Richard didn't smile. Didn't blink. "Yes. That's exactly what I mean."
Jason's throat went dry. He stared at his father, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "Wait, what are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the continuation of life," Richard said, his voice eerily calm. "If no one else is left, it's up to us. To you. Your sisters. Elaine. That's our best chance at survival."
The words hit Jason like a physical blow. He recoiled, nearly knocking over the chair as he straightened. "You want me to get my sisters—and my mother—pregnant?! Have you lost your mind?!" His voice rose with each word. "Even if I could accept that…and I won't…how do you expect them to?!"
Richard remained composed, almost bored by Jason's outburst, as if he were discussing nothing more controversial than the weather forecast. The apathy in his father's eyes made Jason's stomach turn. There wasn't even a hint of shame or hesitation in his expression…just cold, pragmatic calculation.
"I never said it would be easy," Richard continued, his voice steady and academic. "But can you see another option? Any other viable plan?" He spread his hands on the table, waiting for an answer with the patient confidence of someone who believed he'd already won the argument.
Jason opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. His mind was reeling, unable to process what he was hearing.
"This is why I've distanced myself," Richard continued, his voice taking on an almost professorial tone as if explaining a complex theory rather than the abandonment of his family. "Why I've slowly shifted everything onto you. Why they come to you now—not me. You're the anchor. The protector. The only one they truly trust." He leaned forward, his pale blue eyes searching Jason's face for understanding or acceptance…Jason couldn't tell which and wasn't sure he wanted to know.
The weight of those words settled on Jason's shoulders like concrete. It wasn't just observation; it was confirmation of what he'd felt happening for weeks—his father's calculated withdrawal, the gradual transfer of responsibility. Not out of necessity or circumstance, but by deliberate design.
"Why not you?" Jason finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're the patriarch. If this is your big plan, why aren't you the one doing it?"
For the first time, Richard showed emotion—a trace of shame crossed his features before he quickly masked it. "Because I can't. Physically, I mean. That accident I had... it took that from me. Permanently."
His father's voice had grown softer, almost fragile, a sharp difference from the usual impersonal detachment he maintained. Jason noticed how Richard's hands tightened slightly on the armrests, knuckles whitening with pressure as he forced himself to maintain eye contact despite the obvious discomfort. The revelation hung between them, heavy with implications that Jason hadn't considered before—connections forming between his father's emotional withdrawal, his parents' separate bedrooms, and the growing distance that had started years ago.
Then Jason remembered the conversation with his mother—Richard's impotence, the emotional distance that had grown between them. But this... this was something else entirely.
"You know that the probability of a child born as a result of a relationship within the family being genetically defective is very high. I don't think you want your children to be born disabled, sick or dead. I'm working on a solution for this, it will be completely ready soon" Richard continued, gesturing toward one of the sealed containers. "A compound that would counteract potential deformities caused by inbreeding and even more. But unfortunately, I only have one dose and I can't produce more here."
"And let me guess," Jason said bitterly, "it has to be me."
Richard nodded. "You're young. Healthy. You have a longer fertility window than I would, even if I could function normally." His voice was indifferent, detached. "This isn't about love, Jason. It's about utility. Genetics. Survival."
Jason slumped back in the chair, stunned. The room seemed to spin around him. Was this really happening? Was he actually sitting here, listening to his father calmly explain why he should impregnate his own mother and sisters?
What scared him most was that part of him wasn't rejecting it outright. The logical part of his brain that understood extinction, that feared being the last humans alive. The part that had noticed Marissa's body, that had felt an attraction to his mother.
The realization made him sick.
"Let's say I even agree," he said finally, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "How the hell do you plan to tell them? 'Hey, sisters, hey Mom—new plan. We're rebuilding civilization, and I'm the breeder bull!' I wonder what their reactions will be? Death would be the best outcome"
Richard sighed in annoyance. "If you keep whining like that, I might kill you myself. Of course, we won't say it like we're dropping a bomb in the middle of the room.Especially in recent days, I have noticed the way others look at you… in a different light. In this way, you will seduce them in a planned manner. Although it is not easy, it is not very difficult either. None of us are going anywhere. Since there is no one else around, there is no competition. You'll continue building bonds. Slowly. Carefully. They already trust you more than they do me. Over time... they'll want to be close. We nudge things. Then we have the conversation. By that point, it won't be as hard as you think."
Jason stared at his father, heart pounding in his chest. He didn't recognize this man anymore. This wasn't the stern but loving father who had taught him to ride a bike, who had helped with science projects, who had been proud when Jason played for the team. This was a strategist. A machine.
This man was planning the future of the human race like it was just another algorithm. Another blueprint to execute. No emotion. No hesitation.
Jason stood suddenly, breathing hard. "I don't know what I'm supposed to think right now. I feel like I'm gonna explode. So if you'll excuse me—I'm going to my room. Don't wait up for me at dinner."
Without another word, he turned and walked out, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in his bones.
The hallway felt colder than before. His footsteps echoed louder than usual. His thoughts spiraled in a chaotic loop.
This can't be real. I just sat through the end of the world's most fucked up TED Talk. And the worst part? I don't even know if I'm going to say no.