Chapter Twenty-Four: The Rift with Martin

Michael returned to his laboratory and placed the freshly prepared serum on the shelf.

Martin approached him.

“Michael, are these embryos really useful to you?”

Michael looked at Martin; most of their interactions revolved around work, and they rarely saw each other otherwise.

“They are,” Michael replied, taking a deep breath. “If you think cloning people troubles your conscience, then just leave.”

Tears welled up in Martin’s eyes. “I know you long for health, but when a cell develops into an embryo, it gains the right and freedom to become a person.”

Michael gave a bitter smile. “Don’t talk to me about rights and freedoms, or the sanctity of life. Even if they grow into independent beings, it is I who gave them life, and naturally, I have the right to take it away.”

“You’re mad, Michael.”

“Martin, it’s easy for you to judge, because you’re not the one suffering.”

Michael was nearly twisted with rage. He had been born with an illness, abandoned by his parents, exploited by Jack’s family. Everyone praised him as a genius, yet all sought to drain his worth.

No one ever hoped for Michael’s recovery. In public, they called him a prodigy; behind his back, a cripple—so long as he obeyed and earned them money.

Over the years, Michael had endured too much injustice. All he desired was to be healthy, nothing more.

He had chosen a path that would harm no one, yet even then, he was condemned. How laughable.

Turning his back to Martin, Michael’s eyes brimmed with tears.

He truly wasn’t asking for much.

Martin was heartbroken as well. “But Michael, cloning people is something all ethical scientists resist. No matter the reason, you shouldn’t do this, or you’ll be reviled by the world.”

A hint of scorn flashed in Michael’s eyes. Cloning was not a particularly advanced technology; with surrogate mothers, any large hospital could manage it.

Yet this very technology was so despised, for a simple reason: everyone judged from the moral high ground.

The thought of clones unsettled people deeply.

But if cloning could be harnessed, we could create healthy kidneys for patients with renal failure, or hearts for those with cardiac disease.

Still, no one could bear the guilt of cloning a person, then killing them; that is why cloning is so taboo.

Some have suggested cellular induction, precisely cloning individual organs. But the medical field is so cautious and unwilling to confront its own issues that progress is slow.

“Then simply ensure no one knows, Martin. Leave now, and I’ll pretend you were never here.”

“I won’t go, Michael.”

Martin was agitated; she believed Michael’s thinking was already deeply flawed, and could not allow him to sink further.

Michael drew a gun and pointed it at Martin. “Get out, or I’ll kill you.”

Martin was terrified. She couldn’t accept that Michael could say such a thing.

Michael fired twice into the empty space beside him, then roared, “Get out!”

Startled, Martin’s mind went blank; she ultimately could not bear the fear and left.

Michael sat in his chair, quietly gazing at the ceiling.

He wasn’t sure if driving Martin away was right, but letting her stay might jeopardize his plan.

Keisha: “Reluctant?”

Michael snapped back to reality.

“No.”

Keisha: “Should I take that as you wanting to protect her?”

“Not really. I just want to protect myself.”

Such a stubborn child.

Keisha watched Michael, finding him fascinating.

Michael looked at the developing embryos; he hadn’t performed surgery on them.

The reason was simple: after injecting the serum, their self-healing abilities would likely cause brain cells to redevelop, making any surgery pointless.

Besides, their existence from birth to experiment would last less than a month, so they wouldn’t learn anything or awaken any sense of self.

We are called humans not by birth, but through long learning, absorbing ideas and wisdom, eventually understanding ourselves.

Like lower animals, who may never comprehend what they are; only highly intelligent beings possess self-awareness.

Keisha: “What will you do next?”

Michael thought for a moment. “I’ll prepare a nutrient solution to accelerate their growth, provide various hormones to catalyze development, and try to get them to my age within a month.”

Keisha: “Such speed might affect their development.”

Michael considered. “Then I’ll clone several more.”

Seeing Michael grow more resolute, Keisha said nothing further.

He locked the laboratory and, to prevent Martin’s return, changed the password.

“It’s been a long time since I wandered the streets at midnight,” Michael mused.

Tonight, there were few punks around, as tanks, soldiers, police, and helicopters swept through the streets, patrolling everywhere as if determined to overturn New York—an effort to prevent any remaining lizard people.

The heavy patrols kept the usual troublemakers away, giving everyone the courage to venture out.

Of course, there were still incidents, like some soldier harassing a young woman.

But no one paid any attention to Michael, the sickly one.

“Hello.”

Hearing someone greet him, Michael turned instinctively.

It was a black man, with curly hair, dressed in strange ancient clothes that defied identification, a staff slung across his back.

Considering the surrounding classical architecture and the “177A” on the wall, Michael had a pretty good idea where he was.

How did I end up here?

“Who are you?”

“I am Mordo, as you see—a sorcerer.”

Mordo eyed Michael. He didn’t know why the Sorcerer Supreme wanted to meet him, but his task was to bring him in.

“My name is Michael. Frankly, your attire makes you look more like a warrior or monk.”

Michael wondered how he had wandered to the New York Sanctuary; he’d never been here before.

Was the Ancient One looking for trouble? Many believed the Ancient One was immortal, able to traverse the multiverse with ease.

But if every Ancient One could do that, wouldn’t she be invincible?

If she summoned a group during a fight, even Dormammu couldn’t withstand it.

Could the Ancient One tell he was a traveler from another world? What did she want with him?

Mordo smiled. “You could also consider me an ascetic; our daily lives are quite tranquil.”

“Is there something you need?”

“The Sorcerer Supreme wishes to see you.”

Mordo had no idea what made this youth special; the Ancient One was personally requesting a meeting, which annoyed him a bit.

Michael smiled. “Usually when people say that to me, it’s either a kidnapping or a request for some favor.”

Mordo, unable to accept the Ancient One’s use of dark magic or Doctor Strange’s dealings with Dormammu, had ultimately betrayed the Sorcerer Supreme.

But now, he was still a loyal disciple.

“Are you famous?” Mordo asked, puzzled.

“More or less.”