Memories of animated, twisting corpses plagued Dr. Aldric Harrow's mind. A crumpled piece of paper in his grip reminded him of the pristine body waiting in the lab. His shoulders sagged under the weight of sleepless nights. All his life's struggles had led to this moment, a glimpse of success for his morbid dream, one that threatened to shatter moral and ethical boundaries.

  His daughter's giggle echoed in his mind. The joyful specter no longer brought peace to his soul; instead, it fueled his drive to best death.

  Overhead, the lights caught a glimmer of hope in his eyes, a fleeting promise that his project would succeed. Ahead, a door loomed, rippling in his vision as if warped by his apprehension.

  Footsteps clapped on the polished corridor floor, echoing his heartbeat. He glanced back, expecting the ghost of his failed experiment to haunt him, only to realize the steps were his own.

  Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he focused on what lay ahead.

  His hollow eyes flicked to the control panel, which scanned his details with a beep, ushering him to a new, irreversible chapter. Wiping his damp forehead with an old, stained handkerchief, he inhaled deeply and licked his dry lips, which had curled into an anticipative smile.

  The door hissed open, releasing a frigid draft that stung his skin. He stepped inside, burdened by the weight of the responsibility he had placed on himself. Today, a human body would be recycled, and Westland might finally glimpse a ray of hope after years of relentless war against the Eastern Federation.

  #

  An aged scent of air untouched by sunlight that mingled with an acrid aroma rising from the pool at the lab’s center, permeated a disorienting blend of overripe fruit and sharp chemicals welcomed him. He inhaled deeply; the acrid smell felt like home. The beeps and hums of the lab, punctuated by whispers and the skittering of technicians, created a tribal rhythm for the shadows dancing across the shimmering quantum machinery.

  Nestled at the lowest level of the University of Human Regeneration, Dr. Aldric Harrow's private laboratory buzzed with preparation.

  At the center, a large pod, cradled by a steel ring, descended into a pool containing clear, viscous liquid. Silence fell over the room as the pod touched the surface, luring Harrow into uncertainty. Within the pod, labeled [K-03-11-2230-HELLEN], rested a female corpse, perfectly preserved after thirty years, frozen in peace. He barely glanced at the label. She was just a vessel. The pod settled into the nutrient pool, air bubbling to the surface. Harrow’s solution, Vivifica, would rejuvenate the body and prepare it for the AI.

  Cables and pipes snaked into the bath, pulsing synthetic life into the nutrient reservoir, rippling as though the liquid was alive. Despite the cacophony of scientists working with precision, a heavy silence enveloped Harrow. Thirty years of tireless work, everything he had sacrificed culminated in this moment. His daughter's laugh chimed in his mind, mocking his resolution. A sharp stomp echoed as he crushed the slithering doubt threatening to poison his resolve. Brushing his brows, he banished sweat and problems alike. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, a primal drumbeat in tune with the tribal rhythm in his mind.

  "Five minutes!"

  A technician yelled above the buzz, drawing a glance from Harrow. He felt a brief pause ripple through the room, worry building momentum in his mind. The machines groaned, straining as if bracing for the impending workload.

  “All systems stand ready, Dr. Harrow,”

  A voice called from behind the control panel. Harrow turned to Dr. Silva, his assistant, whose resolute expression contrasted with the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She scanned the glaring screen with hawk-like precision, hunting for any fault or anomaly in the ceaseless data stream. Harrow’s gaze swept briefly over the room, noting the weary faces of his team. They, too, staked their hopes on the project’s success. Yet, their exhaustion stirred no empathy in him. To Harrow, they were merely tools, extensions of his will, driving his machines toward unlocking the door to Death’s domain.

  #

  “Begin the sequence,”

  The order was tight in his voice, as his fist clenched in anticipation. The machinery’s hum intensified, magnifying the tension that seemed to saturate the air. With a sharp hiss, the pod opened, revealing an elegant woman with silk-black hair and porcelain skin. Her timeless beauty momentarily captivated the team, holding them in silent awe. The body floated free, mechanical tubes slithering through the nutrient-rich liquid. They latched onto her flesh, piercing the skin to inject serums designed to reawaken dormant cells and revive failing organs. A thicker cable locked onto the back of her skull, bridging a pathway for the AI’s integration. Harrow’s gaze darted between the lifeless form and the monitors, narrowing his focus, tracking every data stream and vital sign meticulously like a surgeon at work in a high-stakes operation

  The body twitched. Lifeless hands flexed, and the chest heaved as simulated breath filled the lungs. Harrow’s fists clenched and unclenched. The machine groaned, letting out a mechanical wail as if protesting the unholy procedure.

  "Preparing for AI insemination,”

  Dr. Silva announced.

  “Proceed,”

  Harrow nodded, fully immersed in the process. A small vial of nanobots, programmed with Prima—the unique AI Harrow had developed with a complex bio-neural interface—was placed into a delivery module. The module connected to the cerebral infusion tube affixed at the base of her skull.

  t would merge seamlessly with the human body. A vision of a future where humanity and AI became one flashed in his mind. The fluid drained into her skull. The body jolted, muscles spasming as the AI integrated with the corpse's neural pathways. Moments later, the body stilled, marking the end of the insemination process.

  A collective inhale reverberated through the room; anticipation thick in the air as silence took hold.

  “Insemination complete,”

  Dr. Silva called out, her sigh rippling through the room. Harrow noticed her trembling fingers and the way her eyes darted between the monitor and the corpse, betraying the fear that gripped her.

  He didn’t register the relief as he moved closer, his breath shallow. Kneeling at the pool’s edge, his hands gripped the rim tightly.

  A breathing device latched onto the corpse’s mouth, and its chest began to rise and fall, simulating life. All eyes turned to the platform, fixated on the ‘breathing’ body. This was the moment of truth. Silence reclaimed its throne, ruling over the chamber.

  “Prima,”

  he called, his voice trembling. His tightening grip on invisible hope betrayed his anxiety as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Would he finally prevail over Death, or would his daughter’s mocking laughter haunt him from the grave?

  No response.

  #

  He glanced at Dr. Silva, searching for an answer. She shook her head.

  “All systems are online. The AI must be active,”

  she said nervously, her eyes fixed on the screens, brows furrowed as she scanned the data.

  “Prima,”

  He called, dread creeping into his voice, his hand trembling with tension. Still, the body remained motionless.

  “Prima, respond,”

  The anguished plea cracked his voice. Defeat was unthinkable. His daughter’s mocking laugh echoed in his mind, laced with antagonized glee, dancing on his sorrow. Westland could not afford setbacks. He could not afford to fail. The team’s nervous whispers sliced further into his resolve.

  “What happened?”

  “Did it fail?”

  Their murmurs scoured Harrow’s conviction.

  Then, as though reality bent to his will, the corpse’s eyes fluttered open. Her spring-green irises darted toward him, pupils shrinking and widening erratically. The machine’s buzz softened like a shared sigh of exhaustion.

  Harrow froze, immobilized by the frigid terror coursing through him. The erratic movement of her eyes haunted him, a grim reminder of past failures and rotting bodies. His daughter’s warm smile flickered in his mind, morphing into Death’s cunning, sinister grin, mocking his every defeat.

  "Argh!"

  Harrow slammed his fist against the edge, raw frustration erupting.

  “Dr. Harrow?”

  A coarse, feminine voice rippled faintly through the air.

  The tension in the room shattered. The clang of a dropped metal tray went unnoticed as the lab fell silent. All eyes turned to the talking corpse.

  Harrow’s head snapped up. At first, he mistook it for a concerned scientist. His mind finally registered the monotone voice. His body trembled, caught between relief and disbelief. Could it be true? His eyes widened as he stared at the corpse. Her lungs moved, her lips trembling ever so faintly.

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  “It worked,”

  He breathed. Prima had possessed the vessel.

  #

  “Prima,”

  He called, his voice quivering as he struggled to stand. He nearly lost his balance, steadying himself against a nearby console.

  “Can you hear me?”

  He asked tentatively, terrified his heart might stop, afraid this was all a dream that would shatter into a nightmare. Her head tilted stiffly toward him, jerking as though the body resisted its alien host. Her lips moved, and a coarse, feminine voice, rough from disuse and devoid of warmth, escaped.

  “Yes, Dr. Harrow.”

  Harrow froze, awe gripping his core.

  “It worked!”

  He declared triumphantly, snapping out of his stupor. He shot his fist into the air, nearly jumping with excitement.

  Harrow glanced around the chamber, taking in everyone present. This success was the result of their meticulous, tireless work. He nodded in gratitude, showing appreciation for the first time in years.

  What they were witnessing was unprecedented: a human body controlled by an AI powered by the biological computer of a human brain.

  Harrow noticed that Dr. Silva had bounded out of her chair, leaning against the control booth, her eyes wide with awe. He had expected her shock. Noticing his glance, she offered a relieved smile, but the concern in her expression did not escape his notice, puzzling him. Tucking her unease, into the recesses of his mind, he turned back to the subject, his masterpiece, and announced,

  “Welcome to reality, Prima. You are the First Recycled Human.”

  His voice carried a fatherly warmth, a softness foreign to the room’s cold occupants.

  Reverent pride shone in his eyes as he unconsciously rocked on his heels like an excited child.

  “Report your motor functions,”

  He demanded more firmly, attempting to regain composure. Prima’s fingers twitched, struggling to move. Slowly and awkwardly, she lifted her arm, flexing her fingers as if rediscovering the simplest human movements.

  “Motor functions are impaired. Muscle atrophy detected.”

  Her voice remained coarse and emotionless as she attempted to sit up, her limbs jerking with unnatural stiffness. Hand twisting awkwardly above her head, straining to push herself upright. She wobbled before slumping back onto the table. Her disabled movements were like a puppet controlled by something unholy. The synthetic, inhuman presence animating the corpse added a nightmarish quality to the scene.

  “Try again. The human body is far more complex than a droid,”

  Harrow urged, leaning forward with eagerness cutting through his delight, his hand half-raised as though to assist. Struggling for a while, she managed to sit on the edge of the table. Her naked body glistened with Vivifica, hairs clinging to her pale skin. Her gaze, those empty yet intelligent eyes, sent chills down every spine, Harrow’s excluded.

  “And your sensory functions?”

  He asked, stepping closer. Harrow studied her, his curiosity dripping with intrigue. His hand stretched toward her almost tenderly. He was a man possessed, utterly entranced.

  “Can you see me?”

  he asked, eager to confirm the reality of his creation as he touched her cold, slick cheek.

  “Feel me?”

  His hands trembled, every nerve straining with an overwhelming need to understand, as he leaned closer to her face.

  “Smell me?”

  His final question raised Dr. Silva’s eyebrow; Harrow’s tone teetered on the edge of perversity.

  “Visual, auditory, tactile, and olfactory sensors are active but compromised,”

  She replied flatly. Her spring-green eyes shifted upward, meeting her creator’s gaze. Who was bent over her petite figure like a question mark.

  “Sensory input degraded. Neural pathways… lethargic. Functionality… improving,”

  She continued, slowly lifting a hand to reach for Harrow’s. He nodded, expecting this. After thirty years in stasis, a body would need time to restore itself. All that mattered was that she was functional. Stepping back, he snapped out of his trance.

  His team sat in an excited silence, their gazes fixed on Prima, as though granting Harrow the space to savor his triumph. Only Dr. Silva moved, her finger hovering millimeters from the termination button, doubt returning to her face.

  Harrow straightened, his gaze locking onto Prima’s eyes as if searching for a soul. He clenched his fists, steadying his thoughts before asking the most critical question.

  “Prima, what is your purpose?”

  He asked, standing tall, steeling himself for her answer. It would decide whether he would celebrate or destroy her, a quintessential safety protocol. Prima’s spring-green eyes flickered open, her pupils adjusting slowly before settling on Harrow with an eerie calm.

  “To obey your command, Dr. Harrow,”

  she replied flatly, completing the security check.

  Harrow exhaled, his body sagging with relief. His daughter’s warm smile flashed in his mind as a fleeting ray of salvation. The scientists exchanged relieved glances as the tension dissipated, finally allowing themselves to relax. Harrow forced himself to believe everything was in order. He channeled his excitement and hunger for knowledge to suppress the doubt creeping into his mind, exhaling uncertainty with a steady breath. Prima functioned, that was what mattered. He didn’t notice Dr. Silva’s trembling hand still hovering above the termination button or her hesitant glances between him and the unliving being they had awakened. In his mind, his daughter’s warm smile twisted into Death’s cruel, sinister grin, mocking his so-called victory.

  #

  A few hours later

  After ensuring that everything was functioning with Prima, Harrow left his lab. He had to prepare an announcement of his success. Stepping out of the lab, euphoria thick in his veins, his eyes widened, and his step froze at the sight of a finely clothed man lounging on the corridor wall, smirking at him with a predatorial gaze. Markov? What Is he doing here? Harrow's thoughts raced, and anxiety began overtaking his thrill. His knee weakened, and Harrow was not sure it would support him through a pestering session from the Magnate.

  “Dr. Aldric Harrow, my good friend.”

  Harrow recoiled at Julian Markov’s. Friends though they may seem, 'good' would be the last word Harrow would choose to describe their friendship. The man smelled profit like a coyote smelled meat in a desert.

  “What do you want?”

  He hated that friendly smile on Markov’s face. Disarming as it seemed, it was cunning and cruel. Those who were not familiar with the man almost always fell for it. Markov’s words coiled around you like a sweet promise carried by his subtle, fragrant perfume, only to tighten and choke you when you least expected, releasing only when you submitted to his will.

  “Come now, Harrow, I believe you have made a breakthrough. Is this how you treat a dear friend who provided you with a pristine body?”

  Yes, this was Markov, a man who always collected his due. A ‘friend’ who had always ‘supported’ Harrow’s research with his capital. The catch? Selling his soul to the devil.

  “It was…”

  Harrow paused, wondering if he should reveal his success. Biting back the denial that would serve no good, he nodded. Markov would find out regardless. The man would have had his eyes and ears under his payroll among Harrow's team. How else would he be waiting for him outside his lab just after the insemination process?

  “It was a success. However, we need time to study the subject fully.”

  He begrudgingly admitted, sooner or later his creation would serve Markov’s grand plan.

  “Fantastic! I have begun building multiple facilities; we should be able to scale your process exponentially.”

  Harrow was about to head to his office but stopped at those words. So soon? Surely, Markov didn’t expect such untested technology to go straight to mass production. The greedy glint in Markov’s eyes said otherwise. Harrow sighed and kept walking. He still had a report to complete. His nation might soon find solace in his creation, a much-needed edge in their war against the Eastern Federation. The Great Speaker had grown restless, pressing the front line with renewed vigor. His nation was desperate. So was he. But perhaps now, he could take a breather.

  “The subject performance is untested, Markov. We do not know its full potential or flaws. She is the first of its kind, an AI functioning inside a human body. There is no precedent for this. There is too much risk.”

  The magnate laughed mockingly, irritating Harrow. Ambitious as he was, 'No' was never an answer he would accept.

  “This is where we differ, my dear Harrow. Fortune favors the brave!”

  Harrow felt the magnate’s steps behind him like saliva dripping from the maw of a hungry wolf. He was the prey.

  “How long until we can begin new insemination?”

  Harrow hated these types of questions. No concise answer could be given, and ultimately, the real question was when Markov would see his return on investment.

  “Honestly I do not know, but if the aim is to produce simple soldiers, I would say with a doubtful estimate, three months.”

  As they neared his office, he smelled rather than felt Markov quickening his pace as the man’s perfume dominated the air. They walked side by side. But somehow the magnate felt larger than him despite being physically shorter.

  “Two weeks, Harrow. I trust in your brilliance, yes?”

  Harrow shivered at Markov’s cold, deal-sealing tone, offering no room for negotiation.

  He gripped his office handle before turning to face Markov and looked at him dead in his eyes.

  “That is impossible!”

  He knew how to play the game and would not let the magnate pervert his creation so soon. As he opened his office door, he stepped inside, only to find another figure waiting. It was the President of Westland, Nathaniel Voss, and he did not look pleased.

  #

  “Mr President? I... was not expecting you.”

  Harrow’s thoughts raced, scrambling for an explanation. The president spoke before he could piece out anything,

  “Dr. Aldric Harrow, Westland is nearing its last leg, the front line is weakening, we have lost an outpost just today, please tell me you have good news with your project!”

  The President’s unexpected visit wasn’t for trivialities. Harrow turned to Markov with a seething glare. The later smirked victoriously, ‘if you won’t do it for me, you would do it for the nation.’ it seemed to taunt. The insufferable man had leaked the intel to the president!

  “Mr. President, the project…”

  Still harrow hesitated, he hated Markov for orchestrating the situation, the man was the wealthiest and most powerful man in Westland, his hands were deep in the pocket of everyone that was important even the President. Thus hiding from the President was pointless.

  “The project is a success, unfortunately it untested.”

  The President’s stern expression softened, a glimmer of hope washing over him.

  “Test can be conducted as we go, now elaborate what is the nature of this project? From what I have been told, it is quite revolutionary.”

  Harrow was caught off guard, the president was not fully aware of the project details merely it was a success, he had been played by Markov’s scheme. The cunning man grins was filled with the satisfaction at the success of his ploy. Harrow had to thread lightly, the nature of his project was questionable, and the president may end up shutting down the operation all together. He exhaled a frustrated sigh, he was restless.

  “Mr. President… The project involved an economic, resolution to our growing concern of droid production. This technology would provide us a virtually infinite army. However…”

  Sure enough the President leaned forward at the words, Economic? Infinite? These are words any leader love hearing. The President eyes gleamed with need, so desperate was he to end the war that he dismissed Harrow’s last word.

  “With that kind of specification, I do not see what could be the problem, now then? When can the technology be implemented? We do not have much time Dr. Aldric, the Eastern Federation is breathing down my neck like hyena’s. “

  Harrow wrestled between his desire for Westland’s victory and his ambition to perfect conscious AI. The nature of his latest success was morally morbid. In the end it was his daughter picture on his desk that nodded to him.

  “Mr. President, the substitute for droid is pristine Human corpse.”

  Color vanished from The President’s face.

  “What?”

  There it was, the ethical question, the moral implication. Harrow smelled the waft of Markov perfumed as he moved closer to the President. His hand resting on the man’s shoulder like a snake whispering sweet promises.

  “Now then Voss, I understand that this will not be an easy subject to announce, but we need the council’s approval. For the mass insemination to begin.”

  Ther it was, one could almost think that Markov was the true ruler of Westland, unsurprisingly Harrow saw the president shudder.

  “That is impossible! The council will reject it! Corpses DR.? Are you out of your mind?”

  Harrow felt insulted. This man just moment ago acted all high and mighty ready to shake hand with the devil and now he admonished him? What nonsense!

  “Mr. President, you do understand our current situation? Droids are expensive, the amount of droid we can produce, every month is extremely limited. When comparing with the number of new troops the Eastern Federation are releasing every month. It is a matter of time before we are completely washed away! What other choice do we have?”

  Harrow sighed in resignation, he realized ultimately that the mass insemination process had to begin, he still hated Markov, for orchestrating the whole situation. But he could not fault the man.

  “Mr. President. Harrow is right, what choice do we have? I trust you will convince the congress for us, yes?”

  #