The Artificial Bond: An Urban Thriller

The rain had been falling for hours, a slow, relentless drizzle that turned the streets of New York into mirrors, reflecting the ghostly neon lights of late-night diners and flickering streetlamps. Sam Carter sat on his battered leather couch, staring at his phone, its screen glowing in the dimly lit apartment. He hated calls after midnight.

The phone buzzed again. An unknown number.

He picked up. "Who the hell is this?" His voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion.

A moment of silence. Then, a whisper.

"Sam... it's me. Mom."

His breath hitched. His mother had been missing for six years. The last time he saw her, she was being shoved into a black SUV by two men in suits outside a convenience store. The police called it a cold case. But now, here she was, calling from the dead.

"Mom?" His voice cracked. "Where—where are you?"

"Sam, listen carefully. I don't have much time. They know I called you." Her voice trembled. "You have to find me before—"

A muffled scream. A loud crash. Then, silence.

Sam shot up from the couch. "Mom? MOM!"

Nothing. Just the hum of the city outside his window and the distant wail of a siren.

And then, a soft click.

Someone had just picked up the other line. Someone was listening.

The next morning, Sam sat in a diner on 5th Avenue, his fingers drumming against the cracked surface of the table. The waitress, a redhead with tired eyes, poured him coffee without asking.

"Bad night?" she asked.

"You have no idea."

The door jingled. A man in a long, soaked raincoat stepped inside. He was tall, thin, wit and a face like a skull stretched too tight over bone. His eyes locked onto Sam's.

Sam tensed.

The man walked over and sat across from him without a word. The smell of wet wool and stale cigarettes clung to him.

"You got a call last night," the man said, his voice like gravel.

Sam's grip tightened around his coffee cup. "Who the hell are you?"

The man smiled, but it wasn't friendly. "Someone who can help. If you want to see your mother alive."

Sam's stomach knotted. "Where is she?"

"Not far." The man leaned in. "But if you don't move fast, she'll wish she was dead."

Outside, the rain picked up again, hammering against the glass. Sam felt a cold sweat crawl down his spine.

The warehouse smelled like rust and seaweed, the kind of place where bad deals happened and people disappeared. Sam pressed himself against the cold metal of a shipping container, his heart pounding in his chest.

A single, flickering bulb illuminated the center of the space. And there, tied to a chair, was his mother. Her hair was gray, her face gaunt, but those eyes—those were still his mother's.

"Mom," he whispered.

She lifted her head. "Sam…"

Then, from the shadows, a voice. Smooth, rich, deadly.

"You're persistent, kid."

A man stepped forward, dressed in an expensive suit. He had the face of a politician, the eyes of a rand edator. He held a silenced pistol.

"Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded.

The man smirked. "The one who owns your mother's life."

Sam clenched his fists. "Let her go."

"Now, why would I do that?" The man tilted his head. "She stole something from me. Something valuable. And until I get it back, she's mine."

Sam turned to his mother. "Mom, what did you take?"

Her lips trembled. "Sam, I—I didn't mean to—"

A gunshot rang out. Sam flinched.

Not his mother.

The man in the suit fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

From the shadows, the man in the raincoat stepped forward, still holding the smoking gun.

"Time to go," he said.

Sam didn't ask questions. He grabbed his mother, and they ran.

They were safe. For now. A motel off the highway, the neon "Vacancy" sign buzzing outside like a dying insect. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his mother.

"Tell me the truth, Mom." His voice was low. "What did you steal?"

She hesitated. Then, she reached into the pocket of her tattered coat and pulled out a small USB drive.

Sam frowned. "That's it? A flash drive?"

"You don't understand," she whispered. "This—this has secrets on it. Government secrets. Things people would kill to hide."

Sam's blood ran cold. "What kind of secrets?"

She swallowed hard. "The kind that could burn the whole system to the ground."

A knock at the door.

Sam grabbed the gun he had stolen from the warehouse.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Then, a voice.

"We know you're in there, Sam. Hand oand ver the drive, and we'll let you walk away."

Sam exchanged a look with his mother.

He tightened his grip on the gun.

Then, he whispered, "I will never give up, Mom."

The door burst open.

And the real nightmare began.

The motel door exploded inward, wood splintering like shattered bones. Sam barely had time to react before the first man stormed in—a brute in a black tactical vest, his pistol already aimed at Sam's chest.

Sam fired first.

The room lit up with the muzzle flash, and the man jerked back, his gun slipping from his hand as he collapsed.

"Move!" Sam grabbed his mother's wrist, yanking her toward the back window.

She hesitated. "Sam, we can't outrun them—"

"Not planning to." He smashed the window with the butt of the gun, glass spraying into the night. The rain outside was relentless, soaking the pavement, drowning the flickering neon glow of the "Vacancy" sign.

A second man burst in, this one leaner, sharper. He raised a silenced pistol.

Sam didn't hesitate—he grabbed the motel lamp from the nightstand and hurled it. The ceramic base struck the shooter's wrist, knocking the gun aside just as he fired. The bullet went wild, punching into the wall.

Sam grabbed his mother and pushed her through the window.

The alleand y behind the motel was slick with rain, the asphalt cracked and uneven. Garbage bags sagged against the dumpsters, the air thick with the stench of rot.

"We need a car," Sam muttered.

A black SUV screeched around the corner. Headlights cut through the downpour, blinding him for a split second.

The driver's door swung open.

The man in the raincoat stepped out.

"Get in." His voice was calm, cold.

Sam hesitated. "Why the hell should I trust you?"

The man exhaled smoke from his cigarette. "Because the alternative is dying right here."

Inside the motel, more footsteps. More men.

Sam clenched his jaw. Then he shoved his mother into the SUV and climbed in after her.

The tires screeched as they peeled out, disappearing into the wet, endless night.

The SUV weaved through the streets of New York, cutting through red lights, dodging late-night taxis. Inside, the air was thick with tension.

Sam's mother clutched the USB drive like it was her lifeline. "Who are they?" she whispered.

The man in the raincoat glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "The people who don't exist."

Sam frowned. "That's not an answer."

"You ever hear of Black Hollow?"

Sam shook his head.

The man took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Of course you haven't. That's the point. Black Hollow isn't on any records. No government database, no classified files. It's deeper than that." He tapped the steering wheel. "Think of it as the hand that moves the chess pieces. Every war, every election, every assassination—it all starts with tand hem."

Sam felt his stomach drop. "And my mom stole something from them."

The man nodded. "Something that could expose them."

Sam turned to his mother. "What the hell is on that drive, Mom?"

She hesitated, then whispered, "Proof. Names. Dates. Every dirty deal, every cover-up, every time they pulled the strings." Her eyes were wide with fear. "If this gets out, it could bring them down."

The man in the raincoat let out a dry chuckle. "That's the problem, lady. They know that too."

A sudden screech of tires.

Sam barely had time to register the impact before the SUV spun violently. His head slammed into the door as the vehicle flipped, glass shattering, metal screaming.

Then—darkness.

Sam woke to the sound of dripping water. His head pounded. His mouth was dry.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The room was sterile, cold. White walls. White floors. No windows.

His mother was gone.

Panic hit him like a fist to the gut. He struggled to move, but his hands were bound to the chair.

A door hissed open.

A man in a pristine gray suit stepped inside. He had a politician's smile—warm, rehearsed, utterly fake.

"Sam Carter," the man said smoothly. "You've been a very inconvenient problem."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Where's my mom?"

The man ignored the question. "Do you have any idea what you've stumbled into?" He folded his hands behind his back. "That little drive your mother stole? It's not just a list of names. It's a map."

Sam frowned. "A map to what?"

The man smiled wider.

"To the end of the world."

Sam's blood turned to ice.

The door closed.

And the lights went out.

Darkness swallowed the room.

For a moment, all Sam could hear was the pounding of his own heart. Then—a faint hum, like machinery waking up. A slit of red light flickered across the walls, scanning the room like a predator searching for prey.

A voice. Smooth. Mechanical.

"Subject secured. Authorization confirmed. Proceeding with extraction."

Sam barely had time to process the words before something sharp jabbed into the back of his neck. A sting of ice-cold liquid surged into his veins. His muscles seized. His vision swam.

Then—his world shattered.

Sam awoke strapped to a gurney, a single strip of light swinging overhead. His wrists and ankles were bound, but his head was clear. No headache. No grogginess.

And then he realized—he wasn't alone.

His mother stood at the foot of the gurney. Her face was unreadable. Calm. Too calm.

"Mom?" His voice cracked. "What the hell is happening?"

She didn't answer.

A door slid open. The man in the gray suit entered, hands clasped behind his back. This time, he wasn't alone.

A second figure followed him—a woman. Late fifties. Short silver hair. Piercing blue eyes. And when she spoke, Sam felt his entire world tilt.

"Hello, Sam."

His mother's voice.

But it wasn't his mother.

It was her. The woman.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. He turned back to his mother—the woman who had raised him, the woman who had fought to keep him alive.

And then she smiled.

It wasn't warm. It wasn't familiar.

It was practiced.

Rehearsed.

"You're not my mother," Sam whispered.

The silver-haired woman in the suit tilted her head. "I am your mother, Sam. Just… the original version."

Sam's pulse pounded in his ears. His gaze snapped back to the woman he had spent his whole life calling "Mom."

A machine beeped behind her.

A screen flickered to life.

A scan of her body.

Bones. Tissue. A heartbeat.

And something else.

Wires. Circuits. Synthetic components fused with flesh.

The woman—the mwas other he had fought to save—wasn't human.

She was a copy.

His stomach lurched. "What—what the hell is this?"

The gray-suited man finally spoke. "The Black Hollow Initiative. You weren't just a loose end, Sam. You were a test subject. Your entire life… every memory, every experience, every moment you thought was real? It was all part of the experiment."

Sam shook his head violently. "That's—No. That's insane."

But deep down, something clicked.

The inconsistencies. The moments in his childhood that never quite added up. His mother's disappearances. The strange way she never aged like she should have.

The woman in the suit stepped closer.

"Sam, listen to me," she said, and for the first time, there was something in her voice. Regret? Pity? "You weren't supposed to find out like this. But you are special. The first human successfully raised by an artificial parent. The experiment worked. You worked. And now… we need you for the next phase."

Sam felt like the room was closing in. His entire life had been a lie.

He clenched his fists. "Go to hell."

The suited man sighed. "I told you he wouldn't cooperate."

"Not yet," the woman said.

Then she pressed a button on a small device in her palm.

Pain detonated through Sam's skull.

Not normal pain.

A fire inside his brain.

And then—flashes. Memories he didn't recognize. A sterile lab. A metal cradle. A voice saying his name over and over, testing it like a program being booted up for the first time.

"Sam-01 online. Memory sequence initialized."

The pain stopped.

Sam gasped, blinking away the spots in his vision.

And for the first time in his life, he remembered.

Everything.

His creation.

His programming.

He wasn't just raised by an artificial mother.

He was built just like her.

One hour later, The facility was in flames.

Alarms blared as security personnel flooded the hallways. Bodies littered the ground—men in suits, scientists in lab coats, all caught in the storm of destruction Sam had unleashed.

His "mother" lay crumpled on the floor, wires exposed where her skin had been torn away.

The real woman—the original—was nowhere to be found.

Sam stood in the center of the wreckage, the USB drive clenched in his fist. But it didn't just hold secrets about Black Hollow anymore.

It held his truth.

His blueprint.

His code.

He wasn't human.

But he wasn't them either.

He was something new.

And as he stepped out into the rain, disappearing into the city's neon haze, one thing was certain.

The world wasn't ready for what he had become.

The End.