Genesis was never truly silent. Even when most of the lights were dimmed and the long corridors appeared deserted, the hum of machinery still filled every corner of the facility.
The drone of the generators. The hiss of the ventilation system.
The monitors counting heartbeats without pause. As if the entire building were alive.
Watching. Listening. Waiting.
Akira had begun to memorize those sounds. He could tell Airi's footsteps apart from those of the researchers.
He knew when Takumi was making his rounds because the man always stopped for a few seconds in front of every care room, as if making sure all the children were truly asleep.
And he recognized Seiji's footsteps, too.
Calm. Measured.
Never hurried.
That morning, Genesis seemed different.
Several technicians carried new equipment toward the main experimental room. The transparent screens that usually displayed nothing but data were now filled with three-dimensional simulations of the human brain.
The researchers spoke in more serious tones than usual. “Calibration complete.”
“Ready to test the next synchronization phase.” “Professor Amamiya will lead it personally.”
Akira didn't understand what they meant. But he noticed one thing.
That day was not an ordinary day.
“Akira.” Takumi crouched in front of the boy.
“Does your body still hurt?” Akira thought for a moment before slowly nodding.
“If I don't move... not too much.” Takumi gave him a faint smile.
“If it starts hurting too much, tell me.” Akira looked at the man innocently.
“Can I?” “You can.”
“If I say it hurts...” “Then I'll listen.”
The answer sounded simple. But to a child who had spent his entire life being fitted with machines more often than being hugged...
The words felt unfamiliar. Takumi gently stroked Akira's head.
His expression grew somber when he saw the small bruises on the boy's arm.
Needle marks. More of them appearing every day.
In another observation room, Reina was drawing. Today, she wasn't drawing birds.
She was drawing a boy and a girl standing side by side. Above them was a large yellow circle.
Airi sat beside her.
“What is that?” “The sky.”
Reina pointed to the yellow circle.
“What about this?” “They said it's the sun.”
“Have you ever seen it?” Reina shook her head.
“But Father told me about it.” Airi fell silent.
She knew whom Reina meant. Seiji often told his daughter about the outside world.
About trees. About the sea. About spring.
Ironically... The person who talked about that world most often was the one who had made sure his daughter could never see it.
“Parameter A-001 is stable.” “Subject R is showing a decline in immune function.”
“Continue observation.” The sound of reports filled the conference room.
Takumi stared at the graph displayed on the screen. Akira's line continued to rise.
By contrast... Reina's graph was slowly falling.
“Seiji.” Takumi finally spoke.
“We need to temporarily halt the procedure on Subject R.” “Why?”
“Her body can no longer keep up with the rising resonance.” “It's still within the limits.”
“Limits that we keep changing.” The room suddenly fell silent.
The researchers exchanged glances. No one dared to interrupt.
Seiji folded his arms. “We're on the brink of the greatest discovery in history.”
“And?” “You want to stop now?”
Takumi slowly shook his head.
“I want to make sure they stay alive.” Seiji stared at his friend for a long moment.
“What about the millions of people out there?” “They have the right to live, too.”
“But not at the cost of the children.” The words hung in the air.
For the first time... No one in the room was able to hide the tension.
That afternoon.
The experiment began again. Akira lay on the examination bed.
Electrodes were attached to his temples. The pulse on the monitor began to rise.
In another room, Reina underwent the same procedure. The two of them could not see each other.
But when the equipment was activated... The monitors showed something strange.
Their brain waves began moving in nearly identical patterns.
“Professor.” One of the researchers stared wide-eyed.
“Cross-resonance is increasing without direct contact.” The data on the screens continued to change.
No one blinked. No one dared look away.
Seiji stepped toward the monitor. The rising graph was reflected in his eyes.
“...Incredible,” he murmured.
Takumi, however, turned pale. Because at the same time...
Akira clutched his chest and held his breath.
And in the room next door...
Reina fell from the bed in a violent seizure.
“Activate the procedure shutdown!” Takumi shouted.
Several researchers moved.
But Seiji raised a hand. “Wait.”
“Seiji!” “Just a few more seconds.”
“That could kill them!” “Just a few more seconds.”
Time seemed to stop.
Airi, who had just arrived, ran toward Reina's room. “Reina!”
She gathered her violently trembling daughter into her arms.
“Her breathing is weakening!” she cried in panic.
Takumi immediately cut the equipment's power from Akira's side. Alarms filled the entire laboratory.
Red lights flashed. The monitors displayed graphs beginning to fall.
A few minutes later...
The room fell silent again. Akira was still conscious.
Reina was stabilized as well. But Airi's face was already wet with tears.
She looked at Seiji. Not with anger.
But with profound disappointment.
“I almost lost her...” She whispered.
Seiji didn't answer. He only stared at the last data on the monitor.
The resonance graph had reached a level never recorded before. The greatest discovery of his life.
And yet, for some reason... For the first time, he felt no sense of victory.
That night...
Genesis grew quiet again.
Akira sat on the floor of his room, staring at the paper bird that had begun to crumple. Through the glass door across from him, he could see Reina asleep from the medication.
She looked exhausted. Akira pressed his palm against the glass.
Gently.
“When you get better...” he whispered, even though he knew Reina couldn't hear him. “...we'll find the sky.”
From the corner of the corridor, Takumi watched in silence.
Not far from him, Airi stood hugging Reina's medical file. Not a word passed between them.
But they both understood the same thing.
If this continued...
Someday... They would no longer have a chance to save those children.
Takumi pulled a GENESIS ID card from his suit pocket.
He stared at it for a long time. Then he clenched it tightly.
Meanwhile, in his office, Seiji opened a confidential file marked:
PROJECT ECLIPSE
He stared at the first name written on the page.
Subject A-001
Then the next name.
Subject R
Seiji slowly closed the file. The look in his eyes was no longer filled with conviction alone.
Doubt had begun to grow. Very small.
Almost invisible. Yet enough to become the first crack in the idealism he had held for so long.
Outside Genesis...
The sun slowly sank beyond the horizon. Warm evening light enveloped the world.
A beauty the two small children behind those concrete walls had never known. But the wheels of fate had begun to turn.
And soon... Someone would have to choose between saving a research project... or saving a child.
That choice would change history. And become the beginning of the tragedy that would one day be known as...
The Forgotten Genesis.