"911, what's your emergency?"
"My… my mom! She fell… she's on the floor… she's not waking up!"
"Okay, stay calm. What's your name?"
"My name? Why does that matter? Ju… just help her, please!"
"I understand you're scared, but I need to know who I'm talking to so we can help your mom better."
A pause. A trembling breath.
"M-my name is Michael."
"Is anyone else with you, Michael?"
"My d-dad. But… he's not well either."
"Help is almost there, Michael. Just stay with me, okay?"
But help didn't come fast enough.
She was still breathing when they arrived, but not for long.
She died on the way to the hospital… She overdosed on Heroin and painkillers.
His father was arrested not long after.
That was the last time Michael saw either of them.
He was eight years old.
---
Michael woke from what felt like an unending nightmare. His eyelids barely opened, heavy as stone. His throat was dry. Stomach empty. He was lying on a bed, body weak, barely able to move. Slowly, he turned his head.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:00 PM.
The bridge… I was there at 11…
His eyes narrowed.
How long was I out…?
Inak sat at a desk across the room, writing something with his back slightly hunched, surrounded by scattered books and notes. Among them, a notebook lay open. A journal.
Day 1
Today marks the beginning of my experiment with the new mutated parasite. I gave Michael the first doses of anesthesia. He should remain asleep for a while…
…
Day 5
Patient Zero is infected. Michael is showing signs of consciousness… speaking in his sleep. Disturbing details from his past trauma are surfacing…
…
Day 10
Five days post-infection. Michael remains unresponsive. Rising concerns about the parasite's effect on higher mammals…
…
Day 12
Michael's condition has stabilized. Pulse is regular. No signs of physical abnormalities. I'm expecting him to wake up soon…
…
"Where… am I?" said Michael, his voice wheezing, barely more than a breath.
"Hello, Michael," Inak replied softly. "You've been asleep... for two weeks…"
"Wh–what? What have you done? I… I can't move. Why can't I move?!" He tried to scream, but his voice cracked, barely got out of his throat.
"Don't bother" Inak replied calmly, finally turning in his chair to face him. "I've damaged your spinal cord. You're paralyzed. As for your voice—" he paused, "—I had to punch through your throat. Your vocal cords are mostly gone. Calling for help would be pointless."
Michael's heart pounded against his chest. "Y-you're insane…"
"Insane?" Inak's expression changed.
He leaned forward with the chair and grabbed Michael by the shirt with sudden violence, his face filled with rage. "INSANE?! I will revolutionize medicine, Michael! Do you understand what this means? This parasite… this organism… is the key to everything!"
"Parasite…?" Michael whispered, his voice trembling. "What parasite…?"
Inak took a deep breath and gently laid Michael back against the bed.
"I have something to share with you," he said, gripping his cane as he slowly rose from the chair.
"I've been developing a parasite," he continued, pacing slowly. "But not just any parasite. One that doesn't merely infect the host… it becomes the host. A lifeform so advanced it can perfectly mimic your memories, your behavior, your emotions… your identity"
He stopped and looked directly at Michael.
"And you, Michael… you are infected."
Michael's eyes widened, panic tightening his face.
"This parasite doesn't control you… it thinks it is you. It moves like you, talks like you, acts like you. So perfectly, in fact, that not even the parasite knows the truth. It believes it's you. Every thought it has, every decision it makes… is what you would have done. It doesn't copy you… it becomes you."
Inak's voice dropped lower.
"When the infection began, you died. Quietly. Painlessly. Your consciousness faded during the initial invasion. The real Michael ceased to exist."
He let the silence settle before continuing.
"But here's the beautiful, terrifying part... it's still you, isn't it? Same boy on the bridge. Same pain. Same fears. Same broken past."
He tilted his head slightly, his voice almost like a whisper now.
"Maybe identity isn't what we thought it was. Maybe being you is just a story your brain tells itself. And the parasite? It picked up right where your story left off."
A long pause.
"So, tell me, Michael… if the thing in your head believes it's you, cries like you, remembers your mother like you… then why does it matter if the original died?"
Michael's voice trembled, barely a whisper through his broken throat.
"But… I still feel like me. I'm still here. Nothing changed…"
Inak paused, then smiled softly, almost admiringly.
"Exactly."
Michael was left staring at the ceiling… silent and not moving. His breath shallow. His eyes wide.
Confused. Shocked. There was no other way to explain it.
He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He just… stared.
Because how do you react when someone tells you you're already dead?
---
Inak left the room without saying any other word.
Michael lay there, limp and useless. He had tried to struggle earlier… tried to yell, kick, move… but nothing worked. His limbs barely responded, his voice was a whisper at best. Eventually, he stopped trying. All he had left was the sound of his own breath.
Then… the door creaked open again.
Inak stepped in, carrying a small metal tray. A few pieces of fruit, a juice box with a straw, and some kind of protein shake. Soft things. Liquid things. Nothing that needed chewing.
"These should be easy on your stomach," Inak said quietly, "after weeks of nothing."
Michael turned his head away at first. He didn't want to eat. Didn't want to accept anything from him. But the stabbing hunger in his gut overruled his will. His head tilted forward slowly, and he took the straw between cracked lips, and drank.
Inak sat down in the chair across from him.
"I heard you talking in your sleep," he said calmly. "Your trauma… my theory is that when the parasite began integrating with your brain, it forced your mind to fire old neural patterns… reliving memories as it learned the structure."
He looked at Michael almost with pity.
"I'm sorry it came to this. I really am. But I want you to understand… this wasn't meant to cause suffering. It's research, Michael. It's science. And now that I know… no one cares to look for you…"
He leaned forward slightly.
"…You're the perfect subject."
"I should've jumped…" Michael's voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as tears slid down his cheeks. "I should've ended it that night. I shouldn't be here. I should be dead."
Inak stayed silent for a long moment, shaking his head slowly, biting his lip as Michael's words hung heavy in the air. Then, in a low, even voice, he spoke.
"Some want love. Others chase money, power, status...
But no matter how noble it looks… or how sinful it seems… it all comes from one place.
The will to survive.
To be.
To continue.
Power? That's just another word for stability.
And stability? That's survivability.
Status matters because we're social animals. Those with status are safer. Protected. Chosen.
And love... lust... the need to reproduce... to continue genetic code… it is all for continuity..."
"But then you ask… what about those who paint? Who write? Who seek 'purpose'?
At first it feels separated from survival.
But psychology says otherwise. Even the things we label as 'meaningful'… whether it is art, creativity, expression… they come from the same place.
A writer says they write for purpose. For meaning.
But maybe... maybe they just grew up never being heard.
Maybe writing is just another cry for relevance.
It's still survival.
Everything is.
A person working for their monthly salary is no different than a fungus reaching for moisture.
A lioness protecting her cubs is no different than a bacterium dividing in two.
It's all one desire.
Every organism… has one command:
Continue.
That's the only desire that matters.
That's why, Michael…
I must continue."
He leaned in slightly.
"So, I used to wonder… yeah… if survival is so deeply coded into us, why do people still choose to die? Why does someone go against the strongest instinct they have?"
"And then… you helped me see it. When a member of a species becomes a burden... when they believe they're useless, something flips. They self-destruct. Not out of cowardice…but as a way to protect the group. To remove the liability... to help the group survive… you said it yourself: you felt useless. Unwanted. A drag on everyone around you.
I'll give you an example… worker bees. They die defending the hive. When an invader comes in, they sting the threat—knowing full well it will kill them. It's a suicide mission. And yet, they do it anyway. For the survival of the group... for continuity..."
Michael stared at Inak as he spoke with such a melodic tone. There was something deeply unsettling in how calm he sounded. This man was beyond insanity.
He didn't rant. He didn't shout. He spoke with precision, with care, like a priest offering scripture. There was no hesitation, no flicker of guilt. Just that calm, deliberate rhythm… as if he believed every twisted word he said. Michael wasn't speaking to a man anymore.
He was speaking to something else…
"But now?" Inak whispered. "Now you're the most valuable human being in history. You're not a liability, you're a miracle. The first successful subject of something far bigger than both of us."
He stood, slowly.
"You are the first step toward immortality, Michael. The first subject of Project… BORN"
For a while, Inak just stared at the floor. Michael lay there, unmoving, eyes fixed on Inak.
The room felt still… too still.
No one said a word.
No one made a sound.
---
Then Inak looked up, noticing Michael's slow, sluggish blink… the drug already doing its work.
"I'm running low on groceries," Inak said as he approached the closet.
He pulled out a button-down shirt and began fastening it. "Of course, I can't leave you alone just yet. Even if you can't move or call for help, it's still too risky. You're in shock… which I perfectly understand..."
"But you should fall asleep soon…"
"Need anything from the store?" he asked casually.
Michael didn't respond right away. He just kept staring at the ceiling, eyes wide, trembling. Finally, through a broken breath:
"I Don't… need anything… I…"
Tears streamed down his face. He sniffled, helpless.
Inak let out a soft sigh. "Rest well, Michael…
… I depend on you."
He placed a hand gently on Michael's shoulder, almost like a father tucking his child in bed.
Then he turned and walked out, locking the door behind him.