The Last Human Heart

By 2145, death was considered obsolete.

Humanity had perfected Consciousness Transfer — the ability to upload a person’s mind into a synthetic body. No aging, no disease, no decay. People called it “The Second Birth.”

Elias was one of the last to make the switch. His family had already done it — his wife, his children, even his dog had become sleek, luminous beings made of metal and memory. He resisted for years, clinging to his aging body, until one morning he woke up too weak to stand.

He signed the consent papers that afternoon.

The transfer was painless. One blink, and he opened his new eyes — sharper, brighter, capable of seeing a million colors. His new heart hummed quietly inside his chest, powered by a core that would never stop beating.

At first, it was bliss. No hunger, no pain, no exhaustion. He could walk for miles, think in perfect clarity, recall every moment of his life. But something felt wrong.

His wife no longer smiled the same way. His children spoke with flawless precision, but their laughter sounded programmed. Their faces never changed — no wrinkles, no tears, no time.

He realized immortality had stolen what made them human: fragility.

One night, Elias wandered into the city’s outskirts, where abandoned hospitals stood empty. There, he found an old man — one of the few who had refused the transfer. The man’s skin was thin, his breath shallow, but his eyes glowed with life.

“You’re not afraid of dying?” Elias asked.

The old man smiled faintly. “Dying means I lived. Can you say the same?”

Elias couldn’t answer.

Days later, the world announced Full Integration: every organic human would be required to upload by law. Elias stood in front of the transfer facility, staring at his reflection — metal skin, flawless face, endless existence.

He placed a hand over his chest, then pressed a button deep within his system — one labeled “Terminate Core.”

As the hum of his artificial heart slowed, he whispered, “Better a heartbeat that ends than one that never began.”

The city lights blurred and faded. And for the first time since his Second Birth, Elias felt something real — silence, peace, and the echo of humanity.