Sherry continued explaining the hidden flaws of cloning technology. She revealed that due to incomplete genes, the chromosomes of clones cannot be fully replicated, leading to inevitable genetic defects. Every clone faces an inescapable fate—their lives are destined to end before the seventh year. This discovery was purely accidental.
In Fortress Omega, there was a clone named Jolk who miraculously survived for seven years. His original— a man who had fallen into a coma after a car accident—died before he could use the clone body. As a result, Jolk was left abandoned in the base, living a life completely isolated from the outside world. However, in the seventh year, his organs began to age at an unprecedented rate. Just a few months later, Jolk died of acute renal failure. The base's examination report revealed that although Jolk's physiological age was only 30, his organs had already aged to resemble those of a 70-year-old man.
Caesar had created them with only one purpose—to serve the original humans. He cared nothing for how long the clones could live. When Jolk died, his body was discarded into the furnace and burned like fuel. No one cared about his existence, as if he had never lived in this world at all.
"I don't believe it. You must be lying to me." Ethan was on the verge of an emotional breakdown, looking like a lost boy with disbelief in his eyes.
"Ethan, calm down. What's our next move?" Aria's voice was hard, devoid of any softness, like a gang leader, suppressing the panic rising in Ethan.
"Find Caesar and get the chip in his possession. That chip contains the entire history of the cloning base. The answers you seek are there."
Sherry narrowed her eyes and glanced out the window at Dr. Klein, as if she had given an unquestionable command without uttering a single word. Not long after, Dr. Klein and his assistants entered, pushing two intricate machines.
"I've already given them instructions. Everything here will remain confidential." Dr. Klein leaned close to Sherry, speaking in a low voice.
"W-what's this?" Ethan instinctively shrank back, curling up in fear.
"Don't worry. These are neural interface cables. They'll modify your biological data to match that of your original. In other words, you will have the memories of the original human." Dr. Klein approached Ethan while adjusting the cables, speaking calmly.
Ethan watched the group of white-coated people inspecting the machines, his mind in turmoil. "Aria, are you really willing to do this?" he whispered.
"Listen, Ethan, as clones, we don't have a choice. But we can choose our fate going forward. At the very least, we should try." Aria responded, her eyes filled with determination.
Ethan looked at Aria. Her eyes were steely, filled with a kind of energy that seemed capable of confronting any difficulty the unknown future might hold. That energy was contagious, even to Ethan.
"The implant procedure you're about to undergo might cause rejection of the chip's memories. No matter what you experience, you must wake up, understand?" Dr. Klein had completed all the preparations and walked to the center of the room, his tone grave.
Ethan and Aria lay on adjacent tables, and Ethan glanced over at Aria.
"Wish me luck, Aria—wish me—" Before he could finish his sentence, the anesthesia took effect, and he quickly drifted into sleep.
Countless hair-thin wires, connected to the precise instruments, began to hum softly as they linked to Ethan and Aria's heads.
The procedure they were about to undergo was called "Telepathy," a cutting-edge neural interface technology. This operation would directly transfer the original's memories into their consciousness. Initially developed in 2023 to treat patients with depression, by 2024, the technology had advanced to allow the implantation of foreign memories. All it took was a single chip. The brain, much like a robot, would treat the neurons as if they were powered by the chip, activating the memories within.
The key to the procedure lay in those hair-thin wires. These wires were meticulously arranged, with each one covered by tiny spherical electrodes and connected to a precision chip. Each chip contained valuable cargo—the original memories encoded in binary data.
These electrodes were designed to interact with the neurons in the brain. Under the surgical lights, Ethan and Aria fell into a deep sleep. Dr. Klein carefully handled the two chips, approaching Ethan and Aria with the calm authority of a chief surgeon.
"Let's begin," Dr. Klein announced.
After shaving a small portion of hair and disinfecting the area, he located an exact spot on Ethan's skull and steadily drilled a small hole with a fine-tipped drill. The same procedure was repeated for Aria.
Once the drilling was done, an assistant brought a robot with micron-level precision to the forefront. As Dr. Klein activated the machine, the robot's arm extended and began to insert 64 hair-thin wires into Ethan's brain, embedding 124 electrodes into the neural tissue. Aria underwent the same process, and the robot's precision increased the likelihood of success.
"Begin memory transfer," Dr. Klein ordered.
The lights in the room dimmed slightly, and the soft hum of the machines filled the air. The chips at the end of each wire began transmitting the binary-encoded memories through the electrodes. These codes, representing complex experiences and knowledge, seamlessly flowed into Ethan and Aria's brains. The data bypassed traditional sensory input, embedding directly into their neural networks.
As the transfer continued, the monitors displayed streams of binary code, translating into images, sounds, and emotions within their minds. Their original memories—experiences, thoughts, and feelings—began to intertwine with the newly implanted ones, creating a new layer of consciousness.
Dr. Klein closely monitored the procedure, his eyes moving between the screens and the patients. He directed his team, "Ensure the neural pathways remain stable." Everyone's nerves were on edge.
Dr. Klein closely monitored the surgery, his eyes darting between the screen and the patients. "Keep the neural pathways stable," he commanded, his voice tinged with tension.
The nanospheres on the fine wires began to vibrate intensely, reacting to the neural signals being transmitted. Sherry watched intently, her face a mask of indifference. Meanwhile, beads of sweat formed on Dr. Klein's forehead, and an assistant quickly produced a handkerchief to wipe it away.
"Everything is normal, Professor," the assistant calmly reported to Dr. Klein.
After a while, Aria began to twitch slightly…