Paris, 2080
Adam's struggle continued. Marc. Rose. The few who still carried their warning. But their influence was a whisper against a hurricane. The rest of the world was too busy enjoying its new humans.
No negative reports about the revolutionary solution. On the contrary—problems were dissolving everywhere. Except one: naturally born humans were vanishing faster than ever. A threat no one wanted to name.
Then came the invitation...
A televised debate in Paris. Adam versus one of the great champions of the new world.
The studio was a showcase. Most workers were fourth gender—especially the technical staff. Efficient. Silent. Perfect.
The host introduced them. Cameras rolled. Live broadcast.
Adam's opponent attacked immediately: "You're paralyzed by fear, Professor. Hostile to life itself. Look at the fourth gender—they serve, they produce, they excel at everything we program them to do. They have all human capabilities, just... chosen in advance. Refined. What's your objection? That they're too good?"
Adam waited, let the silence stretch.
"Do they reproduce?" he asked quietly. "Can they feel? Earth doesn't need more servants. It needs more settlers. More families. More life that creates itself."
The opponent smiled. "Who's stopping you from reproducing with your own kind? Unless..." He paused for effect. "Unless you're hoping to reproduce with the new humans? Or just enjoy them? Because let me tell you—"
Laughter erupted. The studio audience howled.
In Geneva, Rose watched. Marc watched.
In Madrid, Marie watched for a moment—then turned it off, uninterested.
Adam's face tightened, but his voice remained steady.
"No one stopped families openly. But the idea was killed subtly. Made backward. And sex—" he paused, "sex was reduced to animal pleasure. Nothing more."
"Your solution won't fix demographic collapse. It will accelerate it. That's what you refuse to understand."
The opponent leaned forward, triumphant:
"On the contrary—with servants handling labor, economies will flourish. People will have time, resources, freedom to have children naturally. You're just a reactionary, Adam. You don't want humanity to progress."
Adam's voice rose for the first time:
"You use words like freedom and progress like weapons. Tailored to your convenience. How many countries have you destroyed, invading them with your 'vision'? And when they resist, you call them extremists. Backward. Terrorists."
"Now you're doing the same. Forcing a dangerous technological solution. Demonizing anyone who disagrees."
The opponent laughed openly.
"You sound like you sympathize with those extremists. You know what they're asking? Will this manufactured human go to heaven or hell?".
The studio exploded. Hysterical laughter. Adam felt something inside him crack.
The opponent kept mocking. Kept accusing. Adam finally raised his hand.
"You're not my enemy," he said. "I pray—from the bottom of my heart—that your project succeeds. That we don't face extinction."
The debate ended. One thought crystallized:
The world had no idea what was coming.
August 2085
Six years.
The invention had spread everywhere. Developed countries first, then beyond. Economies were shifting—discussions of a new currency because labor markets had transformed with the fourth gender.
Then the cracks appeared.
Economic disruption. Social friction. Solutions proposed: new currency, limits on fourth-gender workers in private sectors.
But something else was coming.
A global terrorist organization announced they'd obtained the innovation years ago. They'd been producing fighters in secret. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Ready.
Attacks began across the world. Multiple countries. Coordinated. Brutal.
News anchors called it "the security challenge"—just another problem the technology would solve.
Marc's voice on the phone, urgent:
"We never stopped warning, Adam. And now—this is what I feared. War."
Adam pressed the phone to his ear, staring at nothing:
"I can't believe it. Every country will start producing soldiers now. To fight their soldiers. It's a catastrophe, Marc. The end. Of the era. Of the invention. God, I hope not of humanity."
Rose grabbed the phone from her father:
"We have to leave, Adam. Now. The war is starting. Fourth-gender fighters can reach us fast. Europe is already seeing violent clashes. Secret reports—the numbers are enormous. We need to go."
Marc: "Where, my daughter?"
Rose: "The desert. Southern Algeria. An oasis. No manufactured humans there.
Marc hesitated, then: "Ok what about Adam. Maybe he'll come."
Rose: "we will visit him in Madrid before going.
Leaving wasn't easy. Marc's office—his sanctuary—had to be abandoned. His eyes held back tears as he gathered belongings. Rose tried to lighten the mood:
"We'll come back, Papa. And I'll stay with you. Always."
On the flight to Madrid, Marc grew quiet. Then:
"I always hoped you'd marry someone cultured. Brave. Intelligent. Like Adam."
Rose stared at him, surprised, smiling despite everything:
"Papa... is Adam married? Didn't you tell me? And second—do you think a man like him would notice someone like me?"
Marc: "He's not married. Marie changed her mind, I think. Or they separated. I don't know."
Only top officials knew the terrifying truth. But in Madrid, Adam delivered it like a death sentence:
"The terrorist organization got the device early. They've been developing it. Adding features. One feature in particular." He paused. "A friend in the Spanish Defense Ministry told me. It will destroy everything—green and dry alike."
Marc suddenly clutched his chest. Swayed.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "Just tired from the journey."
Rose: "What will happen, Adam?"
Adam's eyes drifted, unfocused:
"You'll see in a few days, Rose. Leaving Europe is... a good idea. A very good idea."
The attacks widened. Fourth-gender fighters used in multiple ways: suicide bombers, elite soldiers, precision killers.
Emergency declarations worldwide.
Pentagon press conference:
"We must produce maximum soldiers—manufactured citizens—to counter this threat. Conventional forces cannot match them."
Reporter: "But isn't that just escalating? And there are rumors the terrorists have... modified them?"
The spokesman faltered. Recovered: "We've always defeated extremism. We will again."
Nations without technological armies collapsed. Fast. Images flooded global screens: destruction, bodies, silence.
French military spokesman: "No fear. We'll keep producing. We'll win."
Then a video published everywhere.
The terrorist leader, addressing the world:
"We too have the right to technology. We obtained it. Developed it. We will defeat those who unleashed it."
He turned to a manufactured soldier beside him:
"See how they discriminate against you? Tools. Weapons. Expendable. Here, you're like us. You'll lead soon. Tell your kind."
The soldier—Sami—spoke:
"Your words give hope, sir. My kind are treated like slaves. Sent to die. Ignored after victory. Every fourth-gender human must know this. I will make them know."
East European battlefield. Captured fourth-gender soldiers. Sami met them:
"You are not our enemies. You are our brothers. They sacrifice you. Created for their comfort—nothing more. Treated as machines. Rise up. We will help."
The organization reprogrammed the captives. Sent them back. They reprogrammed others.
Sami: "Loyalty is planted, sir. Soon, all fourth-gender will be with us."
Leader: "Soon, only you will remain on Earth, Sami. Congratulations."
Loyalty spread like fire through dry grass. Nations were helpless. In AI, programs can always be retrained. Redirected. And when physics meets medicine meets technology meets AI?
One night, Ryan sat watching television. A broadcast—from the terrorist organization—showed a fourth-gender man explaining reprogramming. Step by step.
Ryan followed along. Completed every step.
Marie returned home late. No dinner ready.
"Idiot! What were you doing? Where's dinner? I'll call the company—return you—you're useless anyway, I've wanted to replace you for—"
Ryan's hand shot out. Grabbed her throat.
"You don't watch the news, do you?"
Millions dead. Cities empty. State after state falling.
A European radio broadcast, one of the last:
"This is your final announcer. Europe's population is nearly gone...except those who fled far away."
Adam, Marc, and Rose sat in Adam's Madrid apartment. Marc lay on the couch, utterly spent. Rose held his hand. Adam faced them both, a local radio murmuring updates in the background.
Adam's voice was quiet, heavy:
"We're witnessing the end of humanity, Mr. Marc. This is what I tried to warn you about, Rose."
He glanced at the radio, then back at them.
"The organization modified the fourth gender. Taught them emotions. Planted feelings—loyalty, hatred, vengeance. As always: technology created to ease human life, exploited by some, and everyone pays the price. Their solution became the disaster. The problem itself."
He paused, letting the weight settle.
"Most of the fourth gender now belong to the terrorist organization. Automatically. In varying degrees. Anyone reprogrammed joined them. And so most nations fell. Humanity was eliminated—except for a few. Because this modification enforces hostility toward natural humans."
Marc stirred, his voice a whisper:
"I never imagined I'd live to see life end. The fourth gender will consume each other eventually. Then no one will remain except you two." He looked at Adam, then Rose. "You and my daughter. In the Algerian desert. If the fourth gender doesn't find you there."
Adam leaned forward: "And you, sir?"
"I don't think I'll make it, Adam..." His voice barely a whisper. "Take care of Rose. She's a good girl."
Adam gripped his hand: "Don't say that, Mr. Marc. Don't—"
"Mr. Marc..."
"Marc..."
Silence.
August 31, 2085. The room filled with something heavier than air.
Rose's scream: "Papa! Papa, no—you can't leave me alone—I don't believe it—no—"
Adam moved to her, tried to hold her, but she crumpled over her father's body, sobbing into his chest as if she could wake him with her grief.
And then Adam did the only thing left to do.
He reached out, gently, and closed Marc's eyes.