Dr. Zhicotte explains the situation to Jacques. Apparently, when he experienced the traffic accident 3 years ago, Jacques was the sole survivor. He almost died because, as it turns out, he is not an Earthling, meaning he couldn't receive any organ or blood donations from humans.
Fortunately for him, in the past, there was General Mricha—an Argonarian hero in the Earthling Intergalactic Police—who had donated his organs after his death. For a hundred years, scientists had been trying to clone him, preserving his body, but every attempt had ended in failure.
Dr. Zhicotte leads Jacques to the cloning room, where large, glowing neon-blue tubes illuminate the dark space. Inside the tubes, Jacques sees abnormal-sized organs—hearts, brains, lungs, livers—all still beating as if alive. In another giant tube, there is a human-sized figure with boneless limbs. Its transparent skin reveals a network of veins and internal organs, pulsating with a rhythmic beat.
Jacques watches in horror, unsure whether to be impressed or terrified.
Lies.
A surge of memories flashes through his mind—visions of himself as a 30-year-old man, locked in a solitary room. Nurses would come in, take genetic samples from him, and leave him with the same bowl of soup, day after day.
"Can I have steak?" Jacques had pleaded. "You keep giving me the same food for years. I just want something different, something I've always wanted to eat."
The nurse looked down at him, not even acknowledging him as a human being. After extracting his cell, she turned to her colleague and started chatting about her failed date from the night before, completely ignoring Jacques. Then she left.
Lies. Don't believe them!
Jacques blinks as the strange visions disappear. His voice comes out carefully, measured. "Are these... alive?"
"Yes, Jacques, they are alive. But they don't have bodies. That's what saved your life," Dr. Zhicotte explains. "After our cloning attempts failed, we tried 'Frankenstein-ing' General Mricha's failed clones together in an effort to create a fully functional Argonarian—one that could move, speak, and live like a normal being. However..." He sighs. "They never survive longer than three weeks."
"I don't understand." Jacques tilts his head, thinking. "Why is it so important to you to clone Argonarians? What makes them so special? I mean, if it's about their power and strength, at the end of the day, they were still defeated by the Gemmas. And it was the Earthlings who pushed the Gemmas back into hiding."
Jacques now thanked the library books he had to read to get better grades on his exams. Finally, all that studying had proven useful for something in his future.
"They were able to do that because of General Mricha's help," Dr. Zhicotte replies. "He was the key to victory. You see, in the Argonarian gene, there's something very special—something incredibly difficult to clone or artificially create. It's called the Aether cell. It enhances the body, granting superhuman abilities."
"Really?" Jacques tilts his lips in doubt. "I never knew I had one."
Then he remembers—when he was street racing, the moment his eagle tattoo appeared on his forearm. A sudden burst of speed had surged through him, allowing him to move faster than any normal human.
Was that the Argonarian power? It doesn't seems like anything so special.....
Dr. Zhicotte adjusted his spectacles and flipped through the holographic charts hovering above the console. "You're indispensable, Jacques," he murmured, more to himself than to his subject. "The last viable donor. The only hope to restore the Argonarian race."
Jacques's eyebrows knitted together. "Restore? Wait… did you plan to keep me here as a clone donor for the rest of my life?"
Dr. Zhicotte patted Jared's shoulder. "The whole universe needs you. For decades, the Argonarians served humanity as the guardians of the galaxy. They were superheroes. Now that they're gone, humanity is vulnerable to threats. And according to our spies, the Gemmas are preparing for an imminent attack."
Lies.
The voice echoed in Jared's mind, sudden and intrusive. He wasn't sure where it came from, whether it was paranoia or something real. He also cannot prove whether Dr Zhicotte was lying or being real about whatever he told Jacques.
But if it was real… then running away would be the most irresponsible thing he could do.
The scientist turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "Cloning the Argonarian race is not as simple as replicating human cells. The aether cell within your DNA—it resists duplication. It collapses, deforms, or outright rejects the cloning process. But with you, we've made progress. We just need more time, more samples—"
"More of me," Jacques finished, his jaw tightening. He had spent years subjected to experiments, confined to these metallic walls, his existence reduced to nothing more than a resource.
Dr. Zhicotte gave him a measured look. "It's not just about you. This is about survival. You should take pride in the fact that your body is the key to something greater. You have the power to save the entire universe by contributing your precious genes."
Lies.
The voice hissed again inside Jacques's head, and suddenly, his memories were thrown back—back to that tiny, suffocating room. A small bed. A desk with a laptop, but no internet. No windows. A locked door.
There were times when the boredom gnawed at him so fiercely, it drove him to the edge of madness.
They kept him alive. Fed him. But he wasn't living—he was just existing.
And they kept extracting his genes. For years.
Lies. It's a trap. Run!
Dr. Zhicotte's voice cut through the chaos in his mind. "So, Jacques, will you take the honor of saving the world from danger, or will you turn your back on humanity and leave billions—trillions—of lives at risk of annihilation?"
Jacques shook his head. He didn't want to turn his back on humanity, not when it was in danger. But something deep inside him whispered that there was something wrong with this whole situation.
"You can be a hero," Dr. Zhicotte urged, projecting a holographic contract into the air. "People will remember you as the father of the restored Argonarian race." The document hovered before Jacques, awaiting his signature—a mere swipe of his finger.
"I want to see my mother." Jacques took a step back. He needed someone he trusted, someone to help him make sense of all this. It was too big for him to handle alone.
Dr. Zhicotte sighed, lowering his gaze. "Unfortunately… your mother is already dead." His voice was solemn.
"What?!" Jacques's heart pounded. "What happened to her?!" His voice rose, demanding answers.
"Cardiac arrest," Dr. Zhicotte murmured. "It happened in her sleep. At least… it wasn't painful." He closed his eyes, as if pained by the memory.
Lies.
The voice in Jacques's head hissed again. A flash of memory—a vision—seared through his mind.
A man with balaclava, sneaking into Marie Durant's house. A needle pressing against her neck. A silent injection. The next morning… she was dead.
They killed her.
Because they wanted to keep you caged.
Jacques's hands trembled, shaking with fury. His breath came out in short, ragged bursts.
"Did you kill her?" He shot the question like a bullet, wasting no time on pleasantries.
Dr. Zhicotte recoiled, looking genuinely taken aback. "N-No! Why would I? Of course not! I'm a doctor—I save lives! In fact, I tried to save your mother, but when the time came… there was nothing we could do."
"Then take me to her grave!"
Dr. Zhicotte shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not possible. She's buried miles away from here."
Jacques's breath hitched. Buried?
But he had seen it. The vision was clear as day—Marie Durant was cremated, not buried. Her ashes scattered from her favorite mountain, carried away by the wind.
Now, it was up to him.
Should he believe the voice in his head?
Or trust the doctor standing before him?
"I know it's a huge decision for someone so young, but think it through, Jacques. I'll give you time—but don't take too long, because…"
Dr. Zhicotte swiped his fingers through the air, revealing another layer of holographic projections.
Jacques's eyes widened as thousands of dark starships loomed across the galaxy, their jagged silhouettes blotting out the distant starlight. They fired purple neon lasers destroying the Earthlings fleets.
A news broadcast flickered beside them, showing official reports: The Gemmas are attacking. Small planets are falling. Entire colonies are being wiped out.
Then came the most chilling footage—war.
The Earthlings stood no chance. The battlefield was a massacre, human soldiers being ripped apart by towering, insectoid monsters.
The Gemmas were not human. They were monstrous, their bodies a grotesque fusion of exoskeleton and sinew, standing on two legs like men but moving like beasts. They were huge, each one easily twice the size of an average Earthling, their serrated limbs slicing through armor as if it were paper.
Jacques felt a shiver crawl up his spine. His hands clenched into fists.
This wasn't just a battle.
It was annihilation.
"We need Argonarians, Jacques. The universe needs you," Dr. Zhicotte said coldly, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had already witnessed the horrors of war firsthand.
***
Jacques sat in the dimly lit room, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above filling the silence as his mind raced. The contract lay on the desk, its weight heavier than any piece of paper should be, a symbol of the decision that loomed before him. He had read it, absorbed every word, and yet the more he thought about it, the more uncertain he became.
The war footage kept replaying in his mind—the ruthless power of the Gemmas, their monstrous forms towering over Earthlings. He felt a chill in his bones every time their giant insect-like forms appeared on the screen, terror coursing through his veins. How could anyone sit idly by when that was happening? The universe was under threat, and he... he could help.
Jacques read the contract again carefully, and once again, he thanked the experience in police academy where he was forced to study, as it helped him to read difficult words and think logically. As he scanned through the contract, he concluded that, essentially, they wanted power over his time and his life. Jacques wouldn't have time to go outside unless the head of the lab agreed. He wouldn't have access to the internet or the outside world.
The contract sounded nice and supportive, explaining that it was all meant to protect him from danger or from the outside world, which could be manipulative and unpredictable. But, to Jacques, it felt more like a bird in a cage.
However, whenever he thought of not signing the contract, the image of the horrific war between the Gemmas and Earthlings resurfaced. It scared him.
But without access to the internet, he couldn't check how much damage had been caused by the war or how far the Gemmas had conquered the galaxies. They wouldn't let him get in touch with the internet, not even a telephone.
Jared put the contract down on the table and walked away from the desk. He sat on the sofa and massaged his head.
Am I sure I want this? Saving the world?
My mother is dead, I've quit the academy, and now I have nowhere else to go. Why not stay here instead? They can guarantee that I'll live well. Why not?
But... that kind of life seems boring, doesn't it?
And once again, flashes of a future version of himself appeared: a 40-year-old man, fat, ugly, ungroomed, sitting alone in a room, depressed, never seeing the sun.
Do I really need to sacrifice myself for humanity? What about my life?
Besides, will my genes even save the world? How?
I don't even know how to use my power.
Jacques rests his head on the sofa, trying to calm his mind. This decision is too heavy for him to make—he's just a 19-year-old boy.
As he closes his eyes, he hears a voice, gentle and soft, saying, "Follow your heart, it knows where to go."
What does my heart want?
What does it even mean to follow my heart?
Should I just go with whatever makes me happy? Is that all it takes?
Does following my heart always lead to a positive outcome?
If a serial killer followed their heart, the world would be in big trouble. So, it doesn't always mean it's the right thing to do, does it? Sometimes, we have to go where we don't want to go and push through, because sometimes what we want isn't good for others.
The weight of that realization settles heavily in his chest. Perhaps following his heart isn't about running toward what makes him happy, but finding the courage to do what's necessary—even if it's hard, even if it's not what he would choose for himself.
Here's the corrected version:
Randomly, Jacques's mind drifted back to the dream he had during his coma.
Everything felt real—the plants, the trees, the forest, the smell of damp underground corridors, and the tiny unit he shared with...
What was his name again?
Jacques tried hard to remember, but all he could recall was that the man called him "Rod." And in that dream, he called the man "Charles."
Was it really Charles?
Charles was his roommate, wasn't he?
But somehow, they felt so different. Charles was strict, cold, and demanding. He wanted Jacques to excel in his grades, imposing a lot of discipline on him—or he'd spend his time with someone else and burns his heart with jealousy, only to gaslight him, pretending as if he imagining things.
But this man felt different. There was a strange feeling in Jacques's chest when he tried to remember him—the nameless man, the man he couldn't quite recall. It was as if he knew the man had always been there, holding his hand. Patiently letting Jacques learn from his mistakes, always willing to forgive and see the brighter side of life.
He remembered the man's slender frame as he jumped across the yacht, as if dancing with the ship. The wind blew through his long, curly black hair, and his smile glittered in the rays of dawn.
Damn it, what was his name?
Maybe he wasn't real. Maybe he was just a projection of Jacques's longing—for freedom, for a life completely different from his own reality. Maybe he existed only as a reflection of Jacques in the dream world.
That man was probably just himself in another form.
Yet something tugged at the edges of his consciousness—a strange, lingering sensation on his left hand. Jacques lifted his fingers—and froze.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes in shock.
A ring. Ornate, resting on his ring finger. He traced the smooth metal, his breath hitching. It was real. The ring was titanium black with golden lining.
This was the ring the beautiful man in his dream had given him as a lucky charm.
If it was just a dream, how did it get here?
And how had those doctors and nurses—so entitled to his life and future, trapping him in this tiny room—not thought to strip it from Jacques's finger?
Once again, he can hear the mysterious man's gentle voice, "follow your heart, it knows the way."
But what does it means to follow my heart?!
What makes me happiest? Saving the world? cruising the sky? racing among the stars? What? What makes me happy?
As if it's a real memories, the fragments memories from his dreams return to his vision. It was just smallest moments, a light hearted jokes they shared together, silent vulnerable moments, or even just times when their eyes met, and he smiles flirtatiously.
The more Jacques remember, the more his heart aches.
He wants to find him—desperately. If he isn't real, then Jacques wants to find a way to meet someone like him. He wants to be with him, but he doesn't even know how to follow his own heart.
Exhausted from overthinking, he collapses onto the sofa.
And once again…
He drifts into the realm of dreams.
***
A few days had passed, and the doctor had been waiting for this moment impatiently. Finally, it was time for Dr. Zhicotte to ask Jacques to decide: to sign the contract, or not.
"Choose wisely, Jacques. Make your mother in heaven proud," Dr. Zhicotte said, glaring at Jacques nervously. If Jacques refused, they would have to do it the hard way. And knowing that Jacques was an Argonarian, with a black dragon guardian, it wouldn't be easy. According to the Argonarian historical encyclopedia, the black dragon was the most powerful guardian of the Argonarian people, and it was reflected in how the Argonarians revered the dragon.
However, instead of picking up the pen to sign or rejecting it, Jacques asks the doctor, "Doctor, do you have a heart?"
Dr. Zhicotte's intensity breaks. He glances to the side for a second, wondering what Jacques means by asking that question. "Yes, I have a heart. Why?"
"What does it mean to 'follow your heart'?" Jacques asks him.
Oh, that kind of "heart." Dr. Zhicotte finally realizes that Jacques wasn't asking about the organ. "It means doing the right thing, following morals, doing good things for other people, being a nice person. Someone with a good heart eventually becomes a hero, a savior."
"Is constantly lying to make someone do a certain behavior that you want is considered a heartfelt act?" Jacques shifted his gaze, locking eyes with Dr. Zhicotte sharply.
Dr. Zhicotte chuckled softly, his eyes narrowing with calculated calm. "What do you mean by that? Of course, manipulation can be seen as wrong if it's simply about control. But what we're doing here—this isn't manipulation for selfish gain. It's about the bigger picture. We're saving the world, ensuring it's protected from the true evil that lurks out there. Sometimes, to achieve something greater, we need to guide others, even if they don't understand it at first. But in the end, they'll see—what we're doing is not only necessary, it's vital."
Jacques didn't even blink. "Then what are you doing here? What are we doing? Isn't it enough that you and your nurses are extracting my cells in exchange for soup during my three years of coma, after you killed my mother?"
"What?!" Dr. Zhicotte stared at Jacques, confusion flickering in his eyes as if he couldn't comprehend the young man's accusation.
"Why can't you just let me access information worldwide, so I can see for myself about the war out there?" Jacques pushed further.
"You want to check? Fine, go ahead. Go check the news and see if there's a war or not!" Dr. Zhicotte snapped, slamming his phone onto the table in front of Jacques. Beneath the desk, his hand discreetly pressed a red button.
Jacques met his gaze with unwavering intensity. "I don't need to check. Because I already know. The Gemmas are extinct. And all you want to do is create a mercenary army from my DNA, making money off their life-threatening job, making them believe that they are super heroes, all in exchange for a few scraps of soup every day for my next forty years!"
"I see three years in a coma have made you delusional," Dr. Zhicotte growled. He felt intense and wished that this young Argonarian was still too young to figure out how to use his true power so it wouldn't endanger his life.
With unwavering, sharp glances, Jacques hissed angrily at the doctor, "You might think I'm crazy for saying this, but... I've been here before."
Dr. Zhicotte blinked in confusion. "What do you mean? Of course you've been here before—you were here during your coma years."
"No," Jacques replied, his voice firm. "I've been here before. Locked up for 40 years, treated like your guinea pig."