Chapter 12 - The DesignerSarah couldn't move.
Her mother stared at the floor.
“You created this?”
Her mother whispered:
“I created the technology.”
“That isn't what she said.”
The grandmother stepped closer.
“She created the entire program.”
Sarah's face hardened.
“Why?”
Her mother began crying.
“To save you.”
“Save me from what?”
“Death.”
Sarah shook her head.
“I was a child.”
“You were sick.”
“I wasn't sick.”
“You were dying.”
The words struck her.
Sarah remembered fragments.
Hospitals.
White ceilings.
Machines.
A woman crying beside her.
A birthday cake untouched on a table.
She had buried those memories as nightmares.
Her mother continued.
“You had a degenerative disease.”
Sarah whispered:
“How long did I have?”
“Three months.”
She closed her eyes.
Three months.
That was the missing piece.
The Foundation had developed a procedure that could preserve a person's memories.
Not their body.
Their memories.
Her mother had used Sarah's consciousness to build a new body.
Evelyn.
But the experiment had gone wrong.
Evelyn inherited too much.
She developed independent memories.
Independent emotions.
Independent identity.
Richard wanted to destroy her.
Sarah's father wanted to protect her.
Her mother wanted both daughters alive.
And the grandmother wanted control.
Sarah looked at Evelyn.
“You were never meant to exist.”
Evelyn smiled sadly.
“No.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
Sarah stepped closer.
“And now?”
Evelyn looked toward Richard's cameras.
“Now I want the truth.”
The grandmother spoke.
“There is something you still don't know.”
Sarah turned.
“What?”
“You weren't the first child.”
Sarah froze.
The grandmother opened a folder.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens of children.
All with Sarah's face.
Sarah stared.
“How many?”
“Seventeen.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Seventeen attempts.”
Evelyn whispered:
“And only two survived.”
Sarah looked at the photographs.
Children who had been erased.
Forgotten.
Replaced.
The grandmother closed the folder.
“You are not the miracle, Sarah.”
“Then what am I?”
The old woman looked directly into her eyes.
“You are the final version.”
The lights flickered.
A deep mechanical hum began beneath the floor.
Sarah looked around.
“What is that?”
Her father whispered:
“The Foundation's central server.”
The grandmother nodded.
“If it activates, every copied memory in the world will be uploaded.”
Sarah stared.
“What does that mean?”
“It means everyone who has ever undergone the procedure will remember.”
Her mother whispered:
“And thousands of people will lose their minds.”
The server began powering up.
Richard appeared on the screen.
“You have ten minutes.”
Sarah looked at Evelyn.
Evelyn looked at her.
Then Sarah's phone rang.
The caller ID showed only one word.
MOM.
Sarah looked at her mother.
Her mother didn't touch her phone.
Sarah answered.
A child's voice whispered:
“Sarah…”
She froze.
The child continued:
May you like
“I'm the first one.”
The line went dead.
