High above, the night sky was blanketed with clouds that promised more bad weather. Another moonless, windless night in the Southern Ravines.

  Down below, hidden in a narrow channel between the cliffs and lit by a cold rod-shaped lamp wedged into the rocks, stood two men. One, tall, with his head covered by the hood of a dark sweatshirt; the other, slightly shorter, in a worn, equally dark jacket.

  “Do you believe in fate?” asked the one in the hood.

  “No,” came the automatic reply from the one in the jacket—Juzo.

  With a grimace that passed for a smile, Detective Colonel Pablo Rigel pulled out a bag from under his sweatshirt and took out a folder full of documents.

  “Do you then believe someone deliberately murdered a bunch of students just so my team would find a hidden bunker at the crime scene—where I would then stumble upon these files?” he asked, handing him the folder.

  Juzo took it with a shrug.

  “Coincidences exist,” he said, and spent the next few minutes examining the documents one by one, flipping from beginning to end, over and over. The lamp’s battery was new, and he was in no rush.

  “Our analysts say the bunker in the Tropical Canyon has been abandoned for the past two years,” Rigel said after a moment. “There’s a good reason for that, which we’ll get to. Unfortunately, there’s no way to know who used it or what they were doing there. An electromagnetic burst wiped the computer databases clean, and the materials they left behind were so generic they could’ve been bought at any store in Pannotia, making them impossible to trace. That said, we did find a storage room packed with stolen materials from other locations: classified Army files on the Grenadier Program reported missing years ago, blueprints for the first Cyclops prototypes that Marconi Labs has been hunting since they disappeared, and plenty of other documents on various experiments—including the one you’re reading about now. Of course, no one has come forward to claim this particular project, and I doubt anyone ever will.”

  Juzo felt like his head was made of lead, his legs were about to give out, and his throat was dry and raw. His pulse pounded in his temples as he read.

  

  Log BAP.0001

  —BLACK BAR—initiation of the second ‘Binary’ class project, the BINARY ATAVISTIC PROJECT (BAP)—BLACK BAR—building on previous projects—BLACK BAR—GAT and BPP. Initial studies concluded that the genetic lineage of twins from the population—BLACK BAR—located at coordinates—BLACK BAR—in the southeastern Pannotian sector—BLACK BAR—displayed mutations giving rise to Binary proteins (R and C)—BLACK BAR—Reactor-type protein—BLACK BAR—Catalyst-type protein—BLACK BAR.

  Log BAP.0002

  Test subjects: Binary Twins. Number: Nine pairs. Project outcome: Transformation of the test subjects into—BLACK BAR—enabling plasma projection and electromagnetic combustion at will. Alteration of—BLACK BAR—creating a gravitational bubble effect at will.

  The documents in Juzo’s hands were fresh copies of something old and faded, but his palms were so clammy with nerves, he half-expected to see his fingers stained with the black marker ink used on the original to censor entire lines of information.

  Log BAP.0003.

  Administration of a dose of—BLACK BAR—to test subjects. First dose (0.7 ml). Response: Activation of complementary proteins—BLACK BAR—Second dose (14 ml) scheduled for the project’s conclusion—BLACK BAR.

  He couldn’t believe it. But there they were: copies of photographs stapled to the edges of each document—old images reprinted on glossy paper, explicit enough to illustrate what he wished were a lie.

  Photographs of infants—six or eight of them, judging by the camera’s framing—each one asleep inside a glass, egg-shaped capsule, submerged in a thick, milky liquid. Long needles were embedded all over their tiny bodies. It was the most disturbing thing he had ever seen.

  Log BAP.0609.

  Death of Binary-R from Group 6 three months after treatment began. Cause: Failure of vital organs due to the dose of—BLACK BAR—Proceeding with Binary-R from Group 7.

  Log BAP.0610.

  Death of Binary-R from Group 7 two days after treatment began. Cause: Anaphylactic reaction to the dose of—BLACK BAR—Proceeding with Binary-R from Group 8.

  The photographs accompanying the report showed two massive rectangular ceramic vats—white, solid, and filled with that same milky liquid. Floating in the substance were human remains. Tiny remains.

  Juzo felt a nauseating churn in his stomach, though his eyes remained unnervingly cold. What floated there must have been the remains of the infants who hadn’t survived the doses of whatever the documents described.

  Disgusted, he closed that file and opened another.

  

  Log BAP.1212.

  At eleven months and fifteen days old, the surviving Binary-R is relocated to the eastern continental island: Pannotia. Geographic destination: Alpine City, Markabia Province—BLACK BAR—Transfer of Binary-R—BLACK BAR—to local hospital authorities: Successful. Name assigned by the organization: Romita, Juzo.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  How he wished those documents were referring to some other Juzo Romita, an unfortunate soul who just happened to share his name and the city where he had grown up. How he wished it was all a misunderstanding, a coincidence.

  But there they were—a wealth of copied photographs, each meticulously documented with dates and times, mocking his hope that these files were about someone else and not him.

  Juzo flipped through the photos at random. In one, a teenager gave a military salute beside older men. That was him, around fourteen or fifteen. In another—the last photo in the file—he was lighting a cigarette as he exited a bakery. That had been him at twenty-five—he remembered because, during that time, he’d rented a room next to that shop.

  

  Log BAP.1209.

  At eleven months and two days old, the surviving Binary-C is relocated to the western continent: Rodinia. Geographic destination: Proxima City, Chiron—BLACK BAR—Transfer of Binary-C—BLACK BAR—to local hospital authorities: Successful. Name assigned by the organization: White O22, Adam.

  Amid indecipherable numeric records and further reports, Juzo saw more photographs. One showed a boy identical to him as a child, celebrating a birthday. Another depicted a school soccer team where one of the players looked strikingly like him but wasn’t. That must have been Adam White O22.

  “My… brother,” he muttered. The word was hard to say. “What do you know about him? Do you think he might… know anything about this?”

  “According to the Satellite Agency, he’s still in Proxima,” Rigel replied. “I doubt he knows anything… or ever will… at least not from the Empire. Before I handed over the original files along with my report, the pages with any information or photos of you two… well, let’s just say they got lost along the way. This is the only copy left, and I printed it out to avoid leaving any digital records.”

  Juzo exhaled in relief, nodding his thanks.

  “And besides, you’ve got nothing to worry about now,” Rigel continued, pointing to the photo of Juzo lighting a cigarette outside the bakery. “This picture. It’s the last record they have of you. Look at the date it was taken.”

  “Saturday, Lion’s Month 24th, Year 585,” Juzo read aloud. He could confirm that it was from that year.

  “Now, look at this.” Rigel took one of the files from Juzo’s hands and pointed to the final paragraph:

  

  Log BAP.7985.

  Within 24 hours of the Binary Atavistic Project’s culmination, Binary twins will be brought together at the designated site. Distinguished members of—BLACK BAR—will be invited to witness the culmination, scheduled for: Monday, Maiden’s Month 2nd, Year 585 of the Imperial Era.

  “But that was five years ago,” Juzo said, confused.

  “Exactly. The project was supposed to end a week after they took that photo of you, but something stopped it.”

  Rigel pointed to the final entry in the files.

  

  Log BAP.8005.

  —BLACK BAR—which caused this event, leading to the total loss of the doses of—BLACK BAR—in our possession. An irreparable loss that has compelled me to suspend the BINARY ATAVISTIC PROJECT (BAP) indefinitely—BLACK BAR—Having already been forced to sign the cancellation of the first ‘Binary’ class project, the BINARY PROTEIN PROJECT (BPP)—BLACK BAR—for reasons you are aware of, and now being faced with the painful decision to halt this second attempt, I—BLACK BAR—director of the aforementioned projects, hereby submit my resignation.

  The Detective let out a huff. “Nice way of saying everything went to hell, huh? It seems the loss of those doses is why you and your brother were never brought together. It must have been a rare or hard-to-synthesize compound—something critical enough to justify halting such an ambitious project.”

  Juzo closed the folder and placed it with the others on the rocks. He rubbed his forehead and let out a long sigh; he might have collapsed to the ground if he’d been alone.

  “At first, we thought the stolen documents we found indicated an industrial espionage network operating out of the bunker,” the Detective said. “But based on the evidence, we now believe it was a small group of individuals using those notes to launch their own project.”

  Rigel pulled out his phone and projected a series of holographic images above the screen.

  Juzo’s eyes hardened.

  In the first photograph, a Forensics officer stood beside five glass containers, each almost as tall as him and slightly oval-shaped. They were filled with a milky liquid that barely revealed what floated inside: a child curled up in a fetal position, dressed in what might have been a disposable gown—though it was hard to tell for sure. The liquid’s cloudy color, combined with the stains left by dust and humidity on the glass surface, obscured much of what was visible. One thing was certain: those children were not sleeping.

  “I found this in the bunker,” said Rigel, clearing his throat. Of all the things he had encountered there, this was undoubtedly the most disturbing. “They were in what used to be a cryo chamber. It reminds me of…”

  “The images in these files,” Juzo interrupted, tapping on the documents.

  “Yes. When my team’s medics removed the bodies from that liquid for examination, the decomposition of their tissues accelerated at roughly three hundred seventy times the normal rate. Within days, all that was left were bones and jelly.”

  Swiping away the holographic image, Rigel expanded others.

  “Next to the cryogenic chamber, there was some kind of operating room,” he continued. “Ground zero for the electromagnetic burst that fried the bunker’s circuits.”

  These photos showed different parts of a large room where there had definitely been an explosion—sure—but more like the explosion of a giant paint can stuffed with garbage. Dark stains dirtied the walls like chaotic brushstrokes from a mad artist. And not just the walls—black splatters covered the floor, the gurney, the IV stands, and everything else that still vaguely resembled medical equipment. Even high above, the mess had reached the network of pipes snaking across the ceiling.

  Juzo looked up at the images. “Is that…?”

  Rigel nodded. “Body remnants and scraps of clothing. They might’ve been astrophysicists observing an experiment or doctors performing surgery—who knows? But we recovered dental fragments from at least seven individuals embedded in those walls, along with fingerprints, and none of them appear in our records.”

  “Foreigners?” Juzo guessed.

  “Maybe. Or just people who were very good at staying off the grid.”

  “Any idea what could’ve caused this kind of detonation?” Juzo asked.

  “Well, we might have a lead.”

  Rigel projected an image of a severed robot head. The circular eye in the center marked it as a Cyclops model. Part of the chrome faceplate these units typically wore was missing, and the remaining piece—cracked and partially detached—had a pair of cartoonish handlebar mustaches drawn on it.

  “This android was called Alfred,” said the detective. “We found him there, destroyed. I’m guessing he was the bunker’s caretaker—until whatever, or whoever, killed the geology students took him out too.”

  “A C14,” Juzo noted.

  “I thought the same based on the shape of the head, but no,” Rigel corrected with a smile. “Turns out Alfred had the frame of an A60, the lightweight silicon-based compounds of a B11, and the motherboard of a modern D02—voice processor included, even built-in language patterns. A custom-assembled model—clearly one of a kind. We recovered part of his logs, but his visual memory bank was so fried, we could only salvage what was stored in his rear chips. Fragments of older recordings—nothing major, except for one video dated two and a half years ago.”

  He minimized the holographic images and played the video.