Chapter 11: The Child Who Never Died
The child on the screen smiled.
A small smile.
A familiar smile.
My smile.
But it wasn’t mine.
Not anymore.
I stood frozen beneath the underground lights, staring at the monitor.
An eight-year-old version of myself was standing inside Room 214.
A place that should have been empty.
A time that should have been impossible.
The child looked directly into the camera.
Directly at me.
Then he whispered:
“Come home.”
The screen went black.
I couldn’t move.
My mind was trying to reject what I had just seen.
A child version of me.
Thirty years ago.
Alive.
Waiting.
But one thought kept returning.
If that child was the original…
Then what was I?
Thomas Reed stood beside me.
He looked older than ever.
Not because of his age.
Because of his guilt.
“You understand now.”
I turned toward him.
“No.”
My voice was shaking.
“I understand nothing.”
Thomas looked at me.
“Good.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Because the moment you think you understand Project 214…”
He looked toward the dark hallway.
“…is the moment it controls you.”
A noise interrupted us.
A door opening.
Somewhere deep underground.
Slowly.
Heavy footsteps followed.
Thomas immediately turned.
“Someone is coming.”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer.
He just grabbed my arm.
“We need to leave.”
I pulled away.
“No.”
Thomas stopped.
I stared at him.
“Not until you tell me everything.”
A painful silence.
Then he nodded.
“You deserve the truth.”
We walked deeper into the underground facility.
The walls were covered with old documents.
Photos.
Medical charts.
Records that had been hidden for decades.
Thomas stopped in front of a large glass window.
Behind it was a laboratory.
An abandoned one.
Three hospital beds sat in the center.
Three.
Not two.
Not one.
Three.
“This is where it started.”
I looked inside.
“The first experiment.”
Thomas nodded.
“Project 214.”
I stared at the beds.
“Who was the first person?”
Thomas looked at me.
“You.”
The answer felt impossible.
“I was eight years old.”
“Yes.”
“But Daniel said…”
“Daniel didn’t know everything.”
Thomas sighed.
“Because Daniel was not the creator.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Then who was?”
Thomas looked toward the ceiling.
“The person who built Project 214.”
The lights flickered.
“Someone who believed humans were not meant to die.”
I looked at the files.
“Who?”
Thomas was silent.
Then he said:
“Your mother.”
The world seemed to stop.
I stared.
“My mother?”
Thomas nodded.
“Before Project 214, she was a researcher.”
I laughed.
“No.”
“She discovered a way to preserve consciousness.”
I shook my head.
“My parents died.”
Thomas looked away.
“That is what you were told.”
My chest tightened.
“What are you saying?”
Thomas walked toward an old file cabinet.
He pulled out a folder.
Inside was a photograph.
A woman.
A laboratory.
A child.
Me.
The woman was holding my hand.
I recognized her.
Not from memory.
From somewhere deeper.
A feeling.
A connection.
“My mother…”
Thomas nodded.
“Her name was Sarah.”
I touched the photo.
My fingers trembled.
“She created this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Thomas looked at me.
“Because you were dying.”
The room became silent.
“She refused to accept losing her child.”
I looked down.
“So she created Project 214.”
“Yes.”
“But it failed.”
Thomas shook his head.
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
“It succeeded.”
I looked up.
“Then why did everyone say I died?”
Thomas’s expression became dark.
“Because success became something terrifying.”
He opened another file.
Inside were pages of research.
CONSCIOUSNESS DUPLICATION THEORY
MEMORY TRANSFER
IDENTITY REPLICATION
Thomas explained:
“Your mother discovered something no one expected.”
“What?”
“When consciousness was transferred…”
He paused.
“It didn’t move.”
My stomach tightened.
“It copied.”
The word echoed.
A copy.
That was the truth.
The procedure never brought people back.
It created versions.
Copies.
Thomas continued:
“The child in Room 214 thirty years ago…”
He looked at me.
“Was the first version.”
“And me?”
“You were another.”
I looked away.
“Then which one is real?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
Because there was no answer.
A sudden sound came from the laboratory.
A child’s voice.
“Neither.”
We turned.
The glass door slowly opened.
A boy stood inside.
Eight years old.
Me.
The original child.
He walked out calmly.
No fear.
No confusion.
Just confidence.
Thomas stepped backward.
“No.”
The child looked at him.
“You knew I was awake.”
Thomas shook his head.
“I thought you were gone.”
The child smiled.
“That’s what everyone wanted.”
I stared at him.
My younger self.
My original self.
“What are you?”
The child looked at me.
The expression on his face was strange.
Almost like he felt sorry for me.
“I’m what they left behind.”
My voice lowered.
“Why do you look like me?”
The child tilted his head.
“Because you look like me.”
The answer made my stomach twist.
He walked closer.
“You think you were created from me.”
A pause.
“But it was the other way around.”
I froze.
“What?”
The child looked at Thomas.
“Tell him.”
Thomas looked terrified.
“Tell me what?”
The child answered:
“You were created from me.”
The room went silent.
I felt dizzy.
“No.”
The child nodded.
“The doctors didn’t copy my consciousness into another body.”
He pointed at me.
“They copied my memories into yours.”
My heart stopped.
“Then…”
The child smiled.
“You’re not the original.”
The words hurt.
Not because they were cruel.
Because some part of me already knew.
The child stepped closer.
“You are the first successful copy.”
I looked at Thomas.
He couldn’t deny it.
The child continued:
“But there was one thing they didn’t copy.”
“What?”
He touched his own chest.
“My ability.”
I frowned.
“What ability?”
The child smiled.
“The ability to control the others.”
Suddenly, the lights exploded.
Darkness.
A scream.
When emergency lights returned…
The child was gone.
Thomas was lying on the floor.
Unconscious.
And every screen in the underground facility turned on.
A message appeared.
SUBJECT ZERO HAS ESCAPED.
Then another message:
ALL COPIES MUST RETURN TO SOURCE.
I stared.
“Return?”
The final message appeared.
MERGE PROCESS STARTING.
My blood went cold.
Because below it was a countdown.
03:00:00
Three hours.
Thomas slowly opened his eyes.
His first words were:
“Run.”
I grabbed him.
“Why?”
He looked at me with terror.
“Because when the merge begins…”
A pause.
“Only one version survives.”
I looked at the countdown.
Three hours.
Then Thomas whispered the words that changed everything:
May you like
“And the original already chose who dies.”
End of Chapter 11
