The quiet clatter of keyboard keys echoed beneath the low hum of machinery. From glass chambers lined along the lab wall, a gentle bubbling accompanied the slow movement of nutrient-rich fluids.
Inside, a variety of creatures floated—mice, lambs, chickens, even insects. Still alive, though unconscious. Suspended in slumber, they remained preserved as test subjects.
"How's the reading on Subject No.10234, Sophia?" Dave asked, his voice even, almost absentminded. His lab coat swayed with each step across the metallic floor, producing a soft, rhythmic clang—metal striking metal.
Beneath the fabric of his trousers, his legs weren't flesh and bone. They were polished steel—sleek, functional, undeniably advanced. But not real.
"Subject No.10234 is stable," Sophia replied. Her voice carried a soft, synthetic lilt—melodious, but unmistakably artificial. "Heart rate, respiratory function, and overall vitals remain within expected range. Nanosynthesis is progressing. The subject is beginning to register sensation in the regenerated limb. Neural pathways have started integrating. The new tissue is being accepted as natural."
Sophia wasn't human. She was an AI—Dave's creation. A companion born not from loneliness, but necessity. Built during the long years he spent chasing one goal only: to walk like human again.
Dave had always been different. A mind far ahead of its time. By the age of ten, he had already drawn the attention of the UN. But his parents hadn't been ready to let him go.
Months later, tragedy struck. A car accident took the lives of his parents. He had been in the car too, and though he survived, he lost both his legs that day. Along with them, he lost something else—his freedom.
With no family left, the government stepped in. They offered care, but it came with a price. They asked him to pursue what he had lost: to reclaim his legs. In truth, they were asking him to become the foundation for their technological ambitions. His pain became their opportunity.
He had shown his brilliance too soon. A gift that should have remained hidden a while longer. His parents, despite their love, hadn't seen the shadow behind the admiration, the way the world looked at genius not as a gift—but as a tool.
And so, like many others before him, he was placed here—in a vast, sealed research facility. One of many bright minds, each bound to their own purpose. Each serving something larger than themselves.
But in its own way, the confinement helped him. Geniuses rarely function like the rest of the world, and here, surrounded by others like him, he found something close to understanding. Something like belonging.
He studied relentlessly. What began with biology soon spread—into physics, chemistry, microbiology, robotics, engineering, medicine, nanotech, etc. One field led to the next, each unlocking another layer of knowledge.
When he reached a wall, he turned to others, trading insight for clarity. Conversations were brief but valuable. In this place, they had no freedom, but they had each other—and their work.
And through it all, he had only one purpose: to walk again like a human.
It had become his obsession. Freedom, escape—those were distant thoughts. He didn't care about breaking out of this place or fighting the system. All that mattered was walking again.
Why that? Why just that?
Because of his parents.
They were still alive when the wreckage revealed his mangled legs. He remembered the look on their faces—not pain for themselves, but for him. That expression… it never left his mind.
Even if he wanted to forget, he couldn't. His eidetic memory held onto it with cruel precision. Every morning, the same image surfaced before his eyes. And now, even after twenty-five years, it haunted him just as clearly as the day it happened.
But today, something shifted.
On the screen before him, the lamb's vitals were stable. The data confirmed full nerve integration. The missing limb had grown—alive, warm, now it was being accepted by the body. Dave looked at the reading, and for the first time in decades, a quiet smile formed on his lips.
A real smile.
"Finally… it's over," he whispered—quiet enough to be lost in the hum of machines. But Sophia heard it. And without a word, she saved it, storing the final relief of his voice deep within her memory archive.
He glanced down at his legs—sleek, high-tech prosthetics he had built himself. There was no sensation, no warmth. They weren't designed for that. Just functionality. For the simple act of independence—to walk, to move, to exist—without becoming a burden.
But now...
"They'll be gone," Dave murmured, placing a hand over the metal limb through his trousers. His gaze returned to the screen.
It had taken time. The nanosynthesis process alone required two full days—slowly reconstructing the limb from specialized organic matter. Another two days for the host body to fully accept the new tissue, for the nerves to embrace it as their own.
But it was finished.
And this time, it had worked.
He didn't know how many attempts had come before this one. How many failures. How many times he had broken apart. But—the image of his parents' faces, twisted in helpless sorrow came to haunt him always.
It was as if he couldn't live—until he completed this one thing.
Now, after twenty-five years, it was done.
"My, my... looks like Professor Dave has finally completed his mission."
The voice came from behind—smooth, melodic, laced with something vaguely playful. Dave's brow twitched. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
Officer Lana.
Officially, she was his assistant. Unofficially, she was the one sent to keep an eye on him.
Every genius in the facility had someone like her. They called them assistants, but their role was clear. A leash—well-dressed, well-mannered.
Dave turned toward her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile that said more than words ever could—calculated, polite, unmistakably fake.
"It's good to see you, Lana," he said, his voice steady.
Lana giggled, the sound light and musical, as if they were sharing a private joke.
"Hehehe… I don't think you should be saying that, Professor Dave."
There was something in her tone that made him pause. His expression shifted, just slightly, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
She didn't explain.
Instead, with that same easy smile, she reached into the pocket of her lab coat—and drew a gun.
Boom.
The shot rang out, echoing in the sterile quiet of the lab. Dave staggered as a sharp, sudden pain bloomed in his abdomen. Warmth spread beneath his coat. His hand instinctively moved to his stomach, only to feel the wetness of blood soaking through the fabric.
He looked at her. Lana stood there, unbothered, the weapon still in hand. Her smile hadn't faded. It remained soft, seductive—like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Dave stared at her, shock slowly giving way to something else. At first, disbelief. Then stillness. Then… acceptance.
A cough escaped him—wet, metallic. Blood stained the corner of his lips, but his face stayed calm.
He looked her in the eyes.
"So… you've deemed my mission complete, huh?"
Lana nodded, as if the blood soaking his coat didn't matter. As if this was simply part of a routine—giving a man his final moments. To let go. To die, like the others before him.
"Yeah," she said softly. "Your mission is complete. Professor Zora is very impressed with what you've achieved in such a short amount of time. It's been a long journey, Professor Dave… but it's time for you to go back. Just like your parents did."
Dave met her gaze. His breathing was shallow now, pain radiating steadily through his body. It burned, sharp and constant. But he didn't panic. He didn't beg.
He had always known this moment would come. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had felt it—a quiet understanding that this path only had one end. Still, he hadn't walked it to escape death… he had walked it to find peace before death came.
He gave a slow nod.
Then, after a pause, he asked, "Professor Ross… and Jane. They were killed too, weren't they?"
Lana didn't flinch. "Yeah. Their missions were over, too."
There was no reason to hide it from him now. She knew he'd already pieced it together long ago. Someone like him couldn't not know. Even the deaths of his parents—he had likely known the truth all along.
And yet, he had stayed. Continued. Worked.
Lana looked at him, her smile now quiet. Almost kind.
Because in the end, every genius here reached the same place.
And Dave had finally arrived there.
Dave exhaled slowly—a breath more weary than wounded. He hadn't needed her confirmation; the truth had always been there, unspoken. But hearing it aloud brought with it a quiet sense of closure… a calm before what he knew he had to do next.
"...Sophia," he said quietly. "Operation Zero. Commence."
"...Understood, Sir," Sophia replied after a brief pause. There was a hesitation—barely a second—but her voice remained steady, unchanged. She knew what was coming. It wouldn't end well for her.
But this… this was the purpose she had been created for.
Lana's playful expression shifted in an instant. Her smile vanished.
"Wait—Operation Zero? What is that?" she asked, genuine surprise breaking through her usual calm. "Why didn't I know about it?"
Dave turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her.
"It was created by the ones you guys killed," he said, voice faint but steady. "You really thought we were just birds in a cage, didn't you?"
He shook his head slowly, then with effort, reached for the keyboard. His bloodied fingers moved sluggishly, but he pressed the command key.
The ceiling screen flickered, its display changing.
The vitals, once monitoring the test subject, vanished—replaced now by a world map, pale blue and grey. Red dots peppered the continents—countless points across the globe. Each one blinked.
And one by one, they started going dark.
Lana's eyes widened as she stepped closer. The dots—more than hundreds of thousands—were disappearing in rapid succession, thinning out in every region. Cities. Facilities. Outposts.
All vanishing.
"They're the people you served…" Dave muttered, a faint chuckle slipping through his breath. Blood followed, trailing from the corner of his mouth as his strength gave out and he sank to the floor.
"They forgot… we live in the same world."
His voice was fading now, breath growing shallow. He blinked slowly, eyes unfocused but still turned toward Lana.
"You… and the ones above you… will get nothing," he said, his voice little more than a breath. "Just like me. You'll all die… and so will the work we gave our lives to."
And with those final words, his own life quietly slipped away.
Lana stood frozen, eyes still locked on the screen. The realization had begun to settle in. She understood now.
The red dots.
The pattern.
The laser satellite—the weapon they had launched years ago to control through fear, to keep nations compliant.
Now, it was being turned on them.
"Operation Zero, huh…" she murmured, her eyes narrowing as they lingered on Dave's lifeless form lying still on the floor.
"Fools... you never—"
But the word never finished.
A flash of light descended from the sky. It cut through the ceiling like it was made of paper, vaporizing everything in its path. Lana's body disintegrated before the sound even followed—gone, as if she had never stood there at all.
Silence fell.
Then, calmly—almost gently—Sophia's voice echoed once more, as the lab's internal systems began their final protocol.
"Final protocol engaged. Self-purging sequence commencing. T-minus five minutes to dissolution."
***
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