The room was restless.
Excitement, fear, calculation—too many thoughts moved at once, colliding in the air.
Julius leaned forward slightly, fingers interlocked. His voice was calm, but it carried weight.
"Explain," he said."How all of this connects."
The Lady Professor smiled. Not triumphant this time—measured, assured.
She lifted the small glass tube again. Inside, a translucent fluid shimmered as a delicate creature floated within, its tendrils drifting innocently.
"This organism," she said, "reproduces like an amoeba."
The live feed was replaced by an animated simulation. A single cell split apart, its internal structures blooming across the screen as data streamed alongside.
"But unlike an amoeba," she continued, "it has no nucleus."
A ripple of surprise moved through the room.
"It has no core," she said. "No central authority. You could say it is a species without a brain."
She tapped the console.
"When it feeds, it latches onto what it consumes—not just chemically, but neurologically. It extracts memories. Patterns. Identity."
The diagram shifted again.
"When it divides," she said, "those memories are copied into the new cellular structure. The residual mass collapses and dies."She paused. "Unlike an amoeba, it does not split into two. One survives. One is discarded."
Silence followed.
They all understood basic biology, but this was something else entirely. These were veterans of commerce and power, not science. The implication hung heavy, difficult to translate into certainty.
Rose exhaled softly, scanning the pin-drop silence.
"In simpler terms," she said,"it passes consciousness forward."
The room erupted.
"So—memories define the soul?""A new body, but the old one dies?""Then it's rebirth, not cloning—"
Rose smirked and cut them off."Stop romanticizing it. This is science."
She continued evenly, "Sentient beings like us are more than memories. But when perspective remains intact—when identity persists—we observe what you're calling consciousness."Her eyes sharpened. "Multiple trials confirm this."
"So it's still speculation?" someone asked.
"Not far from truth," she replied. "If perspective remains constant, the result is functionally identical."
Augustus interrupted, irritated."Enough. We've already established this is partial resurrection and still experimental. Let's not turn it into mythology."
"But still—our existence continues," another voice said eagerly."No heirs needed anymore.""You just want power forever.""And you don't?"
Laughter followed. Insults carried no sting now. They were too close to something extraordinary. Had it not been unfolding before their eyes, it would've sounded like fantasy.
Julius chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"Clones as vessels," he muttered under his breath. "No inheritance wars. No diluted bloodlines."Interesting.
For the first time, the leader of Synthetic Prima allowed the faintest curve of a smile—quickly restrained.
The General of Stinger Corps snorted."All of that is fine," he said, "but why do we need that bastard clone? Extract whatever's useful and dump the rest."
The Lady Professor spoke immediately.
"And that," she said calmly, "is where you're wrong."
The room stilled.
She pocketed the tube and gestured to the screen as new footage appeared.
"The transfer works because the organism possesses its own body. The process is internal. Self-accepted."
The display shifted—failure reports, red warnings flooding the screen.
"When we isolated its genetic code and engineered a synthetic bio-capsule," she continued, "the process became external."
A capsule appeared onscreen—biologically synthesized, fused with a mechanical chip.
"This capsule functions like the original," she explained. "The difference is that it retains both biological and computational properties."
The footage changed again—experiments on clones, then living humans.
Injection.Convulsions.Violent tremors.
Then—detonation.
She faced the sponsors.
"The host body rejects it."
Uneasy murmurs spread.
Ignoring them, she continued,"Different conditions. Different environments. Same result."
She let the word linger.
"Rejection."
Silence stretched.
"We tested across variables," she said. "Age. Physiology. Neural density. Psychological resilience." Her voice lowered. "Every subject failed."
The General slammed his fist into the armrest."Then why are we here?"
She turned calmly.
"Because," she said, "then his body appeared."
She gestured toward the tank.
The unconscious figure floated within.
The General rose again, fury burning. Each word of praise sharpened his hatred.
"You're saying my enemy is your solution?" he snarled. "I refuse to believe that."
She didn't look at him. She tapped the console.
An avatar appeared—a game-like MMORPG character, stats scrolling beside it.
"I suggest you sit down," she said evenly. "This explanation will take time."
Grudgingly, the General sat.
"As you can see," the Lady Professor continued, "this character is defined by attributes. Stats that differentiate it from others."
She tapped again.
"We asked ourselves—what defines the human body at its root?"
The screen shifted.
"And the answer," she said, "was the psyche."
Three humanoid figures appeared.
"The id—driven by instinct and pleasure.""The ego—anchored in reality and values.""And the superego—the instinct toward ideals, toward greatness."
She explained calmly how all humans possess these traits, and how dominance shapes identity—selfish, selfless, opportunistic. There was no good or evil. Only configuration.
A board member asked, "What about children? Aren't they neutral?"
"A myth," she replied. "Even children possess imbalance. Traits are predetermined, though they evolve through action. A perfectly balanced ego is exceedingly rare."
She paused.
"And it is the ideal candidate for transfer—into any vessel."
No one spoke.
Satisfied, Rose gave the order.
"Alex," she said,"begin transfer."
Inside the operating chamber, the AIex's copy inclined his head.
Though nothing more than a holographic projection, his presence was indispensable. At his command, the assistants moved in flawless coordination.
The harvested neural data which was extracted earlier and now was routed into a newly prepared bio-capsule.
Above the clone's body, a micro-drill descended.
A tube was placed.
Through its narrow channel, the capsule was transplanted directly into the skull—precise, bloodless, exact.
The insertion point lay between the neck and the base of the skull, the same molecular junction where chips were implanted in high-ranking authorities.
A microscopic feed filled the screen.
The capsule dissolved.
Living tendrils unfurled, spreading across the brain's surface. They latched on—synching with neural pathways like a parasite finding home.
The body's temperature spiked.
Then stabilized, regulated by the surrounding fluid.
No explosion.
Breathing remained steady.
Everyone watched in silence.
Five minutes passed.
Then—
The clone's eyes snapped open.
Cold. Focused. Calculating.
No spasms. No screams. No rejection.
Cheers erupted.
"It worked!""Stabilization achieved—"
Too soon.
Blood seeped from the eyes, mixing with the liquid around the body. The clone jerked violently, struggling against restraints as convulsions tore through him.
Then—
Stillness.
Silence crushed the chamber.
Marcus, the General, let out a bitter laugh."So that's it?"
The Lady Professor exhaled slowly.
"At least," she said, "he regained consciousness."She looked around. "And there was no explosion. A different reaction."
She met their eyes.
"In previous trials, subjects died without ever waking."
The words landed like a blade.
It was progress.
The leader of Synthetic Prima leaned forward."And the Super Soldier program?" Julius asked. "How does this connect?"
The Lady Professor nodded.
"As I explained earlier—adaptability."She continued evenly, "Not only the ability to accept foreign vessels, but the capacity to learn faster than any normal human."
"A standard human body prioritizes instinct based on dominant traits," she said. "But a balanced-ego individual controls all impulses."
She paused.
"Pleasure without addiction. Violence without loss of reason. Obsession without collapse."
"Subconsciously," she added, "their bodies obey them."
She looked back at the clone.
"As I stated before, proper consciousness transfer requires equilibrium.""These forces must be balanced."
A beat.
"Which is statistically impossible."
Gasps followed.
She turned fully toward the tank.
"Except in him."
The room stirred.
"This individual possesses a perfectly balanced ego structure," she said. "No dominance. No suppression."
"A millennial anomaly."
Someone scoffed."You're exaggerating. It could be a mutation. Genetic luck. To justify this rarity is like pitching trade routes through a desert."
She didn't argue.
She tapped the console.
Records flooded the screen—performance logs, trial results, anomaly markers.
"He excelled on first attempts," she said quietly."And if you disagree—find me someone else who replicated his streak."
Silence answered.
She smirked faintly.
"What I'm saying is this pattern isn't unique.""He isn't the first."
She gestured again.
Historical profiles appeared.
"Newton. Diocletian. Tesla. Laozi. Chandragupta."
"People like this," she said, "don't chase glory or wealth. They appear, reshape the world—and leave."
"They aren't saints," she added. "They live for obsession. Everything else is collateral."
A board member objected."So this is still speculation—and you want a tenfold budget increase?"
"Approved," Julius interrupted.
The room froze.
"I agree it isn't conclusive," he continued calmly, "but it is more progress than stagnation."He glanced around. "Miracles require risk. Our longevity exists because of it."
He turned to Marcus."What say you?"
Marcus replied evenly,"It disgusts me that the man I wish to kill is essential."A thin smile followed. "But knowing his clones will serve as disposable soldiers is… satisfying."
He looked at Augustus."Your stake?"
The European businessman crossed his legs."I'm aligned with Julius."
Julius chuckled.
"If the sponsors hesitate," he said, scanning the room,"our family will fund the remainder. In exchange for redistribution of stakes."
Restlessness surged.
Then a hand rose.
"We'll sponsor resurrection," a man said carefully."But the soldier serum?"
The implication needed no explanation.
Stability was still unresolved.
A decade of research, blocked by one man. He was problematic yet the only solution.
The Lady Professor smiled. It was sharp—taunting.
"Our hopes rest on his adaptability," she said. "Which is why the doubled budget is justified."
"If we can extract the Arctic organism's genetic code," she continued, "why wouldn't we extract his?"
She paused deliberately, then added,"And combine it… with something else."
Understanding slowly dawned across the room.
A sponsor hesitated."Wasn't there someone who introduced bio-medical pharma branch in our branch?"
"Ah yes," another voice followed, "I believe he played a major role in the development of the longevity drug."
"Didn't he run a decade ago?" someone else added. "Last we heard, he completely vanished from our radar. Even government institutions couldn't track him down."
The Lady Professor's expression darkened.
She wanted to avoid the topic. Not because it was irrelevant—but because she feared losing credit. Yet fate, it seemed, was intent on throwing the past back at her.
"If you mean Doctor Adityanath," she said quietly,"he's a fugitive."
"On the run."
Her eyes hardened.
"And yes—we are still looking for him. However, this project will be completed," she said firmly,"with him… or without him."
Silence reclaimed the chamber.
Project X was no longer a proposal.
It had become a destiny.