The hospital room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the monitors. A steady beep marked the rhythm of the machines. Robert James Cooper sat by the window, his sharp eyes fixed on the sprawling metropolis outside. Shuttles streaked upward, their engines humming faintly through the thick glass. Starships hovered in the distance, their outlines blurred by the smog that clung to the city like a second skin.
Outside his room, voices drifted in—snatches of conversation from passing staff.
"Man, we went from the Stone Age to interstellar in, what, 2800 years? That's what I call a speedrun."
"Yeah, I agree. Glad we lived to see it."
Robert's lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving the window. Speedrun. The word echoed in his mind. Humans had indeed raced through history, but they'd left a trail of secrets in their wake. Secrets he'd spent his life uncovering.
"Humans," he muttered under his breath. "Twenty-eight centuries from rocks to rockets. Even the Xildurians, five light-years away, took millions of years to leave their planet. But us? We did it in a blink. Built on progress, curiosity... and lies."
He turned away from the window, his mind drifting to the files he'd accessed—files no one was supposed to see. Top-secret historical documents. Presidential diaries. The truth buried under layers of bureaucracy and deception.
It started with the first British colonizers in America. George Washington and a handful of archaeologists had stumbled upon something—an alien spacecraft, buried deep in the earth. That discovery had changed everything. The fight for independence, the formation of the Culper Committee, the first intelligence agency—it wasn't just about freedom. It was about control. Control over the technology they'd found.
Robert's fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his chair as he recalled the details. The Culper Committee had been tasked with cover-ups, intelligence gathering, misinformation, and even assassination. All to protect the secret of the alien crafts. The Greys—or the Vatrax, as they called themselves—had sent scout ships. Humanity had reverse-engineered them, piece by piece, in secret labs scattered across the globe.
But America wasn't alone. England, France, Germany, Sweden, China, Japan—they'd all been in on it. An alliance of nations, working together while pretending to compete. The wars? Just another cover. A way to gather resources, to fund the research. The Great War, World War II—they weren't just about power or ideology. They were about survival. About preparing for what was coming.
And then, the first contact. The Greys had reached out, their telepathic voices cutting through the noise of human politics. They knew about the reverse engineering. They'd watched, waited, and finally decided to cooperate. Joint research. Shared technology. Humanity had leaped forward, achieving space travel in decades instead of centuries.
But it came at a cost. Always a cost.
Robert's eyes narrowed as he stared at the cityscape. The shuttles, the starships, the gleaming towers—they were monuments to human ingenuity. But they were also monuments to the lies that had built them. The wars, the sacrifices, the secrets. All of it hidden behind a facade of progress.
He sighed, leaning forward in his chair. The weight of it all pressed down on him—the knowledge, the responsibility. He'd seen the truth, and it had changed him. Made him colder. More calculating. But it had also given him purpose.
The door to his room slid open, and a nurse stepped in, her expression neutral. "Mr. Cooper, it's time for your check-up."
Robert nodded, his face betraying nothing. "Of course."
As the nurse approached, he glanced one last time at the city outside. The shuttles were still rising, the starships still hovering. Humanity's greatest achievements, built on a foundation of secrets and lies.
And he was one of the few who knew just how deep those lies went.
The nurse opened her tablet, and a holographic display flickered to life above it. Data streams and an anatomical view of Robert's body materialized in the air, glowing faintly in the dim room. She scanned the information, her expression unreadable.
"How do you feel, Director?" she asked, her voice calm but carrying a weight that suggested she already knew the answer.
Robert sighed, his gaze drifting back to the window. The shuttles were still rising, their engines a faint hum in the distance. "I'm not the Intelligence Director," he said quietly. "Not anymore."
The nurse didn't look up from her tablet. Her fingers moved deftly across the holographic interface, adjusting something in the data stream. "The one in the office?" she said, her tone almost dismissive. "That's just a clown. We all know, deep down, you're still the Director. The one we respected."
Robert's lips curled into a faint, wry smile. "Of course," he murmured. He didn't argue. There was no point. He'd spent too many years in the shadows to waste energy on denials.
The nurse paused, her eyes flicking to his for a moment before returning to the hologram. "So," she said, her voice softer now, "is it now?"
Robert didn't answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, his hands resting lightly on the armrests. His expression was calm, almost serene, but his mind was racing. He'd known this moment would come. He'd prepared for it, in his own way.
"Yes," he said finally, his voice steady. "It's now."
The nurse nodded, her face betraying no emotion. "I'd rather you not resist it, Director."
Robert scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. "Of course not. I'm old now. I've seen everything, heard everything, read everything." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at the city beyond the glass. "Wish I could share it all. But I guess not."
The nurse smiled faintly, a flicker of something—respect, maybe even sadness—crossing her features. "Then I wish you farewell, Director," she said. "Humanity is in good hands now. Thank you."
Robert didn't respond. He simply closed his eyes, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. The nurse reached for the IV line connected to his arm, her movements precise and deliberate. She injected something into the tube, the fluid disappearing into the clear line.
For a moment, there was silence. The only sound was the steady beep of the monitors, their rhythm slowing with each passing second. Robert's breathing grew shallow, his body relaxing into the chair.
He didn't fight it. He'd spent his life in the shadows, pulling strings, uncovering secrets, making decisions that would shape the course of history. But now, it was over. His part was done.
As the darkness crept in, Robert's mind wandered one last time. He thought of the shuttles, the starships, the gleaming towers of the metropolis. He thought of the lies, the wars, the sacrifices. And he thought of the future—what it would hold, what he'd helped build.
His smile lingered as the world faded away.
Robert felt weightless, as though he were floating in a sea of warmth and light. For the first time in decades, a sense of peace washed over him. Is this heaven? he wondered. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips. After a lifetime of secrets, lies, and hard choices, maybe this was his reward.
But then, slowly, the silence began to fracture. Noises crept in—muffled, indistinct, like voices speaking through water. He couldn't make out the words, but they grew louder, more insistent. The warmth around him faded, replaced by a cold, sharp awareness.
His eyes fluttered open, and the world came into focus. Two faces loomed above him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and relief. A man in his thirties, with yellow-blonde hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, peered down at him. Beside him stood a woman in her early twenties, her white hair cascading like silk, her features so striking she could have stepped out of one of those old fiction posters Robert had seen in his youth.
Robert blinked, trying to process what he was seeing. His mind raced, but his body felt... wrong. He glanced down at his hands and froze. They were tiny, pudgy, the hands of an infant. Panic surged through him, but all that came out was a soft, incoherent coo.
What the hell is this? he thought, his mind screaming even as his body remained helpless. What? H-how?
He tried to speak, to demand answers, but his voice betrayed him. All that emerged were more infantile sounds—gurgles and coos that only deepened his frustration. His thoughts were sharp, clear, but trapped in a body that couldn't express them.
The man chuckled, his voice warm and reassuring. "Looks like he's awake," he said, glancing at the woman. "And already making his opinions known."
The woman smiled, her eyes glowing with a mix of amusement and something deeper—something Robert couldn't quite place. "He's perfect," she said softly, reaching down to brush a finger against his cheek. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent.
Robert's mind reeled. Perfect? What are they talking about? Who are they? He tried to move, to push himself up, but his limbs were weak, uncoordinated. He was trapped in this tiny, fragile body, unable to do anything but lie there and stare.
The man leaned closer, his mustache twitching as he grinned. "Welcome to the world, little one," he said. "You're going to do great things."
Robert's thoughts raced. Great things? What does that mean? What's happening to me? He wanted to scream, to demand answers, but all he could do was coo again, his tiny fists clenching in frustration.
The woman laughed softly, her voice like music. "He's so curious already," she said. "Look at those eyes. He's taking everything in."
The man nodded, his expression turning serious for a moment. "He'll need to be. The world's not what it used to be. He'll have to be strong. Smart. Ready."
Robert's mind latched onto the words. The world's not what it used to be? What does that mean? What year is it? He tried to piece together what had happened. Had he been reborn? Reincarnated? Or was this something else entirely—some kind of experiment, a twisted joke?
The woman's hand brushed his forehead, her touch calming despite his inner turmoil. "Don't worry," she murmured, as if she could sense his distress. "We'll take care of you. You're safe now."
Safe? Robert thought bitterly. I don't even know where—or when—I am. He wanted to protest, to fight, but his body betrayed him again, his eyelids growing heavy despite his efforts to stay awake.
As darkness crept in once more, the last thing he saw was the woman's face, her white hair glowing like a halo in the dim light. Her smile was kind, but there was something in her eyes—something ancient, knowing.
And then, everything went black.