THE LAST TEMPLATE
1131 Words
The victory felt hollow.
Elliot stood in the command center, staring at the map. Green dots covered every continent—facilities closed, copies freed, governments cooperating. The neural reset formula had been shared worldwide. Thousands of conditioned copies had been awakened, given new identities, new lives.
But something nagged at him. A loose thread. A shadow at the edge of his consciousness.
Adam called him over. "I found something in the old files. A reference to a facility that isn't on any of the lists."
"Where?"
"In the Arctic. Deep beneath the ice. The files call it 'The Last Template.'"
Elliot's blood ran cold. "What's in it?"
"The original neural map. Not Gavin's. Not Morgan's. The first one. The template from which all copies were derived."
"I thought that was destroyed."
"So did I."
---
Frank stood beside him, his arms crossed. "If the original template exists, someone could use it to create new copies. Without the degradation. Without the limitations."
"An army of perfect copies."
"Or a new species."
Elliot studied the map. "We need to destroy it."
"How? It's in the Arctic. Buried under ice. Guarded, probably."
"Then we go."
---
The flight took two days.
Elliot sat in the cargo plane, watching the ice pass below. Frank was beside him, cleaning his rifle. Kael and Marcus were in the back, checking equipment.
Adam's voice came through the earpiece. "The facility is about fifty miles north of the research station. No signs of activity. But the thermal readings are... strange."
"Strange how?"
"Like something is down there. Something alive."
---
The helicopter landed on a ridge of ice.
Elliot climbed out, his boots crunching on the snow. The wind was cold, biting. The facility was ahead—a cluster of buildings, half-buried in drifts.
"Guards?" Frank asked.
"None visible. But that doesn't mean they're not there."
They approached on foot.
---
The main entrance was a metal door, set into the rock.
Elliot pressed his palm against the scanner. The lock clicked.
They descended.
---
The facility was smaller than the others.
One level. A single corridor. At the end, a room.
And in the center, a tank.
But this tank was different. Smaller. Older. The glass was clouded, the fluid inside long since evaporated.
And inside, a body.
A woman. Dark hair. Pale skin. Eyes closed.
Elliot's heart pounded. "Who is she?"
Adam's voice was barely a whisper. "The original. The first copy. The one from which all others were derived."
"She's still alive?"
"Barely. Her vitals are faint. But she's there."
---
Frank stepped forward. "We destroy the tank. End it."
"No."
"Elliot—"
"She's a person. Not a template. Not a weapon. A person."
Frank shook his head. "She's the source. If someone finds her, they could create an endless supply of copies."
"Then we protect her."
"How? We can't stay here forever."
"We don't have to. We move her. Somewhere safe."
---
The tank was heavy.
It took all four of them to carry it up the stairs, through the corridor, to the surface.
The helicopter was waiting.
"Where do we take her?" Frank asked.
Elliot looked at the body in the tank. At her peaceful face.
"The base. We have the facilities to keep her stable."
"And then?"
"Then we figure out who she is."
---
The flight back was long.
Elliot sat beside the tank, watching the woman's face. She looked young—maybe twenty—but she had been in stasis for decades.
Adam's voice came through. "I've been analyzing the facility's records. Her name is Eve. She was created in 1985, by Gavin's father. She was the first successful copy."
"What happened to her?"
"After she was created, the researchers realized she was too stable. Too perfect. They were afraid of what she could become. So they put her in stasis and buried her."
"For thirty years."
"Forty, actually. She's been down there since before Gavin started his work."
---
The base was quiet when they returned.
Elliot had the tank moved to the medical wing. Charlotte set up monitors, IVs, life support.
"She's stable," Charlotte said. "But I don't know if she'll ever wake up."
"Do what you can."
---
The days that followed were tense.
Elliot visited Eve every morning, sitting beside her tank, watching her face.
One morning, her eyes opened.
Elliot's heart stopped. "Eve?"
She looked at him. Her eyes were green, clear, ancient.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"My name is Elliot. I'm a copy. Like you."
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, "I dreamed of a garden."
---
Eve's recovery was slow.
She had been in stasis for forty years. Her muscles were weak. Her mind was foggy. But she was alive.
Charlotte ran tests. "Her neural patterns are unlike anything I've seen. She's stable. Completely stable. No degradation."
"She's the original template," Adam said. "The perfect copy."
Elliot sat beside her bed. "Do you remember anything?"
Eve closed her eyes. "Fragments. A laboratory. A man in a white coat. He called me his greatest achievement."
"Gavin's father."
"I don't remember his name. But I remember his eyes. Cold. Calculating."
"He's dead."
"I know. I felt it. When he died, something shifted. Like a chain breaking."
---
The government learned about Eve.
Director Hale called Elliot personally. "We need access to the original template."
"No."
"It could revolutionize copy technology."
"It could also be used to create an army."
"That's not our intention."
"Intentions change."
Hale was silent for a moment. Then he said, "We'll be watching."
"I'm sure you will."
---
Eve grew stronger.
She walked in the gardens, sat in the sun, talked with the children. Emma was fascinated by her. Leo drew her portrait.
"She's not like the others," Daphne said.
"How?"
"She's calm. At peace. Like she's been waiting her whole life for this."
Elliot watched Eve from the doorway. "Maybe she has."
---
One night, Eve found him on the roof.
"You're thinking again," she said.
"I'm always thinking."
"About what?"
"About the future. What comes next."
"The same thing that's always come next. Living."
Elliot shook his head. "I'm tired."
"I know."
"But I can't stop."
"Then don't. But let us help."
Eve sat beside him. "I've been watching you. You're a good man, Elliot."
"I'm a copy."
"So am I. That doesn't make us less."
---
The next morning, a message arrived.
A young woman, her face pale, her hands shaking.
"Are you Elliot Reed?"
"Yes."
"I have a message. From someone who says she knows how to destroy the original template."
Elliot's blood ran cold. "Who?"
The woman handed him a tablet.
The screen glowed with a single sentence.
"Meet me at the place where it began. Come alone. I have the key."
- Writer
