Chapter 21: The Birth of a Perfect Soldier

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Scene 1: The Final Reset.

The chamber is vast, stretching into shadow, its cold metallic walls absorbing every breath, every sound. There is no warmth here, no comfort—only judgment.

I stand in the center, motionless.

My posture is flawless. My breathing is regulated.

I do not fidget. I do not think.

I do not feel.

Before me, the leaders of The Order sit in a tiered formation, their faces partially obscured by the dim lighting. High-ranking officers, scientists, overseers—those who have shaped the future and now stand at the precipice of true control.

A single step forward would place me beneath their watchful gaze, but I do not move.

Not until I am ordered to.

Inside my mind, The Master speaks.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Subject One. Status: Operational."

The words register instantly.

There is no resistance.

There is no need for it.

I am One.

I belong to The Order.

A figure steps forward from the shadows, a man clad in the deep blue uniform of high command. His presence is commanding, but his expression is neutral, cold—calculating.

He studies me. Not as a man.

As an asset.

His gaze sweeps across my form, evaluating every aspect of my posture, my composure, my stillness.

I do not move.

I do not blink.

"He’s perfect."

A murmur spreads through the ranks—soft voices, quiet approval.

I do not react.

Because I do not exist beyond this moment.

The past is gone.

I do not remember my mother.

I do not remember Solomon Graves.

I do not remember Eva.

These names hold no weight. No emotion. No meaning.

There is no grief, no longing.

Only the mission.

Only The Order.

Beyond the chamber doors, something stirs—rows of prototypes, just like me, standing in identical stillness, awaiting activation. I sense them, though I do not turn to look.

They are not unique.

They are One.

Project One was only the beginning.

I am the first.

I will not be the last.

The Master’s voice hums within my mind, smooth, absolute.

"Proceed."

I move.

Perfect, calculated steps.

Not hesitant. Not rushed.

Efficient.

The chamber doors slide open. The path is clear.

Mission awaits.

I do not question.

I do not resist.

As I march forward, my mind is blank.

But one phrase lingers, echoing through every pathway, every circuit, every thought.

The final command.

The final truth.

"Nothing else matters but The Order."

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