The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.
Ethan Cole stepped out, his worn sneakers silent against the pristine marble floor. Everything about this place screamed money—the kind of money that didn't exist in his world of unpaid bills and hospital notices.
Why am I here?
The message had been simple: "Come to Nexus Tower, Floor 77. Your sister's future depends on it."
No signature. No explanation. Just coordinates to a building he'd only seen in news headlines.
A glass door at the end of the corridor opened automatically. Ethan walked through, his heart pounding against his ribs.
The office was massive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the scarred cityscape of New Geneva—a city still healing from the wounds of the Third World War. Even fifteen years later, the horizon was marked by skeletal buildings and the faint green shimmer of radiation barriers.
But Ethan's attention wasn't on the view.
It was on the man standing beside the window.
He wore a crisp white coat that seemed to glow against the gray world behind him. His hair was silver, swept back neatly, and his posture carried the weight of someone who had seen too much, yet refused to break.
Slowly, the man turned.
His eyes—pale blue and unsettlingly calm—locked onto Ethan.
"Ethan Cole," he said. Not a question. A confirmation.
Ethan swallowed. "You're the one who sent the message?"
The man smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He gestured toward a leather chair positioned near a sleek black table.
"Please. Sit."
Ethan hesitated.
Every instinct screamed at him to run. But the mention of his sister... of Maya... kept his feet rooted.
He sat.
The man walked toward him, his footsteps measured, deliberate. He settled into the chair across from Ethan, folding his hands on the table.
"My name is Dr. Steven Raith," he began. "But most call me Steve."
"What do you want from me?" Ethan asked, his voice steadier than he felt.
Dr. Steve studied him for a moment. Then he leaned back.
"Tell me, Ethan... what do you know about the war?"
"Everyone knows about the war."
"Then you know what it left behind." Steve's gaze drifted toward the window. "Sixty percent of the planet—contaminated. Three billion dead. And those who survived?" He paused. "We're simply waiting for the poison to catch up."
Ethan clenched his fists beneath the table. He didn't need a history lesson. He had lived it. He had watched his parents cough blood until their lungs gave out. He had watched Maya's body grow weaker every single day.
"What does this have to do with me?" he demanded.
Steve's eyes returned to him, sharp and focused.
"Everything."
"After the war," Steve continued, "my team and I discovered something extraordinary. A meteorite that struck the Nordic Deadzone carried a metal unlike anything on Earth."
He tapped the table, and a holographic display flickered to life between them. A rotating image of a glowing, silver-blue ore appeared.
"We call it Vitallium—the Metal of Life. It came from a planet located in a distant galaxy. A planet we've named... Sambala."
Ethan frowned. "A planet?"
"The metal's atomic structure is perfect," Steve said. "Flawless for nanotechnology. After ten years of research, my team achieved the impossible."
The hologram shifted, showing a small vial filled with shimmering liquid.
"The first and only nanobot injection in existence."
Ethan stared at the image.
"These aren't ordinary nanobots," Steve said, his voice dropping lower. "Once bonded with a host, they can repair cellular damage. Eliminate disease. Enhance neural pathways beyond human limitation."
He leaned forward.
"With enough Vitallium, we could cleanse this planet. Purify the radiation. Save what's left of humanity."
Ethan's mind raced.
"If you have this... miracle cure," he said slowly, "why haven't you used it?"
"Because we only have enough for one injection." Steve's jaw tightened. "One chance. And the only source of more Vitallium... is Sambala itself."
"Then go get it."
"We intend to." Steve stood, walking back toward the window. "We've built a ship—the Horizon—capable of traveling through a wormhole directly to Sambala's system."
Ethan waited.
"The problem," Steve said quietly, "is the wormhole itself."
He turned.
"It's flooded with a type of radiation we've never encountered. Our simulations show that any human who passes through... will die within minutes."
Ethan felt cold. "Then how—"
"The nanobots." Steve's eyes locked onto his. "In theory, a host bonded with the nanobots could survive. Their body would adapt, heal, regenerate faster than the radiation could destroy."
In theory.
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"We ran virtual compatibility tests," Steve continued. "DNA samples from across the globe. Billions of candidates."
"I never took any test," Ethan interrupted.
Steve smiled faintly. "We have our methods, Ethan. Hospital records. Genetic databases. Your blood was sampled three years ago during your sister's admission."
Ethan's stomach turned.
"Out of every human being on this planet," Steve said, "your DNA showed perfect synchronization with the nanobots. One hundred percent compatibility."
He paused.
"You're the only one."
Silence.
Ethan's chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet.
"No."
Steve didn't flinch.
"You want me to get into some experimental ship," Ethan said, his voice rising, "fly through a wormhole filled with unknown radiation, and travel to an alien planet—alone?"
"Yes."
"This is suicide!"
"This is hope," Steve countered calmly. "The only hope our species has left."
Ethan shook his head, backing toward the door. "Find someone else. I can't—I won't—"
"Maya has approximately fourteen months to live."
Ethan froze.
His blood turned to ice.
Steve's voice softened, but his words cut like blades.
"The radiation sickness has reached her bone marrow. Current medicine can slow it. It cannot stop it."
"You're lying."
"I'm telling you what your hospital refuses to." Steve reached into his coat and produced a tablet, sliding it across the table. "Her medical files. Unredacted."
Ethan didn't want to look.
But his hands moved on their own.
The data blurred before his eyes—charts, scans, prognosis reports—but one phrase burned itself into his mind:
Terminal. Estimated survival: 11-16 months.
The tablet clattered to the table.
"I know about your parents," Steve said gently. "I know you've been working three jobs just to keep Maya in treatment. I know you haven't slept more than four hours a night in two years."
Ethan's hands trembled.
"If you do this... if you take this mission... I will personally ensure Maya receives the best medical care on this planet. The finest doctors. The safest facilities. The best schools when she's strong enough."
"And if I don't come back?" Ethan's voice cracked.
Steve met his gaze without hesitation.
"Then she will still have everything. For the rest of her life. That is my promise."
Ethan stood frozen.
The weight of it crushed him—the impossibility of the choice.
Stay, and watch Maya die slowly.
Go, and maybe never return.
"Why me?" he whispered. "Why does it have to be me?"
Steve walked toward him, stopping an arm's length away.
"Because the universe chose you, Ethan. Your DNA. Your biology. For reasons even I don't understand, you are the only person on Earth who can survive this journey."
He placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder.
"I'm not asking you to be a hero. I'm asking you to do what you've always done—protect your sister. Fight for her. But this time... fight for everyone."
Ethan's vision blurred.
Mom. Dad. Maya.
He had already lost so much.
But Maya... Maya was still here. Still breathing. Still waiting for him to come home every night with that weak smile that shattered his heart.
Could he really leave her?
Could he really stay and watch her fade away?
The city sprawled below, broken and poisoned.
Somewhere out there, Maya was lying in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the world had been so cruel.
Ethan closed his eyes.
Forgive me.
When he opened them, something had shifted. The fear was still there—but beneath it, something harder. Colder. A resolve forged in grief.
He looked at Steve.
"If I do this... I want it in writing. Every promise. Legally binding."
Steve's expression didn't change. "Of course."
"And I want to see her before I leave. No surveillance. No guards. Just me and my sister."
"Done."
Ethan exhaled slowly.
"When do we start?"
Steve's lips curved into a genuine smile for the first time.
"Welcome to Project Lazarus, Ethan."
He extended his hand.
Ethan stared at it for a long moment—this hand that was offering him salvation and damnation in the same gesture.
Then he took it.