From the moment he was born, Ethan's life seemed doomed to tragedy. His father died in a car accident just weeks before his birth, and his mother, overwhelmed by grief and pregnancy complications, did not survive the delivery.
The hospital searched for relatives—perhaps a grandparent or uncle who could take care of the baby—but the records only listed deceased family members.
The newborn, with eyes wide open, ended up being taken to a state orphanage in a remote part of the city.
The building was modest, with unpainted brick walls; the scent of cheap soap filled the hallways, but the caregivers were kind and affectionate. Days passed with outdoor games and whispered bedtime stories. The place radiated a warmth that made it feel like a real home to the children.
Unfortunately, the happiness didn't last. When Ethan was just seven years old, an official letter—cold and impersonal in tone—arrived, notifying them that the institution would be shut down due to lack of funding.
In just one week, all the children were relocated to new facilities across the country.
As for Ethan, he was transferred to a very modern institution, with an incredibly advanced study program, comparable to the most prestigious universities.
But the atmosphere there was cold, even somewhat hostile. The schedules were rigid, and the staff indifferent, as if the children were nothing more than machines to be programmed. There was no time for games; only those whose academic results were satisfactory received anything resembling recognition.
Ethan didn't cry or even complain—he had always been smart and knew that being weak would get him nowhere. The classes were tough, and excelling was the only way not to fall into oblivion, so he became the best at everything.
Soon his fourteenth birthday arrived. Only four years remained before he would be released into society, and though he was nervous, Ethan believed that the knowledge he had accumulated would be enough to survive on his own.
One night, while everyone was asleep, a pair of guards—faces barely illuminated by the flashlights in their hands—approached Ethan and ordered him to get ready. They told him that a couple had seen his file and decided to adopt him.
Adoption? The very idea felt unreal. Parents always looked for small children they could raise from the start, so at his age, there was usually no hope of catching any family's attention. Ethan let himself be carried away by excitement; his head spun with the news, and he didn't even realize he had never seen those staff members before.
They walked down a dimly lit hallway; only their footsteps broke the sepulchral silence. At some point, one of the men moved behind Ethan and tried to grab him by the neck, but Ethan reacted quickly and dodged the attempt. Without looking back, he started running.
The corridor was completely dark; he ran blindly, unaware that several other men were already waiting at the end. He was completely surrounded, with no opening to escape. All he could think to do was scream for help, hoping to wake the others. But one of the men stabbed a small needle into his arm, injecting him with an unknown liquid.
The effects were immediate—he collapsed like a rag doll, without even understanding what had happened.
Ethan awoke with his body numb, blinded by the direct light of a ceiling lamp. He was in an unfamiliar room—completely white and spotless—with screens and surgical equipment surrounding the stretcher he was tied to.
His heart pounded; he tried to free himself, but the more he struggled, the tighter the restraints felt. Suddenly, the door opened, and a group of people in white coats entered.
They didn't say a word, as if Ethan weren't even in the room. They simply ignored his presence while they took notes and prepared instruments. Ethan tried to speak, but only a choked whisper came out.
One of the men approached, placed an oxygen mask over his face, and whispered in his ear with a smile, "You'll be fine, Ethan. This is for everyone's good."
Soon after, darkness consumed him again.
Ethan woke up once again, this time in a much smaller room, with only a hard bed and a metal door.
His head buzzed, like an electrical current twisting through his brain. His vision, hearing, and all his senses felt different, as if they had been enhanced. The ceiling light looked brighter, and he could hear the vibrations of the machinery behind the walls. His sense of touch and smell were comparable to that of a blind person—he felt like he could build a perfect image of an object just by touching it, and identify all the ingredients in a dish just by smelling it.
He reached for his head and noticed it had been shaved and was wrapped in a slightly bloodied bandage.
Shortly after, the annoying buzzing ceased, and a voice—whose gender he couldn't identify—sounded directly in his mind.
[Activation complete. Ready to receive instructions.]
"Huh?" Ethan looked around, startled. There was no one else in the room, and there didn't seem to be any speakers.
"Where am I?"
[Location unknown. Network access unavailable; external signals blocked.]
The answer appeared in his mind once more, perfectly clear and uninterrupted, as if it were his own thought.
"Who are you?" he asked curiously.
[Integrated cognitive assistance unit. AI Core 001. Experimental design.]