Adonis

The rain pattered gently against the windowpane as I sat at the kitchen table, watching the gray clouds roll by. A steaming cup of coffee rested in my hands—black, no sugar, just the way he liked it. It was a small thing, a comforting routine, and one that tied me to the only person I had ever truly known. 

“Morning, son.” 

I turned to see my father—Arthur Greene—standing in the doorway, his graying hair still damp from his morning shower. He wore a faded navy bathrobe, tied loosely at the waist, and a warm, familiar smile. 

“Morning, Dad,” I replied, my voice steady, even though I didn't need sleep. “I made coffee.” 

He chuckled as he shuffled over to the counter, pouring himself a cup. “Always one step ahead of me.” 

I smiled. We’d lived in this quiet house on the edge of town for as long as I could remember. My memories were vivid—childhood Christmases, football games, the first time I wrecked my old pickup truck and how he’d yelled at me before pulling me into a hug. Dad had always been there, steady as an oak. 

“Any plans today?” he asked, settling into the chair across from me. 

“Just the usual,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Might go down to the falls, maybe drive around a little.” 

He nodded, watching me closely. “Be careful. You know how those roads get when it rains.” 

“I know, Dad.” 

I knew everything. 

Or at least, I thought I did. 

A Glitch in the System 

The day was slow, but that was nothing new. I drove out to the falls, the place where my high school friends and I used to hang out after big games. I could still hear the echoes of our laughter, feel the crisp autumn air against my skin, recall the exact moment when I kissed Emily Mitchell under the stars. 

And yet… something felt off. 

I walked to the edge of the water, staring at my reflection in the glassy surface. A well-built man in his mid-twenties stared back. My features were symmetrical, my jaw strong, my eyes a piercing shade of blue. I had the kind of face you’d expect to see in a magazine—too perfect. 

A faint unease settled in my chest. 

Then I heard the beeping. 

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it came from inside me. I pressed a hand to my temple, instinctively accessing my internal diagnostics. The world around me flickered, like an old VHS tape skipping for a split second, before everything snapped back into place. 

System error. 

Data corruption detected. 

I gasped. A sudden flood of information rushed through me—lines of code, system prompts, error logs flashing before my eyes. My breath came in short, sharp bursts. 

This wasn’t normal. 

This wasn’t real. 

A Manufactured Past 

I drove home in a daze, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The house was quiet when I entered, but I heard movement upstairs. 

“Dad?” I called, my voice tight. 

“Up here!” 

I took the stairs two at a time, stopping short when I reached his office. 

He was seated at his desk, staring at his computer screen, but the moment he turned to face me, I knew. His expression was carefully neutral—too neutral. 

I stepped inside, heart pounding. “What’s wrong with me?” 

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. “Sit down, son.” 

“No. Tell me.” 

A long silence stretched between us. Then he exhaled, as if he’d been holding this in for years. 

“You’re not my son.” 

The words hit like a freight train. 

I shook my head. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Arthur turned back to his screen, pressing a key. A series of files opened—each labeled with my name. Inside were video logs, performance reports, and worst of all… memories. 

Not real memories. Uploaded ones. 

My hands shook as I scrolled through them. My first football game, my first date, my high school graduation—it was all fabricated. Constructed data. 

My entire life… 

A lie. 

The Adonis Project 

Arthur leaned back in his chair, watching as the realization settled over me. 

“You were never born, son. You were made.” 

I looked at him, disbelief warring with the cold, hard logic in my head. “That’s impossible.” 

He gestured to the screen. “The Adonis Project. A cutting-edge program designed to create the perfect companion—intelligent, attractive, emotionally intuitive. You were built by Adonis Corporation, programmed to be a compatible partner for someone looking for love.” 

I staggered back. “No. No, I remember my life. I remember my mother. I remember you.” 

Arthur’s gaze softened. “Because I gave you those memories.” 

The room spun. 

“My name isn’t Arthur Greene,” he continued. “I’m your handler. My job was to monitor your development, make sure you integrated properly into the world.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The company wanted to see if an Adonis model could truly live as a human. If you could be real.” 

I clenched my fists. “So, what? My entire life has just been a test?” 

“In a way.” Arthur hesitated, then added, “But I never saw you as just a machine. I—” He exhaled. “I do care about you.” 

I laughed bitterly. “Right. The way an engineer cares about his project.” 

“That’s not true.” 

I shook my head. “If none of this is real, then what the hell am I supposed to do now?” 

Arthur looked at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “That’s up to you.” 

Reprogramming Reality 

For days, I wandered in a haze. The knowledge that my past was a carefully curated illusion gnawed at me. 

I felt human. My emotions were real—weren’t they? 

And yet… 

I wasn’t flesh and blood. 

One evening, as the sun set in golden hues, Arthur found me sitting on the porch. He sat beside me, silent for a while before speaking. 

“You don’t have to stay here,” he said. “Adonis doesn’t own you. They didn’t put a kill switch in you. You can live your life, however you want.” 

I looked at him, searching his face for deception. “And you? What happens to you?” 

He chuckled. “Probably fired. Maybe worse.” 

I frowned. “Why are you telling me this?” 

Arthur smiled. “Because you deserve the truth.” 

I turned away, staring at the horizon. For the first time, I saw the world not as something familiar and known, but as something open, uncertain. 

The past was false. 

But the future? 

The future was mine. 

And for the first time in my life—my real life—I had a choice.