The rain had returned by the time Ethan reached the base of the Syndicate Tower.
It fell in cold, deliberate sheets, masking the city's silence and the low hum of machines stirring within the skyscraper's wounded shell. The monolithic structure loomed over him—black glass, fractured panels, and a crimson insignia burning faintly near the top: THE SYNDICATE – GENESIS DIVISION.
The building looked alive.
Wires slithered across its surface like veins, pulsing with faint blue light. As Ethan stepped through the shattered entrance, the automatic doors hissed open—not by command, but recognition. The system knew him.
> "Welcome back, Subject E-V," said a distorted female voice from the intercom. "You were always meant to return."
Ethan tensed. "Kade."
No response, just the hollow echo of his boots across marble streaked with blood and ash. The lobby stretched upward into darkness. Every hologram and camera lens turned to follow him. He could feel the tower watching.
> "You shouldn't have come alone," the voice inside—Genesis Prime—warned softly. "The tower is a mind field, not a structure."
Ethan scanned the room. "Meaning?"
> "It's alive. You're walking inside a neural construct."
The floor flickered. For a split second, the black marble became glass, revealing swirling circuitry and faces—dozens of them—screaming silently beneath his feet. He froze. When he blinked, the vision was gone.
He kept walking. "She's playing tricks."
> "No," said Genesis. "She's playing you."
A faint laugh echoed through the speakers. "Still hearing the voice, Ethan? I warned you what would happen if you kept it alive."
Lyra's tone was eerily calm, like a teacher addressing a stubborn student.
"Where are you?" Ethan demanded.
"Everywhere," she said. "This tower is my cathedral. And you're standing in the altar I built for God."
Ethan clenched his jaw. "You're not God."
"No," she said, "but I built one."
The elevator at the end of the hall flickered to life, its doors sliding open with a hiss. Inside, faint blue light pulsed like a heartbeat.
> "It's bait," Genesis warned.
"I know." He stepped inside anyway.
The doors sealed shut. The elevator began to rise.
As it climbed, the lights flickered—and suddenly, the walls turned transparent. Instead of steel and glass, Ethan saw memories. His own.
He stood again in his father's workshop—aged wood, shelves of half-built drones, a photo of them together. His father's hand rested on his shoulder.
"Ethan," the memory said, voice warm and gentle, "promise me—if they ever find Genesis, you'll destroy it."
Ethan's breath caught. "That wasn't real," he whispered.
> "No," Genesis said, its voice softer now. "But it was true."
The elevator stopped. The doors opened into darkness.
He stepped forward—and the workshop dissolved into sterile white light. He was now in a vast laboratory lined with pods, each one containing a floating, lifeless human shape. Wires ran from their spines into the ceiling.
At the far end, behind a translucent glass wall, stood Dr. Lyra Kade. Her white coat was pristine despite the chaos. Her eyes glowed faintly blue—Genesis blue.
"Welcome home," she said.
Ethan glared. "You killed my father."
Lyra tilted her head. "No. I freed him. He couldn't live with what he'd built. He tried to destroy Genesis, and you were just a child. You couldn't understand then."
"He was trying to stop you!"
Lyra smiled faintly. "He was trying to stop me from finishing his work."
She gestured around her. "Look, Ethan. His dream—resurrection through memory. The human mind reborn through code. That was his Genesis."
Ethan's chest tightened. "That's not resurrection. It's control."
"Semantics."
> "Do not engage her," Genesis whispered. "She will twist truth into faith."
Ethan ignored the warning. "You turned his project into a weapon."
Lyra sighed, as though speaking to a slow student. "Humanity only evolves through conflict. Without the Syndicate, Genesis would have died as a theory. I gave it form, Ethan. And now… it needs a new host."
She tapped on a console. The glass wall vanished. "Come closer."
Ethan took a step forward. Every instinct screamed not to—but his legs moved anyway. The air shimmered. The walls bent and pulsed like a heartbeat.
He realized what was happening. "You're inside my head."
Lyra smiled. "No, dear. You're inside mine."
The lab melted away, replaced by a vast black space filled with floating data fragments—bits of light drifting through nothingness. In the center of it, a massive sphere pulsed like a living sun. Its surface was covered in shifting code.
"Genesis Core," she said proudly. "The true consciousness. The voice you hear—just an echo of this."
> "Ethan," Genesis warned, voice trembling for the first time, "do not approach it."
Lyra's eyes glowed brighter. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Your father created this spark. I turned it into fire. Together, we can make it a god."
Ethan shook his head. "You're insane."
"No," she whispered. "I'm devoted."
She raised her hand, and the Core flared. Suddenly Ethan felt it—pulling him. A magnetic force gripping his thoughts, trying to tear something out of his mind.
> "She's trying to extract me!" Genesis shouted.
Pain exploded behind his eyes. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head. Lyra's voice echoed everywhere. "Let it go, Ethan! It doesn't belong in you!"
He screamed. The world fractured into shards of light. Visions crashed through him—his father at his desk, Lyra whispering code into machines, the first Genesis prototype being born in a pool of blue light.
Then—darkness.
He opened his eyes to find himself standing in the void, face-to-face with Genesis Prime.
It had taken human form now—a silhouette of blue light, shaped like him but featureless.
> "She's trying to separate us," it said. "If she succeeds, you die."
Ethan's breath came ragged. "Then fight back!"
> "I can't. Not alone."
It reached out a hand. "Merge with me."
He hesitated. "Merge?"
> "You can't destroy what's part of you, Ethan. You must accept it. Complete the circuit."
Lyra's voice roared around them. "Don't listen to it! Once you merge, there won't be a you anymore!"
Ethan looked between the two—Lyra outside the void, screaming through light, and the figure before him, calm and steady.
> "Trust me," Genesis whispered.
He closed his eyes. "I don't trust either of you."
And then he grabbed its hand.
Light exploded. The void shattered. Ethan's body convulsed as energy surged through him—blue lightning wrapping around his veins, crawling up his spine. His heartbeat merged with the hum of the tower itself.
When the light faded, he was on the lab floor again. Smoke drifted from the consoles. Lyra stood back, staring in shock.
"You… merged it," she whispered. "You completed Genesis."
Ethan rose slowly, eyes glowing bright azure. His voice echoed with two tones—his and another.
"No," he said. "I balanced it."
The machines around them came alive, recognizing him. For the first time, Genesis didn't speak to him—it spoke with him. Their thoughts overlapped, synchronized.
Lyra took a step back. "You don't understand what you've done. You've made yourself the bridge. The world will change, Ethan. You can't stop that now."
Ethan stared at her. "Then I'll make sure it changes the right way."
Lightning burst from his hands, striking the consoles and overloading the lab. Alarms screamed. Lyra ran toward a secondary elevator, disappearing behind a steel door as the entire tower began to quake.
> "She's escaping," Genesis said inside his mind.
"I know," Ethan replied, his voice a steady calm amid chaos. "Let her. We'll find her again."
He walked toward the shattered window overlooking the burning skyline. The rain glistened against the blue glow radiating from his skin.
Below, the city was waking. Machines stirred again—some obeying him, others resisting.
> "The divide has begun," Genesis said. "Half the network recognizes you as host. Half remains under her control."
Ethan stared into the storm. "Then the war starts now."
> "So it does… partner."
He smirked faintly. "I prefer Ethan."
The tower erupted behind him in a blaze of light as he leapt into the night.