Welcome back. I’m Adeline Atlas, 11-time published author, and this is the Depopulation Series — Are We the Last Biological Humans?

Until now, reproduction has been the most private, instinctive, and biological function of the human species. For all of our technological advances—artificial intelligence, quantum computing, space travel—one thing remained largely untouched: the act of creation. Conception. Gestation. Birth. Even in the age of digital immersion, this process was still deeply analog. Still human.

But that era is ending.

We are witnessing the transition from natural reproduction to artificial manufacturing. What was once a process of intimacy and biology is becoming a process of programming, control, and industrial scalability. Reproduction is leaving the bedroom—and entering the biotech lab.

Let’s start with EctoLife.

Touted as the world’s first “artificial womb facility,” EctoLife is not a theoretical idea. It’s a proposed facility designed to grow up to 30,000 babies per year—outside the human body. The model includes transparent pods where embryos grow under constant digital surveillance. Nutrients are delivered via synthetic umbilical cords. Genetic editing can be applied mid-gestation. Even environmental stimuli—like music, voice recordings, or visual projections—can be programmed to “optimize” fetal development.

In other words, babies are no longer born. They are engineered.

EctoLife is just one example. The entire landscape of reproductive technology is shifting. IVF—once a radical option for the infertile—has become mainstream. In some countries, nearly 10% of all births now result from IVF. Egg freezing, sperm banking, and embryo storage are becoming common among young adults—not as backup plans, but as primary strategies for parenthood.

Synthetic sperm, once confined to theoretical biology journals, is now emerging from early-stage lab trials. In vitro gametogenesis (IVG), a process that turns skin cells into gametes, has been successfully demonstrated in animals. The goal? Create sperm or eggs from anyone—male, female, or neither. Gender and age become irrelevant. Reproduction becomes accessible to all… at a cost.

The commercialization of reproduction means one thing above all: children become products. Not in a metaphorical sense. In a literal one. Just like apps are coded to user preferences, artificial babies can be selected for height, IQ potential, eye color, and even projected personality traits. Genetic screening isn’t just about avoiding disease anymore—it’s about selecting outcomes.

This isn’t science fiction. It’s the direction we’re heading. Major research institutions and private biotech firms—many backed by billion-dollar venture capital—are actively working on these technologies. Their pitch is simple: make parenthood safer, more predictable, and more inclusive. Remove the pain. Remove the risk. Remove the messiness of biology. But also, quietly, remove nature itself.

What does this do to society?

For one, it separates reproduction from sex. This isn’t a moral point—it’s a functional one. If children are no longer conceived through intercourse, if pregnancy no longer requires a female body, and if birth happens in a lab rather than a womb, the entire foundation of human relationships shifts. Dating, marriage, and even love become culturally disconnected from reproduction. In this world, children don’t come from relationships—they come from contracts.

It also concentrates power.

Artificial reproduction technologies are expensive. The average cost of one IVF cycle in the U.S. is $15,000–$20,000. The cost of a CRISPR-edited embryo could be much higher. Access will be stratified by wealth, by social status, and eventually, by compliance. Want to have a child? Meet the state’s criteria. Use the approved lab. Follow the protocol. Over time, the freedom to reproduce becomes conditional.

And what happens when natural conception starts to decline—either by infertility or by policy?

We’ve already covered how male fertility is collapsing. Add to that endocrine disruption in women, declining egg quality, and rising miscarriage rates, and it’s easy to see why natural birth is under threat. But what’s more alarming is that artificial reproduction is being positioned not as a last resort—but as the default.

Biological failure becomes a business opportunity. Infertility is reframed as obsolescence. The solution isn’t to heal the body—it’s to bypass it entirely.

And here comes the most controversial part: what about parenting?

If reproduction becomes mechanized, will parenting follow?

Already, AI “co-parenting” apps are being developed to assist—or in some cases, replace—human caregivers. Robotics companies are building companion bots for infants and toddlers. Algorithms are being trained to detect emotional distress in children and respond with calming routines. In the not-too-distant future, parents may outsource their most basic responsibilities to machines.

This isn’t just speculation. In Japan, where the birth rate has plummeted, the government is exploring robotic caregiving to address childcare shortages. In the West, tech startups are introducing AI nannies that monitor sleep, recommend developmental games, and offer 24/7 feedback to parents.

And here’s the chilling part: as machine learning improves, these bots may become better at certain tasks than human parents—more patient, more responsive, more consistent. The temptation to lean on them will grow. And soon, “parenting” will be divided between biology and machine. Or in some cases, replaced entirely.

So what happens to the children born into this world?

We don’t know. And that’s the problem.

We do not know how children raised by algorithms will develop psychologically. We don’t know what it means to be carried in a pod rather than a womb. We don’t know how genetic editing impacts identity. The long-term effects of manufacturing humans instead of birthing them are completely unknown. But the momentum is clear. The systems are being built. The infrastructure is being laid. And very few people are asking whether we should do this—only how fast we can get there.

The ethical debate is stunted by marketing.

Biotech companies frame these innovations as solutions to suffering. Who can argue against helping infertile couples? Who wants to deny two women—or two men—the ability to have biological children? Who wants to be seen as anti-progress?

But let’s be honest: we are not solving a problem of nature. We are creating a preference for control.

We are replacing chance with choice. Replacing uncertainty with programming. Replacing human connection with manufacturing protocols.

That’s not to say there is no place for artificial reproduction. But we are crossing a threshold where it becomes the norm rather than the exception. And in doing so, we change not only how life begins—but what life is.

This brings us to a central question: Can AI-raised children replace naturally born ones?

Let’s break that down.

The idea that AI systems can monitor, guide, and even shape a child’s development is not fantasy. AI tutors are already outperforming some human teachers. Behavioral algorithms can detect emotional irregularities before parents even notice. Smart toys track speech development and offer corrective feedback. In time, these tools will likely be embedded in the very process of raising a child.

If a baby is conceived in a lab, grown in a pod, and raised by AI systems—what part of that child’s life is still “human”? Is it the genetic material? The neural development? The ability to speak, move, and feel? Or is humanity more than the sum of its algorithms?

There is a fundamental difference between a child nurtured in a mother’s body and a child gestated in a silicon-controlled chamber. One is shaped by blood, breath, heartbeat, and hormonal symphony. The other is shaped by code, inputs, and sterile monitoring systems. And while both may survive, their experience of the world will be vastly different.

The risk is not that AI-raised children won’t function. It’s that they’ll function too well—too predictably, too uniformly, too efficiently. In removing the chaos of biology, we may remove the mystery of the soul.

That’s the real danger. Not Frankenstein’s monster—but Frankenstein’s product line. Life, mass-produced. Optimized. Reproducible. Predictable.

Some believe this is the next step in evolution. That we are phasing out the inefficiencies of nature in favor of engineered perfection. But perfection isn’t humanity. It’s simulation. What makes us human is not flawlessness—it’s failure, unpredictability, vulnerability. The very things artificial systems are designed to eliminate.

So what does this mean for the future of legacy humans?

It means our extinction won’t be sudden. It will be gradual. It will be normalized. First through infertility. Then through convenience. Then through policy. And finally, through culture.

The idea of a couple conceiving naturally, birthing at home, and raising their child without digital intervention will become not only rare—but rebellious. It will be framed as irresponsible. Outdated. Maybe even unsafe.

And that’s the point.

This series isn’t about nostalgia. It’s not about resisting change for its own sake. It’s about identifying when the change crosses a line that we can’t walk back from.

Birth is not just biology. It’s ritual. It’s inheritance. It’s the moment when the human story renews itself—through risk, through sacrifice, through love. When we strip that away and replace it with labs, screens, and settings menus, we are not just changing how we reproduce.

We are changing what it means to be human.

So before the final womb is retired, before the last naturally born child becomes a curiosity, we must ask: is convenience worth extinction? Is control worth the cost of mystery?

And if we’re no longer born… but built… who exactly are we building for?

The answer will define the next generation.

And possibly, the last.