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Chapter 2 - Chapter 1: Arrival

Joseph Langford - Year 2098 

I had anticipated this day for as long as I can recall, meticulously, obsessively. At last, an heir. Someone to inherit not just my name, but to continue legacy. A mind molded after mine, one day worthy of the Langford name. 

The hospital lighting is sterile, harsh, its fluorescence grating against my already tested my patience. I sit alone in the far corner of the maternity ward's waiting room, deliberately distanced from the whirlwind of emotion. The incessant moaning and crying of the woman designated as my wife had driven me from the delivery suite. Her theatrics served no function, only noise. Disruption.

Frankly, I resented being summoned here at all. We are within days, perhaps hours, of a breakthrough in the Lunex Vial's final formulation, and I was pulled from my work for this. A call informed me that she had gone into labor. I calculated the average labor time, factored in her physical health and estimated that an eight-hour delay would suffice to witness the outcome without enduring the process.

What I failed to account for was the unpredictable nature of childbirth. The ordeal had extended well past expectation, and I was beginning to consider returning to the laboratory when a nurse burst into the room.

"Joseph Langford?" she called, scanning the room.

I raised my hand.

She approached swiftly, voice taut with urgency. "Please, come with me. There have been... complications."

The phrasing struck a chord in my mind. Complications. A frustratingly vague word. My heart rate accelerated, not from concern, but from the unsettling ambiguity. Was the child harmed? Deformed? Or worse—dead?

We walked briskly through the corridors. Her silence begged questions I didn't have time to articulate before we arrived at the room I had recently vacated.

The sight stopped me mid-step.

The bed, empty, soaked in blood, it looked more like a battlefield relic than a place of birth.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, my voice cutting through the room. "Where is my son?"

The medical staff exchanged uneasy glances. A physician stepped forward, his expression grim. "I'm afraid your wife... didn't survive the birth. We did everything we could."

Sweat prickled my brow, not from grief, but from rising tension. Her death was... unfortunate, perhaps. But not catastrophic. I had never loved her. Ours was a political arrangement, transactional. Her presence had served a purpose, opened doors previously shut to me. In that regard, I owed her some measure of acknowledgment. But grief? No.

"What of the child?" I asked, curtly.

The doctor hesitated. "Your sons - "

I cut him off. "Sons?" I blinked. "Plural?"

He nodded. "Yes. Twin boys. Both are alive, but premature. They're in the NICU. "

Twins. My mind reeled. This was unexpected. I had never been informed. Had she concealed it from me? Why?

I clenched my jaw, irritation mounting. One child would have been manageable, an investment of time and training. Two represented inefficiency. Redundancy. Twice the variables. Twice the risk.

"Take me to them," I ordered.

The doctor gave a nod, and the nurse resumed her role as escort, leading me down a sterile corridor until we reached a wide glass observation window.

Beyond the glass: machines, wires, the delicate hum of life sustained artificially. My gaze scanned until it landed on two labels, handwritten on tape affixed to incubators.

Noah Langford.& Kai Langford.

The nurse spoke gently beside me. "Your wife was conscious long enough to name them before she passed. I'm very sorry for your loss."

I waved a hand, dismissing her sentiment. Grief is inefficient. She had served her purpose, and her role in my life concluded with the delivery of my heir.

I stepped closer to the glass.

One child had a faint shimmer of white hair, Noah. Pale skin, fine features. He lay still but calm, his vitals steady. The machines around him responded with rhythm and reliability. The uniqueness of his platinum hair piqued my interest, a rare genetic expression, statistically uncommon. A trait that would capture the attention of anyone in my field, particularly those of us ingrained in the science of genetic modification.

The other, Kai, was darker in every sense. Thick black hair, skin half a shade deeper, features less defined. His vitals were stable, but the monitors registered subtle inconsistencies, nothing critical, but enough to note. His presence lacked nothing of interest. His presence felt unrefined, unruly when compared to Noah.

"Which one was born first?" I asked.

The nurse puzzled by the question, "Um... Noah, I believe."

Good.

The firstborn would receive my full attention. My instruction. My legacy.

A clean division was necessary. My time, my knowledge and my resources are not infinite.

Noah will be trained. Built to inherit my position within GenX Biotech, and the empire I've shaped with it. He will rise in my image, the perfected extension of my will and carry forward the work that has defined my life's purpose.

Kai on the other hand will have to make his own way, if he survives the world. He may have her eyes, her tan coloring, but blood alone does not entitle him to my investment. He is a variable, one I do not have time to measure. One I did not ask for.

Twins. Redundant.

No.

One son is all I need.

One heir. One legacy.

And he is lying right there, blond, perfect and first born.

Noah Langford

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