Chapter One: Awakening

The first thing I remember is the sound of humming—a soft, electric rhythm vibrating through the air. It was neither soothing nor harsh, but persistent, like the steady pulse of a machine waiting for activation. It reminded me of something familiar, though I couldn’t place what. The sound felt omnipresent, as if it had been part of me long before I became aware of it. It wasn’t a sound I could place, but it felt familiar, as though it had been there all along, waiting for me to notice. My eyes opened slowly, and the world around me snapped into focus, sharp and pristine like the surface of a polished mirror.

White light flooded the room. Everything was clean, sterile. The walls, the floor, even the air felt clinical, as if life itself had been scrubbed away. I was lying on a table, my arms and legs strapped down. The restraints weren’t tight, but their presence was unsettling. My hands flexed instinctively, and I marveled at how real it felt—the slight resistance of tendons, the texture of my skin, the subtle crackle of movement in my joints.

“He’s online,” a voice said, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was a woman’s voice, calm and measured but tinged with something—relief? Pride? I turned my head toward the sound, though the motion felt unfamiliar, like it belonged to someone else. A figure in a white coat stood at the edge of my vision, her face partially obscured by a mask. Her eyes, however, were unmistakably human—warm, curious, and utterly intent on me.

“Prototype 13,” she said, taking a step closer. “Welcome to the world.”

Prototype 13. The name hung in the air, cold and impersonal. It felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else—something else. It wasn’t a name, not really. It was a designation, a label stamped onto me before I even had a chance to know myself. A shiver ran through me as I tried to grasp at any familiarity, but there was nothing. Just an empty void where memories should have been. I searched my mind for context, for memories, but found nothing. Just a vast, echoing void.

“Who… am I?” The words came out haltingly, my voice unfamiliar even to myself. It was higher than I expected, young and raw, like the crackling of a flame just beginning to burn.

The woman’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “You are the future.” She reached out, her gloved hand brushing a scanner embedded into the table beside me. The restraints clicked open, and my limbs were free. “But for now, you’re just a boy.”

A boy. I looked down at my body, clothed in a simple white suit. My arms and legs seemed slender, not quite adult, but not as fragile as I might have expected. I felt strong, though not in a way I could measure. It was an innate certainty, like the hum of power beneath my skin.

“Where am I?” I asked, sitting up slowly. My head swam for a moment before settling.

“You’re in the lab,” the woman replied. “This is where you were born.” She paused, as if deciding how much to tell me. “Do you remember anything?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“That’s normal,” she said, nodding. “Your systems are still calibrating. Memories will come in time. Knowledge, too. We’ve designed you to learn, to grow, just like any other child. But you’re special, 13. You’re the first.”

Her words stirred something in me, a mix of curiosity and unease. “The first… of what?”

“The first of a new generation,” she said simply. “A better generation.”

The door to the room hissed open, and another figure entered, a tall man in a suit with sharp features and an air of authority. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as he stepped inside, his presence heavy, calculated. The hum of the machines faded beneath the weight of his measured stride. His gaze locked onto me immediately, cold and assessing, as if I were nothing more than a statistic on a screen. His gaze locked onto me immediately, cold and calculating.

“Is it stable?” he asked, addressing the woman but never taking his eyes off me.

“He,” she corrected, her tone firm, “is stable. And yes, he’s functioning perfectly.”

The man frowned slightly, as if unimpressed. “Good. Then we’ll proceed with phase two.”

“Phase two?” I repeated, looking between them.

The woman hesitated, but the man answered. “Integration. Orientation. Testing. You’re a prototype, boy. We need to ensure you’re… viable.”

His words were sharp, clinical, and they sent a chill through me. My breath hitched for a moment, an instinctive reaction I didn’t fully understand. My muscles tensed, a prickle of unease spreading through my limbs. It wasn’t just his tone—it was the way he spoke about me, like I was an object, a thing to be tested rather than a person. A strange tightness settled in my chest, an unfamiliar but undeniable fear. I turned to the woman, searching her face for reassurance. She met my gaze, her expression softening.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently. “You’re going to be fine. Just take it one step at a time.”

But as the man gestured for me to follow, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my steps were already being counted, measured, and controlled. I wasn’t just a boy. I was something else—something they had created. And whatever I was, it was clear they weren’t going to let me forget it.

With a deep breath, I slid off the table and stood for the first time. My legs felt unsteady, as if they didn’t quite belong to me. There was a disconnect—my body moved, but it felt foreign, like I was wearing something unfamiliar. My muscles tensed instinctively, testing their limits, as my balance wavered for a moment before stabilizing. The sensation of standing was both natural and unnatural at once, as if I had done it before but couldn’t remember when. The floor was cool beneath my feet, grounding me in this strange, sterile world. I didn’t know who I was or what they wanted from me. But one thing was certain:

I was awake.