Author’s Note: Thank you for joining me on this journey. If you are new to this story, I suggest you start with Chapter 1. Your comments are very welcome!
Dr. Elena Martinez paced back and forth in her private office, the soft glow of her computer screen casting long shadows across the walls. Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear but from the excitement buzzing under her skin. This was it—Elias’s breakthrough was the key she had been waiting for.
The idea that the artifact’s power could be replicated on such a small scale, that a simple 3D-printed spiral could cause the same de-aging effects—it changed everything. And if Elias didn’t realize the potential, she certainly did. This wasn’t just a scientific discovery; it was a revolution waiting to happen.
Her stomach churned at the thought of how the military and the higher-ups had already moved to lock down the tech. They wanted control—exclusive access to the artifact for the rich and powerful. The idea disgusted her.
Immortality was reserved for the few, the powerful, and the wealthy. They would keep it from the public and use it to create a permanent ruling class, an immortal aristocracy that would rule the world for generations while everyone else was left to wither and die.
Martinez stopped pacing and stared at her computer. But Elias’s breakthrough could stop that. The small-scale spiral—if it could be mass-produced and printed by anyone with access to a basic 3D printer—would be impossible for the government to suppress.
She knew the risk. Leaking this might get her killed—or worse. But she couldn’t let this stay in the hands of those who would hoard it.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for only a moment before she clicked through a series of encrypted folders. Files on Elias’s experiments, the schematics for the 3D spiral model, data on the artifact’s effects—it was all there. She attached the files to an outgoing message, then hesitated again. Her heart pounded, her mind racing with the enormity of what she was about to do.
“Martinez.”
She froze, startled by the voice from behind her. Elias stood in the doorway, his face pale, eyes wide. He looked younger, and not just from the de-aging. There was a raw, vulnerable uncertainty in his expression she hadn’t seen before.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, quickly minimizing the screen.
“You were working on something,” Elias said, stepping into the room. “What’s going on?”
She straightened, fighting to maintain her composure. “Just processing some of the data from your latest experiments. The 3D model—it’s a huge breakthrough.”
Elias nodded, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. What we discovered… it’s terrifying, but incredible. The fact that anyone could print one of these spirals—it’s not something we can control. And if the wrong people get access to it…”
His words trailed off, but Martinez could see the fear in his eyes. He was afraid of what they had unleashed, afraid of the consequences.
“I know,” she said quietly, sitting down at her desk, trying to keep her voice calm. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? This can’t be controlled. The technology needs to be out there—available to everyone.”
Elias frowned, looking at her with confusion. “What are you talking about?”
She leaned forward, her eyes locking onto his. “Do you really think the military will let this technology fall into the hands of the public? That they’ll allow it to be used to heal the sick or stop aging for everyone? They’ll keep it for themselves. For the rich, the powerful. They’ll use it to build a ruling class that’s immortal while the rest of us grow old and die.”
Elias stepped back, shaking his head. “But that’s not how this is supposed to work! We’re supposed to be studying it, figuring out how it can be used safely.”
“And then what?” Martinez shot back, her voice rising. “You think they’ll share it with the world? They’ll bury it, Elias. They’ll hide it from the public and only use it for those they deem ‘worthy.’”
Elias stared at her, the weight of her words settling in. “You… you don’t know that.”
She stood up, her fists clenched. “I do know that. I’ve seen how they operate. They’ve already started securing the artifact for high-level use only. This isn’t about science anymore. It’s about control.”
Elias didn’t respond. He looked down, his hands gripping the back of a chair, his knuckles white. “What are you saying?”
She took a deep breath, her heart racing. “I’m saying we need to make sure this technology doesn’t get locked away. We need to make sure it’s available to everyone. And I’ve just found a way to do that.”
Elias’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. “Wait—what did you do?”
Before she could respond, her computer beeped softly—an indication that the files had been sent. The email had gone out to an encrypted network of activists and whistle blowers who specialized in leaking classified information. The spiral model, the data, the proof—it was all out there now.
Elias rushed toward her, his eyes wide with shock. “You didn’t—”
“I did,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “This is bigger than us, Elias. The world deserves to know.”
Elias grabbed her arm, his voice frantic. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve unleashed something we barely understand! You can’t just throw this out there!”
“I had to,” she said, pulling free from his grip. “If we don’t stop them now, they’ll control everything. This technology could change the world—for the better—but only if it’s available to everyone.”
Elias paced the room, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “This is insane. You don’t know what they’ll do to you. The military, the government—they’ll find out. You’ll be arrested—”
“Maybe,” she admitted, swallowing hard. “But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Elias stopped pacing, staring at her with a mixture of fear and disbelief. “And what about me? What happens when they figure out I was working on this too? They’ll come after me just as hard.”
Martinez’s voice softened. “You didn’t know. You’re safe. I’ll take full responsibility for the leak.”
He shook his head, his face pale. “This is bigger than just a leak, Elena. This could destroy everything.”
She stepped closer, her eyes filled with determination. “Or it could save everything.”
Before he could respond, the intercom crackled to life. “Dr. Martinez, Dr. Ward, report to the main lab, immediately.”
They exchanged a glance, both knowing that whatever happened next, the world was about to change.
“We should go,” Elias muttered, his voice tight with dread.
Martinez nodded, feeling the weight of her decision pressing down on her. The files were out there now. There was no going back.
Maria sat in the dim light of her kitchen, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through endless websites on her battered laptop. She had spent the last three days searching, every second that her son slept, each click bringing her closer to a frantic hopelessness. The dark circles under her eyes mirrored the heaviness in her heart, and the sound of the oxygen machine in the next room was a constant reminder of the time she was running out of.
The doctors had stopped giving her any real hope weeks ago. Tommy was dying, and she knew it. He was only five, and already the life in his eyes had dimmed, his body wracked with pain no child should ever know. She couldn’t accept it. She wouldn’t accept it.
“There has to be something,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she scanned another useless page full of miracle cures and snake oil. She had tried everything—natural remedies, experimental treatments, even prayers. But nothing worked. Her son was slipping away, and she was powerless.
Until she saw it.
An article on a fringe site she almost didn’t click. It was buried under layers of conspiracy theories, fearmongering, and exaggerated claims. But the title caught her eye: “The Spiral Model: The Cure No One Wants You to Know About.”
She clicked.
At first, it seemed like more of the same—outlandish promises, shady testimonials. But something about this one was different. It wasn’t just an empty promise of a magic cure-all. It was specific. Detailed. The people who claimed to have used it had stories that matched the rumors she had heard about something called The Spiral—an ancient artifact, now freely available to anyone with a 3D printer. They said it could heal anything.
Anything.
Her heart raced as she scrolled through the comments, each one claiming miraculous recoveries from illnesses, genetic conditions, even injuries. And then she saw it—a mother, like her, talking about how her child had been on the brink of death… until she found the spiral model.
“It healed him. He’s healthy now. I’m healthy. It works.”
Maria sat back in her chair, her hands shaking. This couldn’t be real. It sounded too good to be true. But what if…?
Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t have a 3D printer, let alone the specific silica model this page was talking about. But her ex-husband did. He had invested in one for his engineering work after they split.
She bit her lip, her mind racing. She hadn’t spoken to Mark in months. They had parted on bad terms—angry arguments, slammed doors, and lingering bitterness. There was no way he’d help her, not after everything.
But this wasn’t about them. This was about Tommy.
She grabbed her keys, heart pounding. There was no time to waste.
It was after midnight when Maria parked her car a block from Mark’s house. The neighborhood was quiet, the only sound was the hum of distant traffic. She stood on the curb for a moment, staring at the dark silhouette of his house. The curtains were drawn, and the porch light was off.
He’s asleep.
Her hands shook as she approached the back of the house, heart thudding in her chest. The back door had always been tricky—the lock would stick if you didn’t turn the key just right. She knew, because it had been their home once, too.
She crouched, pulling a small lock-picking set from her jacket pocket. She’d never imagined she’d have to use it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Her fingers fumbled with the lock, and for a moment, she thought she’d never get it. But then, with a soft click, the door opened.
Maria slipped inside, the darkness swallowing her whole. Her pulse quickened as she moved through the familiar kitchen, careful to avoid the creaky floorboard. The 3D printer was in Mark’s office, just down the hall.
She opened the door as quietly, the soft whir of electronics filling the small room. The printer sat in the corner, its sleek design illuminated by the faint glow of a nearby monitor.
She pulled up the design for the spiral model on her phone, her fingers trembling. The file was easy to find. Too easy, she thought. But there was no time to think about that now.
The printer beeped as she loaded the file, the machine humming to life. Each passing second felt like an eternity as she stood there, listening to the soft sound of the printer building the model layer by layer. Her breath caught in her throat when she heard footsteps down the hall.
Shit.
Mark.
Her heart raced as she crouched behind the desk, her body pressed against the cool wood as the printer continued to hum. The footsteps stopped just outside the door. She held her breath, praying he wouldn’t come in.
The door handle turned slightly, but then, after what felt like an eternity, he walked away. She waited until the sound of his footsteps faded before she exhaled, her heart pounding in her chest.
The printer beeped softly. It was done.
She grabbed the model, small and delicate in her hands. For a moment, she hesitated. What if this didn’t work? What if it was all just a fantasy, another false hope?
But then she felt it—something… strange. A soft, pulsing warmth from the model in her hand. It vibrated, almost imperceptibly, as if it were alive. She gasped, feeling a sudden rush of energy flood her body. The exhaustion, the aches from sleepless nights, the nagging pain in her back—all of it melted away in an instant.
She blinked, staring at the spiral in disbelief. It worked. It actually worked.
She didn’t waste another second. Clutching the spiral tightly, she slipped out of the house and into the night, racing back to her car.
When Maria got home, Tommy was still asleep, his tiny body curled up under the blankets, the oxygen machine hissing softly in the background. Her heart ached just looking at him—his frail limbs, the pale skin stretched too tightly over his bones.
Could this really work?
She knelt beside his bed, holding the spiral in her hands. For a moment, she hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, she placed it on his chest.
At first, nothing happened. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of his breathing.
Then, slowly, she felt it—the warmth—the same pulse she had felt when she touched the spiral herself. It grew stronger, radiating from the model and spreading over Tommy’s small body. His chest rose and fell more easily, the tightness in his breathing loosening.
Maria’s breath caught in her throat as she watched his skin change. His color returned—soft pink replacing the sickly pale. His chest rose and fell steadily now, and the thin lines of pain etched into his face smoothed away.
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. “Mom?”
Her heart nearly stopped. “Tommy?”
“I feel… better,” he whispered, his voice more substantial than in weeks. He reached up and touched her cheek, his hand warm and full of life. “I’m not sick anymore.”
Maria couldn’t hold back the tears as she pulled him into her arms, sobbing quietly. “You’re better, baby. You’re okay.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, hope surged through her. The spiral had worked. It had healed Tommy, and it had healed her.
She stayed with him, holding him close until he drifted back to sleep. When she finally stood, her hands still shaking, she grabbed her phone and opened the same forum she had found the model on.
She had to share this. People needed to know.
“It works. It healed my son. It healed me. You have to try this. Don’t wait. It’s real.”
She hit “post” and sat back, watching the replies flood in almost immediately. But one message stood out.
A young man’s username was simply FracturedSoul. His profile image was just a blank icon, but his message was desperate.
“I’m dying. Please tell me how to get one. I don’t have much time left.”
Maria hesitated for a moment, then replied.
“I can help you.”
In that instant, the seed was planted. And the spiral’s power spread.
The air was thick with dust, swirling lazily around the long line of people waiting in front of the battered tent. The midday sun beat down relentlessly on them, turning the dry earth beneath their feet into a hard-packed wasteland. Flies buzzed in the heat, landing on cracked lips and sunburnt skin, but no one had the energy to swat them away.
Lena stood with her family, her arms wrapped around her youngest child, Mariam. She was limp in her arms, too weak to stand, her face pale and drawn. Her eldest, Tradiq, clung to her side, his small, bony hand gripping her tattered dress. His stomach growled loudly, but he didn’t complain. He never did anymore.
They had been in line for hours.
“Do you think we’ll get to the front soon, Mama?” Tradiq asked, his voice hoarse from thirst.
Lena glanced ahead. The line stretched endlessly toward the tent’s entrance, where the camp’s only spiral model sat under the watchful eye of a tired, underfed volunteer. Each person was allowed only a brief touch—just enough for the spiral to quickly pulse, heal their failing bodies, and offer a few hours of respite before the pain returned.
“I don’t know, my love,” Lena whispered, brushing a hand over Tradiq’s matted hair. “But we’ll get there. We just have to wait.”
Tradiq nodded solemnly. He was only eight, but the weight of the world had already pressed down on him, making him older than his years. His eyes, once bright and full of curiosity, were dull now, dark hollows beneath them. He hadn’t complained in days, not since they started rationing water again.
Ahead of them, a woman stumbled as she reached the spiral, her hands shaking as she touched it. The instant her fingers grazed the surface, a faint hum pulsed through the air, and Lena could see the relief flood the woman’s face. Her breathing steadied, and her skin regained a faint glow of life. For a brief moment, she wasn’t starving or sick.
But Lena knew the truth. The woman would walk out of that tent, back into the same hunger, the same pain. The spiral couldn’t fill their bellies. It couldn’t bring clean water. It could only heal the damage hunger and disease did to their bodies, giving them a fleeting taste of normalcy before the cycle started again.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Tradiq said quietly, almost to himself.
Lena forced a smile. “Maybe.”
They had been saying maybe tomorrow for months. Ever since the aid organization had dropped off dozens of spiral models—just before they abandoned the camp taking most of the models with them, they said they took them because the printer and silica stock needed to make spirals were far too expensive, and the spirals were needed elsewhere. No one could even dream of affording their own. Now the entire camp shared the one spiral, waiting in line every day just for a moment of relief.
The volunteer at the front of the line, a gaunt man named Jibril, motioned for the next person. A small boy, younger than Tradiq, stepped forward, his mother guiding him. The boy barely had the strength to lift his hand, but when he touched the spiral, Lena saw his back straighten, his sunken eyes brightening, if only for a second. His mother’s face broke into a brief smile as they were ushered out.
Lena shifted Mariam in her arms. She was burning with fever, her body limp, and every breath she took rattled in her chest. Her heart ached watching her suffer like this. They hadn’t eaten in days, only scraps here and there, and the water from the camp’s last remaining well was barely drinkable.
“How’s Mariam?” Tradiq asked, his voice filled with concern for his younger sister.
Lena looked down at Mariam’s frail form, her small chest rising and falling too quickly. “She’ll be okay once we reach the front,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
“She’s so quiet now,” Tradiq whispered.
Lena swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “She’s just tired.”
Tradiq glanced up at her, his wide eyes full of worry. “Will she feel better after the spiral?”
Lena smiled softly. “Yes, Tradiq. It will help her. It’ll help all of us.”
The line inched forward, each slow step bringing them closer to that fleeting hope. The sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the camp. Lena wiped the sweat from her brow, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. But she kept moving. For Mariam. For Tradiq.
They were near the front now. Just three people ahead of them. Lena could see the spiral clearly—small, sitting on a cracked pedestal, glowing faintly under the tent’s makeshift roof. Jibril was wiping the dust from it with a rag, his gaunt face expressionless as he motioned for the next person to step forward.
“I’m so hungry, Mama,” Tradiq said suddenly, his voice cracking with pain.
“I know, baby,” Lena whispered, pulling him closer. “Just a little longer.”
The family ahead of them—a mother, father, and their daughter—stepped up to the spiral. The father touched it first, then the mother. The daughter, who couldn’t have been older than six, hesitated before pressing her fingers against the smooth surface. The moment she did, a soft pulse of light radiated from the spiral, and Lena saw the tension leave the girl’s body, if only for a moment. She smiled weakly as her father led her out of the tent.
“Next,” Jibril called, his voice hoarse.
Lena stepped forward, Mariam still cradled in her arms, Tradiq clinging to her side.
Jibril looked at them, his hollow eyes scanning Mariam’s frail body. “You only get one touch each.”
“I know,” Lena said, her voice tight with emotion. “Please, just—just let me help my children.”
Jibril nodded silently, motioning toward the spiral. Lena approached it, her heart pounding in her chest. She placed Mariam’s tiny hand on the surface first, holding her breath. For a moment, nothing happened. And then she felt it—the warmth, the pulse. Mariam stirred in her arms, her breathing easing, her fevered skin cooling.
Tears welled in her eyes as she pressed her own hand against the spiral. The warmth spread through her, healing the aches, the hunger pains that had gnawed at her for so long. Her vision cleared, her muscles relaxed. She felt whole again, if only for a moment.
Tradiq was next. He touched the spiral with shaking fingers, and Lena watched as his hollow cheeks filled out ever so slightly, his gaunt body finding a brief reprieve from the hunger.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Jibril, her voice thick with gratitude.
He said nothing, only nodding as they left the tent.
Outside, the sun had set, and the camp was bathed in the cool light of dusk. For a moment, Lena allowed herself to believe that things were okay—that they could make it through another day.
“Mama, I feel better,” Tradiq said, his voice bright for the first time in days. “Mariam, too.”
Lena smiled down at him, her heart swelling with love for her children. “Yes, baby. We’re better.”
But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t last. The hunger and sickness would return. The spiral gave them only a few hours of comfort before the reality of their world set in again.
As they walked back to their tent, Lena overheard people in line talking about a rumor—another camp that had gotten more spiral models printed on a stolen printer. They said the model had been passed around online, free to anyone who could afford the materials. But here, in this camp, they were still waiting, sharing, and hoping.
Lena thought that one day, they might have their spiral model. One day, they might not have to wait in line, counting down the hours until they could touch it again. One day, maybe things would be better.
But for now, all they had was today. And today, they had been healed.
At least for a little while.
The luxury compound, nestled in the vast, remote wilderness of Iceland, shimmered under the soft glow of artificial lights. The surrounding landscape, once home to small fishing communities and farms, was now barren—empty, save for the sprawling estates of the world’s richest and most powerful. The Icelandic people had long since been “relocated,” their presence erased to make way for those who could afford to buy their way into safety. Now, the elite lived in isolation, shielded from the chaos that gripped the rest of the world, surrounded by security, wealth, and privilege.
Inside one of the massive mansions, ten men and women sat around an immaculate stone table, their clothes sharp, tailored, and spotless. The room was adorned with the finest art money could buy, but none of them seemed to notice anymore. They had grown numb to the extravagance.
“Let’s get to the point,” Arthur Blake, the wealthiest man in the room, said as he sipped his wine. His eyes scanned the others with a bored indifference. “We’ve been too soft. Our borders are secure, but the productivity levels from outside the walls are dropping. The workers are too reliant on their spiral models. They’re getting lazy.”
There were murmurs of agreement around the table.
Grace Sinclair, a lean woman with a sharp face, nodded as she adjusted the cuff of her silk blouse. “It’s become a real problem. Access to the spirals is too widespread. People think they can just rely on it to fix every ailment, every injury. No one’s hungry, no one’s sick—they’re losing the fear that drives productivity.”
“Exactly,” Arthur continued, setting his glass down. “The point of the spirals was to stabilize the population, not to make them comfortable. People work best when they have a reason to—hunger, pain, fear of death. We’ve eliminated too much of that.”
Julian Hartman, a younger man whose wealth came from controlling vast agricultural enterprises, leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “So what’s the solution? We need their labor to keep our food supplies steady, but if we start pulling back on the spirals, there will be unrest. The last thing we need is more rebellion outside our borders.”
Arthur smiled, a sharp glint in his eyes. “We don’t pull them all back. We limit access, make it selective. People will have to work harder to earn their time with the spirals. We tie productivity directly to their access. That way, they’ll still have a reason to push themselves, and we get more out of them.”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “You want to create a tiered system?”
“Yes,” Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. “The more productive you are, the more time you get with the spiral. We control specific sectors of the workforce that way. If a factory is underperforming, cut back their access. If a farming sector needs more output, incentivize them with more frequent spiral use.”
Julian shook his head slowly. “It sounds like a delicate balance. If we’re not careful, people will catch on. They already feel like second-class citizens, especially with us sitting here in Iceland. They know we live longer, healthier lives. We can’t let them realize we’re manipulating their spiral access for profit.”
Another voice, deep and smooth, interrupted the discussion. “And when they do catch on?” It was Olivia Laurent, head of a global security firm that had helped enforce the elites’ stronghold on Iceland. Her cold, calculating eyes swept across the table. “When the poor get desperate, they revolt. It’s not just a possibility—it’s inevitable.”
Arthur waved her concerns away with a dismissive hand. “Let them try. We have more than enough resources to keep them in line. And honestly, most of them are too weak, too fractured, to mount anything significant. We’ve made sure of that.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
Grace tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “I think Arthur’s idea has merit. But we need to control the narrative. We can’t make it seem like a punishment. We need to spin it as a reward system. Hard work should be tied to time with the spiral. More work, more healing. Less work, less access.”
Julian rubbed his chin, his face thoughtful. “How do we enforce it without causing chaos?”
Arthur smiled again, this time with a predator’s grin. “We start small—select regions, maybe some less essential industries. We control the spirals through regional overseers, gradually reducing access over time. The workers will adjust. People always adjust.”
Olivia finally spoke, her voice calm. “And if they don’t?”
Arthur’s eyes flashed. “Then we let them suffer. The weak ones will fall in line, or they’ll die out. Either way, we maintain control.”
The table was silent momentarily, the weight of Arthur’s words hanging in the air.
Grace broke the silence, her voice calm. “We need to get ahead of this. I suggest we run a test in one of the southern farming districts. They’re already struggling with droughts, and the workers are dependent on their spirals for survival. If we reduce their access, we’ll see how far they’ll go to maintain productivity.”
Julian’s face tightened, but he nodded. “Fine. But we need to be careful. Too much too fast, and we risk breaking them.”
Arthur raised his glass. “Then we move slowly. Gradually tighten the leash, make them work for their survival. The key is control. Always control.”
As the others raised their glasses in silent agreement, the door to the room opened, and a young servant entered, his face pale and gaunt. He moved quickly, clearing plates and refilling glasses, his movements smooth but mechanical, as if each step was calculated to avoid drawing attention.
Arthur watched the servant with cold, detached interest. “He’s one of the locals, isn’t he? From one of the camps?”
Grace nodded. “Yes. One of the few we kept. Most were deported when we took control.”
Arthur’s gaze lingered on the servant as he poured more wine. “Have we checked to see if he can access a spiral?”
“We allow them access once a week, no more,” Grace replied. It keeps them healthy enough to work but not too comfortable.”
Arthur smirked. “Good.”
The servant finished his work and quickly exited the room, the door closing softly behind him. The elites resumed their conversation as if he had never been there.
“Once we see the results from the southern district, we’ll scale the program across more regions,” Arthur continued. “Eventually, we’ll create a new kind of balance. A balance where they work for us, where their productivity ensures our survival here, in Iceland.”
“And what about us?” Olivia asked, her voice sharp. “What happens when we need more? What happens when the population out there grows even more desperate?”
Arthur’s smile faded, replaced by a hard edge in his eyes. “Then we make sure they know the consequences. We have the power. We have the spirals. And if they don’t fall in line…”
His voice trailed off, but the threat was clear.
Grace’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Then they’ll learn to obey.”
The group fell into a heavy silence, each of them contemplating the future they were shaping. They all knew that, outside the luxurious compound, beyond these fortified walls in Iceland, the world had burned for decades, stratifying more every year since the model was leaked. The poor starved. The desperate clung to whatever fragments of life they could, waiting in lines for their brief moments of healing, their stolen breaths of life.
The powerful raised their glasses inside the walls, uncaring of the suffering they perpetuated.
The room was dark, lit only by a single dim bulb swinging from the ceiling. The walls, lined with reinforced steel, seemed to press in on them, as if the weight of the world itself was crushing the air from the room. A heavy silence hung between the six figures seated around the cold metal table, each one marked by the passage of time, in ways both visible and hidden.
Deia, Sam, and Jason sat together, a triangle of familiarity in this new, broken world. Deia’s eyes, once bright with hope, were now shadowed by decades of regret. Sam, whose body had been preserved by the spiral’s energy, looked the same as she had at 25, but her expression held a weariness that no youthful appearance could hide. Jason, on the other hand, was now old—his once-strong frame hunched and frail, his skin pale and wrinkled. He had refused to reset, to touch the spiral again. He had chosen to age, to feel the toll of time.
And then there was Dr. Elias Ward, sitting across from them, his face unchanged by the years, but his mind visibly haunted by what his discovery had wrought. His hands were folded in front of him, trembling slightly as he stared at the table.
Sixty years. Sixty years since Martinez had leaked the spiral model to the world. Sixty years since the world had tipped into chaos.
The air felt thick with unspoken words, until Jason, his voice rough with age, broke the silence.
“Sixty years,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “Sixty years, and the world is a nightmare.”
Elias flinched, the weight of those words pressing down on him. “I never wanted this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I… I didn’t know it would go this far.”
“No one knew,” Deia said, her voice quiet but filled with anger. “We were trying to stop a power grab. We were trying to stop the artifact from becoming something only the rich and powerful could control. But we didn’t think about what would happen when everyone got their hands on it.”
Sam crossed her arms, her jaw clenched. “Now people won’t die. They can’t die—even the ones who should, the ones who want to. The population exploded, and the resources are gone. Starvation. Disease. But no one dies. We’re living in a world of the dead that won’t lie down.”
Jason’s voice cracked with the weariness of his years. “Governments have fallen. Society has fallen. What’s left are autocracies and warlords. Those few who still have control over the models, they use it to keep their own people young, while the rest of the world suffers.”
Elias looked up, meeting Jason’s eyes. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t seen what it’s done? I watched the world tear itself apart, watched as the rich got richer, and the poor were left to rot. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this!”
“And yet here we are,” Deia said, her voice sharp. “We made this mess. And now we have to fix it.”
Elias let out a bitter laugh, his hands clenching into fists. “Fix it? How? You think we can just undo this? You think the spiral will just… turn everything back the way it was?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Deia said, leaning forward, her eyes locking onto his. “The Finite believe the artifact should be destroyed. It’s the only way to stop this madness. If we destroy the original spiral, then maybe—maybe—we can put an end to the suffering.”
Elias blinked, surprised. “You want to destroy it?”
“We have to,” Sam interjected. “There’s no other option. As long as it exists, people will find ways to exploit it. There will always be someone who wants to live forever, no matter the cost. If we leave it, it’ll only get worse.”
Jason nodded slowly, his frail body trembling with the effort of even sitting upright. “I chose to age. I chose to feel the passage of time. But there are too many who won’t. And they’ll tear apart what’s left of the world to cling to that immortality.”
Elias sat back in his chair, the weight of their words settling over him. “You’re talking about destroying something that rewrites the laws of life itself. We barely understand what it’s capable of. What if destroying it causes more damage? What if it does something even worse?”
“We’ve considered that,” Deia said, her voice resolute. “But doing nothing isn’t an option anymore. We can’t let this go on. We have to stop it, even if it means risking everything.”
Elias shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You think you can destroy the original spiral, and that will end all of this? What about the millions of printed models already out there? What about the people who’ve been changed? What happens to them?”
“That’s the question,” Sam admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “We don’t know what will happen to those already affected. We don’t know if they’ll stay the same or revert. But we can’t let fear paralyze us.”
Deia leaned in, her voice low and urgent. “Elias, you helped create this. You understand the artifact better than anyone. We need your help to destroy it. We need to find a way to end this.”
For a long moment, Elias didn’t respond. The silence hung heavy between them, the enormity of what they were asking sinking in. His entire career, his entire life, had been built on understanding the artifact, on harnessing its power. Now, they were asking him to destroy the very thing that had given him purpose.
But then he looked at Jason, hunched and broken by time, and at Deia and Sam, who had seen two generations pass without aging. And he thought of the world outside—the suffering, the chaos, the endless hunger.
He closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping his lips.
“I’ll help,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we need a plan. If we’re going to destroy it, we have to be sure. We can’t make another mistake.”
Deia nodded, relief flooding her face. “We already have a plan.”
Jason leaned forward, his voice raspy. “We’re going to take it back to where it came from. Mars.”
Elias stared at them, stunned. “You want to bring the spiral back to Mars? And then what?”
Sam’s eyes glinted with a fierce determination. “And then we bury it. Deep enough that no one will ever find it again. Maybe we destroy it. Maybe we just lock it away. But one way or another, it’ll be out of reach.”
Elias leaned back in his chair, the gravity of their plan sinking in. “Mars. You’re serious.”
Deia nodded. “It’s the only place we know it came from. Maybe it’s the only place we can end it.”
Elias glanced around the room, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the end of everything he had spent his life trying to understand.
“All right,” he said softly. “Let’s destroy the damn thing.”
In the dim light of the room, a tiny flicker of hope began to spark among the group. They had a plan, they had each other, and they were about to embark on a journey that would decide the fate of the world.
Author’s note: Thank you for continuing to read my story. Your thoughts and suggestions at this point are very welcome, so leave me a comment, positive or negative! The next chapter is “The Plan“.
J. Carlo Vegas 
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