The tower still stood, silent against the endless gray of dawn. Genesis Tower—forty-seven stories of glass and steel, reflecting the fractured skyline of Neo-Seoul. To most, it was an abandoned research facility from a forgotten corporate war. To the Syndicate, it was the birthplace of gods.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and static. Holographic lights flickered weakly along the empty corridors, bathing the walls in pale blue. Somewhere deep within the tower, a low hum pulsed—steady, mechanical, alive.
"Begin protocol: Genesis 01."
The voice was cold, detached. It echoed from a speaker mounted above a chamber filled with mist. Through the frost-coated glass, a small figure floated in a suspension tank—barely conscious, tubes coiled around his body like veins of steel.
That boy was Ethan Vale.
The monitors lit up one by one. Electrodes spiked his vitals, his heart rate dancing erratically as data streamed across the screens.
Dr. Kane Rivas, project head, stood beside the tank, his white coat stained and sleepless. He had the eyes of a man who hadn't seen daylight in months—brilliant, exhausted, and haunted.
"Subject 01's brainwave synchronization… stable," murmured one of the assistants. "Cognitive response increasing beyond predictive models."
"Push it further," Kane ordered, tightening his gloves. "Activate neural resonance field. Let's see what happens when we take off the leash."
A second later, Ethan's eyes shot open. Silver light flared in his pupils, and the tank vibrated violently. The glass rippled, and the mist inside turned into streaks of lightning.
"Sir, his vitals are off the charts—"
"Hold!" Kane barked.
The heart monitor wailed. Ethan's breathing grew shallow. Then came a sound no machine could explain—a whisper, soft yet resonant, crawling through the lab's speakers like a ghost in the system.
"We… are awake."
All power in the tower flickered. Screens turned black. The assistants screamed as data spilled like blood across their monitors.
"Kill the link!" Kane shouted. "Shut it down now!"
But the command came too late.
The glass shattered, and Ethan fell forward, gasping, eyes glowing like burning mercury. The lab's lights dimmed again. He looked around, confused, terrified, trembling as cold air hit his skin.
"Where… am I?" he whispered.
Kane stepped closer, cautious yet fascinated. "Home, Ethan. You're home. Can you hear me?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm the one who made you," Kane said softly. "And soon, the one who will help you change the world."
But behind that soft tone was something else—a tremor of fear.
Ethan's body convulsed again. The neural implants along his spine pulsed with light. Images flashed in his mind—cities burning, men in suits watching from the dark, and a name echoing endlessly through static.
Genesis. Genesis. Genesis.
Then he screamed.
The lights in the lab exploded.
And just like that, the first superhuman was born.
---
Fifteen years later
The tower stood hollow, gutted by time and silence. Yet the ghosts inside it never truly left.
A single drone buzzed through the ruins, its camera lens blinking red as it scanned the corridors. On its feed, somewhere miles away, Ethan Vale watched.
His reflection glowed faintly on the monitor—older now, sharper, his eyes still carrying traces of that same silver light.
"Run a scan through level B12," he murmured. "See if Kane's lab logs are still intact."
Iris's voice came through the comms. "You sure about this, Ethan? If what Specter said was true, this place is still laced with Syndicate sensors."
"Then it's exactly where I need to be."
The drone zipped through a broken doorframe and entered the remains of the Genesis Lab. Everything was exactly as it had been left—tubes, shattered consoles, even the cracked containment tank. Time hadn't erased what was made here. It only buried it under dust.
Ethan's throat tightened as he stared at the monitor. His mind flashed back to the sound of that whisper—the first voice he'd ever heard that wasn't human.
"Genesis 01…" he murmured. "How much of me was ever real?"
A soft click pulled him from his thoughts. The drone's camera had focused on a half-buried panel beneath a rusted console. A glowing insignia pulsed faintly under the dust: G01 - Neural Resonance Core.
Ethan's pulse quickened. "There it is."
He guided the drone closer, but the feed flickered violently. Static bled into the visuals, and then—voices.
"He's awake."
"Contain him—he's not ready—"
"Shut it down—shut it—"
"Ethan," Iris's voice cut in. "Your signal's spiking. Get out of there."
He didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the core, now humming brighter, like a heartbeat. The whisper returned—not through the speakers, but in his head.
"You shouldn't have come back, Ethan."
He froze. "...Who are you?"
"You know who."
He reached up, rubbing his temple as the static grew louder. The air around him seemed to vibrate, even though he wasn't physically there. Genesis wasn't just a project—it was still alive.
"They never told you the truth," the voice said. "You weren't the first. You were the only one who survived."
Ethan's eyes widened. "What?"
The monitors on-screen flickered back to life, showing old footage. Multiple tanks lined up in rows—each with a figure inside. Each one looked… like him.
Dozens of copies.
Each dying one by one as data screamed across the screens.
Project Genesis: Replication Failure. Code 00-01 survives.
He leaned back slowly, every muscle in his body tensing.
"God…" he breathed. "I wasn't born. I was the error that lived."
---
Far away, Iris's voice trembled in his earpiece. "Ethan, talk to me. What did you find?"
He swallowed hard. "Proof."
"Of what?"
"That I was never supposed to exist."
---
The drone's feed crackled one last time—and then it went dark. Static consumed the screen. Ethan pulled the headset off, slamming it on the table beside him. His reflection in the window looked like a stranger.
He'd spent years fighting the Syndicate, thinking he was their enemy.
But deep down, he realized something far worse.
He was their legacy.
And Genesis wasn't over. It was waiting.
---
Outside, the storm rolled over Neo-Seoul, lightning splitting the skyline. In the distance, a signal blinked from Genesis Tower's broken antenna—one single pulse repeating every thirty seconds, coded in an old military frequency.
Transmission received.
Subject 01: Active.
---
The whisper came again, faint and calm.
"Welcome home, Ethan Vale."
He turned toward the darkened skyline, his jaw set, his eyes burning silver.
"Not this time," he muttered. "This time, I end it."