NECROMANCER
EPISODE 01 | SCENE 07
19 YEARS EARLIER • YEAR 328
A silhouette fills the frame, sunlight from Penumbra’s skyscrapers glinting off Renegade’s dark suit. He stands beside the glass wall, hands clasped behind his back, gazing over the sprawling, eccentric city. Every eye in the room follows him—except one. Miles studies holographic photos along the wall instead.
“Resurrection,” Renegade says. “Is that what we’ve done?” His back remains turned to the dozen men and women seated around the conference table.
“Resurrections,” one man corrects, emphasizing the plural. “No one in history has done this. It’s never been possible—until now.”
Renegade finally turns his face to them. “But what does it mean? To be resurrected?”
“Haven’t we gone over this?” another says. “We’re past that point.”
Renegade turns fully. “For the sake of argument, let’s return to square one.”
“Are you not satisfied with Generation Four? The new Anima model surpasses all before it.”
“Surpasses?” Renegade lingers on the word. “Are you certain?”
“I don’t follow,” someone else says. “You led the project yourself.”
Renegade walks slowly to his seat at the head of the table. “I’m satisfied, Clive. Truly. We’ve made remarkable progress. But here we are again—at the drawing board. Generation Five stands before us. So before we move forward, let’s ask ourselves—have we truly met our goal?”
“Of course we have.”
Renegade’s gaze shifts. “How about you, Miles?”
Miles pulls his attention from the photographs and meets Renegade’s eyes. He says nothing.
“What are your thoughts?” Renegade presses. “Have we?”
“Our goal has been simple,” Miles says.
“And what is that, my friend?”
“Make man immortal.”
“Have we done that?”
“My friend,” Miles answers, “you don’t need my affirmation.”
“Yes, sir, we have,” another voice interjects.
Renegade forces a smile. “I think so,” he says. “I do. We’ve achieved our goals—and gone beyond them. So tell me, with that in mind, why are we still here?”
They exchange uneasy looks. Renegade’s eyes find Miles again.
“To see what’s next for us,” someone finally says.
“And what is next for us, Dinah?”
She pauses, then laughs softly. “Isn’t that what we’re here to decide, doctor?”
“Precisely,” he says, his voice brightening. “But we need direction. I’ve outlined a three-model plan. The titles remain consistent with the Anima line—Generations Five, Six, and Seven—but our focus shifts.”
He leans forward slightly. “Our motto has always been to make man immortal. And we’ve done that. Yet through all our years of discussion, one word has lingered—resurrection. And still, it hasn’t truly been realized.”
A man with a gray beard speaks up. “Half of us in this room are animas, sir. Are you saying we aren’t real?”
“Of course you are, Riley,” Renegade replies. “But can you say you’re everything you once were? Do you dream? Feel pain? Have you aged since the moment of transfer? Can your skin still tan like it used to?” He rises from his chair. “There’s still so much work to do—and that’s only the beginning. With each generation, our Animas grow more complex, as they should. But our purpose can’t end with added features.”
Miles leans forward. “What are you getting at? It sounds like you want to limit the Animas. You’re talking about adding pain? Aging?”
“Those aren’t limitations, Miles,” Renegade says evenly. “They’re choices—options every Anima should possess. But if you’ll let me continue, you’ll see I have something greater in mind.”
“What else is there?” Miles presses.
“Bringing back the dead.”
“We’ve already done that.”
Renegade chuckles. “Not quite.” He moves to the windowpane. At his touch, the transparent surface shifts into a glowing interface.
“The first four generations of Animas relied on our SentiaChip. Each iteration refined the design, adapting to new shell innovations—but never truly revolutionizing it. Until now.”
Diagrams fill the screen. “This is the NecroChip. While the SentiaChip gathered data from living minds, this one collects it from long-expired DNA.”
The room falls silent. Awe ripples through the group.
“So… we could revive people gone thirty, forty years? Before the SentiaChip?” someone asks.
Renegade smiles faintly. “We could restore lives lost hundreds of years ago. Eons, even—anyone, so long as we have their DNA.”
“Impossible,” Miles says under his breath.
“Are you a doubter, Miles?” Renegade clasps his hands behind his back again. “I remember when you doubted your ability to develop the SentiaChip. Yet you overcame every hesitation.”
Miles lowers his gaze.
“I’m certain, as you lead this new project, you’ll find this frontier is well within reach.”
He doesn’t respond. The silence weighs heavy, dimming the spark Renegade tried to ignite.
“Well then,” Renegade says finally. “Let’s break. Reconvene at two-thirty.”
Miles stands with his hands in his pockets, studying one of the holographic portraits lining the worn passageway. Like every image here, it’s of a boy—Renegade’s boy, Auggie.
Footsteps echo behind him, steady and deliberate. Renegade comes to stand beside him, both men staring at the portrait as if it were a piece of fine art.
“He loved to smile,” Renegade says quietly. “Hard not to smile back, isn’t it?”
Miles turns, watching the man’s face as he gazes at his lost son. He glances down the corridor to be sure they’re alone, then murmurs, “What are we doing?”
Renegade looks over. “What do you mean?”
“Since when was it our goal to bring back the long-lost dead?”
“What’s wrong with restoring life?”
“It’s not possible,” Miles says. “Not the kind of resurrection you’re proposing.”
“I don’t expect the new chip to work by the next generation’s release,” Renegade replies. “That’s why we have a three-model plan. It’ll take time—decades, maybe. Patience is part of the process.”
Miles shakes his head. “But why? Why push it this far?”
Renegade turns from the portrait to face him. “Says the man who shattered boundaries to build the SentiaChip. You once doubted, yet you had zeal. Now I see neither.”
“I once wanted to live forever,” Miles says. The word once stills Renegade.
After a pause, Renegade’s voice softens. “Remember this, Miles—you were the one who crossed the threshold first. Without your chip, the Anima Project wouldn’t exist. Because of your brilliance, death no longer holds sway for our time. Wouldn’t you want that same freedom for those who came before us?”
Miles hesitates. “No,” he says at last.
Renegade straightens, his tone hardening. “Come. Let’s take a little field trip.”
Their polished shoes echo through a maze of clinical passages, deeper into the facility where the murmur of activity fades. The walls turn bare and gray—until a single steel door breaks the pattern. Renegade pushes it open, leading them into a stairwell.
Miles recognizes it instantly. He’d been here once before, though Renegade never knew he had followed him down those same steps.
This time, though, Renegade leads the way. “I’m sorry, Miles,” he says, his voice echoing against the concrete. “But this is the only way to reach where we’re going.”
They descend—floor after floor—until nearly a hundred levels fall behind them. The stairwell finally opens to a subterranean box with no doors, just as Miles remembers.
Renegade presses a hand against the cold surface. At once, veins of light ripple outward like glowing circuitry. A faint outline forms—a doorway traced in white. The framed section sinks inward, vanishing completely.
Without hesitation, Renegade steps into the narrow darkness beyond and motions for Miles to follow. For a moment, Miles lingers at the threshold, then steps forward and is swallowed by the black. The air grows colder. A sharp scent cuts through the space—formaldehyde.
The entrance seals behind him. Miles steadies himself against the walls, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Then, with a wave of Renegade’s hand, pale green light motions to life. Miles flinches, shutting his eyes tight, reluctant to see. But he opens them.
The chamber stretches wide and high like an underground warehouse, lit only by rows of towering glass tubes that radiate with a sickly green hue. As they move deeper, the shapes within become clear.
Eyes—vacant and still—stare out from behind the glass. Skin, pale and slick, presses against it. Tiny hands flatten on the surface, fingers splayed as if reaching for help. But there is no life in them.
Each column holds a child suspended in liquid—some whole, others torn or incomplete, some clustered together, others drifting alone. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, lie preserved in quiet stasis.
Miles freezes, horror carving across his face. His throat tightens, words lost. Sorrow flickers in his eyes.
Renegade walks on, untouched by the sight. He’s been here before.
“You see, Miles,” Renegade says as he makes his way between the green columns, “each one of these children has a story. Each one, a biological connection. And to those women, I’ve made promises.”
Miles’ voice trembles, caught in his throat. He forces out, “What could you possibly have promised them?”
“Eternal life, of course.”
Miles shakes his head. “That’s not possible.”
Renegade glances back. “It seems you’ve had a change of heart. This is the first I’m hearing it—and honestly, it concerns me.”
“You’re concerned for me?” Miles gestures around at the tubes. “Look at them! You lied to those mothers—and they believed you!”
Renegade stops. “We.”
Miles blinks. “What?”
“We’ve worked on this together from the beginning. Have you forgotten that? Every approval, every stage of research—you were there. You supported it all. And now you condemn me? You should take a hard look at yourself.”
Miles clutches his stomach, nausea rising. His breathing shortens. His head throbs.
Renegade’s tone hardens. “These were grieving, desperate women. Women who broke the law—bearing Corruptibles in secret, hiding them from the world. They should’ve had their children seized and sent to breeding stations like the rest. They lived off the grid, penniless, trying to raise the unregistered. Criminals, Miles. And if it weren’t for us, they’d have suffered for it.”
He gestures toward the tubes. “But we helped them. We took them in. Cleared their records. We didn’t send their children to the stations.”
Miles’ voice cracks with fury. “No—we murdered them instead.”
Renegade shakes his head. “We preserved them. Left alone, those women couldn’t afford SentiaChips. Their children would have lived and died without hope of resurrection. But through our Children First Program, these women received chips for free. Their children were granted Anima status. We saved them, Miles. You saved them. How can you deny that?”
Tears well in Miles’ eyes. His voice steadies, low and deliberate. “I thought I knew what we were doing. I thought these children were being helped. At one time I did. But even then, I didn’t know all of this. And especially now, standing here—it’s clear. We didn’t help them. Not one.”
He looks around the chamber again, the rows of lifeless faces staring back. His own face trembles, breaking under the weight of it all.
Then, Miles’ eyes lock on a familiar face floating in a solitary cylinder. A small boy drifts in suspension, whole and untouched. Miles’ breath catches. He would know that face anywhere.
“Is that…?”
Renegade turns to him. “Auggie,” he says quietly. “My son.”
“All these years—you’ve kept him down here?”
“Where else would you have had him placed?”
“You could’ve asked the Elders to bury him. You’re the founder of Anima Corp.”
Renegade exhales, the sound slow and heavy. “The Elders don’t exist, Miles. Not anymore. They died out in the first generation—three hundred years ago.”
Miles stares at him, stunned. “That’s not possible. The city’s run by the Elders. We elect them every seven years.”
Renegade shakes his head. “Have you ever seen one face-to-face?”
“No.”
“They’re holograms,” he says simply.
Miles blinks, the foundation of his world beginning to crumble. “Then who’s running our society?”
Renegade looks up at the floating boy, his expression softening into something almost reverent. “The one who let me keep my son.”
“And who’s that?”
Renegade turns back toward him. “The Mother.”
Miles sags slightly, weariness etched into every movement. “Why did you bring me here?”
“You needed to see what you’ve done,” Renegade replies. “All the good you’ve done. This isn’t a mausoleum—it’s a museum. A testament to our progress. But I also wanted to show you something else.”
Movement stirs behind the rows of tubes. Miles narrows his eyes, trying to make it out.
“It’s all right,” Renegade says softly. “Come to Daddy.”
From the shadows, a boy steps forward—the living mirror of the child in the cylinder. A perfect five-year-old replica of Auggie. Yet his gait is off, stiff and mechanical, his balance uncertain. Miles watches him stumble into Renegade’s waiting arms.
Renegade picks him up and presses his face to the boy’s, eyes shut tight, clinging to the moment. Then he looks at Miles. “Auggie died in 307,” he says. “Your chip—your breakthrough—came two years later. Two years too late. I’ve rebuilt his body, but not his mind. No memories. No soul.” His voice trembles.
Miles sees the unspoken accusation in Renegade’s eyes.
“I’ve waited patiently,” Renegade continues. “More than twenty years. Now it’s time for another breakthrough. It’s time to bring my son back.”
Miles shakes his head. “Renegade…what you’re asking isn’t possible.”
Renegade’s pleading look hardens. “Of course it is. Anything’s possible.”
“You can’t extract consciousness from a corpse’s DNA. That’s not how it works.”
“The funding’s approved,” Renegade says flatly. “You’ll lead the project.”
“Your son isn’t coming back, Renegade. He never has, and he never will.”
Silence spreads through the chamber. The light in Renegade’s eyes flickers out. His jaw tightens. “I’m not asking you.”
“I’m not doing it.”
Renegade kneels, setting the artificial boy gently on the floor. When he rises, his face is stone.
“Look, Renegade,” Miles says quietly. “We’ve sinned.”
“Sinned?” Renegade echoes. “What is sin?”
“I can’t go on after seeing all this. Not anymore.”
“So you won’t give my boy life?”
Miles exhales, his gaze low. “I’ve been trying to find the courage to tell you.”
Renegade’s eyes narrow. “Tell me what?”
Miles steadies his breath, trying to speak through the tightening in his chest. “I made a discovery. A long time ago—the night your son died. I was in the archives, searching through encrypted records. That’s when I found a file named verum. It was buried deep, intentionally hidden. Accessing it wasn’t easy, but I broke through. What it revealed… I didn’t believe it at first. I didn’t want to. But after more digging, I realized it was real—and dangerous. It exposed something that contradicts everything we’ve built.”
He takes a slow breath. “Renegade, human beings—you and I—already possess immortal souls. Which means your son, even if you brought him back, would never truly be himself. The Anima Project—this dream of artificial eternity—it’s a fraud. A hollow imitation. A lie. The real truth lies beyond our reach and always has been.”
Renegade’s face stays motionless, eyes unreadable. Then his voice drops, dark and cold. “You are going to lead this project. And you are going to bring my son back.”
Miles shakes his head. “No. Auggie’s dead. And I won’t keep feeding your delusion.”
Renegade’s fists tighten, knuckles pale. His lips press together, his eyes burning red. “Then I suppose it’s time for you to leave.” He raises his wrist and mutters into his watch—words Miles can’t make out.
Moments later, androids materialize from the shadows and surround him.
“Escort my ex-partner from this room,” Renegade orders.
He shouts as they close in on Miles. “The lies must end, Renegade! We know the truth now—we’re responsible for it. The world deserves to know!”
Renegade turns his back, gazing up at his son suspended in the tube. His tone is eerily calm. “I reject your truth, plain and simple. The only truth is the one I hold. It’s carried me this far. As for you…well, it’s killed you.”
The androids seize Miles by the arms, dragging him backward toward the door.
“Oh, and androids,” Renegade adds, still facing the glass. “Miles is not to leave the premises.”
“What should we do with his brain chip, sir?” one asks.
A slow grin spreads across Renegade’s face. “He says it’s worthless—then destroy it. I don’t need his data. I’ll do better myself.”
“And the body, sir?”
Renegade’s eyes drift over the hall of suspended children, the green light flickering across his face. His expression hardens. “Let it burn a little.”
The door seals shut, cutting off Miles’ pleas. Now, only the faint radiance of the preservation tanks fills the air, pulsing like a heartbeat through the vast, silent chamber.
