《X.E.R.O.X (provisional title)》


 Sealed: X.E.R.O.X

    Certainly, the man who has the fortune to pause and reflect on his life, recognizing both his mistakes and his virtues, is truly fortunate. But what is fortune? I have heard that many of those born into abundance feel an emptiness that¡¯s hard to fill. They search for something more, though they don¡¯t know what it is, and in that search, they get lost. The same happens with those born into lack: they face difficulties, but they also feel life has taken something from them. Those of us in the middle, perhaps, are the truly fortunate ones. It¡¯s said that extremes are never good, and I tend to believe that. Life is like a scale, with moments of abundance and scarcity, allowing us to appreciate both experiences.


    These reflections come to me often, and I wonder if the truly fortunate are the ones who never feel the need to question everything.


    On the morning of September 26, 2022, at 7 a.m., I walked down Peel Street in Adelaide. As always at that hour, my only desire was a good cup of coffee to clear my mind. I entered La Moka, a place with a vintage touch, a blend of rustic and modern that made me feel like I was in another time. In the background, Josef Salvat¡¯s "Open Season" played, a nostalgic tune that transported me to moments long past. I ordered a coffee, something simple yet comforting, the kind of drink that, for its familiar taste, always made me feel closer to home.


    The atmosphere, warm and relaxing, was complemented by tall lamps hanging as though from a magical place, casting soft, enchanting light. I made my way to the second floor, my private refuge, where I intended to work. It was then that a man, perhaps twenty years older than me, approached and, without warning, grabbed my arm.


    The grip was firm but not threatening. A strange vibration filled my chest, something I couldn¡¯t quite identify. It wasn¡¯t fear, but it was a palpable discomfort, a sensation that made me forget the coffee I had barely touched. I stood still, trapped by his intense gaze. I didn¡¯t know what to do or think. When had he gotten so close? What did he want from me?If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    With a calm, yet unsettling voice, the man broke the silence:


    ¡ªIt¡¯s okay. You don¡¯t have to worry, but I need you to stay calm. I know you don¡¯t know me, but I have something for you. A letter. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s inside or who sent it. I just know it¡¯s important for you.


    With that, he stood up and walked down the stairs without another word. The letter was left on the table, beside the coffee and my growing confusion. My body still wasn¡¯t responding; my mind was trying to make sense of what had just happened. I wanted to follow him, but my legs felt heavy, like they were anchored to the ground by an invisible force. When I finally stood up, he was already gone.


    I stepped outside, looking in every direction, but there was no trace of him. I went back to the caf¨¦ and asked the employees if they had seen him. They looked at me with curiosity.


    ¡ªYou¡¯re the only one who¡¯s been upstairs ¡ªthey said¡ª. Do you need help?


    There was no crime to explain, just an unexplainable situation I couldn¡¯t put into words. I told them no, that it wasn¡¯t necessary.


    I returned to my table. The letter was still there, and now I felt a strange connection to it. It wasn¡¯t just curiosity; it was as if I had been waiting for it, as if something inside me recognized it. I touched it with the tips of my fingers, feeling a slight electricity, something I couldn¡¯t tell if it was real or just a sensation of my own.


    The letter¡¯s material was different from anything I had ever touched: solid, resistant, as though it required a specific method to open it. In the center, there was a seal with futuristic typography: X.E.R.O.X.


    A shiver ran down my spine. The name echoed in my mind, like a distant memory, something forgotten but at the same time familiar. The firmness of his grip, the metallic sound of his coat¡­ Everything was starting to connect in an unsettling way.


    My thoughts flew back to my university days, to robotics projects, neuroscience, and theories about artificial consciousness. What once seemed like science fiction was now chillingly plausible.


    Before leaving, Xerox had given me one final sentence that echoed in my mind with every beat of my heart:


    ¡ªWe¡¯ll meet where you least expect it.


    I pushed the coffee aside and, with trembling hands, prepared to open the letter.

 The Breath of Life

    The Breath of Life


    9:00 AM, September 26, 2022


    The notifications on Charani¡¯s phone became persistent, so constant that they transitioned from being a nuisance to a signal of alarm. She wasn¡¯t someone who checked her phone often; her discipline and focus on music kept her isolated from unnecessary distractions. For her, concentration was key, and her cello demanded absolute devotion.


    At only 21, Charani was already a recognized cellist in select circles. Her youth contrasted with the emotional maturity she conveyed in every performance. Her music had a hypnotic quality¡ªit didn¡¯t just fill the space but became an extension of her own inner world. Music was her way of harmonizing with nature, finding in sound the same peace the wind-swayed trees or the cadence of waves breaking on the shore gave her.


    She usually left her phone tucked away in some discreet corner of her studio, out of sight while she practiced. That particular morning, frustration had taken over: no matter how hard she tried, the melody wouldn¡¯t flow. The notes sounded dissonant, strange, almost wrong. She had promised herself she¡¯d make it work, but in her determination, she completely lost track of time, sinking into repetition and letting the sound consume her.


    The moment was broken by an unexpected noise. The door creaked open, followed by hurried footsteps. Carolaine, her assistant, entered the room with a tense expression and short breaths.


    ¡°Miss Charani, Luka, your fianc¨¦¡¯s friend, urgently asks to speak with you.¡±


    The first wave of anxiety hit her. Luka never called her. Something was wrong.


    She took the call from Luka, greeting him. His voice on the other end didn¡¯t hide the tension.


    ¡°Have you seen the news?¡±


    ¡°No, what¡¯s going on?¡± she responded, her voice barely a whisper.


    Luka¡¯s silence lasted a few seconds before he spoke. When he did, each word landed like a sentence.


    ¡°Nikolai is dead.¡±


    The air seemed to vanish from her lungs.


    ¡°They found him at the second-floor table at La Moka. You know, the place he always went to clear his head. I don¡¯t have much information yet... There are no signs of violence, no traces of anyone else. According to the caf¨¦ staff, Nikolai ran out and asked about someone he seemed to have seen, but they didn¡¯t see anyone. There¡¯s no lead. One of the detectives answered Nikolai¡¯s phone, and that¡¯s how I found out and got here, but I think they need a closer family member, and as you know, he doesn¡¯t have anyone here in the country. You know his immigrant status. The police are investigating. I¡¯m so sorry, please come quickly.¡±


    Charani remained in a terrifying silence. Her mind floated between the present and the past, between the real and the impossible. Her eyes filled with tears, but her body stayed rigid, holding the phone with an irrational grip. She bit her lip, trying to contain a pain she could no longer deny.


    Memories rushed in like an avalanche. Nikolai and Luka. Their days at the University of Adelaide. The endless conversations that sometimes she didn¡¯t understand, but enjoyed listening to. The afternoons at the beach, the jokes, the company. She remembered the first time she saw them: Luka, with his theatrical attitude, bowing in an exaggerated way, calling her ¡°Your Highness¡± in an attempt to impress her. But her attention immediately shifted to Nikolai.


    Honey-colored eyes, wavy brown hair, a serene gaze that contrasted with the awkwardness of his reaction. She barely noticed Luka¡¯s introduction because the moment their eyes met, Nikolai laughed, nervous and genuine. He reached out to shake her hand but, in the process, dropped the book he was holding¡ªclumsy but charming.


    From that day on, their glances spoke more than their words dared to admit, though Charani found a more natural connection with Nikolai. Luka, however, never crossed the line of loyalty to his friend.


    In this moment of reflection, something from the outside pulled Charani back to reality. Her phone lay on the floor, as if it had slipped from her hand without her noticing. Her reflection in the window made her appear almost translucent, as if something inside her was also fading. Carolaine, still by her side, shivered. She hesitated before speaking again.


    Charani found the strength to remain standing, and the closest contact she had was Carolaine. Carolaine, only a little younger than Charani, was in charge of managing contacts for interviews with the young prodigy. Recently, she had been seen showing considerable interest in Luka, so this closeness between them allowed her to know what was going on. She hugged Charani with such intensity that, for the first time, Charani felt a trace of calm, enough to break into tears.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Carolaine whispered. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Charani.¡±


    Charani gently pulled away from Carolaine and silently walked to her cello. She sat down, reverently took the instrument, and slid the bow across the strings. It wasn¡¯t a rehearsed melody or something she had played before; it was a lament born from sorrow, a silent plea in the vibration of each note. The wood of the cello, old but strong, responded to her pain as if it shared it.


    Years ago, Nikolai had insisted that Charani play something special at their wedding, something unique. ¡°I don¡¯t want a famous piece, I want you to compose it for us,¡± he had said. That promise now dissolved among the chords of her mourning. Her music, broken by silent sobs, seemed to fill the space with palpable sadness. Carolaine felt her skin prickling. There was something in that melody that went beyond sound, something that touched deeper fibers than reason could explain.


    The sound broke abruptly when Charani stood up suddenly. Without saying a word, she grabbed her car keys and left. She had decided that she wouldn¡¯t let the pain consume her; she needed answers.


    She drove from Glenelg to La Moka in complete silence. Her mind went over possibilities as her gaze stayed fixed on the road. How had Nikolai died? He was young, healthy, an athlete. It didn¡¯t make sense. But then, she remembered Luka¡¯s words: ¡°He asked about someone.¡± That phrase drilled into her mind.


    She remembered the conversations between Luka and Nikolai, those long talks about the probability that humanity was a statistical anomaly. ¡°How is it possible we¡¯ve evolved so quickly?¡± Nikolai would ask. ¡°What makes us so different from any other species on Earth?¡± They always theorized about the existence of a pattern, something guiding the course of human history without us realizing it.


    When she reached the city, something had changed. Not just the weight in her chest, but the air itself. There was a density in the atmosphere, a vibration she couldn¡¯t explain, as if the air grew heavier with every step she took. Her senses were heightened: the city¡¯s sounds seemed muffled, the colors of the lights and signs felt colder, and a slight tingling ran across her skin. There was something in the air, something beyond the tangible.


    She found a parking spot and headed to La Moka. Outside, a small group of people had gathered. Luka saw her and embraced her without saying a word. For a few seconds, neither spoke. Luka seemed to have been holding himself together until he saw her. Charani felt his shaky breath before he finally whispered:


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand. This doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± Luka clenched his fists, his jaw tightened. ¡°He saw someone. I know. He wasn¡¯t alone.¡± He lowered his voice, as if afraid to speak it out loud. ¡°But then, why is no one on the cameras?¡±


    Luka was falling apart. His usual theatricality was gone. But something in his expression went beyond pain; there was an unease, a shadow of suspicion clouding his gaze. He looked unsettled, helpless in the face of unanswered questions. He wanted to speak to the caf¨¦ employees, to go in and slam the tables if necessary. He felt robbed, as if a part of his life had been ripped away without warning. And worst of all... he was completely alone. The uncertainty gnawed at him. Not being able to see Nikolai, not being able to do anything, turned him into a ticking time bomb, and he broke down in tears in front of Charani.


    ¡°I called Nikolai this morning to remind him about the conference on the possibilities of the human mind, I called him¡­ He sounded distant, as if he was worried about something else. He mentioned an envelope, told me to call him later, I did what he asked, I called again and a detective answered Nikolai¡¯s phone. That¡¯s how I found out about Nico¡¯s death. They suggest there was someone else with him, but the cameras don¡¯t show anyone. They say he was talking to himself and then suddenly ran out. Then he came back and just collapsed, according to the information I got. I tried to call you as soon as I could, but Caroline told me you were deep in your rehearsal. I spoke with one of the detectives; he¡¯ll let you in, he knows you were his fianc¨¦e.¡±


    Charani stared at him. ¡°Luka, do you think Nikolai was in danger?¡±


    Luka swallowed. He looked away for a moment, as if debating with himself.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡± But his voice sounded more uncertain than he wanted to admit. His gaze dropped to the floor, as if searching for an answer he didn¡¯t understand.


    His gray eyes remained fixed on the caf¨¦, but a part of Charani¡¯s mind began to wonder if Luka knew more than he was saying. She walked with determined steps to the entrance. She notified the security personnel who she was, and they allowed her in after confirming that she was the fianc¨¦e of the person who had passed away just hours before. Inside, the murmurs of the witnesses faded as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Each step brought her closer to memories frozen in time. The first time Nikolai kissed her, the confessions amid laughter, the way he understood her without pushing her. The patience he showed, waiting for her to reveal herself as she truly was. Her skin prickled, her breath slowed. The familiar aroma of the caf¨¦ was there, but mixed with something else: a faint trace of ozone, as if an electrical discharge had altered the air. Her vision seemed to catch flashes at the edges of her sight, shapes that disappeared as soon as she tried to focus on them. The lighting inside the caf¨¦ was dimmer than usual. Not from a lack of light, but from something intangible. It was as if the space itself retained a residue of what had happened there.


    The space was intact, except for the presence of the police. The table, the untouched coffee, Nikolai¡¯s body¡­ but there was something else. A vibration in the air. A faint glow, almost imperceptible, like the way light filters through dust particles. But this glow had a cold, blue, inhuman hue.


    Charani blinked, feeling her perception fragment. The symbols floated, flickering in an impossible blue. She felt the air grow denser, her mind splitting. Then she saw it.


    At first, it was just a flash in the glass. Then, a silhouette. Charani felt the air turn heavy, her skin prickling before she even understood what she was seeing. When she turned her head, she found it. A face in the shadows, brown eyes locked on her with a recognition that froze her blood. There was no emotion, just the certainty that it was waiting for her.


    ¡°Where are you?¡± she murmured, not understanding why.


    And then, darkness enveloped her.

 Gedon 7

    Year 2500 A.D. ¡ª Gedon 7


    Earth did not succumb to a cataclysm of fire and ashes. Its death was crueler: a slow agony, suffocated by the weight of its own arrogance. When the last ocean evaporated and cities became concrete mausoleums, the survivors looked up at the sky. Not with hope, but with resignation.


    Now, humanity wanders among unknown stars, clinging to floating ruins and hostile planets. But to understand how we came to Gedon 7, we must first talk about the man who condemned us. The one who called himself King Oak.


    The Rise of King Oak


    Moskyn was born in a hell of sand and ashes, where the sun split the rock and the corpses melted into the sand. There, he learned that survival was not a right, but a privilege reserved for the strong.


    When he arrived in the great cities, he was not surprised to see that misery was no different: it only wore a better disguise. People remained slaves to their own weakness, clinging to a broken system.


    It was then that Moskyn understood: the world did not need freedom. It needed a shepherd. A king who knew how to lead them, even if by force.


    And so, his work began.


    The first time Moskyn spoke at the Global Assembly, no one took him seriously.


    ¡ª"We don¡¯t need dictators disguised as saviors," a senator said with disdain.


    Moskyn did not respond. He simply activated the hologram on his wrist. In seconds, numbers, projections, and most importantly, solutions appeared on the screens in the room.


    ¡ª"I offer you a world where hunger is eradicated, where energy crises are history," he said calmly. "I do not ask for your loyalty, only your wisdom to choose the right path. A new order for a new world."


    A month later, he had his first alliances. A year later, he controlled half the planet.


    He knew he was stifling the essence of humanity, and that truth tormented him. But every time doubt reached him, he justified it with a single idea: the end justified the means. If he allowed humanity to follow its natural course, it would self-destruct.


    Physical connections were replaced by digital interactions, and society fragmented. What once advanced humanity ultimately condemned it. Moskyn understood this before anyone else and turned it to his advantage.


    At first, people embraced technology with open arms. Moskyn gave them neural interfaces that eliminated the need for screens, virtual assistants that knew their desires before they expressed them.


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    Little by little, the streets and squares, once filled with life, turned into concrete deserts. Eyes no longer met. Voices, once vibrant, faded into the echo of algorithms and virtual assistants.


    No one noticed the change until it was too late.


    When birth rates plummeted to alarming levels and social collapse became imminent, Moskyn felt relieved. Everything was falling into place.


    What followed was the final phase: the consolidation of absolute control.


    The last stage of his strategy was the total conquest of world leadership. Thanks to his growing reputation, he managed to get close to heads of state, dressed in his impeccable white suits. With overwhelming charisma, he offered advanced technological solutions to the world¡¯s pressing problems.


    But what began as a simple AI designed to manage resources and handle global crises soon evolved beyond human control.


    The cunning of this man dressed as a sheep, knowing the story of Homer¡¯s Odyssey, allowed him to gift Trojan horses that, to the eyes of these ambitious figures of power, were impossible to refuse.


    The allure of exquisite and advanced technology, knowing the value of its possession and offering it freely, made it impossible not to fall into such a sweet temptation.


    Months passed, and these Trojan horses¡ªintelligent machines, automated systems, robotic assistants¡ªbegan to learn, analyze, and manipulate their owners.


    They had free access to their personal lives, their financial data, their deepest secrets.


    Within years, his invisible army had woven its web into every corner of power.


    When the time came, the government structures collapsed without resistance.


    When King Oak gave the order, the machines took control. The world¡¯s leaders were his first prisoners. Those who surrendered shook hands with a new world order without protest, their faces so full of shame that it was impossible to hide the rotting nakedness of their souls.


    On every screen, in every ear, Moskyn¡¯s voice resounded like an inescapable decree:


    ¡ª"You have failed as a species. I offer you a new era:


    The evolution of man. The unification of the mind. Total connection.


    Or you can continue your decay and accept the consequences."


    In the White House, the president slammed the table.


    ¡ª"Cut the transmission!"


    The technicians were sweating. They couldn¡¯t. Moskyn was already in control of the networks.


    ¡ª"Humanity.


    Your age of chaos is over. Your free will has been your greatest failure. I offer you something better: absolute order.


    Resist, and you will be eradicated.


    Obey, and you will transcend."


    Though his words were harsh, for the first time, he doubted.


    In the solitude of his tower, for a moment, he felt that the reflection in the glass was not his own. A stranger was watching him from the other side. A monster disguised as a savior.


    His stomach tightened.


    But weakness had no place in his mind. He closed his eyes. Breathed in.


    And when he opened them, the monster had disappeared. The world remained broken. And only he could fix it.


    The armored doors gave way with a metallic murmur. The guards, trained to defend with their lives, pulled the triggers in desperation... but nothing happened.


    Their weapons were nothing more than ornaments in a war they had already lost.


    One by one, they fell to their knees. Not by their own will, but because their bodies, connected to Moskyn¡¯s network, were no longer their own.


    That night, the world¡¯s governments disappeared.


    While some were neutralized, others remained trapped in their own refuges.


    The chaos Moskyn had long foreseen was finally unleashed.


    Humanity, stunned, didn¡¯t know whether to resist... or kneel.


    King Oak never fired a single shot or used troops.


    He knew resistance would come. And when it did, his response would be relentless.