The chamber was still.
Not the peaceful kind of stillness—but the kind that pressed against the ears, heavy and uncomfortable, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Frost crept slowly across the shattered floor, crawling away from the broken containment pillar where Genesis-01 lay motionless. The faint blue glow in its chest flickered once… then faded completely.
Ethan Vale didn't move.
He stood there, staring at the thing that had almost become him.
Lena lowered her tablet, her hands shaking. "Neural activity is flatlining. Whatever it was… it's dormant again."
Jax let out a long breath he'd clearly been holding. "Dormant is good. Dormant means it's not ripping our heads off."
Ethan barely heard them.
They wanted us to merge.
The words echoed in his mind, refusing to fade. He looked down at his hands—hands that had crushed steel, broken concrete, and dismantled something that shouldn't have existed. Hands that had been engineered long before he ever had a choice.
"Ethan?" Lena said softly. "You okay?"
He nodded once, slowly. "Yeah. I just… need answers."
He turned away from Genesis-01 and scanned the chamber again—really scanned it this time. Now that the threat had passed, the room felt different. Less hostile. Like it was waiting.
"There," he said, pointing toward the far wall.
At first glance, it looked like solid meta-steel. No markings. No doors. But Ethan could feel it—an almost imperceptible hum beneath his skin, subtle but unmistakable.
"A hidden archive," Lena murmured, already moving. "Of course. They'd never store the real data on the main network."
She knelt beside the wall and pressed her palm against it. "Let's see if it recognizes you too."
Ethan stepped forward and placed his hand beside hers.
The wall responded instantly.
Lines of pale light traced outward from their touch, forming symbols and patterns that rearranged themselves rapidly. The steel slid apart with a low mechanical groan, revealing a narrow passage leading into darkness.
Jax blinked. "Every time you touch something in this place, it opens. I'm starting to feel very underqualified."
"Trust me," Ethan said quietly, "I don't like it either."
They moved inside.
The archive chamber was smaller than the Genesis-01 containment room but infinitely more unsettling. Rows of black data pillars rose from the floor like tombstones, each one glowing faintly with encrypted symbols. Screens lined the walls—old ones, newer ones, and some that didn't resemble modern tech at all.
"This isn't just a server room," Lena whispered. "This is… a history vault."
Ethan swallowed.
"Start with Genesis," he said.
Lena connected her tablet to the nearest pillar. The screen flickered, resisted, then yielded.
A list appeared.
PROJECT GENESIS — MASTER ARCHIVE
ACCESS LEVEL: SUBJECT 01 ONLY
Below it—
SUBJECT 01: ETHAN VALE
STATUS: ACTIVE
DESIGNATION: SUCCESSFUL ITERATION
Jax leaned over her shoulder. "They really didn't do subtle, did they."
Ethan didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the next line.
PARENTAL RECORDS — CLASSIFIED
His heart skipped.
"Open it," he said.
Lena hesitated. "Ethan… you might not like what's in there."
"I already don't," he replied. "Open it."
She did.
The screen shifted.
A video file appeared.
DATE: 19 YEARS AGO
LOCATION: GENESIS FACILITY — PRIMARY LAB
Ethan's breath caught as the video began to play.
The image was grainy, recorded from a ceiling camera. A white laboratory. Sterile. Bright. And in the center—
A woman.
She was strapped to a medical chair, dark hair clinging to her face with sweat. Her hands were bound, but not roughly—carefully, like the restraints were meant to keep her still, not hurt her.
She was pregnant.
Ethan felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.
Lena whispered, "Ethan…"
A man stood beside the woman, arguing with someone off-screen. His voice was calm, but tight with fury.
"You promised she wouldn't be harmed," the man said. "You said this was voluntary."
A second voice responded, cold and clinical.
"Doctor Vale, the procedure is voluntary. Your wife agreed to carry the embryo."
The name hit Ethan like a gunshot.
Doctor Vale.
The man in the video turned fully toward the camera.
Ethan stared at his own face—older, worn, but unmistakably familiar. The same jawline. The same eyes.
"That's…" Jax breathed. "That's your—"
"My father," Ethan finished, his voice barely audible.
The woman in the chair looked up then, tears streaking her face. "Elias," she whispered. "Something's wrong. They're changing the parameters."
Elias Vale moved closer to her, gripping her restrained hands. "I know. I know. I'm trying to stop it."
The voice off-screen interrupted again. "Doctor Vale, step away. The Genesis embryo requires stabilization. Emotional interference will compromise the process."
Elias snapped. "You're turning my child into a weapon!"
Silence followed.
Then the cold voice replied, "We are turning your child into the future."
The video cut to another angle.
Monitors displayed complex genetic models—DNA strands being rewritten, overlaid with synthetic structures. Ethan recognized some of the symbols. He'd seen them in his own medical scans.
"This is when they altered you," Lena whispered. "Before you were even born."
The video jumped forward.
DATE: 6 MONTHS LATER
The room was darker now. Alarms flashed red. Scientists rushed around frantically.
A newborn's cry echoed through the speakers.
Ethan flinched.
The camera zoomed toward a glass chamber where a small infant lay, surrounded by wires and liquid. Tiny chest rising and falling.
Him.
The cold voice returned. "Genesis-01 failed. Instability beyond acceptable margins."
Elias shouted, "Then stop! End the project!"
"No," the voice said. "We refine it."
The woman—Ethan's mother—struggled against her restraints. "Don't touch him!"
The screen shook as Elias lunged forward. "Get away from my son!"
Guards restrained him.
The camera caught one final moment before the feed cut—
Elias Vale being dragged away, screaming Ethan's name.
The room went silent.
Lena covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. Jax looked away, jaw clenched.
Ethan didn't move.
He stood perfectly still, his entire body rigid, like if he moved even slightly, he might shatter.
"They weren't dead," he said finally. "They didn't abandon me."
"No," Lena said softly. "They tried to save you."
Ethan swallowed hard. "What happened to them?"
Lena scrolled down, hands trembling.
Another file opened.
SUBJECTS: ELIAS VALE / MARA VALE
STATUS: TERMINATED
Ethan's fists clenched.
But Lena shook her head quickly. "Wait—there's more. That's not the end of the file."
She opened the attached report.
Text filled the screen.
> Termination order issued after breach attempt.
Doctor Elias Vale attempted to sabotage Genesis Core.
Subject Mara Vale removed from facility under medical pretense.
Public death records falsified.
Ethan's head snapped up. "Removed?"
Lena nodded slowly. "Your mother… she didn't die here."
Jax frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Lena said carefully, "she might still be alive."
Ethan's breath came fast now. "Where did they take her?"
Lena typed rapidly. A map flashed onto the screen.
A single location highlighted.
OUTPOST: HELIOS BLACKSITE
STATUS: OFFLINE
LAST ACTIVITY: 14 YEARS AGO
Ethan stared at it.
A place he'd never heard of—but somehow felt connected to.
"They kept her alive," he whispered. "After everything… they kept her."
"Probably because she was part of the Genesis process," Jax said grimly. "Or leverage."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Then that's where I'm going."
Lena nodded. "There's more. One last file."
She hesitated before opening it.
GENESIS OVERRIDE PROTOCOL — SUBJECT 01
The text scrolled automatically.
> In the event of Subject 01 awakening beyond predicted parameters, initiate Phase Merge.
Genesis-01 is designed as a stabilizing core.
Union will result in complete system: human will, machine precision.
Outcome probability: irreversible.
Ethan felt sick.
"They didn't want to control me," he said slowly. "They wanted to finish me."
Lena looked at him. "Ethan… that means they're not done. Not after tonight."
Jax cracked his knuckles. "Then good. Because neither are we."
Ethan straightened.
For the first time since entering Genesis Tower, something inside him settled—not fear, not rage, but clarity.
"My parents didn't create a weapon," he said. "They tried to protect a child."
He looked at the dark screen, at the lies, the experiments, the buried truth.
"And Synapse-9 took everything from them."
Lena met his gaze. "What do we do now?"
Ethan's eyes hardened.
"Now," he said, "we burn every trace of Genesis."
A distant rumble echoed through the facility—alarms beginning to wake, systems rebooting.
Jax smirked. "Guess the building agrees."
Ethan turned toward the exit, resolve burning in his chest.
"And after that," he added quietly, "I'm finding my mother."