Date: April 28, 2027
The sound of the trees outside was soft, almost a murmur, as if nature were trying not to disturb the plans of a man who no longer fully belonged to this world.
It was early.
Very early.
The sky was still colorless, but Iker Ayala had been awake for hours.
Since he had understood the true scope of the Absolute Compression System, time was no longer a line: it was a tool. And he, an architect caught between two existences.
One pulled him toward his human past.
The other… toward the future of all known biology.
In his study, the screen lit up by itself. A dim white light flooded the space like a pent-up breath. Eidolon greeted him wordlessly.
Iker barely looked up from his leather notebook, where he drew plans and wrote formulas in black ink, as if he needed to leave a physical record of his mind, in case he ever vanished.
"Report," he murmured.
Eidolon's voice emerged like digital silk. Firm, not robotic.
Almost maternal.
"Accumulated profits from recent operations project a net income of 713 million US dollars. Funds distributed across 14 high-yield accounts, with no trace associated with the Ayala surname."
Iker didn't smile.
The money was just a key.
Now he needed to open the right doors.
"Listen, Eidolon. It's time to scale. Start preparing automated fundraising for biotech projects, maritime transport, climate defenses, medical infrastructure, and energy. Make sure the sources are discreet, sustainable, and... without human interruptions."
"Order received. Redirecting financial intelligence to global development goals. Economic growth will be self-regulating and ethically neutral, with top priority given to classified projects."
Iker nodded. Then he closed the notebook.
"And I want an island." Not just land... I want a base. As large as possible. Isolated enough to be invisible, yet alive. Rich. Capable of sustaining a world.
It took Eidolon less than three minutes to scan all available satellite maps, cartographic archives from the last hundred years, and exploration reports abandoned by governments and industries.
Then he spoke:
"Tzabek Island. Located 480 kilometers southwest of the coast of Michoacán. Formerly classified as an area of geothermal interest, it was dismissed due to political instability in the 1990s. Area: 538 square kilometers. Dense flora. Underground rivers. Zones of stable altitude. No seismic activity has been recorded in 74 years. It is not included in current conservation systems."
"And the government?"
"They consider it vacant. It can be acquired through silent expropriation under the guise of an agro-environmental project through legal cover in Belize." Estimated cost: less than 0.02% of available capital.
Iker stood up. He walked to the window. The lights of the sleeping city flickered in the distance like dying stars.
"Get it. Don't let a single document remain that connects me to it. Not directly... not indirectly."
"Order executed."
He returned to the lab at dawn. The old basement was no longer a makeshift space: it was a living factory.
Kara-H1 oversaw the assembly line, its movements smooth, precise. It had flawlessly adapted to the operating environment. It didn't question, it didn't doubt. It just created.
Six new models of the K-H1 series were under construction: adaptive assistance androids, with cognitive cores configured by Eidolon for medical, technical, and maintenance functions. No soldiers. No weapons. Not yet.
Robots building robots.
"We can't trust corporations," Iker murmured. Humans crave power, attention… access. They'd sell everything for minutes of influence.
Kara-H1 turned to him.
"Do you trust me?"
He looked at her silently. The answer came to him, clear, from deep within:
"I trust in what you don't have… ambition."
The transport of the androids to the island would begin soon.
Everything would move by sea, in containers disguised as agricultural machinery, navigating routes that Eidolon plotted to evade radar and suspicion. No humans would be involved. None would know.
Meanwhile, the system was already digitally modeling the future:
A natural security ring, formed by rivers and barriers of adapted genetic flora.
A central core for Arkaia Mansion, residence and command center.
A deep sublevel: the Life Factory, fully automated.
And beyond… the heart of the project. Still nameless.
Still waiting for the first heartbeat.
Gabriel descended to the last level of the lab.
The incubators were lined up, cold, luminous.
Empty.
He could begin the cloning process. He had vectors. Matrices. Simulations ready.
But he wouldn't.
Not yet.
"Nothing will be born... until there is land to walk on, air to breathe... and security to protect them."
"Confirmed," Eidolon replied. "Cloning blocked. Requires double authorization and full emotional verification."
Iker nodded.
He returned home late.
The sun was no longer shining.
The everyday world waited for him as always: unknowing.
Alma slept on the couch, wrapped in a light blanket.
The television was still on, playing soft cartoons, a cup of cold tea on the edge of the table.
Iker didn't wake her.
He just sat next to her, silent.
And he allowed himself a pause.
Not to doubt.
But to remember.
Because the world he was going to create... didn't yet exist.
But every day, every night...
it was closer.