ASCENSION...My first four pages:
Chapter One
The Rising Storm
February 18, 2025, Durham, North Carolina
Natalia lies in a hospital bed at Duke University, holding her newborn daughter against her chest. The white sheets crinkle as she shifts beneath them, pain radiating from her C-section incision. Chanel is barely three hours old, but her dark eyes seem focused, watching with an awareness that defies explanation.
A familiar wisp disturbs the sterile air—a presence she knows intimately. Her past self, astral projecting from 2019, was witnessing this moment. The temporal loop closes as Natalia tells her younger self to return to her own time before she runs out of energy. She feels the presence fade, leaving only the antiseptic smell of the hospital and the weight of her daughter in her arms.
Where the hell is Crew?
Her husband should be here. They planned this moment for years, but when her labor accelerated, two weeks early, he was already en route to Moscow for "urgent intelligence." His absence burns like acid.
Chanel makes a soft sound, not quite crying. For just a moment, Natalia swears the infant winks at her—not possible for a newborn, but the flutter is unmistakable.
"You're special, aren't you?" she whispers to her daughter. "You have both our gifts flowing through you."
Natalia can already sense it—the quantum resonance humming beneath Chanel's alert gaze. Both she and Crew mastered reality manipulation through years of training and natural ability. Their daughter was conceived by two people who can bend space-time itself. What kind of genetics could emerge from that combination?
Her phone buzzes. A text from Crew: Sorry. Moscow essential. Back soon. Love you both.
"Essential," anger flaring hot in her chest. She carried his child for eight and a half months, labored for eighteen hours, and he's in Russia playing spy games with his ex.
Sounds in the hall interrupt her brooding. Something is not right.
Through her open door, she sees an Eastern European-looking man entering the maternity ward. Unremarkable face, careful movements, watching. He doesn't belong here. The CIA cordoned off this entire floor, yet he made his way through security like smoke.
Natalia's body transforms instantly from exhausted mother to lethal predator. Every sense sharpens as she recognizes the threat. He has a Romanian accent when he speaks to the nurse. Professional insertion. Targeted extraction.
He's here for Chanel.
She hits the call button while shifting Chanel to her left arm, keeping her right arm free. Through the narrow window, she sees him approaching the nurse's station. The duty nurse looks up with a smile that dies as his blade opens her throat.
No hesitation. No emotion. Professional work.
Natalia's mind races through options as she watches him check the medical chart outside her door. Chanel Thomas. He knows exactly who he's hunting.
The Romanian terrorist enters her room with confidence, carrying a cotton bag for extraction. He dismissed her as incapacitated—a woman who gave birth hours ago, alone and vulnerable.
His first mistake is underestimating a master assassin.
His second mistake is threatening a child whose quantum signature already blazes brighter than most trained operatives.
Natalia moves the instant he reaches for Chanel. Pain explodes through her incision, but adrenaline overrides. She rolls from the bed, placing herself between the evil man and her child and grips the scalpel she palmed from the medical tray.
"Step back," she warns in Romanian.
He smiles, recognizing a fellow professional. "Natalia Net. Your reputation precedes you."
"Then you know this ends badly for you."
"Perhaps. But the child comes with me regardless. Do you have any idea what she's worth? Two masters of quantum physics for parents?" His eyes gleam with avarice. "The GAUL will pay any price for that kind of potential."
"She's three hours old."
"Old enough for her abilities to manifest. I can feel the strength radiating from her even now." He lunges forward. "She'll be the most powerful operative ever trained."
Natalia anticipates his approach. She sidesteps, using his momentum against him while driving the scalpel toward his carotid artery. He deflects the strike, countering with an elbow toward her wounded abdomen.
Natalia twists away, the blow glancing off her ribs instead of reopening her incision. She maintains her grip on Chanel throughout the exchange, protecting her daughter even while fighting for their lives.
The kidnapper presses his advantage, forcing Natalia backward toward the window. Blood seeps through her hospital gown as stitches strain under the physical stress. She's operating on willpower and maternal fury, her body pushed far beyond safe limits.
"You cannot win," he says, circling like a predator. "You are weak. Wounded. I am fresh and prepared."
"You talk too much."
Natalia feints left, then spins right, using the Romanian's confidence against him. As he commits to blocking her attack, she drops low and sweeps his legs. He stumbles, off-balance for just a moment.
That moment is enough.
Natalia drives the scalpel upward, finding the gap between his ribs. The blade pierces his heart, stopping it instantly. He drops without a sound, his body going limp as life exits.
She staggers against the wall, exhaustion and blood loss threatening to overwhelm her. Chanel remains perfectly calm throughout the violence, watching.
"It's okay, baby," Natalia whispers, checking her daughter for any harm. "Mama's got you."
Her phone buzzes. Another text from Crew: Meetings running long. I'll be there tonight.
Rage fills the space where adrenaline burned. Crew is networking with Nora and the Russians while Natalia kills an assassin to protect their gifted child. The betrayal feels more devastating than the physical pain.
CIA operatives flood the hallway minutes later, their shouts echoing. They find two dead agents in the corridor and the Romanian's body cooling in her room. Professional cleanup protocols engage automatically.
"Ma'am, are you injured?" The lead agent approaches cautiously, noting the blood on her gown.
"Reopened stitches. It’s not critical." Natalia's tone carries the cold authority that has made her legendary. "Run facial recognition. I want to know who sent him."
As medical staff rush to treat her wounds, Natalia studies Chanel. Her daughter watches the chaos with an understanding that transcends her hours of existence. In those moments, Natalia sees a terrible potential that will make Chanel invaluable to people who collect weapons.
More than invaluable. Irreplaceable. The first child born to Crew Thomas and Natalia Net. This baby’s power could eventually reshape entire conflicts, bend reality itself to serve whoever controls her development.
Natalia’s phone displays the facial recognition results. He was a member of the Romanian Mafia, hired by the GAUL. Alina Balan—her former roommate, former friend—has declared war on everything Natalia.
"This is just the beginning," she tells Chanel softly. "They'll keep coming. They know what you are."
Outside, snow begins falling on Durham, where the first shot of a dimensional war has just been fired.
Inside, a mother makes the most terrifying calculation of her life: sometimes love means letting go of what you treasure most.
Crew's absence tonight isn't just about missing the birth. It's about showing Natalia exactly where she stands in his priorities. That knowledge will make her next decision easier, even if it destroys her heart in the process.
Some battles aren't fought with weapons. They're fought with love, sacrifice, and the courage to choose your child over your desires.
Especially when that child carries the potential to change the balance of power in a world where consciousness itself has become the ultimate battlefield.
ASCENSION...My first four pages: Chapter One The Rising Storm February 18, 2025, Durham, North Carolina Natalia lies in a hospital bed at Duke University, holding her newborn daughter against her chest. The white sheets crinkle as she shifts beneath them, pain radiating from her C-section incision. Chanel is barely three hours old, but her dark eyes seem focused, watching with an awareness that defies explanation. A familiar wisp disturbs the sterile air—a presence she knows intimately. Her past self, astral projecting from 2019, was witnessing this moment. The temporal loop closes as Natalia tells her younger self to return to her own time before she runs out of energy. She feels the presence fade, leaving only the antiseptic smell of the hospital and the weight of her daughter in her arms. Where the hell is Crew? Her husband should be here. They planned this moment for years, but when her labor accelerated, two weeks early, he was already en route to Moscow for "urgent intelligence." His absence burns like acid. Chanel makes a soft sound, not quite crying. For just a moment, Natalia swears the infant winks at her—not possible for a newborn, but the flutter is unmistakable. "You're special, aren't you?" she whispers to her daughter. "You have both our gifts flowing through you." Natalia can already sense it—the quantum resonance humming beneath Chanel's alert gaze. Both she and Crew mastered reality manipulation through years of training and natural ability. Their daughter was conceived by two people who can bend space-time itself. What kind of genetics could emerge from that combination? Her phone buzzes. A text from Crew: Sorry. Moscow essential. Back soon. Love you both. "Essential," anger flaring hot in her chest. She carried his child for eight and a half months, labored for eighteen hours, and he's in Russia playing spy games with his ex. Sounds in the hall interrupt her brooding. Something is not right. Through her open door, she sees an Eastern European-looking man entering the maternity ward. Unremarkable face, careful movements, watching. He doesn't belong here. The CIA cordoned off this entire floor, yet he made his way through security like smoke. Natalia's body transforms instantly from exhausted mother to lethal predator. Every sense sharpens as she recognizes the threat. He has a Romanian accent when he speaks to the nurse. Professional insertion. Targeted extraction. He's here for Chanel. She hits the call button while shifting Chanel to her left arm, keeping her right arm free. Through the narrow window, she sees him approaching the nurse's station. The duty nurse looks up with a smile that dies as his blade opens her throat. No hesitation. No emotion. Professional work. Natalia's mind races through options as she watches him check the medical chart outside her door. Chanel Thomas. He knows exactly who he's hunting. The Romanian terrorist enters her room with confidence, carrying a cotton bag for extraction. He dismissed her as incapacitated—a woman who gave birth hours ago, alone and vulnerable. His first mistake is underestimating a master assassin. His second mistake is threatening a child whose quantum signature already blazes brighter than most trained operatives. Natalia moves the instant he reaches for Chanel. Pain explodes through her incision, but adrenaline overrides. She rolls from the bed, placing herself between the evil man and her child and grips the scalpel she palmed from the medical tray. "Step back," she warns in Romanian. He smiles, recognizing a fellow professional. "Natalia Net. Your reputation precedes you." "Then you know this ends badly for you." "Perhaps. But the child comes with me regardless. Do you have any idea what she's worth? Two masters of quantum physics for parents?" His eyes gleam with avarice. "The GAUL will pay any price for that kind of potential." "She's three hours old." "Old enough for her abilities to manifest. I can feel the strength radiating from her even now." He lunges forward. "She'll be the most powerful operative ever trained." Natalia anticipates his approach. She sidesteps, using his momentum against him while driving the scalpel toward his carotid artery. He deflects the strike, countering with an elbow toward her wounded abdomen. Natalia twists away, the blow glancing off her ribs instead of reopening her incision. She maintains her grip on Chanel throughout the exchange, protecting her daughter even while fighting for their lives. The kidnapper presses his advantage, forcing Natalia backward toward the window. Blood seeps through her hospital gown as stitches strain under the physical stress. She's operating on willpower and maternal fury, her body pushed far beyond safe limits. "You cannot win," he says, circling like a predator. "You are weak. Wounded. I am fresh and prepared." "You talk too much." Natalia feints left, then spins right, using the Romanian's confidence against him. As he commits to blocking her attack, she drops low and sweeps his legs. He stumbles, off-balance for just a moment. That moment is enough. Natalia drives the scalpel upward, finding the gap between his ribs. The blade pierces his heart, stopping it instantly. He drops without a sound, his body going limp as life exits. She staggers against the wall, exhaustion and blood loss threatening to overwhelm her. Chanel remains perfectly calm throughout the violence, watching. "It's okay, baby," Natalia whispers, checking her daughter for any harm. "Mama's got you." Her phone buzzes. Another text from Crew: Meetings running long. I'll be there tonight. Rage fills the space where adrenaline burned. Crew is networking with Nora and the Russians while Natalia kills an assassin to protect their gifted child. The betrayal feels more devastating than the physical pain. CIA operatives flood the hallway minutes later, their shouts echoing. They find two dead agents in the corridor and the Romanian's body cooling in her room. Professional cleanup protocols engage automatically. "Ma'am, are you injured?" The lead agent approaches cautiously, noting the blood on her gown. "Reopened stitches. It’s not critical." Natalia's tone carries the cold authority that has made her legendary. "Run facial recognition. I want to know who sent him." As medical staff rush to treat her wounds, Natalia studies Chanel. Her daughter watches the chaos with an understanding that transcends her hours of existence. In those moments, Natalia sees a terrible potential that will make Chanel invaluable to people who collect weapons. More than invaluable. Irreplaceable. The first child born to Crew Thomas and Natalia Net. This baby’s power could eventually reshape entire conflicts, bend reality itself to serve whoever controls her development. Natalia’s phone displays the facial recognition results. He was a member of the Romanian Mafia, hired by the GAUL. Alina Balan—her former roommate, former friend—has declared war on everything Natalia. "This is just the beginning," she tells Chanel softly. "They'll keep coming. They know what you are." Outside, snow begins falling on Durham, where the first shot of a dimensional war has just been fired. Inside, a mother makes the most terrifying calculation of her life: sometimes love means letting go of what you treasure most. Crew's absence tonight isn't just about missing the birth. It's about showing Natalia exactly where she stands in his priorities. That knowledge will make her next decision easier, even if it destroys her heart in the process. Some battles aren't fought with weapons. They're fought with love, sacrifice, and the courage to choose your child over your desires. Especially when that child carries the potential to change the balance of power in a world where consciousness itself has become the ultimate battlefield.
