CHAPTER 6 The Last Recording
The rain came down harder as they left Airi's house. No one spoke right away.
The old cassette was inside a small box Akira carried with both hands, as if it were far more fragile than a mere recording.
Reina walked beside him. Airi stood in the doorway.
Her face was pale. Before Akira left, she said only one thing.
“Don’t play that recording alone.” Akira did not ask why.
He already knew.
There was something in Airi’s gaze that made him understand the recording was more than evidence.
It was part of a night everyone had spent years trying to forget. They returned to the office late that morning.
Rina was already waiting in the digital forensics room. The moment she saw the box in Akira’s hands, her eyes fixed on it.
“Don’t tell me that’s…” “A cassette.”
Rina stood. “A cassette?”
Akira nodded. “From Genesis.”
Rina stepped closer. “Can it still be read?”
“We don’t know yet.” Sota took the box.
He examined the outside. There was no label.
Only one small symbol in the corner. A circle crossed by a line.
The Genesis symbol.
Rina exhaled. “If this really is a recording from the night Genesis was destroyed, we may have something that never made it into the official archives.”
Akira looked at her. “The official archives were falsified?”
“Not necessarily.” Rina shrugged.
“But if someone deliberately erased the data, I want to know why.” Akira looked at the cassette.
“So do I.”
An hour later, the old screening room had been prepared.
The analog equipment still stored in the archives was cleaned. Rina checked the cables.
Sota closed the curtains. Akira stood behind them.
Reina sat several yards away. She didn’t actually need to be there.
But when Akira said the recording was connected to their childhood, Reina didn’t want to leave.
Not because she was curious. But because, for the first time, there might be something that could fill the enormous hole in her memory.
Rina inserted the cassette. “If the picture is corrupted, don’t panic.”
“Why?” Sota asked.
“Because this cassette is older than we are.” Sota stared at her.
“Thanks for reminding us how old we are.” Rina pressed the button.
The machine hummed. The screen flickered.
Darkness.
Then…
an image appeared.
A white corridor.
The date in the corner of the screen flickered. 23:14
An alarm sounded in the distance. Unlike the previous recording.
This time, the image was closer. Clearer.
Someone was holding the camera. Their breathing could be heard.
Fast. Uneven.
“If this recording is found…” A woman’s voice.
Airi.
Akira recognized her immediately. “…then this facility is no longer safe.”
Reina held her breath. Airi looked much younger in the recording.
She was wearing a lab coat. There was a small bloodstain on her sleeve.
She glanced behind her. “Seiji has moved the procedure to the lower level.”
The image shook. “I don’t know how much longer I can stop him.”
The recording stopped for several seconds. Then it started again.
Airi stood in front of the glass door. Behind it
two small children.
Akira and Reina.
Little Akira sat on the floor.
Reina lay on a bed. Her face was pale.
A thin tube was attached to her arm. Akira stood when he saw Airi.
“Mom?”
Reina raised her head. Airi approached the glass.
“Reina.” The little girl smiled weakly.
“I already told Akira…” Her voice was barely audible. “…I’m not scared.”
Little Akira immediately cut in. “She’s lying.”
Reina pursed her lips. “I’m not lying.”
Airi smiled. The smile lasted only a few seconds.
Then she looked at the camera as if speaking to whoever found the recording.
“Subject R is showing a significant decline in condition.” She swallowed.
“Her neurological responses increase every time A-001 is nearby.” Akira slowly clenched his fists in the screening room.
Rina paused the video. “This is important.”
Akira turned to her. “Don’t.”
“Akira—” “Play it.”
Rina looked at him. Then she resumed the recording.
On the screen, Airi entered the room. She crouched in front of Reina.
“Sweetheart.” Little Reina looked at her.
“Are you taking me home?” Airi fell silent. “Yes.”
Little Akira immediately stood. “I’m coming too.”
Airi looked at him.
“Akira…” “I’m coming with Reina.”
“Akira, listen to Mom.” “I’m coming.”
His voice grew louder. Airi held back tears.
“You have to stay here.” Little Akira shook his head.
“Why?” “Because…”
Airi stopped. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Little Akira stared at her in confusion. “I promise I’ll come back.”
“Promise?” Airi nodded. “Promise.”
Little Akira held out his pinky. Airi looked at it for several seconds.
Then she hooked her finger around his. Reina watched them.
“Mom…” Airi turned.
“If Akira isn’t coming…” Reina drew a breath. “…then I don’t want to leave either.”
Airi closed her eyes.
In the screening room, grown-up Reina lowered her head. Tears fell silently.
Akira watched the screen. Something about the scene felt deeply familiar.
Something like an old wound freshly reopened. The recording changed.
The time showed 23:27.
The corridor lights turned red. The alarm grew louder.
Airi ran while holding Reina’s hand. The camera shook violently.
“Don’t look back,” Airi said.
Reina was crying. “Mom!”
“Keep moving.” They passed several doors.
Then footsteps could be heard.
Airi stopped.
Someone appeared at the end of the corridor. Seiji Amamiya.
He wasn’t running. He wasn’t panicking.
His white coat was still neat. His face was calm.
Far too calm for someone in the middle of a facility undergoing an emergency.
“Stop, Airi.”
Airi hugged Reina. “Don’t come any closer.”
Seiji looked at the little girl. “She’s not finished.”
Airi looked at him with an anger Akira had never seen before. “She’s your daughter.”
Seiji was silent.
“That’s precisely why,” he said softly, “I can’t stop it now.” Little Reina began to cry.
“Mom…” Airi stepped back.
Seiji moved forward.
“You know what she’s showing.” “What she’s showing is pain.”
“The pain is temporary.” “She’s a child!”
“And humanity will never evolve if we keep treating fear as a limit.” Airi stared at him.
For the first time, Seiji did not look like a monster. He looked like a father who truly believed what he was doing was right.
That was what made him far more terrifying.
Airi spoke softly. “One day, you’ll see what you’ve done.”
Seiji answered, “One day, humanity will thank me.”
The recording shook again. Airi turned and ran.
But before she reached the next door
a voice came from behind them. “Seiji!”
Takumi.
Airi stopped.
Takumi appeared at the end of the corridor. His face was covered in wounds.
One side of his coat was burned. He looked at Seiji.
“Enough.”
Seiji did not answer. Takumi stepped closer.
“You’ve lost control.” “I’m closer than ever.”
“This isn’t evolution.” Takumi looked into the room behind Seiji.
“What did you do to them?” Seiji remained calm.
“I gave them an opportunity.” “An opportunity?”
Takumi’s voice trembled. “Those children can’t even stand.”
Seiji looked at him. “And you still call yourself a scientist?”
Takumi fell silent. Seiji stepped closer.
“How many people will die if we stop now?” “How many children have to die before you feel successful?”
Silence.
Airi looked at the two men. Takumi turned to her.
“Go.” Airi shook her head.
“Takumi—” “Go. Now.”
He looked at Reina. Then he saw Akira still behind the glass far down the corridor.
For a fraction of a second, his expression crumbled. Like a father.
Not a scientist. Not one of Genesis’s founders.
Just a father who knew he might never see his child again. “Save her.”
Airi nodded. Takumi turned around.
He stood between Seiji and them. The recording suddenly filled with static.
The image shook. The alarm became one long tone.
Then something made Akira stand in the screening room.
A boy’s voice. “Reina!”
On the screen, little Akira ran toward the glass.
Reina had already been taken away. “Akira!”
“I’ll come!” Airi pulled Reina along.
“Don’t!” Little Akira pressed his hand against the glass.
Reina did the same. The distance between them grew.
“I promise!” Akira shouted.
“Let’s find the sky!” Reina cried.
“Let’s find the sky!” The door closed.
The screen went dark. The recording ended.
No one spoke. Rina stared at the monitor.
Sota lowered his head.
Reina cried silently. Akira stood rigid.
His hands hung at his sides.
But slowly, his fingers closed around empty air.
As if still searching for the small hand that had once been on the other side of the glass.
“There’s an unfinished section.” Rina’s voice broke the silence.
Akira turned. Rina pointed at the screen.
“The file says the actual duration is longer.” “How long?”
“Sixteen minutes.” Akira looked at her.
“What we saw?” “Five minutes and twenty-three seconds.”
Sota immediately stepped closer. “That means there are eleven minutes.”
Rina nodded. “And that section was deliberately cut.”
Akira stared at the black screen. “Who cut it?”
Rina shook her head. “We don’t know yet.”
Then her computer chimed. A hidden file appeared.
It had no name.
Only one code.
A-001 / FINAL OBSERVATION
Akira stepped closer. Rina looked at him.
“Should we open it?” Akira didn’t answer right away.
Beside him, Reina slowly wiped away her tears. Then she nodded.
“Yes.” Akira looked at the screen.
“Play it.” Rina pressed the button.
The screen lit up again.
And from inside the recording that should never have been found after all these decades came Seiji’s voice.
But this time… he was speaking directly to someone.
“If you’re hearing this, Akira…” Akira froze. “…then your memories have been successfully erased.”
The screen went black.
The room froze. The voice from the recording had stopped.
Yet no one moved. The name still hung in the air.
Akira.
Not A-001. Not Subject.
Akira.
Seiji knew who he was. Even before his memories were erased.
Rina slowly turned to him. “He was speaking directly to you.”
Akira didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the screen.
“Play it again.” Rina pressed the button.
The recording resumed. The screen showed a small room unlike the corridor before.
The lighting was dim. Seiji stood in front of the camera.
He looked exhausted.
There was no smile. No triumphant expression.
For the first time, he looked like someone who knew something immense had collapsed.
“If you’re hearing this…” Seiji’s voice was quiet. “…then I failed.”
Akira furrowed his brow.
Seiji continued. “Or perhaps I succeeded too completely.”
He stopped.
“Genesis was never built to create a new kind of human.” Sota stared at the screen.
“At first…” Seiji drew a breath. “…we only wanted to understand how the brain stores memories. How the body reacts to trauma. How humans can survive damage that should be impossible to endure.”
The image changed.
Brain diagrams. Research notes.
Then photographs of children.
Akira held his breath. “But the research changed.”
Seiji appeared again. “When we discovered the Eclipse phenomenon, everything changed.”
The word appeared on the screen.
ECLIPSE
Akira stared at it.
Seiji continued. “Eclipse is not a disease.”
“It isn’t a power, either.” “It’s a biological ability that already exists in the human body.”
The recording hissed.
“Some humans have higher resonance. Others barely react at all.”
An image of A-001 appeared.
Then… R.
“Akira was the first.” The screen displayed a graph of brain activity.
“His resonance isn’t merely high.” Seiji looked into the camera.
“He adapts.” Akira felt the back of his neck grow cold.
“Every procedure that should have destroyed his nervous system instead teaches his body.”
Sota whispered, “My God…”
Seiji continued. “But there’s a problem.”
The screen changed. A photograph of little Reina.
“Subject R.” Reina tensed.
“Her biological resonance is different.” Two patterns of activity appeared in a diagram.
“She doesn’t adapt in the same way.” Seiji paused for a long moment.
“She responds through emotional connection.” Akira turned toward Reina.
Reina said nothing.
Seiji spoke again. “When R is near A-001, both their activity levels increase.”
The graphs moved.
“In other words…” Seiji’s voice grew quieter. “…they influence each other.”
Akira stared at the screen.
Suddenly, he remembered a small hand behind glass.
A paper bird.
Reina’s voice.
“Let’s find the sky.” His chest tightened.
The recording changed.
This time, Takumi appeared. He was sitting in a room.
His face was bruised. There was dried blood on his temple.
“I don’t know if this recording will ever be found.” Takumi looked into the camera.
“If it is found…” He drew a breath. “…don’t believe everything Seiji says.”
Akira immediately looked at the screen.
Takumi continued. “He still believes all of this can be justified.”
“He’s wrong.”
“Those children aren’t data.”
“Akira isn’t data.” Takumi’s voice trembled.
“And Reina isn’t data.”
Reina covered her mouth. Her tears fell again.
Takumi lowered his head.
“If I fail to get Akira out…” He stopped. “…at least someone should know that I tried.”
Akira stood motionless.
Never in his life had he heard his father speak like that. There had never been a recording. Never a story.
Only emptiness.
As if his childhood had been built on pages deliberately left blank. The recording changed again.
Airi appeared. She was carrying little Reina.
The child was asleep. Airi looked into the camera.
“I’m going to get her out.” Her voice trembled.
“If I don’t come back…” She looked at her daughter. “…at least she won’t grow up in this place.”
Airi brought her face closer to the camera.
“Her name isn’t R.” She stroked Reina’s hair.
“Her name is Reina.” Akira stared at the screen.
Reina Aizawa. Reina Amemiya.
Two names. One child.
Airi continued.
“One day, she may forget everything.” She smiled bitterly.
“If that happens, don’t force her to remember.” Grown-up Reina lowered her head.
“Let her choose who she is.” Akira looked at her.
The words felt like an echo of a philosophy he didn’t yet understand. Then Airi said something that plunged the room into silence again.
“Because Genesis didn’t give her an identity.” “An identity is something she has to choose for herself.”
The recording ended. The screen went black.
Rina took a breath. “There’s still one file.”
Akira turned. “What file?”
Rina pointed at the screen. “This isn’t a recording.”
A document opened.
Its title: MEMORY MODIFICATION PROTOCOL
Akira stared at it.
“Memory erasure protocol.” Rina nodded.
Sota read quickly. “This doesn’t just erase memories.”
“Right,” Rina said.
She pointed to a specific section. “The procedure severs the connection between particular memories and emotional triggers.”
Akira furrowed his brow. “Explain.”
“If a memory is associated with fear, pain, or someone…” Rina stopped. “…they can remove access to that memory without erasing the entire memory structure.”
Akira looked at her. “Then why can I dream?”
Rina fell silent. “That means…” “The memory is still there.”
Rina nodded slowly. “Just locked.”
Reina looked at Akira. And for the first time, the two of them understood something.
They weren’t creating new memories. They were rediscovering something that already existed.
Akira left the room. He needed air.
The corridor felt long. His steps carried him to the large window at the end of the building.
The rain had stopped. The sky was still gray.
Reina followed a few moments later. She stood beside him.
Not too close. But not far away, either.
“I remember a little.” Akira turned.
Reina looked out the window. “After seeing that recording.”
“What?” “A voice.”
Akira was silent.
“Mom used to sing something when I was sick.” Reina closed her eyes.
“A simple song.” “And?”
“Someone was sitting beside my bed.” Akira looked at her.
“Who?” Reina opened her eyes.
“I don’t know.” Then she looked at Akira.
“But I think it was you.” Akira didn’t answer.
For some reason, his chest felt warm. For the first time since all of this began, he didn’t feel alone in the chaos.
Reina spoke softly. “I don’t want to force my memories to return.”
Akira nodded.
“Neither do I.” “I want to know.”
“Yeah.” “But not by sacrificing myself again.”
Akira looked at her. “Then we’ll find the answers our way.”
Reina smiled faintly. “We?”
Akira nodded.
“If we really knew each other once…” He looked at the sky outside the window. “…maybe this time we can choose to get to know each other again.”
Reina fell silent. Then she smiled.
Small. Almost imperceptible. But real.
That night, Akira returned to the digital forensics room. Rina was still working.
“There’s something.” She called Akira over.
“The recording’s last metadata.” Akira stepped closer.
“What?” Rina pointed to the date.
RECORDED: 14 YEARS AGO
Akira furrowed his brow. “Genesis was destroyed longer ago than that.”
“Right.” “So this recording isn’t from the night of the destruction?”
Rina shook her head. “No.”
Akira stared at the screen. “Then who made it?”
Rina opened another section. Beneath the date was a user code.
Not Seiji. Not Takumi. Not Airi.
Only three letters. ECL.
Akira stared at it. “What is that?”
Rina shook her head. “Don’t know yet.”
Suddenly, the monitor flickered. A new file appeared.
No one opened it. No one sent it.
Yet the file appeared on its own.
Its name: GENESIS_IS_NOT_DEAD
Akira and Rina looked at each other. A text message appeared beneath it.
A-001 has awakened.
Then the screen went dark.
Akira stood in the darkness. His heart pounded.
Because somewhere no one could see… a piece of his past had just opened its eyes.
And someone out there was already waiting for him.