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

Today’s subject may sound like a headline ripped from a dystopian novel, but it’s grounded in science, and it’s unfolding now. This isn’t about cultural politics or social trends. It’s about genetics. Hard biology. And it raises a question most people have never seriously considered: what if men, as a biological class, are on the path to extinction?

At the center of this issue is the Y chromosome. Found only in males, the Y chromosome is what biologically defines a male in the human species. It carries the SRY gene, which triggers the development of male anatomy during embryonic growth. And unlike all other chromosomes, which come in pairs, the Y has no backup. It’s vulnerable. Exposed. And—according to many geneticists—rapidly deteriorating.

Professor Jenny Graves, an Australian geneticist and one of the leading voices in chromosome evolution, has spent decades studying the fate of the Y. Her conclusion is blunt: the Y chromosome is shrinking. Fast. And at the current rate of degeneration, it could disappear entirely—in about 4.6 million years. Now, four million years might sound like an eternity, but the implications of a shrinking sex-determining chromosome are not some far-off concern. They’re already shaping the present.

To understand the crisis, we need to understand what the Y chromosome is. It’s the smallest of the 46 chromosomes in the human genome. While the X chromosome contains over 1,000 genes, the Y has just a few dozen functional ones left. Over evolutionary time, it has lost more than 90% of its original genetic material. And while some of this loss is a normal part of chromosomal evolution, the concern is that the Y may eventually lose its ability to do the one thing it’s biologically responsible for: producing males.

We’ve already seen it happen elsewhere in nature. In some rodent species, the Y chromosome has completely disappeared. And yet, these species still produce male offspring—through alternate genetic pathways. What this tells us is that nature doesn’t necessarily need the Y chromosome to make males. But it does need a mechanism. And if that mechanism collapses in humans without a natural replacement, the outcome is simple: no more biological males.

But even before we get to that level of extinction, the signs of damage are showing now.

Today, male infertility is rising at an unprecedented rate. Sperm counts have dropped by more than 50% in the past 50 years. Testicular dysgenesis syndrome—a condition marked by underdeveloped male reproductive organs—is increasing. Rates of testicular cancer and undescended testicles are on the rise globally. And testosterone levels in young men are falling every decade. These are not just random conditions. They’re symptoms. Indicators that something is wrong with the biological infrastructure of maleness.

And the cause isn’t just genetic. It’s environmental.

We are surrounded by chemicals that interfere with hormone production, sexual differentiation, and epigenetic signaling. Phthalates, PFAS, and BPA—found in plastics, cosmetics, food packaging, and everyday products—act as endocrine disruptors. They don’t just damage sperm. They alter the expression of genes involved in male development. They feminize male fetuses in utero. They shrink testicular size. And they derail the hormonal feedback loops that boys rely on during puberty to become biologically male adults.

What makes this even more dangerous is that the damage doesn’t always show up immediately. Many of these changes are epigenetic—meaning they affect how genes are expressed without changing the underlying DNA. A boy exposed in the womb may develop normally, but his sperm will carry altered gene expression, which he then passes to his sons. This is transgenerational damage. The biology of maleness is being degraded slowly, quietly, and permanently, generation after generation.

And if that sounds like science fiction, consider this: in some regions, average testosterone levels in 20-year-old men today are lower than those of 60-year-old men just a generation ago. In other words, a healthy older man in 1980 had more testosterone than a healthy young man in 2020. This isn’t about aging. This is about systemic biological regression.

Now, let’s address the obvious: maleness is not just a function of chromosomes. It’s social. It’s hormonal. It’s psychological. But it is also biological. And when that biology is eroded, everything built on top of it begins to shift. From identity to fertility to intergenerational legacy.

So what happens if the Y chromosome really does disappear?

Biologically speaking, there are a few possible scenarios. One is that science intervenes. Already, researchers are experimenting with IVG—in vitro gametogenesis—a technology that creates sperm or egg cells from stem cells. In mice, scientists have successfully created functional sperm from female stem cells and used them to fertilize eggs. The result: offspring born from two biological females. This opens the door not just to same-sex reproduction, but to the total reengineering of gametes. Male or female, natural or synthetic—it becomes a choice.

So yes, sperm can be built. Even the Y chromosome could, in theory, be recreated or bypassed. But if that’s the solution, we’re not talking about preserving humanity. We’re talking about replacing it. Synthetic sperm is not a fix for male extinction. It’s a workaround. A replacement of the natural process with an engineered one. It turns reproduction into fabrication. And it turns biology into software.

What gets lost in that transition is the male lineage. The historical, evolutionary, and cultural continuity of fathers and sons. That continuity isn’t just about sperm. It’s about legacy. Identity. Stability. And when it's severed, society feels the impact.

This brings us to the sociopolitical dimension of the crisis.

What happens when maleness begins to disappear—not just biologically, but socially?

We’re already seeing the early effects. A rising number of boys are struggling with mental health, academic performance, and social development. Male suicide rates are climbing. Male college enrollment is plummeting. More men are withdrawing from relationships, the workforce, and traditional roles of fatherhood. While some see this as the fallout of patriarchy, others argue it's a reflection of deep confusion and disorientation—especially among young men who feel biologically and culturally displaced.

And this isn’t just about gender roles or masculinity. It’s about population sustainability. In every species, reproduction depends on both sexes. Remove or weaken one, and the population cannot continue. In humans, we are weakening the male half—biologically, chemically, and ideologically—at the exact moment when fertility is already collapsing.

And here’s where it gets even more difficult to talk about.

There’s growing evidence that institutional silence around the male fertility crisis is not accidental. Male vulnerability is uncomfortable for a society conditioned to view men as dominant. The idea that men are biologically fragile—that their very genetic code is shrinking—is not compatible with the traditional cultural script. And so, rather than confront the crisis, we ignore it. Or worse, we mock it.

But the Y chromosome doesn’t care about politics. It doesn’t care about ideology. It cares about biology. And biology is clear: the system is breaking.

The real danger is that by the time we acknowledge this at a societal level, it may be too late. The damage is generational. And it compounds. The sons born today with compromised sperm will likely pass on that compromise. And even if they don’t want children, their biology is still the blueprint for the next generation of male life. Once that blueprint is degraded beyond repair, it’s not just fertility that disappears—it’s an entire biological framework.

There are still skeptics who argue that the Y chromosome is stable. That its decline has leveled off. That human evolution will adapt. Maybe. But the pace of environmental and technological change today is not evolutionary. It’s exponential. We are not adapting through natural selection. We are intervening through artificial design. And design always reflects the values of the designer.

If the future is built by people who believe biological sex is fluid, optional, or irrelevant—then it’s not hard to imagine a future where maleness, as we understand it, is phased out not by accident, but by choice.

And here lies the final, unavoidable question: is the vanishing Y chromosome simply nature’s path? Or is it being accelerated—perhaps even welcomed—by a society that no longer values its function?

If men can be replaced by synthetic sperm, AI companions, and surrogate wombs, what happens to their role in society? In the family? In culture? And who decides what takes its place?

Because if the answer is no one, then we’re not just facing the extinction of a chromosome. We’re facing the extinction of a legacy. The kind of legacy you don’t get back once it's gone.

We opened this series with a question: Are we the last biological humans? As this video makes clear, that question has layers. It's not just about population. It’s about genetics. Lineage. Inheritance. The systems of life that pass quietly from father to son, decade after decade, holding civilization together in ways most people never think about—until they're gone.

So what are we really losing here?

Not just sperm. Not just fertility. We’re losing the bridge between natural reproduction and future existence. A bridge built on fragile genetic code—code that has survived for millions of years, but may not survive the next 100.

Unless we fight for it.

And the first step in that fight is awareness. Because no one can save a species they don’t know is dying.