The voice disappeared as quickly as it had come.
For several seconds, the only sound was the baby's soft breathing.
Jason looked at the ceiling.
“Who is speaking?”
No answer came.
He turned toward the stranger.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
The stranger looked genuinely frightened.
“This system wasn't supposed to have an active voice interface.”
Jason moved toward the console.
“Then shut it down.”
“I can't.”
“Try.”
The stranger entered several commands.
Nothing happened.
The screen continued displaying my name.
Underneath it was a single word.
HOST.
I felt sick.
“What does that mean?”
The stranger shook his head.
“I don't know yet.”
“Then stop pretending you know anything.”
He looked at me.
“You're right.”
It was the first time he had admitted uncertainty without trying to hide it.
He opened the envelope again.
“There may be another page.”
I searched the box.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the photograph.
It showed our mother standing beside my father.
She was holding a newborn.
I looked closely.
The baby's face was visible this time.
It was me.
But there was something different.
A tiny dark mark appeared behind my left ear.
I touched the same place on my head.
I had a faint scar there.
I'd always assumed it came from childhood.
“Jason.”
He leaned closer.
“What?”
I showed him.
He stared.
“You have that scar.”
“I know.”
“No. I mean I remember when you got it.”
I looked at him.
“You do?”
“You were five.”
The stranger interrupted.
“You were not five.”
Jason turned.
“What?”
The stranger pointed to the date.
The photograph had been taken before the date on our official birth certificate.
Jason's face went blank.
“That isn't possible.”
I touched the photograph.
“Then who remembers it?”
Nobody answered.
A low alarm began sounding.
The stranger looked at the monitor.
“Someone has entered the upper house.”
Jason grabbed the files.
“We're leaving.”
The stranger nodded.
But when we reached the passage, the door slammed shut.
Jason pulled it.
Locked.
“Open it.”
The stranger tried the keypad.
Nothing.
The baby's crying started again.
The monitor responded immediately.
HOST RESPONSE INCREASING.
Emily looked at me.
“What is happening to her?”
“I don't know.”
The stranger moved toward the equipment.
“Bring her here.”
“No.”
“I need to examine the marker.”
“You're not putting anything on my daughter.”
“I won't touch her.”
He pointed to a scanner.
“I can read the signal from here.”
Jason looked at me.
I nodded.
Emily brought the baby closer.
The stranger activated the machine.
A blue light passed over the baby.
Numbers appeared.
The stranger stared.
“What?”
Jason demanded.
“There are three sequences.”
“You said that.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“These aren't three inherited sequences.”
“Then what?”
“One is hers.”
“One is ours?”
“Two belong to you and your sister.”
I looked at Jason.
The stranger continued.
“The third isn't inherited.”
“What is it?”
“It was inserted.”
Emily's face went pale.
“By whom?”
The stranger looked toward the sealed door.
“Whoever created Subject 14.”
The alarm stopped.
Silence returned.
Then the hidden door opened.
A man stood on the other side.
He was tall, dressed in a dark suit, with silver hair and a calm expression.
He looked directly at me.
“Evelyn's daughter.”
I froze.
Jason stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
The man ignored him.
“You've changed.”
I stared at him.
“I've never seen you before.”
He smiled.
“You don't remember.”
The stranger stepped between us.
“Leave.”
The man looked at him.
“You're still protecting them.”
“I promised their mother.”
“You failed.”
The stranger's jaw tightened.
The man looked at Emily.
“Give me the child.”
“No.”
“She belongs to the program.”
“She belongs to me.”
The man smiled.
“That distinction won't matter for long.”
Jason moved forward.
“What happened to Subject 14?”
The man's smile disappeared.
“You found the chamber.”
“So?”
“You weren't supposed to.”
“Answer me.”
The man looked at me.
“Subject 14 was never a child.”
I felt cold.
“Then what was he?”
“A vessel.”
The stranger whispered, “No.”
The man continued.
“Your father believed the program was about genetics. It wasn't.”
“What was it about?”
“Memory.”
Jason stared.
“Memory?”
“Preserving biological memory across generations.”
The stranger shook his head.
“That was theory.”
“It became practice.”
I looked at the baby.
“What does she have?”
“Access.”
“To what?”
The man pointed at me.
“To everything you were taught to forget.”
My heart pounded.
Jason grabbed the man's collar.
“Tell us what our father did.”
The man didn't resist.
“He stole the first successful embryo.”
“Subject 12.”
“Yes.”
“He raised her.”
“Yes.”
“That's my sister.”
“Yes.”
Jason looked at me.
Then back at the man.
“What did he do with Subject 13?”
The man smiled faintly.
“Your father never had Subject 13.”
The room went silent.
Jason's face changed.
“Then who am I?”
The man looked at him.
“You are the replacement.”
“For whom?”
“For the child your father lost.”
Jason stepped backward.
I reached for his hand.
The man continued.
“Your father believed he could create another child who would stabilize Subject 12.”
“And did he?”
“No.”
“Then why did he keep me?”
“Because he loved you.”
Jason looked away.
The man's voice softened.
“And because you were useful.”
That sentence cut deeper than anything else.
Jason whispered, “Useful.”
The stranger looked at him.
“Don't listen to him.”
But Jason wasn't listening.
He was staring at the floor.
The man turned toward me.
“You were always the successful one.”
I felt anger rise.
“I am not a specimen.”
“No.”
He looked at the baby.
“Neither is she.”
“Then leave us alone.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because the child has awakened something.”
“What?”
“The memories of Subject 14.”
The baby suddenly stopped moving.
Her eyes opened.
She stared directly at the man.
His expression changed.
For the first time, he looked afraid.
The stranger noticed.
“You know her.”
The man stepped backward.
“No.”
“You do.”
“She shouldn't be able to recognize me.”
The baby began crying.
The lights flickered.
The monitor turned on.
A sequence appeared.
Then another.
The man stared at the screen.
“It's beginning.”
Jason looked at him.
“What is?”
The man didn't answer.
The screen displayed a series of images.
Our mother.
Our father.
Me.
Jason.
The boy from the photographs.
Then a final image.
A hospital room.
A newborn.
My brother stood beside the bed.
Except it wasn't Jason as he looked today.
It was him as a newborn.
Underneath the image was a date.
Twenty-eight years earlier.
Jason stared.
“That isn't me.”
The stranger whispered, “It is.”
The man shook his head.
“No.”
He stepped toward the screen.
“This wasn't supposed to happen.”
“What?”
The stranger looked at Jason.
“Your father didn't create you as a replacement.”
“Then why?”
The stranger's eyes filled with something like regret.
“He created you because the original child survived.”
Jason stared at him.
“What original child?”
The stranger looked at me.
“Subject 14.”
The room went silent.
Then the man said the words none of us expected.
“Subject 14 is your brother.”
Jason stopped breathing.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: My Brother Was Suddenly at the Center of a Secret That Began Before Our Birth, and the Stranger Finally Revealed What Happened to the Original Child
My Twin Brother Had Waited Years for This Child, Yet the First Thing He Saw After Her Birth Made Him Step Away
Part 10 of 20
