Core Systems, Earth, Year 2693
The mechanical whirring of machinery restlessly clattered in an all-white medical room, the sterile scent of disinfectant hanging thick in the air. Around the room, all manner of surgical tools and advanced technology worked under the unforgiving overhead lights, neatly organized upon spotless metallic trays.
Even the air itself felt unnaturally pure - recycled, filtered, and scrubbed of any trace of pollution or imperfection, leaving a faintly artificial crispness that clung to the throat.
A rapidly fading beep echoed from a nearby monitor, its screen casting a pale green glow that flickered against the sweat-drenched face of a young woman lying exhausted on the medical bed.
Thin cables ran from the machine into her pale, trembling arm. She panted heavily, her chest rising and falling as if every breath threatened to be her last, having just given birth to a figure destined to reshape the galaxy.
In the far corner of the room, a large, glass window stretched from floor to ceiling, its flawless surface glistening as sunlight refracted against it in shimmering, sterile beams.
Beyond the glass sprawled a breathtaking metropolis - a city of impossible scale and pristine order. Towering skyscrapers of glass and metal stabbed into the sky like spears of ambition, their sleek forms gleaming with mirrored light.
High above, countless airborne vehicles traced luminous trails against the azure expanse. The city stretched endlessly to the horizon, a machine-made forest of progress, each building vying to pierce the heavens. The facility they occupied stood at the very heart of this colossal urban sprawl, and by far the tallest - a throne of glass and advanxed technology surveying a domain of human achievement.
"Can... can I see my boy..."
The wet nurse, clad in immaculate white robes with not a wrinkle out of place, patted the woman's shoulder with care. She turned, cradling a small, swaddled infant in her arms. The child's delicate features mirrored his mother's - sharp eyes, dark curled hair, and flawless pale skin. Yet, it was his gaze that unsettled her; those piercing, unnatural eyes darted around the room, focusing on every floating holographic display and whirring mechanical limb with the eerie precision of a predator dissecting its environment.
This was no ordinary child. This was the soul of a human from our Earth.
'Is this reincarnation?'
'After all my efforts, I really did die in such an absurd way. Knocked off a cliff by a truck… then swallowed by a whale? What kind of death is that? I didn't survive the frontlines to go out like some cosmic joke.'
Though the baby huffed in his head, his gaze didn't stop roving over the room's sterile surfaces - the surgical arms folded neatly against the ceiling, the soft hum of air filtration systems, and the subtle, almost imperceptible vibrations of the colossal structure around him.
A single trembling finger traced down his face, the touch cool and weak, leaving a faint warmth in its wake. A tear welled in the woman's eye, cutting a narrow crimson trail down her cheek before falling and vanishing into the pristine sheets.
With one last hopeful glance toward the far corner of the room, she found a man seated in a simple yet impeccably designed chair.
His leg crossed over the other, a single hand resting against his sharp jawline. The black carbon-fiber trench coat he wore shimmered faintly in the sterile light, its matte finish broken by the glint of a reinforced metal vest beneath. His emerald eyes were resolute like chips of cut glass, cold and unfeeling, while his meticulously styled blond hair couldn't soften the brutal apathy etched into his face.
This woman was just a tool to him. Her only purpose was to have his child, and nothing more.
Still, he gave a single nod - a signal she clung to like a lifeline.
She turned back to the child, and with a final ragged breath, spoke, "My one and only son… I'll name you… Samael… Samael Hammond..."
Her grip loosened. The nurse swiftly took the child, and the woman's final breath escaped in a quiet sigh, unnoticed in the steady hum of machinery.
'I'm sorry, mother. But I can only ask your forgiveness in replacing your son.'
Samael's newborn eyes didn't waver. Why would he mourn someone he hadn't known for more than a second? Human nature wasn't kind or sentimental - it was often cold, detached, and indifferent to tragedy. Like a stranger watching disaster unfold on the news, we claim sorrow for the victims and tell others our heart goes out to them, yet in truth, we rarely care.
Samael may have been colder than most, but this was the way of things.
"Now… who are you, mysterious man in the corner?" Samael's tiny hand twitched toward the figure. The midwife noticed, her voice a careful mixture of reverence and nerves. "Mr. Hammond… your son seems to want to see you."
"Bring him to me." The man's voice was smooth and measured, carrying the weight of expectation without warmth. He rose with deliberate grace, his footsteps making no sound against the seamless white floor. As he approached, his emerald eyes locked onto Samael's matching gaze.
Lifting the infant with the mechanical precision of a man who had no clue how to hold a baby, he gently rocked him in his arms - a flicker of something faintly resembling care crossing his face. "Samael? At least she had good name sense."
But as he spoke, the man failed to notice the change in the baby's expression. Samael's eyes drifted downward, widening with what could only be described as eternal horror and dawning dread.
'H-Hammond…'
On the left breast pocket of his father's trench coat gleamed a small, carefully embroidered insignia. A black letter 'H' encircled by a delicate arc, the line curling upward at the center.
To others, it was merely a logo. To Samael, it was a nightmare and something excilerating beyond words.
'H-Hammond Robotics? The founding company of the IMC…'
Had this infant body allowed him to scream, he would have. The sheer severity of his situation settled over him like a suffocating weight.
He had played the titanfall games as well as the sequel of Apex legends in his previouse life. He knew exactly the type of universe he was in. Brutal, to say the least, with constant wars up until the battle of Gridiron.
He was the son of the chairman of Hammond Robotics - a name that, depending on the timeline, could already command entire fleets, wage wars across star systems, and crush countless worlds under the relentless march of corporate greed.
If fortune spared him from assassination before his second birthday by a certain bloodthirsty robot, he would offer thanks to every god a thousand times over.
Samael's pulse quickened. Equal parts terror and thrill coursed through his tiny form. Titans - colossal war machines; Pilots - soldiers capable of running along walls and executing impossible feats.
This universe was a battleground of the most skilled soldiers carrying the most advanced tech in any fictional universe, and now he stood at its very center as one of the most underexplored antagonists son?
His infant hand clung to his father's thumb, the man's grip firm and unyielding.
"Samael, we must be strong. As the heir to the Hammond legacy, we must never show weakness. The Militia fights for freedom, but this future shall never come to pass. The Frontier belongs to us… to humanity itself."
Mr. Hammond Jr. forced a smile. It was the grin of a predator sheathing its fangs - a cold gesture that mimicked warmth without meaning it. Regardless, was quite a strange sight for him to be talking to a baby, as if it could wver understand what he was saying.
Samael's face contorted in what might have been an attempt at a smile, though his baby muscles failed him.
"Gaga…" It was a ghastly, awkward thing. But no one present missed the undeniable fact: no DNA test would ever be needed.