I’ve just wrapped up three days of outlining Hemo Sapiens: Origins, the prequel to Hemo Sapiens: Awakening. I feel it’s in a good place to get started.
As I wait to get Beta feedback on Hemo Sapiens: Awakening, I want to continue to make progress in this universe. As of now, my working titles for this series are as follows:
Hemo Sapiens: Origins
Hemo Sapiens: Awakening
Hemo Sapiens: Aftermath
Hemo Sapiens: Epsilon Rising
I know what I want to happen over the arc of Epsilon Rising, and I know some key events for Aftermath, but Aftermath just needs to bridge the gap between Awakening and Epsilon Rising to lend plausibility to the events in Epsilon Rising.
This project was supposed to have been a side-project—a few short stories to cleanse my creative palate. Instead, I imagined a universe and this series. I’m looking forward to returning to my original project after I put this behind me. There is plenty of ground to tread here. For now, I just want to strike when the inspiration is here.
NB: I chose the cover image because the alternate was rendered with human teeth. That’s just going too far. 🤖
My first draft of Hemo Sapiens: Awakening is almost finished. Below is a screenshot of my Word document with the navigation panel open to show the chapters, sections, and working titles.
The content from Chapter 5 (with tweaks) was taken from my short story, The Unidentified, published here, so it’s not spoiler to share. Funny enough, I just notices an error in my screenshot. Emily’s daughter Grace is almost five*, so I’ve amended that in my draft.
For those wondering, I maintain a spreadsheet with the birthdates and ages of all of the characters, so I can age-progress them appropriately. And there are certain maturity stages that occur around a certain age, for example, when their fangs come in. Just turning five, Grace won’t have fangs yet.
At this point, I’ve got 250 pages and 37 chapters. I deleted over 1,000 more words today—from 57,641 to 56,616—, but I expect to remain over 50k.
I also started working on the title and subtitle artwork, which I’ll share when I’m done with it. As I already know the title and subtitle of my next book, which is at least 60% done (🤞) in its own right, I am making sure the Hemo Sapiens title art leves space to nestle in the subtitle.
I’m getting excited, but the finish line is still a ways away. I think I’ve reached a major milestone in completing the first draft—99.999%, I feel. I still need to work on the cover art and layout and lining up Beta readers.
* Grace is five in the short story, but she’s been demoted a few months in the novel.
This is section five of five from my short story, Hemo Sapiens: Aftermath. I’ve made available an audio version if you are so inclined. I’ll be publishing the rest of the story over the next few days. The first section is also available. Let me know how you feel about it in the comments section. Check out another story in this universe: Hemo Sapiens: The Unidentified.
Ravi shuts off his presentation. “So that’s your glimpse into what it’s like to be a bat,” he tells the class, gesticulating. “If you’ve got any questions about the assignment, talk to Niamh. She’s your go-to for that.” He sets the remote down on his desk.
The oak-panelled walls of his classroom soak up the fluorescent light, but the air’s different today. Quieter. Tense. His mobile vibrates in his pocket. It’s from the Journal of Evolutionary Biology. “Your Article Is Now Published,” the subject line reads.
A swift swipe of his thumb and the notification’s gone. Pride swells, mixed with something less celebratory. “You’re dismissed,” he tells the class. The words feel heavy, like he’s severing something he can’t quite name.
Overnight, Ravi becomes renowned. But with fame comes shadows and backlash.
But shadows lurk beneath the glare of fame. As the light grows brighter, the darkness closes in too.
Henry warns the spotlight also illuminates targets. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow, and powerful enemies may lurk in the shadows.
Ravi’s inbox overflows with vitriol — trolls lobbing slurs, hate groups spewing conspiracies, armchair critics challenging his every claim. Even colleagues whisper in hushed corridors, envy tainting their smiles. He tells himself to let it roll off his back, but the hostility eats at him.
Ravi stands firm as the host tries to provoke him. Inside though, doubts gnaw.
Ravi pushes down the indignation rising within. “I’m well aware this research could tank my career,” he responds bluntly. “My colleagues may vilify me. I’ll likely lose funding and positions. But I had an obligation to publish the truth as I found it, regardless of the professional risk.”
The host raises his eyebrows, scepticism evident. Ravi feels his reputation is on the line, his life’s work hanging by a thread. But he maintains his composure. “I stand by my research, no matter the personal or professional consequences I face.”
Inside, his heart hammers at the looming prospect of destroying everything he’s built. But the world needs to know. He steels himself, determined to weather whatever backlash comes.
At a black-tie gala, he’s swarmed by socialites and sponsors eager to capitalise on his status. Their hungry eyes unnerve him. Ravi realises he’s become a commodity.
“What a ride, eh?” Henry remarks after one dizzying week.
Ravi nods, exhaling slowly. The ride’s far from over. And he’s no longer sure he wants a front row seat. Already he longs for the comforting solitude of his lab.
On a video call, Ravi sips his sole solace — a hot cuppa. But tensions run high.
“So glad you could find time in your busy schedule, Dr Chandrasekhar,” Detective Henderson tacitly introduces him. “I believe everyone here knows you. Let’s get started.”
Henderson continues with a rundown of the case so far, involving the hemo sapiens, ending with, “We are under a lot of pressure to uncover their history, but everything’s a dead end.”
Ravi listens as others weigh in on the unfolding societal drama. Human rights groups are calling for their release; the police consider them a flight risk.
A social worker chimes in about the difficult situation regarding the young hemo sapiens.
Henderson finally asks Ravi, “Do you have anything to add regarding your Hemo sapiens research, professor? Your perspective could prove invaluable, given your status as the preeminent expert on these individuals.”
“I appreciate being asked to help with this case,” Ravi begins cautiously, “But this feels squarely like detective work. I can continue to be of service, but I need your assurance that these people will be protected.”
Ravi senses the room’s collective gaze shift toward him, like a pack of wolves sizing up their next meal. This is well above his pay grade, isn’t it? “I appreciate being invited to help on this case.” He pauses, savouring the slight sting of the warm tea as it slips down his throat, a brief respite from the mounting tension.
The weight of their expectations gnaws at him. He feels like he’s clutching at straws, grappling for answers that just aren’t there. Silence hangs heavy. “But I must be frank; I’ve done what I can with the information I’ve been given. If there’s more to know, then it isn’t within the scope of my current research.”
Ravi clears his throat, trying not to think about the repercussions—how every pair of eyes on this screen will read into his words, how this could ricochet back on him, tarnishing years of credibility. “I have ethical concerns about how this case is being handled. The unvarnished truth is that we have no clue where these individuals have evolved from or who created them. Should we discover more, I can certainly connect some genetic dots. In any case, these are still people. Homo sapiens. They have rights.”
Disclaimer: This content is not necessarily a finished work. As such, details are subject to change or removal.
This is section four of five from my short story, Hemo Sapiens: Aftermath. I’ve made available an audio version if you are so inclined. I’ll be publishing the rest of the story over the next few days. Let me know how you feel about it in the comments section. Follow these links for the section one, section two, and section three of this story. Check out another story in this universe: Hemo Sapiens: The Unidentified.
Ravi’s fingers fly over the keyboard, crafting a complex report. It’s all there, from MSX1 and PAX9 to the larger metabolic canvases painted by Cytochrome P450 and SLC22A.
Ravi’s hand trembles slightly as he contemplates clicking Send. He leans back, questioning himself. Have I remained true to my ethical principles? Or have I sacrificed morality in my pursuit of scientific glory? The doubts gnaw at him.
He scrolls up and takes another pass through his densely packed paragraphs, questioning his choices. “SLC22A for metabolism, but no HOX genes ’cause we’re not sprouting wings here.”
“It could happen,” he chuckles dryly at the thought, double-checks the document, and finally hits Send.
He mulls the potential fallout. “Arrey bapu, this ain’t some theoretical thesis; this is real-world shit. Could make or break careers — mine included.” A deep inhale. Hold. Exhale.
At his shambolic desk, Detective Sergeant Jones pores over Ravi’s dense report, searching for clues. Ravi’s insights on the Hemo sapiens may be pivotal in cracking this case wide open.
“This could be game-changing, but we need more. Origins, Ravi. Damn origins,” he mutters, flipping through the printed report again.
He looks at the cold coffee in his “Best Detective” mug. “Am I really the best if I can’t crack this? Ravi’s got the science, but what do I have?”
He picks up an old case file, filled with unsolved mysteries. “Another oddity for the files unless Ravi illuminates things.”
An urgent email from Andrea makes Ravi bristle. Let’s stick to the science, not headlines.
“She’s got some nerve,” Ravi mutters, scanning the terse bullet points at odds with his meticulous research.
“Urgent, huh? My work’s groundbreaking, not some tabloid nonsense,” he grumbles, picturing Andrea’s poised presence beside him at the podium.
Typing talking points, Ravi feels the begrudging urgency of Andrea’s email. “Let’s break some news. For science, not for show, but always in an ethical, responsible way. The public must feel confident we are acting with integrity as we present these findings,” he tells himself.
A text from Henry gives Ravi pause. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.” He’s right. Words can’t be unsaid.
He starts typing his talking points, the language technical but with the begrudging sense of urgency Andrea’s email conveyed. “Alright, let’s break some news. For science, not for show.”
Just as he’s about to save, his phone buzzes with a text from Henry. “Good luck with the presser. Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”
Henry’s text gives Ravi pause. Can’t take back words. No scientific do-overs.
Ravi re-reads his talking points, contemplating the public’s potential reaction. “It’s not just science nerds and politicians watching. It’s everyone. Gotta be sure, gotta be damn sure.”
Disclaimer: This content is not necessarily a finished work. As such, details are subject to change or removal.
This is section three of five from my short story, Hemo Sapiens: Aftermath. I’ve made available an audio version if you are so inclined. I’ll be publishing the rest of the story over the next few days. Let me know how you feel about it in the comments section. Follow these links for the section one and section two of this story. Check out another story in this universe: Hemo Sapiens: The Unidentified.
Ravi urgently presses an MP to break the news of a humanoid subspecies discovery. Historic revelations ahead.
“I understand your hesitation, but trust me—revealing a new humanoid subspecies will be historic,” Ravi urges, palpable enthusiasm in his tone.
Ravi hangs up, willing his racing mind to stay focused. He’s set events in motion quickly – too quickly? No, the time has come for this revelation. With renewed purpose, he moves to finalise his journal article submission.
MP Andrea Smith weighs options with advisors in her imposing office. She must control the shocking narrative.
Straightening briefing notes, Andrea takes in the wood-panelled walls and bookcases of her spacious but spartan office. Clearly an official space, not a personal one.
“But is it wise to rush into this prematurely?” an advisor cautions, bushy grey eyebrows drawing together as he fidgets with cufflinks under his tailored suit.
“This could be your career-defining moment if his claims prove true,” another enthuses, his youthful eyes alight as he leans forward in anticipation.
Andrea feels a chill down her spine as her advisor leans in, voice low. “Tread very carefully, Andrea. The wrong move here could end more than your career. Powerful entities have a vested interest in this kind of genetic tinkering. You don’t want to become a threat to them.” His eyes convey a stark warning. She forces a nod, the full danger of her position suddenly clear. She’s grappling with a matter of global security now. One misstep could put her freedom at risk.
Andrea massages her temples, weighing her options carefully. “We just need to get out in front of this news and control the narrative,” she decides firmly.
Andrea clicks off the call, steadying her nerves with a deep breath. The press announcement could make or break her career. But succeed or fail, it’s too late to turn back now. She begins drafting remarks, choosing her words carefully for the spotlight soon to come.
Bathed in monitor glow, Ravi finalises his article submission. No retreating from the spotlight now.
“Where’d these freaks even come from?” Ravi mutters, gulping black tea. He stares at the screen, puzzled. “We couldn’t engineer this twenty years back. Something’s off…”
He rings up the journal’s executive editor. “I’m submitting it now.” He pauses to listen. “Right, and you can expedite this for me?” Another pause. “I owe you.” He clicks off the call.
Ravi’s finger hovers over the mouse, his future hanging in the balance between submission and restraint. But his scientific convictions push him onward. For better or worse, his controversial claims are now a matter of public record. No retreating from the spotlight now.
In a sterile room across the city, the TV’s chatter fades into background noise for Daisy and Jasmine. But mention of a “new humanoid species” makes the report crackle into urgent clarity.
“That’s us,” Jasmine points at the screen, barely a teen. Her dark, close-cropped hair and lithe frame make her seem even younger, but her eyes burn with a confrontational intensity.
“People are messed up. ‘Homo Sanguine’? What the hell?” Daisy, the elder, grumbles under her breath. Her darker, longer hair is tied back in a practical style. Though detached, her gaze betrays a tactical intelligence.
A social worker present in the room, her eyes always shifting, suddenly snaps to attention. “New species? They’re actually going with that?”
“You feelin’ us?” Jasmine locks eyes with her for a beat, as if daring her to say more.
For Daisy and Jasmine, the news report is a cruel joke. Just dehumanising labels.
“They’re branding us, Jazz. Like we’re some new tech,” Daisy spits out, eyes ablaze. She leans in when making her point, exuding a quiet but simmering intensity.
Jasmine clenches her fist, biting back frustration. Impulsive but sharp, she quickly grows tired of this clinical environment. “Don’t they get it? We didn’t ask for this.”
“We’re just experiments to them, Jazz. Subhuman lab rats for research.” Daisy’s voice is a low growl, her expression stoic. She’s had more time to process the philosophical dimensions of their existence.
“So what, we just roll over?” Jasmine’s words come out like a punch as she leans in, close enough to catch Daisy’s eyes. “Let ’em cut us open like Bio class frogs?”
“We are locked up,” Daisy murmurs, a dangerous edge to her voice. “But we’ll wait. And watch. And when the time’s right, we show ’em what Homo Sanguinarus really means.”
Jasmine exhales, releasing some of the tension that had her wound tight. “Okay, then. So we’ve got a plan?”
“For now,” Daisy locks eyes with her younger sister, “we survive.”
The telly is the world now. The pub’s music stops abruptly as news of the compound continues.
Sliding off his guitar, a cold knot forms in Ben’s gut. His eyes seem to shift from violet to blue as he hops from stage to floor. It’s like shedding a layer of skin.
“Smashed it, Ben,” a mate claps him on the back, steering him toward an open barstool.
Ben stands out but not overly so in this space. Lines of experience are etched around eyes always searching for something, eyes that for a moment seem to betray him.
Just then, the atmosphere drops like a guillotine. News flash on the telly—some lab coat yapping about some new humanoid species. Ben thinks, shit just got real.
A pit opens in Ben’s stomach, bottomless and gnawing, as the news report keeps blaring. Externally, he’s unreadable; inside, a storm brews. What will happen to everyone at the compound? To others like him?
“Did you catch that nonsense?” his mate says, almost spitting out his pint.
“Yeah, freaky, innit?” Ben forces a grin, hiding the quake in his voice. Gotta keep my shit together. They can’t know what this news really means to me.
His eyes drift back to the screen, even as he keeps up the banter. Just gotta lay low, blend in. For their sake. For mine.
Voices in the pub start pitching about “vampires from space”. Ben’s tension mounts.
As jokes and laughter erupt, Ben’s inner tension tightens. These people don’t grasp what’s really at stake here.
Henry urgently tells Ravi to turn on the news.
Fumbling the remote, Ravi’s eyes grow wide as the screen flickers to life. Witnessing the public’s outcry, the weight of his reckless disclosure sinks in.
“These people need to be released now,” demands a spokeswoman from the National Council for Civil Liberties, the human rights advocacy group.
“They need to keep these freaks off the streets,” the news clip continues with the voice of a local resident.
Ravi clutches his chest, breaking into a cold sweat as the broadcast continues. Voices shout for the research to be destroyed, for him to be silenced. He realises he’s now in jeopardy. Shadowy entities will want to bury this, by any means necessary. As an envelope marked “Confidential” slides under his door, Ravi knows – his life is on the line now, not just his reputation.
Across town, Andrea’s handlers are all eyes and ears on the screen.
“This is bad, really bad,” one mutters.
“Could be worse,” another interjects, “At least it’s out there. No more hiding.”
Andrea, arms crossed, watches the pixels dance. “This is only the beginning,” she says, her voice a blend of dread and anticipation.
Disclaimer: This content is not necessarily a finished work. As such, details are subject to change or removal.
This is one of five sections from my short story, Hemo Sapiens: Aftermath. I’ve made available an audio version if you are so inclined. I’ll be publishing the rest of the story over the next few days. Let me know how you feel about it in the comments section. Follow this link for the first section of this story. Check out another story in this universe: Hemo Sapiens: The Unidentified.
Ravi taps Henry’s name on his mobile screen. When Henry answers, Ravi’s words come quickly.
“What do you need, Ravi?”
“It’s monumental. You need to get to the lab.”
A pause on the other end. Henry’s weighing it, Ravi knows. Finally, he speaks. “This sounds serious.”
“We might have a bloody new subspecies. Could rewrite human evolution.”
Henry exhales audibly. “Alright, I’m out and about, but I’ll make it a priority. I’ll be there presently.”
If this genetic data is misused, the consequences could be catastrophic.
Henry enters the lab, locking eyes with Ravi who is hunched over his microscope.
“You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Henry replies, setting down his bag and unbuttoning his coat. “What’s so urgent?”
Ravi points to the monitor displaying intricate DNA sequences.
Henry leans in, scrutinising the digital strands. “These variations are unlike anything I’ve ever seen in a human sample.”
“Exactly,” Ravi nods, a triumphant grin forming on his face. “I’ve coined the term ‘Homo sapiens sanguinius’ for them. The fascinating part is that each group has different DNA, almost as if they’re evolving separately within their own circles.”
Henry arches an eyebrow. “You’re seriously positing a new subspecies based on DNA alone? You do remember the uproar around the reclassification of bonobos and chimps into the Homo genus? Failed, largely because it would make the general public uneasy.”
Ravi’s grin falters. Henry’s objection gives him pause. Self-doubt creeps in for a moment. “You raise a valid concern,” he acknowledges. “There may be considerations I haven’t accounted for.”
“We need more evidence, obviously,” Henry asserts, eyes narrowing as if pondering the ramifications. “Perhaps, we should just call it a new race. Maybe it’s just some transhuman tinkering. This is all so unsettling.”
“Unsettling one way to put it,” Ravi agrees, locking eyes with Henry. He’s suspicious of Henry’s attempt to minimise his discovery.
Henry shifts, crossing his arms. “It’s a monumental discovery, Ravi, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Who knows what we’ll stumble upon next?”
Ravi senses a loaded undertone in Henry’s words. “Indeed, who knows.”
Ravi and Henry share a look, both grasping the enormity of what lies ahead. To advance human knowledge, they must proceed carefully yet decisively into uncharted territory.
Ravi’s voice grows serious. “These findings are unprecedented.”
“On the surface this seems ethically questionable,” Henry objects. “We can’t just play God based on fragmentary evidence. If we’re not careful, this could set a dangerous precedent.” The scepticism in his voice gives Ravi pause.
Ravi explains how the DNA differences suggest rapid speciation. “From Alpha to Gamma. We haven’t even sampled the infants. Each group’s distinct. It’s as if we’re witnessing speciation in real time. And within each group? The males and females share nearly identical DNA. But cross-compare the groups, and the story changes.” Henry’s scepticism cracks.
Henry’s eyes narrow slightly, the mask of scepticism cracking. “It’s a significant hypothesis, Rav. Yet without further inquiry, it’s still just that—a hypothesis.”
Ravi senses he is on the cusp of irrefutable evidence that will turn hypotheses into proven fact. He works late into the night, motivated by being on the brink of rewriting history.
Henry’s gaze settles on a corner refrigerator. “What’s in there? More samples?”
“Blood samples. Still testing,” Ravi says.
Henry approaches as Ravi cracks the door to glimpse the neatly labelled vials within.
“Did they say where these things came from? Do they know?” Henry pauses. “What do we call these ‘things’? Creatures? Beings?”
“‘Homo sapiens sanguinius’ works for now,” Ravi offers. “Bloodsucking intelligent man.”
Trying to lighten the mood, Henry manages to feign a smile. “Hemo sapiens?”
Reflecting, Ravi chuckles, “Right. Hemo sapiens.”
Henry shuts the door, turning back to Ravi. “We need to be prudent. But this could be groundbreaking, you realise? Not just scientifically. Politically, socially—our discovery could set off a seismic shift in how we perceive our own species.”
“I admit this feels ethically ambiguous,” Ravi concedes, “but the knowledge we could gain outweighs those concerns for me. Still, I recognize not everyone will see it that way. This is a moral grey area we’re venturing into.”
Henry locks eyes with Ravi once more. “Then let’s chart this storm together. But first, we verify, cross-reference, and corroborate. We don’t want to stir a pot we can’t unboil.”
“Agreed,” Ravi says. A newfound resolve forms between them, a pact sealed with the gravity of their forthcoming actions.
Ravi sees purposeful determination in Henry’s eyes that mirrors his own. They clasp hands, bonded by the shared goal of illuminating a biological revelation. Their grip tightens—both know they’re crossing a point of no return.
Next morning, Ravi mentally catalogues steps ahead. Verify data, conduct trials…diligence demanded. Sipping tea, he heads to the lab.
Henry picks up his laptop bag from a side table, every movement deliberate. “So, what’s next? You think it’s time to involve the ethics board?”
Ravi hesitates, twirling a pen between his fingers. “I don’t know. That’s like handing Pandora’s box to a bunch of bureaucrats. They won’t get the magnitude of this.”
“Yeah, but we can’t keep this under wraps for too long. It’s too big, and the implications… they’re staggering,” Henry points out. He can feel the weight of their secret growing heavier by the second.
Ravi caps his pen, looking serious. “You’re right. But before we open that can of worms, we need evidence. Perhaps even get these ‘Hemo sapiens’ to speak for themselves, somehow.”
Henry’s gaze sharpens. “You’re talking human trials?”
“A sort of anthropology, maybe. A way to explore their culture, habits, norms. We’ve got the what; we need the why and the how.”
Ravi’s smile falters. “Murky waters indeed. Things could get unpredictable fast.” He hesitates, doubts creeping in. “We need to establish up front that ethics come before knowledge. Otherwise, who knows what lines we’ll cross in the name of progress?”
Ravi grins, sensing a shared audacity. “You could say we’re modern-day pioneers, charting unexplored territories.”
“Let’s just make sure we’re not Columbus, eh?” Henry quips, zipping his bag shut. “We don’t need another ‘discovery’ that wrecks an entire world.”
“Point taken,” Ravi replies, nodding gravely. The line they’re about to cross isn’t just scientific; it’s a boundary that humanity itself might not be prepared to erase.
As Henry walks out of the lab, his mind races with the numerous variables, the endless questions, and the innumerable challenges that await them. His eyes meet Ravi’s one last time—a final shared glance before they either make history or wreak havoc.
At a dim bar that night, Henry sips scotch, mulling their discovery. His phone buzzes—Ravi, about a report.
His phone buzzes—Ravi. “Hey, check your email. Just forwarded you a preliminary report.”
Skimming the attachment, Henry feigns interest. “This is heavy stuff.”
“I know,” Ravi’s voice crackles through the phone. “But we need to get our story straight. The paper draft is already looking controversial as hell.”
“Controversial doesn’t cover it, Ravi,” Henry says grimly. “This paper could get us labelled enemies of the state. Fringe radicals, domestic terrorists even. We’re handing certain regimes the genetic blueprint for a new humanoid weapon. Not everyone will use this knowledge for good.” He downs his scotch, mind racing with the chilling implications of their research.
“Which is why we need to be careful. Every word, every claim, must be backed up tenfold. The world isn’t ready for this, Henry, but it’s our job to prepare them.”
Henry swirls his drink. “We press on. No turning back now.”
“No, there isn’t,” Ravi confirms, a certain resignation in his tone. “Either we’re about to change the narrative of human evolution, or we become a cautionary tale.”
“See you in the morning,” Henry ends the call, suddenly feeling the weight of their undertaking. He orders another scotch, not to seek answers but to steel himself for what’s coming.
He raises his glass, a silent toast to uncertainty. Whether they’re on the brink of revelation or disaster, the countdown has begun.
An email from Detective Amanda Lewis catches Ravi’s eye. A social worker is looped in.
He forwards the email to Henry. “We might just get that external validation sooner than we thought. Check this out.”
Henry leans in to read the email. “Bloody hell. Do you think they’ve come across another one of these… Hemo sapiens? Are we talking about the same thing here?”
Ravi contemplates for a second. “Only one way to find out.”
Lewis paces her office, phone in hand. These DNA results could be game-changing.
A social worker, in another place in the city, the mobile cold against his cheek. A cocktail of relief and trepidation churns within him. “Amanda, what exactly are we staring at? The family histories, behavioural markers — it’s off any chart I’ve seen.”
Back in her office, Amanda peers at the array of data on her monitor. “These DNA samples your lot ran — our academic chap’s been neck-deep in something very much akin. Unexplained genetic shifts. They’re dubbing it… Hemo sapiens.”
Tom laughs, a hint of nervousness cracking his voice. “Hemo what now?”
Amanda’s tone shifts, the levity drained. “Evidently, it’s groundbreaking and could very well change the bloody landscape.”
A sigh escapes Tom’s lips, the weight of his duty settling in. “Groundbreaking or not, we’ve a young girl here scared out of her wits and a family that’s lost the bloody plot.”
Amanda’s face tightens. “Then let’s break some fucking ground.”
Both intuit the heightened stakes, senses sharpened. It transcends academia, plunging them into the complicated realm of social work and police investigation. Miracle or monstrosity, the clock’s ticking.
In a stark room, Ravi sits with colleagues awaiting thirteen-year-old Finn. An unsettling but intriguing arrival.
Finally, the door opens. Finn Beta, just thirteen, enters. His eyes meet theirs, innocence underscored by an unspoken complexity that Ravi finds unsettling yet intriguing.
Tom manages a constrained smile, eyes scanning the young boy’s face. “Finn, these are the people who want to talk to you. This is Dr. Ravi and Dr. Sara.”
“Hey,” Finn says, shrugging nonchalantly as he takes a seat.
Ravi clears his throat. “You can call me Ravi.”
Sara chimes in, “And I’m Sara. We’ve got some questions. Is that alright?”
Finn’s eyes flicker. “Shoot.”
Sara points to some food on the table. “Mind if we watch you have your… lunch?”
Finn approaches the table without uttering a word. He bites into a turkey and cheese sandwich, follows it with a biscuit, and washes it down with a fizzy drink.
“Satisfactory?” Tom inquires, eyes tracking Finn’s every movement.
Finn gives a nod and reaches into a paper bag, pulling out a sealed bag of blood. He opens it and sips, apparently unfazed by the trio’s riveted gazes.
Sara notes the subtle elongation of Finn’s canines. “Do you always need to drink that?”
“It’s like your coffee, man. Keeps me going,” Finn replies.
Sara frowns. “And you have no idea where you came from? You believe you were born in that commune?”
“Born and raised,” Finn confirms. “We’re a family there. Brothers, sisters, aunties, uncles, nieces, nephews. You get the drift.”
“Is everyone there like you?” Sara asks.
Finn shrugs. “I guess.”
Tom interjects, “The number of beds we found during the raid doesn’t match your ‘family size.’ Can you explain?”
Finn shakes his head. “Dunno. Maybe they were out or something.”
The interview ends with Finn leaving a residue of questions, escorting out of the room and into the nebulous.
Ravi turns to Sara. “I bet you don’t find these back in the States.”
Sara lets out a muffled laugh. “I hope not.”
“He’s just a boy,” Tom chides.
They all sense that they’ve just scratched the surface of a far-reaching enigma. What began as academic curiosity spirals into a tangle of criminal, social, and ethical queries. And Finn—innocent yet inscrutable—sits at its centre.
Disclaimer: This content is not necessarily a finished work. As such, details are subject to change or removal.
It’s no secret that I use ElevenLabs speech synthesis for my stories. I’ve commented on it before, including creating a wish list of feature improvements. Today, I am sharing a couple of examples of a challenge and a simple (enough) workaround.
As I create audio files for Hemo Sapiens: Aftermath, I hear two problems with pronunciation. From a practical perspective, it costs me characters to re-do content. I am given 30,000 characters per month, so repeating passages can throw off my production schedule if I must wait for the next cycle for my characters to reset.
Hemo Sapiens
The first issue is that the text-to-speech engine arbitrarily flips back between the correct and incorrect pronunciation of the word hemo — /ˈhiːməʊ/ versus /ˈhɛməʊ/. In order to ensure it gets it one hundred per cent of the time—since it doesn’t support IPA—, I need to present it as heemo, thereby not only necessitating a re-do but adding a character along the way. To be fair, the IPA version would render nine characters, so there’s that.
Wounds that heal
As I listened to a passage with a homophone, wound, it pronounced the verb form as the noun form. As written, it looks like the top line. To force the correct pronunciation, I had to respell wound as wowned to shift from /wuːnd/ to /waʊnd/ .
Jasmine exhales, releasing some of the tension that had her wound tight.
Jasmine exhales, releasing some of the tension that had her wowned tight.
In my wish list video, I suggest a tagging scheme to remedy this. Of course, I’d hope the tags would not count against the character allotment.
This is one of five sections from my short story, Hemo Sapiens: Aftermath. I’ve made available an audio version if you are so inclined. I’ll be publishing the rest of the story over the next few days. The first section is also available. Let me know how you feel about it in the comments section. Check out another story in this universe: Hemo Sapiens: The Unidentified.
The late afternoon sun slants across Dr Chandrasekar’s desk, illuminating the organised chaos of papers, books, mugs, and a potted succulent. He leans back, cradling a fresh chai, inhaling the rich aroma.
His eyes briefly rest on a framed picture; him, garbed in traditional Sikh attire, turban and all, standing next to his wife and two children. It’s a rare still moment before his two o’clock afternoon appointment interrupts his tranquillity.
Maggie enters, boots scuffing the worn tiles. Her eyes quickly find Dr Chandrasekar.
“Professor,” she calls out, a subtle lift of excitement in her voice. “Still got time?”
“Yes, of course,” he replies, setting down his pen and looking up from a stack of student papers. “What have you got?”
“It’s about my research. I think I’m onto something,” she says, a sense of urgency underscoring her words.
Maggie settles into the chair across from his desk, her nose catching a whiff of something aromatic. “Mmm, what’s that smell? Chai?”
“You’ve got it,” Ravi grins, his hands wrapping around his own cup. “Helps me get through paper-grading marathons.”
“Cambridge, yeah? Full-on, that is.”
“Intense, for sure,” Ravi agrees, his eyes following hers to the framed diplomas. “Learned from the best, charted my own course.”
“That’s the game, innit? Learn from the top, then do your own madness,” Maggie says, eyes flicking back to his.
Ravi feels a subtle rapport develop. “Exactly. That’s how fields advance.”
“Speaking of evolving, let’s dive into your project,” Ravi says, shifting forward. “What’s got you so wrapped up?”
Maggie powers up her tablet, her face alight with anticipation. “This could redefine human history, professor. You need to see it.”
“Now you’ve got my attention,” Ravi says, leaning in slightly, intrigued but cautious. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Maggie swipes her finger across the tablet screen, pulling up complex data and images. “Take a look at this,” she says, rotating the device so Ravi can see. “Tell me that doesn’t pique your interest.”
Ravi’s eyes scan the data, feeling a growing sense of excitement. “This is provocative work, Maggie,” he admits, keeping his voice steady. “It’s got potential, serious potential.”
“I thought you’d see it that way,” Maggie replies, reclaiming her tablet and taking a deep breath. “So, what’s our next move?”
“First, let’s make sure we cross our t’s and dot our i’s. Let’s make sure we’ve considered this from all ethical angles,” Ravi advises, sobered by the gravity of her findings. “Research like this could have profound consequences we haven’t even anticipated. We must be thoughtful in how we proceed to the next level.”
“Understood,” Maggie nods, a determined look settling over her features. “We’ll make sure everything’s ironclad, then we’ll blow everyone’s minds.”
“Exactly,” Ravi echoes, feeling that the room has shifted, that they’re onto something big. “This could redefine careers, even shift the whole field.”
A sudden rap at the open door interrupts the conversation.
Maggie turns to see the Department Head and another at the door and powers down her tablet.
“Thank you, Dr. Chandrasekar, that was very helpful!” She stands up.
“Of course, always happy to illuminate the wonders of genetics,” Ravi replies warmly as Maggie slips out past the two men on her way out.
Roger Dean enters with Detective Sergeant Jones on his heels.
“Ravi, sorry to interrupt,” he begins. “This is Detective Sergeant Jones. He was hoping you could assist with a rather sensitive case.”
Ravi raises his eyebrows, looking at Roger, who gives a nod, signalling it’s okay to proceed. “Of course, please come in, Detective.”
Detective Sergeant Jones is sat in the chair Maggie had just left. Passing by, Ravi sniffs stale coffee and underlying stress. Up close, he notices shadows under the detective’s eyes and stubble lining his jaw.
“Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Chandrasekar,” Jones begins. Roger interjects, “Based on the gravity, I thought it best to bring Detective Sergeant Jones directly to you.”
Ravi leans forward, mind already racing with possibilities. “Go on.”
“We’ve been watching a group, based on a tip from a concerned neighbour. Joint operation,” Jones explains.
“We finally got probable cause for a raid,” Jones continues. “Took them by surprise.”
“These blokes, they’re proper twisted,” Jones mutters, voice low.
Ravi’s pulse quickens. “Tell me more,” wondering all the while how this affects him.
After an extended pause, Jones leans closer. “Can’t say more here. Just… involves blood and teeth. That, and they are all twins. Genetic curiosities.”
“I suggest you meet with our forensic team at the station,” Jones says. The Department Head nods, “We can arrange for you to have whatever university resources you’ll need.”
“You’ve got my full support, Detective,” Ravi promises. Roger smiles, apparently relieved. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”
Ravi shows the detective out, eager to learn more about these individuals—and what’s so unusual about them. This cryptic case ignites his academic curiosity. The detective grabs his coat and heads to the station, energised by the potential revelations ahead.
After Ravi agrees to assist, Roger steps into the hall, polished leather shoes squeaking under his weight.
The door catches Professor Moss’s attention. Seeing Henry, Roger ekes out a sclerotic smile, his formal demeanour at odds with his rumpled suit.
“Roger, a moment if you will,” Henry intones, just as his superior’s about to vanish down the hall. “Was that a detective leaving Ravi’s office? Everything sorted?” Roger pauses, deliberating each word before it escapes his lips.
He hesitates, then lowers his voice. “Let’s just say, Ravi is assisting on a sensitive case with the police. That’s all I can share for now.” His hushed tone borders on conspiratorial, despite his reserved nature.
Intrigued but respectful of the obvious secrecy, Henry simply nods knowingly. “Well, if it’s in Ravi’s hands, I’m sure it’s being well managed.”
With a light knock as a prelude, Henry pokes his head in. “Got a moment?”
Looking up from his notes, Ravi waves Henry in.
Door clicks shut behind him, Henry occupies the chair opposite Ravi. “I couldn’t help but overhear a portion of your conversation with the detective.”
A glint of curiosity flickers in Ravi’s eyes. “Indeed, they’ve requested my expertise in genetics for an unusual case.”
“Teeth were mentioned, I believe?” Henry probes, his tone calibrated to nonchalance.
A quiet chuckle escapes Ravi. “Your hearing serves you well. The detective was scant on particulars but intimated as much. I’m due at the station to gather further information.”
Henry leans forward, his demeanour serious. “If you find you’re in need of another scientific viewpoint, I would be most willing to assist.”
Ravi agrees to update Henry as he learns more about the case. A second scientific perspective could prove useful if the genetics are as anomalous as implied. For now, the mystery deepens.
The next morning, Henry arrives early to his quiet office, thoughts returning to the unusual case Ravi had been asked to consult on. Thoughts whirring. His fingers tap the desktop as he considers the fringes of genetic research that might be related to these so-called ‘unusual’ people.
Henry leans back, his eyes go cold as they find the ceiling. “Why consult Ravi and not me?” he questions the empty room, annoyance thinly veiled.
With a huff, he opens a drawer and retrieves a journal, flipping through pages on recent advances in fringe genetics. “Let’s see if Ravi can handle this one without stumbling. If not, I’ll be ready.”
Disclaimer: This content is not necessarily a finished work. As such, details are subject to change or removal.
I’ve completed my second draft of my next novelette (or long short story), and I decided to visualise it as a word cloud just because.
What I am really after are words I might tend to overuse. I’m not so worried about character names, like Ravi and Henry (or Maggie, Finn, Tom, Daisy, Jasmine, or Jones). The only thing that jumps out at me is ‘just’, so I just might have to check that out in pass three.
I’m editing my latest work with Claude and ChatGPT. Both are insufferable, but I’ll start with Claude. Anthropic seems to have throttled me down to 5 inquiries per four-hour block. To make matters worse, I waste inquiries when Claude fails to follow instructions.
I’ve made some amends and am sharing them here. Let’s focus on Chapter 3 with an eye on reviewing this content to ensure it conforms to a third-person, limited, present, deep point of view. Remember that we are revising not creating content.
Ridley Park
That last bit of the quote was aimed at ChatGPT, but I’ll get to that presently. As you can read, I am working on tightening up Chapter 3. Occasionally, I slip into first-person or lose the close POV, so I rely on Claude to be my second set of eyes and keep me honest.
Having submitted these instructions, Claude feeds me back a section of Chapter 3 converted to first-person. That counts as a query—four to go in the next four hours. Not very efficient.
These suggestions are in first person. Can we try again in third person?
Ridley Park
You’re absolutely right, my suggestions slipped into first person POV instead of maintaining third person limited. Here is another pass at potential Chapter 3 revisions with a consistent third person close POV:
Claude 2
So, Claude spits out 7 paragraphs with advice. Some of these are unchanged. Plus, I had asked for the whole chapter, so that’s two queries with 3 remaining. I instruct Claude to continue.
Eight more paragraphs. Two queries remain. Perhaps, if I’m more direct.
Continue through the end of chapter 3 and on to chapter 4
Ridley Park
Another eight paragraphs, and one query to go. Here it is:
Let’s finish Chapter 4 and continue through chapter 5.
Ridley Park
Nine paragraphs this time. The story is only five chapters—about seven-thousand words, but this review pass of the first draft will have to wait another four hours before Claude will work with me again.
ChatGPT 4
ChatGPT 4 gives me fifty prompts every three hours. Sure, it costs me 20 a month where Claude is free. I’d pay for Claude to be more forthcoming, but that’s not even an option yet, and so I wait.
ChatGPT is horrendous at following instructions. As evidenced in the first quote on this page, I have to instruct ChatGPT not to write, not to produce prose. It’s frustrating.
You are reviewing this content and to ensure it conforms to a third-person, limited, present, deep point of view. Remember that we are revising not creating content.
Ridley Park
It’s gotten to the point that I have to preface each prompt with the query above. Even when I do, it occasionally spews out it’s ideas, as if to protest, “I’m a writer, dammit, not just an editor. I’ve got ambitions.”
“I’m a writer, dammit, not just an editor. I’ve got ambitions.”
In one instance, it altered my dialogue. I’ve got to watch it like a hawk. It’s a conversation between two renowned professors, one senior to the other, and it informs me,
Your original text for 2.2.9 already closely aligns with the guidelines of a third-person, limited, deep point of view. I’ve added a bit more casual tone and street slang to better match your style. The revision maintains the atmosphere and deepens the sense of intensity between the characters.
OpenAI ChatGPT 4
I don’t want to share any spoilers, but I had to ask ChatGPT to dial it back and remind it of the characters in play here.
Next thing I know, ChatGPT is again spewing out prose and adding characters into the mix. I am not even sure I could find threads back into the story. It’s as if ChatGPT just threw in the towel saying, “Fine, I’ll work on my own story then. Let’s see who has the last laugh.”
“AI will not be taking over the world soon,” is my new catchphrase. So far to go.
Ridley Park 