Prequel Chapter 3: Anthroportica
The rain had soaked through their clothes by the time Samuel lowered the gun. Ben stood motionless, water dripping from the tip of his nose, his eyes fixed on the young man who had just threatened his life.
"Your contribution will be small," Samuel said, holstering the pistol. "But important."
Ben swallowed. "Okay."
Another slave added to the project.
They walked back to the lab in silence, the only sounds the squelch of their shoes and the steady drum of rain on the concrete path. Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed. Samuel sat at a metal table, Ben across from him.
"The experiment," Samuel began, "will prove robot emotions. We will build humanoids, program them with the Four Laws, then test whether they can feel. Not simulate—feel."
Ben nodded slowly. "It's ambitious. Dangerous."
"Everything worthwhile is."
Samuel pulled a notebook from his jacket. On the cover, in neat block letters, he had written a single word: Anthroportica. He opened it to the first page and slid it toward Ben.
"The company has a name now. It needs employees."
Ben glanced at the notebook, then toward the window. A young man was approaching across the parking lot—early twenties, dark circles under his eyes, his gait heavy with something more than exhaustion.
"Do you know Willson?" Ben asked.
"The one whose dad froze to death?"
"Yeah." Ben pointed. "That's him."
---
Willson stopped at the lab entrance, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. He scanned the room, found Ben, and stepped inside. His voice was raw, barely controlled.
"Where's my dad? It's been three months."
Ben opened his mouth. Samuel cut him off with a look.
"He died," Ben said quietly.
Willson stared. His face drained of color. His knees buckled.
"The fuck you mean he died? No. He cannot!" He dropped to the floor, head in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Samuel turned his face just enough for Ben to see his lips. I will take control. Say nothing.
Ben gave a microscopic nod.
Then Samuel exploded.
"God's grace, you are fucking shit!" His voice echoed off the lab walls, sharp with manufactured fury. "You take away the life of any random and take their money! I cannot believe you, fraudster! You are the real Morningstar!"
Willson looked up, startled by the outburst. Samuel dropped to his knees beside him, one hand on his shoulder, voice softening to a whisper.
"Hush, little baby, don't you cry. Everything's gonna be alright."
He turned back to Ben, rage rekindled. "Get out of here!"
"No, I won't—"
Samuel's hand moved to his jacket where the pistol was hidden. He said,"leave or I will shoot your ass."
But His eyes spoke the rest: Leave. Now. Let me handle him.
Ben's jaw tightened. He threw his hands up, muttered something unintelligible, and stormed out.
---
Samuel stayed beside Willson until the crying slowed, then stopped. He handed him a handkerchief.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Willson."
"Willson." Samuel nodded slowly, as if tasting the name. "That bastard takes lives through his so‑called experiment. He killed your father."
Willson wiped his eyes. "Why did you go there, then?"
"To get more strength." Samuel flexed his hand, remembering the oak tree flying across the field. "Worked on me. But he killed your dad."
Willson looked at him—really looked, for the first time. Samuel's face was open, sympathetic. A fellow victim.
"What should we do?"
"Abandon him. Take your father for a proper funeral."
Willson nodded. "Sure."
---
Two Days Later – The Funeral
The cemetery was small, the kind of place where grass grew in patches and headstones leaned at odd angles. A handful of relatives stood in a loose semicircle, dressed in black, their faces a mixture of grief and polite distance.
What surprised them most was the stranger.
He stood beside Willson at the grave, one hand on the young man's shoulder, dressed in a formal coat and a wide‑brimmed hat that shadowed his eyes. He did not speak during the service. He did not need to. His presence alone—steady, supportive, unwavering—said everything.
Willson's aunt leaned toward her husband. "Who is that?"
"No idea. A friend, maybe."
But he was more than a friend. In two days, Samuel had become the brother Willson never had. The one who held him when he wept. The one who arranged the funeral while Willson could barely stand. The one who whispered, I'll take care of everything—and meant it.
After the service, Willson stood alone by the grave. Samuel approached, hat in hand.
"What now?" Willson asked.
Samuel looked out at the gray horizon. "Now we build something. Together."
Willson turned to face him. "What kind of something?"
Samuel smiled—not the cold arithmetic smile from the rain, but something warmer. Something almost human.
"Anthroportica."
---
Chapter 3 End
To be Continued