November 2078
Adam lay on his couch, exhausted. Weeks of work in Madrid had drained him. His mobile device lay forgotten somewhere. His glasses too. The room was dim except for golden sunset light streaming through the window.
He reached for the remote. The television switched on.
A familiar seal filled the screen. The President of the United States.
Adam sat up.
"Today is a historic day for humanity," the President began. "Our fathers and grandfathers feared the day Earth would burst with people. They dreamed of space colonies, of escaping to other worlds."
Adam leaned forward.
"But there is no better place for life than Earth. And our problem has reversed. Population growth has slowed. Stopped. In some places, reversed."
The President paused, letting the weight settle.
"For months now, the world's population has not increased. Cities stand empty—not just in America, but everywhere. Farms without farmers. Homes without children."
Adam's pulse quickened. So it wasn't just City S in Switzerland. It was everywhere. A global crisis, discussed in secret at the highest levels.
"Earth needs more humans," the President continued. "Better humans. And today, I am proud to announce that science has delivered."
He smiled—that practiced, presidential smile.
"An invention—advanced beyond anything we've imagined—can now cradle an embryo from its first day to its last. Faster than nature. More efficient. We will release details soon. Congratulations, humanity. The future is here."
Adam's eyes drifted to his digital library screen. A book cover stared back at him:
Brave New World — Aldous Huxley.
His blood went cold.
He scrambled for his phone, knocking over a cup, cursing under his breath.
"Marc... Marc, pick up..."
Voicemail.
"Where are you, Marc? Where are you?"
He paced the room, thoughts colliding. What would China say? Did they help create this? Europe? How long had they been planning?
The phone rang.
Adam: "Marc! Did you—did you see?"
Marc: "I've done nothing but watch news all day, Adam. I saw."
Adam: "This is what that Swiss official meant. 'Good news.' This is it."
Marc: "No doubt. But Adam—this solution has a dark side. Relying on technology alone to solve a human problem? That's dangerous. I spoke to my daughter during the broadcast. She suggests a global march. Awareness. We need the world to consider natural solutions first."
Adam: "I'm on the next flight."
On the plane, Adam couldn't stop talking to himself.
A fourth gender. After the third, now a fourth. My God, what will these humans be like? Like that novel? Those Brave New World people?
Countries are already producing them. Buying them. Is this really a solution?
People in the past imagined robots. Metal men. But this—this is different. More dangerous. Because they'll look like us. Feel? Will they feel?
Marc's office. Same dim light. Same wood smell. Same time-capsule warmth.
Adam: "You look exhausted."
Marc: "Haven't slept. Preparing for the march. I've read the details of this... invention." He shook his head. "Physics and medicine combined. A womb that compresses nine months into weeks. Then rapid aging—years into months—with AI shaping the brain. Producing humans to specification."
Adam sank into a chair. "They're solving overpopulation by manufacturing people."
Marc: "My daughter is coordinating across Europe. Dozens are flying in. And I have a friend with a TV station—he'll give us airtime. You'll speak, Adam. You'll warn them."
Adam: "We'll do what must be done."
His phone buzzed. Marie.
Adam: "Hello, love—"
Marie: "Did you hear, Adam? Your nightmare is over! Thank God, I'm so excited, long live technol—"
The line went dead. He'd hung up on her.
She's a victim too, he thought. Victim of blind openness. Unthinking acceptance.
In Madrid, Marie barely noticed. She was already deep in conversation with friends, imagining the possibilities. Men designed to order. For fun. For protection. For pleasure. Everyone was talking about it. Details leaked everywhere.
The weeks that followed brought a flood of announcements:
"Population control is now possible!"
"Workers on demand—precise, affordable!"
"Design your ideal citizen!"
Adam watched it all, helpless.
They're moving too fast, Marc. No one sees the negative side. They're solving one problem by creating another. And what about interaction? Will these beings feel human? Or just perform human?
December 25, 2078, The March
Thousands gathered. Signs pierced the winter sky:
"ENCOURAGE MARRIAGE, NOT ROBOTS"
"I WANT A FAMILY, NOT A ROBOT GARAGE"
"HUMAN LOVE CAN'T BE PROGRAMMED"
A few news stations covered the event. Most mocked it. Reactionaries. Anti-science. Luddites.
That evening, Adam sat with Rose—Marc's daughter, who'd arrived after touring Europe.
Rose: "Do you think they'll abandon the idea, Professor? Or at least limit it?"
Adam: "I doubt they'll abandon it. But I hope they use it sparingly. My fear is mass adoption. Everywhere. For everything."
Rose: "I'm scared. Mostly for my father." She glanced toward him—he could barely speak now, exhausted by it all. "He's pushing himself too hard. Ever since my brother..."
Adam: "It'll be alright. Don't worry."
Adam grew to know Rose more deeply. He noticed the effort she silently poured into everything, the thoughts constantly stirring within her, and the quiet worry she carried for her father. Rose—sharp-featured, strong-willed, and beautiful in a way that felt both delicate and unyielding.
May 2079
Months passed. Nations and individuals began acquiring the fourth gender. Producing humans. Announcements came with pride—news segments, advertisements, proud press releases.
Adam and Marie drifted apart. She'd sent him a message weeks after the announcement: Come to Madrid. Live with me. No marriage needed. Just us.
He'd replied: I can't share your beliefs. I can't come back.
She took that as goodbye.
Soon after, she became one of the first customers. A Latin-featured man, strong-built. She showed him off to her friends with pride and joy.
At a café, surrounded by her friends:
"After "Ryan" finishes cleaning the house, he sets up the massage table. I prepare for my luxury session. He's so professional. So attentive." She described everything—every detail of her "happy ending."
Her friends gasped with envy.
The news rolled on:
"French army deploys 5,000 manufactured soldiers—trained and ready."
"Japan receives fourth shipment of workers and farmers, precision-programmed for their roles."
"Major corporations acquire manufactured employees—efficient, tireless, perfect."
"An Italian fashion house got models of both genders". "A London nightclub bought dancers"
One weekend, Adam visited Madrid. Craving paella, he entered his favorite restaurant and ordered.
Minutes later, his food arrived.
He blinked. That fast?
At payment, he tried to compliment the chef.
The owner waved him off: "No need. He's fourth gender. Whole kitchen is."
Adam raised an eyebrow. "And your previous staff?"
The owner shrugged. "Living their lives now. Doing other things."
Adam walked out into the Madrid sun, doubts creeping in.
Maybe this is the solution? Are we exaggerating? Should we stop fighting? How will this end?
.