"How do the researchers do it? I mean, how do they plan to reshape the essence of humanity?"

Curtis took the cup of hot peppermint tea in both hands, turned slightly, and carefully blew on the steaming surface. Then he took a sip before saying, "Well, it’s not an easy field, but let me try to explain. First, you have to understand that these researchers don’t believe in the human soul. They think you’re simply the product of your parents’ genes and the sum of all the impressions and experiences you’ve accumulated up to this point. In other words, there’s no soul—only consciousness, and that consciousness depends on your brain. Change something in your brain chemistry, and you become a different person."

"So they just... drug people?" Isaac asked. He also had peppermint tea, which he sweetened with three teaspoons of sugar. He stirred it intently, waiting for the answer.

"No," the old man said. "It’s not that simple. The process is called gene sequencing. You know what a gene is, don’t you? It’s the twisted ladder in every cell, containing the entire blueprint of your body. Turn off a specific sequence, and you’re colorblind. Turn off another, and you lose the ability to feel aggression. That’s roughly how it works."

Billy didn’t touch his tea. At that moment, a wave of profound loneliness swept over him, a sense of detachment from everything around him. It was as if life rushed past him while he alone remained frozen in place. Outside the window, a light drizzle began to fall, mingling with flurries of snow.

"How do they know which sequences to turn off or alter to achieve the desired change in consciousness?"

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Nicholas Curtis nodded, as if he’d been waiting for this question. "By having a blueprint of human DNA that’s exactly as they want it—a model to replicate."

"What do you mean? I thought this type of human was yet to be invented."

The old man glanced at him and moistened his chapped lips with his tongue. Then he said, "Have you heard of the Hammer of Texas? It’s an ancient artifact discovered in 1934 in a small town in Kimball County. The hammer is dated to over 140 million years ago. In 1968, they found the Meister Print—a 350-million-year-old footprint with a crushed prehistoric trilobite embedded in it."

"What’s so special about that?"

"The fascinating thing is that modern humans only split from their primitive ancestors about 200,000 years ago."

"So... humans are much older than we thought?" Isaac asked as he sipped his peppermint tea.

"No, they’re exactly as old as we’ve always thought."

Billy eyed the old man suspiciously. "So you’re saying there were humans before humans? An entire civilization we never knew about?"

"Bingo. And now the scientists are trying to recreate us in their image."

The old man glanced at Billy before turning back to Isaac, who also seemed to be processing the revelation. Suddenly, the old man burst into uproarious laughter.

"You actually believed that crap, didn’t you? Ha! I was just messing with you. Those so-called findings are complete nonsense! There’s no ancient, advanced civilization—not on this planet, anyway. I only said that to fool you. Ha! But here’s the sad truth: we have no idea how to turn humanity into something positive—something godlike. That’s why all the experiments fail. We alter their genes, but all we get are mutated cells. Cancer. And usually instant death."

"Billy," Isaac interjected, "didn’t you say they found a tumor in your stomach?"

"So they really experimented on me. They wanted to... change me."

Nicholas Curtis looked at him. "It seems like they succeeded."