The doors hiss open to reveal three weapons aimed directly at my face, which is apparently the universal welcome committee for anyone carrying a cosmic seed of creation in their chest.
"Nireya," says a slender figure in the center, whose hair shifts from blue to purple as they speak, "your override is acknowledged, but this..." they gesture at me with what appears to be a modified plasma cutter, "...this breaks at least seventeen security protocols."
"Eighteen, actually," Nireya corrects without missing a beat. "But statistical anomalies require exceptional responses, Myrren."
I recognize the name from somewhere deep in my newly downloaded memories. Myrren Kesh—intelligence specialist, infiltration expert, and apparently the person most likely to vaporize me in the next ten seconds.
"The Genesis signature is off the charts," says another figure—broader, with molten veins pulsing beneath armor plating that looks fused to their skin. "Never seen anything like it."
"Probably because it's the original," Nireya states flatly, stepping between me and the weapons. "This is Dr. Oriin Varrick."
The name drops like a bomb. The weapons waver, then lower slightly—not enough to make me comfortable, but enough to suggest I might live through the next minute.
"That's statistically impossible," Myrren says, their hair shifting to a skeptical orange. "Varrick died in the initial Genesis catastrophe. Everyone knows that."
"I got better," I offer with a shrug that feels inappropriately casual given the circumstances.
Myrren's eyes narrow, scanning me with the practiced efficiency of someone who's spent a lifetime evaluating threats. "Funny. The real Varrick wasn't known for humor in crisis situations."
"Maybe death loosened me up," I reply, then immediately regret it when three sets of eyes fix on me with renewed suspicion. "Look, I know how this sounds. Trust me, I'm having a hard time believing it myself."
The armored figure shifts their weight, molten veins pulsing brighter. "Belief isn't our primary concern. Verification is." They tap a control panel embedded in their forearm. "Initiating deep-scan protocols."
A new wave of energy washes over me, more invasive than the entry scan. I feel it probing deeper, trying to map the Genesis Core's structure. The Core responds automatically, and for a moment, the facility's lights flicker as power fluctuates.
"Intriguing," Myrren mutters as their hair shifts through various hues, finally resting on a wary green. "This energy signature feels... recognizable. Almost like an echo."
I can tell Myrren is picking up on something—recognition sparking behind those color-shifting eyes.
"It's not an echo," I say softly. "It's the source."
The Core pulses in response, sending a gentle wave of energy through the room. The lights stabilize, but now they're humming at a slightly different frequency. My presence is literally changing the electrical signature of their facility.
"Impossible," whispers the armored figure, but their voice lacks conviction. Their molten veins have synchronized with my Core's pulse—a resonance effect I somehow understand instinctively.
"Jax," Nireya addresses them, "run a harmonic comparison against Archive File GC-001."
Jax's eyes widen slightly. "That's a sealed file. Even I don't have—"
"Override Vos-Nine-Delta," Nireya interrupts. "This is exactly the contingency those protocols were designed for."
Jax hesitates, then nods. Their armor plates shift slightly as they access whatever internal systems they're running. Their eyes unfocus for a moment, then snap back with startling clarity.
"Match confirmed," they say, voice barely above a whisper. "It's... it's the original Genesis frequency. The template."
Myrren's hair flares bright white—shock, I'm guessing—before settling into a contemplative blue. They lower their weapon completely, though I notice their finger remains near the trigger.
"Well," they say, studying me with new intensity, "this complicates things."
"Understatement," I mutter.
"Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere that isn't a maintenance corridor?" Nireya suggests, her practical nature asserting itself.
Myrren nods after a moment of deliberation, their hair shifting to a more neutral blue. "Follow me. And try not to... resonate with anything else on the way. Our systems are sensitive."
I follow the trio through gleaming corridors that feel impossibly clean compared to the wasteland outside. The walls here are smooth composite material—not quite metal, not quite ceramic—with pulsing lines of light that seem to track our movement. Everything is functional, efficient, and distinctly more advanced than the ruins I woke up in.
"So this is what civilization looks like these days?" I ask, trying to break the tension.
"This is what survival looks like," Jax corrects without looking back. Their molten veins still pulse in rhythm with my Core, creating an odd sense of connection I'm not entirely comfortable with. "The Remnants preserve what others abandon."
"We're technically no longer part of the Remnants," Myrren comments, as their hair shifts through various shades of blue. "Officially, we're still linked to the Remnants of Azure, but the main civilization decided to focus on survival. A few of us opted to branch out a bit, and when we learned about The Concord of Origin, we wanted to explore it further because we believe it could either save or improve the world.
We step into a circular chamber reminiscent of a war room from classic films—a central holographic display surrounded by active workstations. The walls are lined with screens showing different locations throughout the wasteland. Some depict ruins I recognize, while others reveal bustling settlements I wouldn't have imagined possible in this ravaged world.
"The Concord of Origin," I whisper, as the name triggers a wave of memories. "That was the main aim of the Genesis Project. A unified approach to reconstruction."
"But how did you find out about it?" I inquired.
Nireya's synthetic eyes flicker with data streams as she steps toward the central display. "We didn't find out about it—we've been building it. For decades."
The holographic display shifts, revealing a network map that spans the entire continent. Dozens of nodes pulse with soft light, connected by flowing lines of energy that create an intricate web across the wasteland.
"After the Collapse, survivors scattered into isolated factions," Myrren explains, their hair cycling through contemplative purples. "Each group developed their own approach to survival—the Ember Crown through conquest, the Rustborn through adaptation, the Cindervault through commerce."
"And we through preservation," Jax adds, their molten veins casting dancing shadows on their armor. "But preservation without purpose is just... hoarding."
I study the map, recognizing patterns from my restored memories. "You've been following the original
Genesis Protocol. Even without the full schematics, you've managed to recreate the foundation network."
"Partially," Nireya corrects, her fingers dancing across the holographic interface. "We've established seventeen functional nodes, but without the Prime Node as an anchor, the network remains fragmented. Unstable."
"Until now," Jax says, their molten veins pulsing brighter as they study me.
I feel the intensity of their gazes—equal parts hopeful and suspicious. The Core in my chest vibrates, attuned to the network laid out before us. I sense the connections, the potential routes between nodes, like ghostly extensions I never knew existed.
"You need to understand," I begin cautiously, "I'm not exactly the creator of this. I carry his memories, his... essence. But I'm also someone new."
"I don't know how long it's been since the collapse happened."
"Seventy-three years," Myrren responds, their hair fading to a muted gray. "That's when the Collapse began. The last phase, which we call the Shatter, finished sixty-eight years ago."
The number strikes me forcefully. Seventy-three years. Have I been... what? Dead? Dormant? Spread across the wasteland as energy patterns, waiting to be reassembled?
"That's... a long time," I say faintly.
"For perspective," Jax adds, their molten veins flickering with empathy, "most people alive today were born after the Shatter. The world you remember this being designed for? It's gone."
I collapse into a chair at the workstation, feeling the decades' weight pressing down on me. The Genesis Project was intended to help humanity transition smoothly, not to start over from scratch.
I've been dead for seventy-three years, and apparently I've got terrible timing.
The facility's alarms choose that exact moment to start screaming, red emergency lights bathing our little reunion in the color of fresh panic. Through the network connection still humming in my chest, I feel one of the distant nodes suddenly flare with distress—not just damaged, but under active attack.
"Node Seven," Nireya announces, her synthetic eyes flickering through data streams faster than I can follow. "Settlement designation: Haven's Rest. Population approximately four hundred. They're... they're broadcasting a distress signal."
The holographic display shifts without my input, zooming in on a node that pulses angry red against the network map. Through the connection, I catch fragmented impressions—screaming, the acrid smell of burning metal, and something else. Something that makes the Core in my chest recoil like it's been slapped.
"That's not just any attack," I hear myself say, pushing up from the chair as information flows into me. "That's a Genesis echo—corrupted, powerful."
Jax's molten veins flare bright orange. "The Ember Crown. They've been hunting for Node access points for months. Our defensive measures should have—"
"It's not the Ember Crown," Myrren interrupts, their hair shifting to alarmed crimson. "Look at the energy signature."
The display zooms further, revealing thermal readings that make my stomach drop. The attacker isn't a faction or an army—it's a single figure, walking calmly through walls of fire, leaving footprints of crystallized glass with each step. Energy cascades from their form in corrupted waves that warp reality itself.
"Another Core bearer," I whisper, recognizing the pattern instantly.
"But this one's fully corrupted. They've lost themselves to it completely."
The figure on the display moves with jerky, puppet-like motions, their body crackling with unstable energy that tears holes in the air around them. Unlike the man in the pod, this one has fully integrated with their corrupted Core—and it's turned them into a walking catastrophe.
[Genesis Echo designation: Malus-Seven]
The name appears in my mind unbidden, like a virus signature identified by antivirus software. Something about it feels familiar—not from my memories, but from the Core's databanks.
"Malus-Seven," I repeat aloud. "One of the later test subjects. They were trying to replicate the initial Genesis integration using modified parameters."
"How do you know that?" Myrren asks, their hair cycling through suspicious yellows.
"I don't—the Core does." I tap my chest. "It's like having an encyclopedia that only opens to random pages when something triggers it."
Nireya steps closer to the display, her mechanical fingers tracing the destruction pattern. "Malus-Seven has destroyed three settlements in the past month. This is the first time they've targeted a Node."
Another explosion blooms across the holographic display. The corrupted Core bearer walks through a defensive barrier like it's tissue paper, leaving nothing but slag in their wake. I watch buildings that should be reinforced concrete melt like butter under the chaotic energy radiating from their form.
"Four hundred people," I murmur, feeling the weight of each life through the network connection. "We have to help them."
"We?" Myrren's hair flashes skeptical orange. "You've been awake for what, six hours? And you want to go toe-to-toe with a walking apocalypse?"
"I don't want to," I reply, standing and moving toward the display. "But I'm the only one here who might be able to stop them."
The Core pulses in agreement, and suddenly I understand something that wasn't clear before. The Genesis network isn't just about preserving information or connecting settlements—it's about balance. One corrupted Core can poison entire regions, but a stable one can cleanse the corruption. It's like having a vaccine against a disease—the original template can neutralize the twisted copies.
"He's right," Nireya says, her voice carrying that strange harmonic quality. "Statistical modeling suggests a 78.4% probability that a stable Genesis Core could counteract the corruption cascade."
Myrren's hair cycles through frustrated reds before settling on a reluctant blue. "Even if that's true, we can't just teleport you there. The node network isn't fully operational."
"Actually," I say, feeling the knowledge unfold inside me like a map being unrolled, "we can. The Prime Node I absorbed—it can temporarily boost the existing infrastructure."