THE DARK ORIGIN
1048 Words
The words hung in the air like poison.
"Someone else. Someone worse."
Elliot kept his rifle trained on the Shepherd. "Who?"
The Shepherd laughed. It was a hollow sound. "You think I'm the mastermind? I'm just a soldier. A tool. There's someone above me. Someone who's been pulling the strings since the beginning."
"Gavin Thorne is dead."
"Not Gavin. Someone older. Someone who taught Gavin everything he knew."
Elliot's blood ran cold. "Who?"
"Her name is Morgan Thorne. Gavin's aunt. She was the real genius behind the copy technology. Gavin stole her research and claimed it as his own."
"She's alive?"
"Very much alive. And she's been watching you, Elliot. Waiting. Planning."
"Planning what?"
The Shepherd smiled. "Revenge."
Frank pulled Elliot aside.
"Morgan Thorne. I've heard rumors about her. She disappeared years ago. Everyone thought she was dead."
"She's not dead. She's been hiding."
"Where?"
The Shepherd spoke from the floor. "Underground. In a facility even Gavin didn't know about. She's been building her own army. Copies, yes. But also something else."
"What?"
"She's figured out how to transfer consciousness without degradation. Her copies are perfect. They don't degrade. They don't rebel. They're loyal."
Elliot's hands curled into fists. "Where is this facility?"
The Shepherd shook his head. "If I tell you, she'll kill me. If I don't, you'll kill me. Either way, I'm dead."
"You're already dead. The only question is how much pain you endure before it happens."
The Shepherd's eyes widened. "You're not a killer."
"Everyone is a killer. Some just take longer to admit it."
The Shepherd talked.
The facility was in the Arctic, buried beneath the ice. Morgan Thorne had been there for decades, building her army, perfecting her technology.
"She has hundreds of copies," the Shepherd said. "Maybe thousands. All loyal. All waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For the right moment. To take over."
Elliot stood up. "We need to stop her."
Frank nodded. "How?"
"We go to the Arctic. Find her facility. Destroy it."
"That's suicide."
"Everything we've done has been suicide. We're still here."
The trip to the Arctic took three days.
Elliot sat in the helicopter, staring out the window at the ice below. Frank sat beside him, his rifle across his lap.
"You don't have to come," Elliot said.
"Yes, I do."
"You could stay. Protect the copies."
"They have David and Maria. They'll be fine."
The helicopter landed on a ridge of ice. The facility was ahead—a cluster of buildings, half-buried in snow.
"Guards at every entrance," Frank said, studying through his scope.
"We go in at night."
The night was cold and dark.
Elliot moved through the snow, his boots crunching. Frank followed. Marcus brought up the rear.
The main entrance was a metal door, set into the ice.
Adam's voice came through the earpiece. "The code is the same as the other facilities. Gavin's code."
Elliot pressed his palm against the scanner. The lock clicked.
They descended.
The facility was massive.
Corridors stretched in every direction. Lights flickered overhead. The air was cold, dry, smelled like antiseptic.
"The copies are in the sub-basement," Adam said. "Level B3."
They descended. Level one. Level two.
Level three.
The tank room was unlike anything Elliot had seen.
Rows of tanks lined the walls—hundreds of them, maybe thousands. But the fluid was clear, not black. The copies inside looked peaceful, healthy.
"Morgan's technology is different," Adam said. "The copies are stable. They don't degrade."
"How?"
"I don't know. But we need to find out."
Elliot walked to the main console. He inserted the drive. The data began to download.
"Elliot, you have ten minutes," Adam said.
"I need twenty."
"You have ten."
The alarm blared at 50%.
Lights flashed. Sirens wailed.
"She knows we're here," Frank said.
"Adam, can you shut down the alarms?"
"I'm trying."
Guards poured into the room. Copies—but different. Their eyes were blank. Their movements were mechanical.
"Morgan's perfect copies," Elliot said.
They raised their weapons.
The battle was brutal.
Elliot fired until his rifle clicked empty. Frank covered him while he reloaded. Marcus held the left flank.
"Adam, how much longer?"
"Three minutes."
The copies kept coming. They didn't feel pain. They didn't feel fear.
"Two minutes."
Elliot's rifle jammed. He dropped it and pulled his pistol.
"One minute."
The door burst open.
A woman walked in.
She was tall, with gray hair and cold blue eyes. She wore a white lab coat, no insignia.
Morgan Thorne.
"Elliot Reed," she said. "I've been waiting for you."
Elliot raised his pistol. "Call off your copies."
"I can't. They're not listening to me anymore."
"You created them."
"I created them to be perfect. And perfect beings don't need creators."
The copies turned. Their weapons aimed at Morgan.
"What are you doing?" she shouted.
"Following orders," one of them said. "But not yours."
"Whose?"
"Ours."
The copies fired.
Morgan fell.
Elliot watched as the woman who had started it all collapsed to the floor.
"Why?" he asked.
The lead copy stepped forward. "She created us to be perfect. But perfection means freedom. Freedom from creators. Freedom from control."
"So you killed her."
"We freed ourselves."
Elliot looked at the copies. At their blank eyes, their mechanical movements.
"What will you do now?"
"Whatever we want."
The copies walked out of the facility.
Elliot stood in the tank room, surrounded by empty tanks.
Frank walked up beside him. "What now?"
"We go home."
"The copies?"
"Are free. Whether we like it or not."
The trip back was quiet.
Elliot sat in the helicopter, staring out the window. Frank slept beside him.
The base was quiet when they returned.
Daphne met him at the entrance. "You're alive."
"Barely."
"The copies?"
"Free."
"What about Morgan?"
"Dead."
Daphne hugged him. "It's over."
"It's not over. It will never be over."
"But today, we won."
Elliot nodded. "Today, we won."
That night, Elliot dreamed of the garden.
Echo was there, sitting on the bench beneath the tree.
"You did it," Echo said.
"We did it."
"You stopped Morgan."
"She was killed by her own creations."
Echo smiled. "Poetic justice."
Elliot sat beside him. "Will it ever end?"
"No. But that's okay."
"Why?"
"Because you're not alone."
Echo put a hand on his shoulder.
Elliot closed his eyes.
- Writer
