with JANUS acting as a full-spectrum scanner to ensure no meta activity or unwanted surveillance breached the perimeter. Facial recognition, voiceprint verification, EMF field checks. Nothing was left to chance.
Whispers moved like currents:
"Is it a new accelerator?"
"Some kind of AI breakthrough?"
"Maybe Wells is cloning people now."
And always:
"What does VIREL stand for?"
Inside, the conference center gleamed. The main hall, custom-built for this event, could house over a thousand guests. Rows of plush seats curved in a half-moon around a central stage. High-definition wall panels shimmered with cascading graphics: the S.T.A.R. Labs insignia overlaid with an animated, golden pulse line.
At exactly 10:00 a.m., the lights dimmed. A hush fell like a velvet curtain. The ripple of silence was immediate—raw anticipation settling like fog.
A spotlight clicked on. From stage left, a figure emerged.
August Heart.
Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit and silver tie, he stepped confidently to the podium. The soft murmur of camera shutters began almost instantly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, voice calm but firm, "welcome."
The applause wasn't thunderous, but it was steady, sincere—the sound of eager minds hoping for revelation.
August smiled, calm but serious. "Thank you all for agreeing to be here today. For those of you who don't know who I am, I'm Dr. August Heart, co-owner and CEO of S.T.A.R. Labs."
There was a subtle wave of murmurs. More cameras tilted toward him.
"I imagine many of you were expecting Harrison Wells to be here today, and I'm sorry for those disappointed that he is not. As we scientists like to say, disappointment is probably the one definitive answer in the universe."
Light laughter rippled through the room.
August leaned slightly forward. "Many of you are filled with questions about why S.T.A.R. Labs called for this VIREL Core Conference. What even is the VIREL Core?"
August allowed himself a small smile. "We'll get to your burning question—what is the VIREL Core? But before we do, let's talk about why we're really here."
"S.T.A.R. Labs used to stand for something. Innovation. Imagination. The Science and Technology Advanced Research Laboratories was founded with a singular purpose—to push the boundaries of science, unrestricted by corporate or political control. A place where we could explore the unknown. We lost that."
A pause. Quiet agreement in the room.
"And now," August said, "we're getting it back."
He paced slightly, allowing his voice to expand.
"Now, I know what you're thinking: why trust a 23-year-old with no business background, no Wall Street portfolio, and no suit from Savile Row?"
Another ripple of laughter.
"As a scientist, I don't sell dreams. I solve problems. And this—" he lifted a sleek remote from the podium "—is the future."
With that, he pressed a button on the small remote in his palm.
The lights dipped lower.
A low hum filled the air.
And then the air shimmered.
The floor behind August lit up as dozens of embedded projectors activated in unison. A holographic galaxy spun slowly into view—stars and nebulae twinkling in breathtaking clarity. Guests leaned forward. A few audibly gasped.
"Oh no, wait, hold on," August said with mock surprise. "That's the universe. My bad."
Laughter.
With a swipe of his hand, the galaxy collapsed into a single point. Then it exploded outward—not as space, but as a city.
A sprawling, living metropolis. Holographic cars zipped through traffic lanes. Hovercraft glided across skyways. Pedestrians—light-based, but detailed—crossed shimmering intersections. At the very center of it all stood a glistening tower labeled in glowing blue text:
S.T.A.R. LABS
The crowd was silent.
"This," August said, "is the first hard-light holographic system in human history. What was once science fiction is now just science. Built by our team, here at S.T.A.R. Labs."
He stepped forward and plunged his hand into the projection. The model responded—rippling, reforming. He plucked a building from the middle of the layout, held it aloft, and then tossed it to the other side of the display. It moved seamlessly.
The building shimmered, shifting through iterations—Wayne Enterprises Tower. Queen Consolidated. LuthorCorp.
"This is the Ghostlight Protocol," he said. "Hard light projection that mimics real-world physics. It can be used in science, architecture, emergency training simulations—and, if you're anything like me, for building mini-cities at 2 a.m. just because you can."
"You don't need monitors or VR visors. These projections respond to your touch. They move with your mind. They adapt in real time."
He waved to the front row. "Dr. Carla Tannhauser, would you care to give it a try?"
Caitlin's mother, Carla stood, raising a brow with the kind of restrained amusement only veteran scientists possess. She reached out and grasped a holographic vehicle. It responded.
Her eyes widened.
The car revved and rolled across a bridge toward a mock highway.
A murmur of awe passed through the audience. A few executives in the second row immediately began whispering to assistants.
"Just like when you were kids playing with toys," August said with a smile. "That's the benefit of being a scientist. Our imagination doesn't age."
The cityscape dissolved, replaced now by a series of rotating diagrams. One showed a new prosthetic limb made of self-repairing material. Another showed blueprints for energy regulation nodes. A third displayed a new kind of environmental waste converter.
"These," August said, voice growing solemn again, "are just a taste of the projects we've worked on quietly, diligently. While the world moved on, we rebuilt."
He took a step back from the projection.
"But I won't be the only voice you hear today."
He looked toward the right wing of the stage.
"Let me introduce someone who's been at the heart of our revival. A doctor whose compassion rivals her brilliance. Please welcome Dr. Caitlin Snow."
Polite applause filled the room as Caitlin emerged onto the stage, her lab coat replaced by a simple navy-blue dress. She exchanged a nod with August and stepped to the podium.
She took a breath.
Then smiled.
"Let's talk about healing the world."