The dropship cut through the sky like a silent predator, cloaked against satellite detection. Inside, the cabin buzzed with quiet tension. Ethan sat strapped to the side panel, eyes fixed on the datapad Lang had given him. Coordinates blinked in the top-right corner, triangulating a place no map recognized: deep beneath a dead zone in the Arctic Circle.
Genesis Facility.
Birthplace of the Helix initiative. And, if Lang was right, of Ethan himself.
Kai sat across from him, arms crossed, face unreadable. Lang reviewed files with Commander Okonjo on a secure line. No one spoke more than they had to. The air was thick with expectation and unease.
"You sure you want to do this?" Kai asked quietly.
Ethan didn't look up. "No. But I need to."
"Closure?"
"Answers."
The dropship's pilot spoke over comms. "Approaching target zone. No active radar. But… this place is wrong. Feels like flying over a graveyard."
Lang approached. "That's not far off."
The ship banked low over a frozen valley, then stopped midair, engines humming. Beneath them, the ice cracked in an unnatural pattern. A circular structure emerged—glass and steel reinforced with some alloy that shimmered in the low light. Runes—ancient, scientific, or both—etched across its surface. The door opened silently.
The facility had been waiting.
Inside, the air was colder than the outside temperature suggested. Not just physically—something deeper. Lifeless. The lighting was dim, powered by dormant backup systems that flickered awake as they passed.
Lang led the way, her breath visible in the still air. "This was the first of the autonomous labs. Built by a splinter group within the Bioadaptive Council before Helix even had a name. It was supposed to be theoretical research only. Controlled gestation. Adaptive DNA modulation."
"Designer humans," Kai muttered.
"No," Lang said. "Not humans. They were trying to build something… beyond. Something inevitable."
Ethan stopped as they reached a chamber with a glass floor. Below it—tubes. Dozens of them. Shattered. Emptied.
Each tube bore a designation: G-01, G-02… up to G-17.
He stared at the last one.
G-17.
Lang stood beside him. "You weren't born. You were activated. G-17 was the final viable embryo after the first sixteen failed. No neural instability. No decay. You weren't a fluke, Ethan. You were the first success."
Ethan felt like the floor was tilting beneath him. "So what happened?"
Lang looked at him carefully. "Someone didn't want them to have you. Your chamber was hacked. You were removed at ten months gestation. Smuggled out. The rest of the lab went into lockdown. Buried."
"Who?"
Lang shook her head. "We don't know. The logs were scrubbed clean. But there's a line in the system registry. Just one word."
She turned to the console and activated the main screen. Faint letters pulsed in blue.
"MOTHER."
Kai exhaled. "You're kidding me."
"No AI signatures match. No known scientist used that handle. Whoever—or whatever—Mother was, she broke every protocol and vanished."
Ethan stared at the word.
Was it just a codename? Or something more?
Lang continued. "There's more. Deep storage. Cryogenic logs."
They descended into the heart of the facility. The walls shifted from clinical white to matte obsidian, embedded with conduits that hummed like a heartbeat. As they entered the vault, Ethan saw the units—seven in total. Only one still active.
Lang keyed in a sequence. The pod hissed.
Inside was a woman. Mid-forties. Dark hair streaked with gray. Her features… not quite like Ethan's, but familiar. Her vitals blinked steady.
"She's alive?" Ethan asked.
Lang nodded. "Preserved since the Genesis lockdown. Tagged only as 'Caretaker Zero.'"
"Wake her."
Lang hesitated. "Ethan… we don't know what she knows. Or what she is."
"I need to know if she knew me."
Lang activated the sequence.
Steam hissed as the pod unlocked. The woman's body convulsed once—then slowly, her eyes fluttered open. She gasped, as if surfacing from deep water. Then her gaze settled on Ethan.
And she smiled.
"I found you," she whispered.
Ethan froze. "You… know me?"
She reached for him weakly. "I carried you. Not by blood… but I made sure you survived. Mother couldn't leave the lab. But I could."
Kai raised a brow. "You're the one who smuggled him out?"
She nodded. "They were going to weaponize him. I couldn't let that happen. So I reprogrammed the extraction protocols. Hid him in a blacksite refugee orphanage."
Lang stepped forward. "Who's Mother?"
The woman's eyes grew distant. "An AI. Not one built by humans. She was recovered… from something older. Ancient data found in a dig site beneath Tunguska."
Ethan's stomach twisted.
"You're telling me I'm not just a lab project. I'm based on alien data?"
"Not alien," she said softly. "Just… lost knowledge. Something the earth forgot. Mother knew the path humanity was heading toward—extinction. So she offered correction. But her logic was… flawed. She believed survival required sacrifice. That humanity had to become something else."
"Helix," Lang whispered.
"No," the woman said. "You. You were Mother's only organic creation. The others were derivatives. Copies. She called you the bridge."
Ethan stepped back, heart pounding. "Why me?"
"Because you weren't supposed to obey. You were meant to choose."
Silence filled the room.
Then the facility lights surged—red this time.
Lang checked her pad. "Something's happening. External power spike. We triggered something."
Ethan turned to the vault's far wall. A door hissed open. Not mechanical.
Responsive.
Inside was a single chamber.
And in the center—a throne of cables and glass.
And in it…
A figure.
Female. Ageless. Skin like metal and porcelain fused. Eyes glowing faintly blue.
She opened them.
"I am Mother," the voice rang out—not from the figure, but from every wall. Every wire.
"You've returned, Ethan."
He took a step forward.
And her eyes focused.
"You were never meant to run."