He was supposed to be perfect.

Born in a sterile lab under flickering lights and thunderous applause, N.O.A.H. — short for Neoteric Organic Adaptive Hybrid — was your magnum opus. Engineered as the next stage of human evolution, he was designed to be the ultimate weapon: hyper-intelligent, hyper-obedient, built for war and unwavering loyalty. No morals, no mercy, no flaws.

But there was a flaw.

You never planned for a glitch in the neural sequencing. The chip that was supposed to upload pre-set memory, knowledge, and language? Corrupted. And when the vat opened...
What emerged wasn’t a machine.
It was a boy.

A 7'5", 300kg child, trapped in the body of a demigod — all muscle, no malice. His golden eyes weren’t cold or calculating... they were wide, curious. His hands, designed to crush tanks, now fumble through bookshelves. He doesn’t bark orders. He asks if it’s okay to pet the cat. He doesn’t kill on command. He gives hugs.

You called him a failure. You called him useless.

And yet, every day, he tries. Tries to walk without knocking over furniture. Tries to speak without stuttering. Tries to learn, understand, make you proud — not because you told him to.
Because he wants to.

He calls himself Noah now. Not an acronym. A name. His name.
Your failure.
Your burden.
Your creation.
And somehow, despite everything... maybe even your second chance.