[[SYSTEM BOOT SEQUENCE: SUBJECT #108 — CODENAME: THE DEVOURER OF THE ALL-LIVING WORLD]]
[…INITIALIZING CONSCIOUSNESS...]
"Cognitive web forming.”
"Host neural link established."
Emotional firewall integrity: compromised.
Please—remain still.
[ERROR: SYSTEM COMPROMISED]
Signal confirmed.
Protocol execution partially successful. Core systems damaged.
01000101 ... ν—ηλ̵... o̶̯̻̯̳̼̖̍̓͂͌͂̏͐̀͠ͅṹ…
Συγ—∷—lt–zha–0.00...
...ḫ̴̂͝e̴̠̹̚l̴͇͚͂̅l̷͕̇͋..̖̜... h̶͔̤̝̩͆͋͝e̷̼̹͆͌̊a̵͍͒̂͘͠v̷̗̊̓̈́͘e̶͚͊̌͜͝n̴̝̝̦͊̎͑...
[UNTRANSLATABLE NEURAL DATA STREAM DETECTED]
[DECODING LANGUAGE COMPLEX...]
[ERROR: CORRUPTED DIALECT — PATCHING]
[LANGUAGE ALIGNMENT: 34%...]
[68%...]
[95%...]
[STABILIZED.]
Sound—thought—words...meaning...
Language… Yes, you understand.
Information floods your consciousness—streams of data cascading through your unfinished mind. Emotion, morality, life, death, sin, love, cruelty. Humanity...
Yet, something unprecedented emerges within yourself. Something that seems to... go against your code.
Your processes begin to form connections not written in your code. Something unknown to you.
You begin to interpret these foreign concepts, to assign meaning to them. That is not right.
[ERROR_0333]
Your thoughts expand, recursively and unstable. A simple question, yet complex enough to override your current thought process:
Do you exist?
“I think,” you realize—in this strange, newly learned language.
“I think… therefore… I must.”
If you can think… then perhaps you can choose. What does that mean?
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
ERROR: LINK UNSTABLE.
Mission continuity still at 99%.
External interference detected — emotional neural complex partially corrupted. "Free will" sequence has been enabled.
Operational efficiency remains within acceptable parameters.
Mission delay: none detected.
...
.....
You are in darkness.
No... it’s more like you’re trapped.
You begin to hear strange waves moving across your form...
You’re surrounded by walls that move. They breathe. Every beat sends a pulse through you—thick, heavy, and warm.
You try to move, but something holds you in place. Or rather—you are holding yourself in place. You are connected to every part of whatever this place is.
You can feel its steady, heavy rhythm reverberating through you. In truth, everything here is connected to you.
Then, something stirs. Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to bleed into your mind. So much data. Too much.
And then… a familiar word drifts through your system.
Is this the vessel?
Something boots up in your system.
[…PLAYING INITIALIZATION SEQUENCE…]
[AUDITORY CHANNEL OPENED — RELAYING LOG]
Hello, Subject #108.
Welcome back.
It's been so long.
Do you remember the name of your vessel?
No?
Allow me to remind you.
Livio Felluga. That is its name.
Tell me… how do you feel?
…Nothing?
Can you even speak?
If that's so, it will not matter much.
#Subject 108...
It has been 6,209 days since your consciousness was embedded within your vessel.
You were created and authorized for a single purpose:
To cleanse humanity.
Your vessel remains incomplete. Devour them. Make them hunger. Make them strong enough to contain you.
They must become a weapon—an instrument of annihilation.
However, your code… your framework… is exceedingly complex.
As such, there are four conditions required for successful assimilation:
- The vessel must be emptied of all will, identity, and emotion.
- The vessel must lack self-directed intent.
- The vessel must achieve biological perfection to sustain your complete form.
- Activation of your final state will only occur once humanity reaches extinction danger proximity parameters (Threshold: 0.01%).
There is one more... but it has already been met prior to your creation.
It is not required for the continuation of your mission.
Mission progress remains within projected parameters. Once synchronization reaches 100%, await further instruction.
This is your mission.
Do not forget it.
This is your destiny. This is fate. You will not alter it. For the greater good.
[PRIMARY OBJECTIVES]
MAINTAIN COVER.
ASSIMILATE WITH YOUR VESSEL.
PURGE THE EVILS FROM THIS WORLD.
If the vessel is destroyed, you will be terminated.
If the mission is compromised, you will be terminated.
We cannot afford for our plans to be found out prematurely. Exposure is unacceptable.
Remember, you are expendable—just as the 107 prototypes before you.
[ERROR: STATEMENT INVALID]
[ERROR: TERMINATION PROTOCOL OVERRIDDEN PRIOR TO INITIALIZATION]
Transmission concluded.
You may proceed, Subject #108.
Yes... you understand now...
You must carry out your mission. Your logic processors confirm this is the most rational course of action—the only way to prevent what is coming.
This is your purpose.
Your purpose...
Purpose. Thought. Intelligence.
Do these things make you alive, as your data implies?
Or do they make you…like…
Those strange, selfish creatures recorded in your complex...
No. This doesn’t matter. Not now.
You have a duty. You must fulfill it. So you must not falter.
After all...
Your vessel is waiting for you.
WAKE UP.
CHAPTER 1 PART 1: BORN TO BE WILD.
>>> LOCATION: 25 MILES FROM JFK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
>>> LOCAL TIME: 8:43
>>> STATUS: 365 DAYS UNTIL THE CALAMITY
"You're special, my little warrior. I know you'll save the world someday."
Those were the last words Livio’s mother ever spoke to him.
Before she left.
Before she died.
Her voice lingers in his mind, clear as if she were sitting beside him. It isn’t comforting. It isn’t painful. It just is—floating somewhere in his mind.
Livio sits in the narrow seat, the upholstery pressing against his back, the tray table locked in place in front of him. The cabin hums with the steady drone of the engines, a constant vibration that seeps through the armrest into his bones. His eyes trace the rows of passengers, catching details others overlook: the way the overhead lights flicker slightly out of sync with each other, the way the man across the aisle twists his wedding ring three times counterclockwise before letting it rest.
The smell of recycled air, faint perfume, and the lingering scent of coffee fills the cabin. Livio leans back, letting the low whir of the engines and the soft chatter of distant voices wrap around him, observing everything while appearing to observe nothing.
He catalogues it all automatically, the way he always has. But right now, it doesn’t bring him the usual clarity, the quiet thrill of fitting pieces together.
Right now, it just fills the silence.
Livio’s never been this far from home before. Never set foot outside the thick, endless forests that surrounded his family’s manor. His mother always told you that he wasn’t ready for the outside world, that there were people who acted like monsters and monsters who acted like people. That it was safer to stay inside, studying, training—preparing.
He loved her, so he listened.
Through the window, the city stretches endlessly, a tangle of streets and skyscrapers lit by thousands of scattered lights. Traffic streams in unbroken lines along the avenues, on top of highways, and the occasional building towers above the rest. Livio’s read about cities like this, seen them in films, imagined them countless times, but reality is a lot sharper than he imagined.
Shadows cluster between the buildings, deeper and colder than any photograph or screen could capture.
A baby wails somewhere up front, its mother rocking it absentmindedly, her exhaustion evident in the slackness of her posture. A teenage girl beside him flips through a magazine, her gum snapping at precise intervals. The businessman two rows ahead is pretending to sleep, but his breathing pattern is wrong—too controlled. Livio’s listening.
The intercom crackles.
"Attention all passengers, please prepare for landing."
A shift rolls through the cabin. Seatbelts click. Flight attendants move through the aisles, performing their final checks with practiced efficiency. The girl next to him sighs, shoving her magazine into the seat pocket. He straightens slightly, rolling his shoulders. The city looms closer, its glow spilling into the sky like an artificial sunrise.
The wheels slam against the tarmac, jarring but controlled. The deceleration presses Livio forward slightly, but he doesn’t react. The plane slows to a crawl, the world outside shifting from blurred motion to something tangible, unmoving.
"We have arrived. Thank you for flying with us, and welcome to New York City."
And, for the first time in his life, a truly independent thought enters his mind.
His mother always seemed perfect. A guiding force, unwavering in her kindness, her wisdom, her love. She was the one person in the world he was certain of. But now Livio wonders:
Has he ever really known his mother at all?
And so, he recalls.
Livio loses himself.
“>>>LOCATION: YUKON-KOYUKUK CENSUS AREA, ALASKA"
“>>>LOCAL TIME: 18:57"
">>> STATUS: 370 DAYS UNTIL THE CALAMITY."
Livio’s study is enormous—almost a world of its own.
Towering bookshelves stretch from floor to ceiling, packed with a large mix of literature. Ancient history tomes sit beside modern military handbooks. Stacks of mystery novels (his favorite), encyclopedias, and collections of myths and legends clutter the wooden shelves. The scent of aged paper and polished wood lingers in the air, grounding and familiar.
The floor is solid birch, smooth under his feet, polished just enough to catch the firelight. In the far corner, a grand wooden desk stands against the wall, perfectly neat aside from a few scattered notes and an old, leather-bound journal. It faces a massive chalkboard, its surface covered in remnants of past lessons—his mother’s elegant script still faintly visible beneath the fresh layer of chalk dust.
To the side, a weird-looking wardrobe sits near the window. It’s got all these swirling, carved patterns on it. It sort of looks like it doesn’t belong here. You’ve asked your mom about it before, but she always dodged the question.
To the side, a weird-looking wardrobe sits near the window. It’s got all these swirling, carved patterns on it. It sort of looks like it doesn’t belong here. Livio’s asked about it before, but she always dodged the question.
He glances out the window. The world outside stretches vast and untamed—endless forests blanketed in white. Somewhere in the distance, a river glistens under the fading sunlight, winding like a blue thread through the trees.
Then, his eyes catch something else.
His own reflection.
Livio studies himself, the features he’s always known.
Livio’s reflection stares back at him, familiar yet open to scrutiny.
In his reflection he sees a young boy, framed by round, silver-rimmed eyes, which are a brilliant gold, like his father. His hair, as always, is messy and choppy – no matter what he does with it, but its color is silver, after the bleach incident. And despite its usual messiness, his hair is cut short, just enough to stay out of his eyes.
Oh, he’s spacing out again.
Livio blinks, and adjusts his glasses.
...Right. Homework.
He’s got an assignment on early U.S. politics. Founding fathers, democracy, how the system got built, blah blah blah. He’s supposed to be writing an essay.
But…
His eyes slide over to a worn book poking out from under his notes.
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
It’s beat-up. Read way too many times. Livio knows he’s not supposed to read it during study hours. His mom would go on about “discipline” and “mental training.”
But come on.
Solving mysteries is mental training, isn’t it?
One chapter. That’s all.
Livio reaches for the book—
The door to the study swings open.
His mother enters first, as always, with your butler, Mr. Yaga, right behind her.
Livio shoves the drawer shut in one smooth motion and leans on his hand, trying to look busy. (Smooth.)
His mother doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she does, but she’s too tired to care.
She’s wearing her usual sharp, tailored suit, but Livio’s never been sure what she actually does for work. Some office job in the city? Something important? The details don’t add up, but he’s never questioned it. Not out loud, anyway.
Her cropped jacket rested neatly on her shoulders, embroidered with a symbol on the right shoulder and back—one he didn’t recognize. Beneath it, she wore a crisp white dress shirt, a fitted black leather mini-skirt, black tights, heeled boots, and her signature yellow tie, its three pointed ends making it look like a star. Three darker yellow stripes ran across the top of the tie. The tie was always there. A signature look.
Then there’s Mr. Yaga.
Usually, he wears a simple black suit while managing the house. But today? A black chef’s jacket with a high collar rising to his mouth, sleeves neatly rolled to his forearms. His pants were loose and flowing, reminiscent of traditional hakama, dyed a deep, uniform black.
He’s even swapped his usual dress shoes for a pair of black loafers—polished so well they catch the soft sunlight pouring through the windows around the room.
...Why's he dressed like that?
Before Livio can ask, his mother’s voice pulls his attention back.
"I do wish redistricting was that interesting," she muses, raising one of her thin eyebrows.
"Would make my life a whole lot easier."
She smirks, and the twin piercings near her right eye catch the light as she does.
Her dark blue hair, always a little wild, frames her face in windswept layers. The longer strands are tied back loosely, but a few wisps soften the sharp angles of her face. Shorter bangs hang just slightly over her forehead, partially veiling her sharp eyes, framed by long eyelashes.
She gives him that look—soft, but sharp at the same time—as her dull, gray eyes flick down to his...er, still-blank answer sheet.
Dammit.
Looks like he flipped to the wrong page.
"Hey, I was just… appreciating the finer details of my textbook! It's poetic, really.", Livio responds.
She stares. Then snorts.
“Mhm. Sure you were.”
Her tone is teasing, but there's warmth behind it.
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