Slipping in and out of consciousness like a boat stranded on rough seas, Adam drifted through a thick fog of narcotics and sedatives.

  It was strange—a physical numbness combined with a mental haze just enough to sense something was wrong, but not enough to react.

  He heard the beeping of medical equipment and saw an IV hanging nearby through the fog. A hospital?

  What had happened? The last thing he remembered was being in the park, the android approaching with that surge of electricity. Juzo must have saved him.

  Juzo! His eyes darted around the room, but there was no sign of him.

  Adam was alone in the room, and his heart sank. Pain pricked his chest. Faint images flickered in his mind, of him and his twin lying in side-by-side beds, reaching out to each other. Was that just a dream?

  He raised his head; his neck was stiff.

  The door to his room was in front of him. He tried to call out for someone to explain what was happening, but his tongue felt heavy, and he was too dazed to form words.

  He let his head fall back onto the pillow, his fingers fumbling for the call button. Just as he found it, the door opened.

  For a second, he feared it would be the android, but an immense wave of relief washed over him when he saw a friend instead.

  “Welcome back,” said Dr. Kara Lieven.

  “Where is he?” Adam asked. His mouth felt thick and dry, his throat aching with every word.

  Kara was silent, looking into his eyes, and Adam knew his worst fears were true.

  “I’m sorry…” she said. “We did everything we could.”

  “It’s… fine,” he said, though his gaze drifted away.

  It wasn’t fine. Juzo was dead… and it was his fault.

  In his memory, he was running through the park, desperate to escape the inescapable, and his brother was there, wounded from trying to protect him. He felt guilt. He felt like a coward, a wretch.

  Kara took a seat beside him and held his hand in hers.

  “You… you were gone for a moment too,” she said.

  Adam knew how close he’d come to not making it back.

  “How long… have I been here?” he asked.

  “This is your third day. You just came out of intensive care this morning. You’ll be under observation for a few more days, and then you’ll be able to go home.”

  One, two, three days—a considerable amount of time. If the Cyclops hadn’t come back to finish him off, it was either because Juzo had blown it to pieces, or because it had already gotten the proteins. Maybe just a blood sample was enough to reactivate the Binary Project, and that’s why he was still alive. If that were the case, would the A60 leave him alone?

  Through the fog of his thoughts and nausea, it was hard to think straight, but he felt a need to know.

  “How did… we get here?”

  “A park technician reported it to paramedics handling the crash victims on the avenue,” Kara explained.

  Adam remembered the multi-car pileup caused by the A60’s shot, the one that had nearly taken Juzo’s head off.

  “In the park… my brother and I… were we the only ones there?”

  Kara adjusted her glasses, her curiosity piqued. “Yes. Was there supposed to be someone else?”

  “Not someone,” he said. “An android.”

  “Ah, yes, the park keeper Cyclops. Destroyed.” Kara nodded, recalling a comment from her colleague Dr. Cabrera about Adam and his brother possibly being involved in vandalism. “What happened with that android, Adam?”

  Adam waved it off. That Cyclops wasn’t the one he cared about.

  “Adam, you and your brother… You both went into a coma, but…” Kara pointed to the small, nearly invisible scar near his heart and gave him a reproachful look. “Did you and your brother…?”

  Adam’s eyes dropped to the small mark on his chest, a wave of confusion and horror crashing over him. He didn’t need to be a doctor to know that was a puncture mark. The proteins!

  ‘…By removing them from one of our hearts and pouring them into the other’s,’ Juzo had said that night as they rode in the car.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  So the Cyclops had fulfilled his mission! Had he taken those damned proteins? Or transferred them into Juzo’s heart, and that was why his brother had died? Or were they in his own heart now?

  ‘They all ended up… consumed by pure energy, reduced to fire and ashes,’ his brother had said.

  Damn it! What was going to happen to him now?

  Kara saw how troubled her friend was and felt foolish for even considering that Cabrera’s insinuation might hold any truth. She trusted Adam to tell her when he was ready, so she shelved her questions… at least those about why he’d been hospitalized.

  “I kept your brother’s body in the morgue,” she said. “I thought you’d want to… I don’t know, give him a proper burial.”

  “Thanks…” Adam rasped, clearing his throat. “His name was Juzo… Juzo Romita.”

  Kara waited for him to explain where his twin had come from. She was dying of curiosity.

  “How did you two…?” She struggled to find the right words. “For people like us, this is big, and…”

  But it was obvious Adam didn’t want to talk, not now, so she didn’t push him.

  “Later,” he said, and rubbing the small puncture mark near his heart, he fell silent.

  That evening, a young nurse finished her rounds, made sure everything was in order, and left Adam’s room with a smile and a wink.

  Adam knew the meaning behind that look; he’d seen it a thousand times. But he had no interest in returning it, so he just looked away.

  If this had been a few days ago, he might’ve asked the nurse to close the door, made room for her to lie beside him. But not now. Only Juzo occupied his mind.

  He settled back in the bed and, facing the vast cityscape beyond the window bathed in the sunset glow, picked up his phone again and, for the second time, said, “Markabia.”

  The first thing to pop up on the screen were the facts everyone knew:

  ‘Markabia is the capital of the Markabian Empire…’

  ‘The Imperial territory occupies ninety-two percent of the continent Pannotia, including the islands of New Somalia and…’

  ‘Pannotia is the smallest of the planet’s four continents, followed by Columbia, Rodinia, and Gondwana. In terms of size, it’s often compared to the long-gone Australia, and…’

  “Not interested in technical data,” he cut in.

  Then came a stream of images: cities—some modern, others ancient—like the one with towering spires rising above baroque buildings, like enormous chimneys. It must have been a hallmark city—he’d seen it in other pictures before.

  There were also photos of forests and other natural landscapes, alongside images from regime military parades where the crimson crest was proudly displayed—the white Pegasus rearing up with a laurel wreath at its feet. Endless formations of infantry soldiers, all wearing the olive-green uniform Juzo had worn—or variations of it. Photos showed the Empire’s leaders too—long-faced, wrinkled men in dark uniforms and sweeping overcoats, welcoming other world leaders; although, of course, there weren’t many of those. What little was known about the Markabian Empire was enough for most to avoid it.

  None of the images gave away much—they looked more like postcards.

  “Tell me the latest news about Markabia,” he requested.

  ‘Shipwreck ends with twelve arrests and five fugitives,’ appeared first, though the bulletin was a couple of years old and came from Neo Asia, in neighboring Gondwana.

  ‘Freighter held up on the maritime outskirts of Pannotia at the request of the Markabian Empire,’ said another—though it wasn’t even about the current stranded ship, but the previous one, which had happened two months earlier.

  The regime had strict regulations on what kind of information could leave the Empire and how. Naturally, there would be nothing about two defecting soldiers, much less about the theft of classified files or propulsion tech or anything like that.

  “Tell me what you know about the Edda Peninsula.”

  ‘Peninsula located on the easternmost edge of the continent Pannotia, covering an area of…’

  The information here was just as scarce—unsurprising, really, given that this was the region bordering a notoriously ill-reputed place like the Markabian Empire, a nation already isolated from the rest of the world in diplomatic terms.

  A few photos showed wide, green meadows here and there, and a handful of shots of the peninsula’s inhabitants.

  Tall people with high cheekbones, broad mouths, and almond-shaped eyes. None of them had hair—although it was clear most shaved as part of some tradition rather than suffering from extreme alopecia. He could tell by the faint shadow of shaved stubble on their scalps. Others, like that woman from B-Crush, were naturally hairless—no eyebrows, nothing. Their eyes were shades of violet, reddish, or similar hues, and their skin was so pale that, in some cases, the web of veins beneath it was visible.

  They wore long black and white robes, ornate jewelry and gemstone-studded necklaces, walking along cobbled streets or riding in lavish horse-drawn carriages.

  Clearly, they belonged to a culture very different from the Rodinian one—or even the Markabian, despite sharing the same land.

  Most of these pictures came from articles discussing ‘the unique look of the Eddanians,’ the allure of ‘those violet eyes,’ and theories on the lack of pigmentation in their skin. Beyond those features, nothing supernatural was apparent about them.

  He searched his contacts, exchanged texts with a few acquaintances, and found the number he was looking for. The profile picture showed that he was still just as handsome as Adam remembered—thick black hair, somewhat pale skin, yes, though not translucent, and big brown eyes. That extreme baldness and pale skin must have softened over generations through blending with other ethnicities.

  He took a deep breath and called.

  “Ciriaco, hey! Long time no see… Yeah, it’s me, Adam. How have you been? …Glad to hear it… Me? No, no, I’m off the runways too. Underwear now stays indoors—maybe with a friend as the only audience, y’know… Hey, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering… Well, I remember you told me your grandparents were from Edda Peninsula, right? Oh, I see! Your great-grandparents! Okay… Either way, let’s say there aren’t many direct Eddanian descendants you run into on this side of the world, so I was hoping…”

  And then he paused. He was so eager to find something out, anything, that he hadn’t stopped to think of what he was going to ask. How would he even phrase it? ‘Ciriaco, do you know if your great-grandparents were of those Eddanians that emitted some kind of radiation causing erratic behavior, whatever that was? The Tau Code Eddanians, as they are called. Are you one of them? Maybe it’s a secret passed down through generations.’

  He couldn’t say that without sounding like a lunatic. He needed to think up an excuse, fast!

  “Well… I wanted to know how they managed to… leave Pannotia without the fascists from the Empire giving them trouble… Oh, I see! Different territories, different laws; of course, that makes sense. Some papers at Immigration, and that’s it, huh? …Great, I… Oh yeah! Loud was a surprise for me too, y’know? Yes, yes, I saw your face on the May cover. I think Charlie was on the cover the next month, right? …Glad we could talk, man… Of course! Whenever you like… Take care!”

  He ended the call, set the phone aside, and sighed.