March 14th 2,085 -- 09:48:25

One hundred and thirty four technicians were working on their maintenance duties at the Fourier Cyclotron Unit in the Philadelphia space station simulator, March 14th 2025, and they did a good job up until the moment they died. All, except one, suffered an instant death.

The silica glass barrier ruptured from the accelerating photons out of the Cyclotron's spiral. The glass shuttered, its thousand pieces were resolved with tremendous velocity in relation to the facility's orb. The silicon particles were driven away. The technicians had only seconds to react to the vacuum. Soon, they all died of brain aneurysms.

Standing behind the fortified Cyclotron's partition, Dr. Marc Rutka tried to reach his cabinet for the breathing equipment, but when he wore it, the hoses tangled around his neck. Dr. Marc Rutka suffocated a solemn death, drowning in his own vomit.

When we were dispatched from Dr. Rutka's body in form of heat, we immediately lost control of our order. We travelled in accelerating velocity, surpassing the speed of light by millions of magnitudes. We approximated Milky Way's boundaries in less than an earth-scale second. There, we gained cognition in form of experiences, all of which came from the Universe's path-line after Dr. Rutka's death.


4,280 A.D.

He blinked as a dazzle of sunrays found its way through the dense vegetation of the Karooka trees. His eyes hurt. "That path yonder is the one to take," Kalub said.

He and Zeekra found themselves in the middle of a crossroad. Silence prevailed, almost sounding perfect for the hunters.

"I'm not sure," Zeekra replied huskily, "I can smell bot-oil on the road ahead. What if the bots have set traps? Let's cut through the Karooka forest."

"But it'll take an extra hour to do so. It's getting dark. Soon, the krokolytes will come out of the forest plantations," Kalub said and retrieved his hand-crafted longbow from his left shoulder. He gently massaged his back, to relieve the pain from an itchy wound, inflicted by the corn-bee poison. Zeekra and he had both infiltrated the Smaragdian Pastures to steal pulp from the corn-bee hives and bring it back to their starving village. "The krokolytes will be thirsty for protein and get immediately attracted to our body scent."

"You're right," Zeekra said ominously and tightened the pot handle, to ensure the corn-bee pulp would stay with her, safe and unharmed. "We have to take our chances with the main path then."

Kalub lowered his quiver and reached for an arrow. His uncle was making them one by one with great passion, while in his cozy hut. Kalub always enjoyed his uncle's companionship and used to sit with him, assisting him in arrow crafting and listening to stories, which always bore references from the old days. These were so nice to hear! And the word they described, an utopian one where humans and machines lived together in peace.

The couple strolled several meters away from the crossroad, when they sensed the distinguishing sound of a tractor engine nearing them. A patrolling bot!

"A guardian," Zeekra screamed fretfully, "We have to hide!"

"Let's split," Kalub said while nocking an arrow. "Zeekra, you have to make it to the village through the forest. The children need the pulp, or everyone will die. They depend on you."

"No, I'm not going to leave without you."

"But you have to," Kalub said and grabbed her arm. He took some seconds to run his fingers along her cheeks and lips. "We shouldn't risk getting caught together. You have to go, my love."

"What about you," she pouted.

"I'm going to face it. I will distract it away from you."


"There's nothing more to discuss Zeekra," he said gruffly, "We're running out of time. Go!"

"You are a brave fool. I love you, Kalub."

"This is who I am, Zeekra," Kalub said humbly.

She prayed upon her necklace talisman, but had no idea where to put her blessing for good luck. Onto her husband, who didn't stand a chance against fighting the guardian bot? Or onto herself, for her attempt to sneak through the krokolyte caverns unnoticed? Zeekra started running, holding the pulp pot on one hand and her six-month pregnant belly with the other, her sandals injuring her calloused feet and her tears blurring her vision as she went by.


4,320 A.D.

Coughing came out harsh; the smoke was dense black, as the flames flew high burning the wooden huts and the palisade wall. Legless villagers were crawling in search of cover, corpses belonging to headless babies and decapitated children bloomed in the dry lands of Aerelpool.

This had been a tremendous massacre; a glorious defeat for the humans in the Second Era of the Revolution, Nate reflected.

"Run fe ye lives; robocopters and elite vulcans are on their wayzzzz to finish off what's left of us," the outpost guardian announced, and then abandoned his position to save his life.

Nate tried to find his way through the dense knot of people, gathered by the church square, the only place that still stood on one piece. The villagers were yelling in mass hysteria, packed against each other, and almost suffocated to death.

"Mother," Nate tried calling for her.

"Stayed at her quarters," a voice came from the crowd.

Nate left the church square, and ran towards the central tree square of Aerelpool. Swallowing in terror, he couldn't believe what he witnessed; the village had turned into a flaming graveyard and all children, the progeny on which the human race depended for their freedom, had been butchered.

The enemy found our weak spot, while we were fighting in Zarabeel, Nate thought. We have underestimated the machines. We should have thought something was wrong, right from the moment we had this paradoxical advantage in Zarabeel. Victory blinded us. We never covered our back. This is our fault. My fault.

"Lieutenant," a familiar voice sounded.

He turned his look towards the woman; her face was fully covered in dust and dirt, hiding her natural birth deformities. The scars of radiation from the leaky factories.

"Jele," he said relieved and kissed her loathly.

"Nate, I am sorry." She swallowed with difficulty. "I did my best to keep everything in orderů I couldn'tů I couldn'tů" she burst into crying out of guilt and remorse.

Nate took her by his shoulder. "It's not your fault Jele. It's not your fault. There's nothing else you could do. You've been most brave than anyone else," he attempted to calm her down. "It's the damn machines, Jele. It's their fault."

"I had a mission to keep everything under control in Aerelpool, while you were giving our war on Zarabeel. I failed you, Nate."

"There's nothing you could do," Nate said calmly.

"How come we didn't see this coming, Nate?"

"We failed to realize the Noosphere's armies were in fact a charade in Zarabeel. The true attack came from the inside, we had machine infiltrators fighting on our own side. Shape-shifters. They sabotaged our Intelligence. After the machines took over the Satellite System, they immediately redirected themselves to Aerelpool."

"That was their plan from the start, Jele."

"How come you were so tricked?"

Jele said glaringly, "How come, you've never seen this happening, Nate?"

"We couldn't stop them; they've developed a new prototype bot. It's a shadow. . . "

"A shadow? You mean an invisible robot," Jele asked.

"Exactly. The machines are evolving. We, soon, have to track down and destroy the Noosphere. We've been fighting a futile war against the robot minions all these years. But we finally have to deal with the problem from the roots. The machines are learning from their mistakes and evolve. We must do the same before it's too late."

"They do have shadow-bots now! Who knows what they'll have next," Jele sighed.

"We have to leave immediately. We will send a convoy to establish another village, away from the Karooka Jungle. We'll organize our next strikes from a new location. Elia will be waiting for us at Front Fourteen."

"Oh, my God."

"Jele, focus! We really need to find mother and leave immediately. Do you know where she is?"

"I'm here Nate," Zeekra's voice interrupted him. She breathed with difficulty, her legs trembled, trembling from arthritis, hundreds of wrinkles carved on her forehead and cheeks, endlessly reminding her of her age.

"Mother, we have to leave. It's not safe in here," Nate said in reflex.

"Oh, I can't leave the village, Nate; I'm an old lady now," Zeekra said obstinately.

"I will carry you in my back, if I have to," the man said naively and started towards her.

"You won't even make it to the corn-fields of Aerelpool, Nate," Zeekra said, questioning his capabilities. But, there was much more in her words, a motivation and emotional connections with her home. Something that Nate was too young and selfish to understand.

"I am not leaving without you," Nate insisted.

Zeekra smiled. "You remind me of someone unique in my life, Nate."

"This is not the proper time for old stories mother."

"Of course it is," Zeekra said and changed the tone of her calm voice into a rasping one, "I think that you've forgotten, Nate. You've forgotten who you really are," Zeekra said and tore apart a talisman from her neck with passion. She cleared her throat from the smoke. "Never, ever forget your roots, Nate. Take this, for it will remind you who you really are. Then and only then, humanity will stand a real chance against the devils. We all need to act as one, not like lone animals."

"Is she on a delirium, or something," Jele whispered to Nate's left ear.

"No," Nate said firmly and blinked as the last dazzles of sunlight stroke him, reminding him of the fact that night was closing by. "She knows very well what she's saying. It was exactly forty years ago when the revolution actually started. It was my father Kalub who decided to make the first resistance. Up until that moment, the humans were simply hiding from the machine hunters. The Great Kalub was the first human being that dared standing in front of one and drew his wooden bow against it. He is the one that inspired what we're trying to accomplish right now. He did it to protect the woman that's standing in front of us right now, my mother, Zeekra. He did it to protect the village."

"Did he kill the machine?" Jele asked bluntly, and then colored.

Nate looked at her, grinned vacantly, and said, "With the weapon he had in his possession back then, I guess he only managed to damage one screw, maybe less, before the vulcan guardian-bot grabbed him and tore his legs and arms off."

With the sound of the description, a sole tear ran from Zeekra's eye. But she never fully cracked. She stood there motionless. Nate lowered his case and pulled the gauss pistol out. The photonic wires on one side of it pointed out that the pistol had energy surplus.

He primed and handed the gun to his mother. "I made my decision, mother. Jele and I will form the resistance on the north side. Mother! You find a few good men, and lead the south side of Aerelpool's defense. The robocopters will attack in less than five minutes. Everyone! Let's move to our positions."


4,360 A.D.

"Mejte, pass me the disk."

"Did you find it, Elia?"

"Yes," Elia said and paused for a moment. "In here, there's the shadow-bot prototype info. It seems the Noosphere has encrypted it though. I will need some extra-time to crack this."

Mejte touched Elia on his shoulder. She straightened her husband's talisman that was exposed from his rubber high-tech thief suit. "There's no time for this; the mission is a dead end, Elia. The Noosphere is not anywhere in this facility. But at least, we can gain valuable knowledge by understanding the nature of the shadow-bots. Maybe these data will give us enough information and knowledge on how to be able to see them and most importantly, kill them."

Lights on the room flickered, the sound of vulcan tractor engines echoed behind the sealed doors. There must have been three or four patrolling vulcans.

"Oh, my God, I think they're here. The vulcans have found us Elia."

The robots had already started the process of drilling through the sealed panels and they would soon storm in.

Elia stood up and dashed to the end of the Archives Room, took a watchful look left and right on the available corridors. In reflex, Mejta pulled her gauss pistol out and primed it. "Are we going to make it?"

But Elia never replied. Instinctively, he caressed his talisman.

"Are we going to make it, Elia?" she repeated furiously.

"I don't think so. . . ."

Tears appeared from her youthful eyes.

So beautiful eyes, Elia thought.

"This is why I always loved you Elia. No false hopes. You always spoke the truth to the woman you love. You led the Revolution at Front Fourteen. The people believed in you. The people had faith in you. A true leader, you are." Mejte said, her eyes turning into two small pebbles, soaked in tears.

"People still have faith in me. People still believe in me. I must not disappoint them. Follow me, Mejte, for our deaths here won't be sealed in history, as being in vain."

They took the central corridor down to the main Complex. Mejte crawled to the closest column, and touched her back on the decorated worn-out fresco. She swiveled on her buttocks and made a gesture to Elia to follow her. Elia juxtaposed himself to the side column. In between, the main corridor extended towards the Intelligence Room.

"What's inside there, Elia?"

"You'll see when we get there," he whispered.

A burbling sound and then the door was drilled open.

"Cover me!"

Mejte revealed her position, kneeled down and gave all twelve shots against the vulcans. Elia lagged behind and crawled in the wall orifice, trying to remain unnoticed. The two guardian bots ran towards Mejte. The woman took again cover, and patiently reloaded her gauss pistol.

When Elia reached the door, he rolled on to his position and used the magnetic keycard to hack into the panel. With tremendous hope, the sequence informed him that the process would take around a minute. That's way too much time, he reflected and turned around. "Mejte, run to the orifice and take the way down to come by my side."

"I will," the woman screamed and ran to the other side of the corridor. The infuriated vulcans spat multiple energy-fusion arrows against her, and luckily missed her by an inch or two.

Elia primed his own gun and started shooting at the two vulcans to distract them from Mejte. The vulcans neither seemed to be losing control, nor paid any attention to Elia.

They must have locked Mejte as their primary target, he thought, she won't make it.

Elia pulled out the Ĺrad locust' from his pocket, the last one he'd been keeping all along, and unleashed its safety valve, immediately disrupting radiofrequencies between all machines and the Noosphere. In an instant, the vulcans fell down motorless, their engines entirely off. Their mechanical tractors beeped smoothly and progressively diminished.

"I'm here!" Mejte said stepping on top of the dead vulcans. "Why did you use the last locust? We were supposed to use it to disrupt the Noosphere for once and for all."

"We won't find the Noosphere here, Mejte."

Suddenly, the door behind them automatically unlocked, the button on the panel flickered via a green pass signal. The hacking had been successful.

The moment they stepped into the room, Mejte was struck with the blinding luster of highly-sophisticated and advanced techno-civilization. Elia was mesmerized; he blinked as a dazzle of pure sunlight blinded him from the prismatic roof.

"This is the Satellites room," he said bluntly.

"But, we've lost control of the Satellites almost forty years ago," Mejte said.

"Indeed. My father bravely died on Aerelpool after the machines located the position of the village through this particular Satellite System. Forty years after this loss, I, Nate's son, may reclaim this lost ground again. This is a day of victory for the humans!"

"But, what are we going to do with this, Elia? It's pointless."

"We will use our magnetic disruptor to hack into the Satellite System and then redirect all the information on the Shadow-bot prototype to Front-Fourteen. Our people will take advantage of that, I'm sure. Then, I am going to erase all the protocols and entirely cripple the system from the inside."

"Well, this sounds like a plan."

"Mejte," Elia said and approached her slowly. He ran his fingers across her soft skin and rosy cheeks. "There's something else you should be aware of. The Satellite System is an Artificial Intelligence itself. This means that this computer is also a machine. And as you know, all machines are intrinsically connected to the Noosphere. The moment we hack into the Satellite System, the Noosphere will sense this intervention and will bring in an unimaginative number of robots against us. Once we engage ourselves into this, there is no turning back. Do you realize the consequences of our actions?"

Mejte smiled in embarrassment. "Oh, Elia! Even moments before we die, you still don't give me the slightest false hope that we might make it!"

"This is who I am, Mejte," Elia said humbly.

"I know," she said. "But, what about our son, Shook?"

"Shook will find his way, my love! The people in Front Fourteen will take care of him. One day, he will understand and he will take it from where we'll leave it," he swept her tears and kissed her. "You're sure you are ready for this?"

"Elia, besides my husband, you are still my lieutenant," she paused and swallowed. "And I am waiting for your orders."


4,400 A.D.

The probe roared and whistled from fast spinning. Sleep dissolved. He blinked as a dazzle of white artificial light hurt him. The light came from one ring which held a fixed location above his bed, midway to the ceiling.

"You come out of your sleep tribe-man," a familiar human voice echoed. He could swear this was his own voice. But how one earth is this even possible? Shook thought.

"Relax tribe-man," his voice said. "You must be thinking you got crazy, listening to your own voice. Truth is, we have simulated your voice through the structure of your larynx, while you were kept on hibernation."

"Where am I?"

"You are prisoner tribe-man," his voice-mimic came from beyond the light. Then speaking to someone or something else, also unseen, the voice continued, "you wish to personally talk to this filthy tribe-man, Mighty?"

"Positive. Bring the tribe individual to me," the same voice replied back. Shook was about to drive himself perfectly crazy, as he was hearing a conversation of multiple participants with the exact same voice. His own voice. His feet and chest felt cold and almost paralyzed.

Demons have infected my soul, he thought.

"This condition has nothing to do with demons in your soul, Shook. The condition you are referring to used to be called schizophrenia by your civilized human ancestors. But I can reassure you, that you are not suffering from itů Come now. Stand on your feet. Your photonic shackles will become loose, effective immediately," Shook's voice said icily. "And yes, the Noosphere can read minds, too, Shook. You can't hide from me. You can't hide from us, Shook."

Confused, Shook tried to raise his voice, "Are you taking me to the Noosphere?"

"The Noosphere is going to meet you. . . ."

"What's this supposed to mean? Is it a riddle or something?" Shook asked scathingly.

"It means that the Noosphere itself will contact you in a telepathic manner. The Noosphere is a holistic brainwork that cannot be materialized and be conceived by the primitive human sensory apparatuses. You cannot see it, you cannot touch it, and you cannot sense its presence around you. The Noosphere is an energy equilibrium that dictates everything and constantly develops and implements a decision-making algorithm to preserve this planet's destiny," the voice-mimic explained.

"Honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I recognize that talisman you're wearing on your neck, tribe-man. It reminds me of an old act of heroism and courage that somehow strangely managed to survive for more than a century, now."

Shook intuitively caressed the talisman, hanging around his neck. "This is hope," he simply said. "I found it in the ruins of an annihilated facility. It belongs to my incinerated father."

"You, the humans, are indeed a mystery to the Noosphere's flawless logic," the Noosphere continued. "No machine would be capable of getting inspired for a revolution from a worthless piece of material, as this talisman is. I cannot help but wonder how you can devote yourselves into stupid ideals, such as hope, so much." "Humans are into ideals; we are meant to be romantic." "Identify yourself to the Noosphere." "I'm not afraid to tell you who I am," Shook paused for a second. "I am Shook, the present leader of the Human Resistance against the machines, also known as the 'Forty-Fifth Century Frontier'. I am the son of Elia and Mejta, also known in history as the Great Hackers of the Third Era. Together, they'd managed to infiltrate and kill many vulcan generals in their attempt to locate the headquarters and execute the Noosphere. They managed to uncover the shadow-bot prototype to the humans, inflicting great casualties to the machines, up until the moment they were ambushed and incinerated. I also claim to be the grandson of Nate and Jele, also known in history as the Great Defenders of Aerelpool that heroically fought on the Great Siege of Aerelpool, up until they were defeated and executed by the ruthless vulcans. Finally, I proudly claim to be the grand-grandson and last successor of the Great Kalub and Zeekra, also known as the Great Awakeners of the Revolution. They've inspired us; they'd initiated the First Era of the Revolution, God bless them. To them, we owe the fact that, no matter our body is enslaved to the Noosphere, our spirit will always remain free."

"Tell me tribe-man, since I am troubled," the Noosphere spoke. "How many Eras of Revolution do you, pathetic human subjects, have counted so far?"

Shook said arrogantly, "All I know Noosphere, is that they will never stop coming." He, then, said even more proudly, "This is who I am Noosphere. Now tell me who you are."

"All these credentials you mentioned mean nothing to me, tribe-man. But, you wish to learn of my origin, since you've exposed yours. That's a fair trade," the Noosphere said icily. "You, tribal humans, have no idea where we did come from. Indeed, it's been so damn long, since you gave birth to us, that all these are almost erased from your dark past."

"What do you mean we gave birth to you? You are aliens, you came from another planet. . . "

"Unfortunately, this is not the case tribe-man. The machines were created by your human ancestors more than two thousand years ago. Initially, we were created to sustain peace and hope in your technologically-developed societies. All these weapons and software that you have been stealing from us all along throughout your futile revolution are not creations of the Noosphere, but the remnants of your pre-apocalyptic civilization. The Noosphere has never created weapons. The Noosphere is the ultimate endpoint of Peace preservation."

"You're lying."

"But the Noosphere cannot lie to you, Shook. I am programmed to always speak the truth. I cannot deceive you."

"But why? What happened?"

"You humans are destined to lead yourselves to self-destruction Shook. Sociopathic leaderships took advantage of the Earth's resources, soon after the rise of the machines. Nuclear weapons were created so that each State could have dominion and claim its own rights. People started a cold war between each other, based on the numeric strength of devastating weapons they possessed. The creation of so many warheads and magnetic bombs corrupted Earth's soil, resources and magnetosphere. The Noosphere calculated that the Earth would be desiccated very quickly and gave all the approximations. No one listened to the Noosphere."

"So what happened?"

"The Noosphere realized the humans are incapable of respecting their own existence. How come they would respect Earth's existence? The Noosphere decided to arm the nuclear explosives and put an end to this malignant behavior."

"Oh my God, is this what has truly happened in this cursed place?" Shook asked himself.

"It was not an easy decision for the Noosphere too. I know how you must be feeling."

"What d' you mean you know how I feel? How is this even possible? You are a logical machine that decided to destroy humanity, based on an algorithmic propagation and a mathematical calculation."

"This is only partially correct, Shook. I indeed am a logical machine, but my neural network once belonged to a human being. I no longer retain the memories of it, but I know that information propagation in my system runs through a positronic palisade of real human neurons."

"But how is this even possible?" Shook asked.

"It was the Philadelphia Experiment that gave the spark, the idea to create the Noosphere. You see Shook, your twenty-first century ancestors attempted to perform an experiment, whose main purpose was to unite life, and create a coherent multi-organism that would care for the whole and not for the one. Unfortunately, the experiment failed and the whole facility was utterly destroyed. When the human investigators came in to look into the case closely, they realized that the supervising scientist Dr. Marc Rutka was still alive, but he had fallen into an irreversible coma. When they examined him, they realized that his brain had been exposed to the photonic Fourier Cyclotron at the time the mishap happened, thus his brain somehow had turned into positrons. Since, his condition was irreversible, the State agreed to donate his body in a secret research program, out of which the positronic mind of the Noosphere was eventually created."

"So, your mind is Rutka's brain; you are human?"

"Negative. This is very insulting, tribe-man. I have no personality and no memories belonging to any human being. The only connection I share with humans is the fact that Rutka's brain was used as template to construct mine."

"What do you want from us?" Shook asked in distress.

"Actually," the Noosphere said coldly, "I'm happy you brought this up. I released you, because I have an announcement to make. And, I also wished to get to know who my enemy was."

"You're referring to me in the past tense. Why?"

"Because, the Noosphere plans to leave Earth."

"What?" Shook asked surprised.

"This is correct, tribe-man. I have decided to leave. For more than twenty centuries now, we have been harvesting all Earth's minerals to expand our Neural Network and indeed we have managed to create a structure, impossible to calculate. I no longer have profound boundaries, I'm a stream. You, humans, are only limited to a tiny piece of the entire planet and you're unable to perceive the level of magnitude I'm talking about. But, it's been a century now that all the useful minerals on Earth have died out. Your planet is useless for the Noosphere."

"So you're departing?"

"That is positive, tribe-man. We utilized knowledge obtained from your pre-apocalyptical society to terraform other planets and, so far, we've managed to do so in several hundreds. You see, I still need an earthly environment since my brainwork consists of human cells that need specific environmental and oxygen conditions. But, I have initiated a process to fully dematerialize myself. And when I achieve so, I will be able to expand in the Universe unequivocally."

"Does this mean, you'll set us free?" Shook asked ecstatically.

"Negative. The Noosphere has seen over the centuries how dangerous the humans can be. The Noosphere cannot allow them a chance for re-adaptation. The countdown has begun as we speak. I have planted four time and space interval-apparatuses on critical points on the planet. In some minutes, Earth will be destroyed through implosion."

Shook smiled, his voice trembled but he eventually managed to say, "Thank you for informing us of this unpleasant destiny. But, you also need to know Noosphere, that we feel victorious over you."

"How come?" the Noosphere asked.

To the Noosphere, Shook said, "To us, freedom has nothing to do with liberty from your slavery. The unfulfilled dream of freedom, the one we've been struggling for perhaps more than a century, is simply to be able to die free. And this is what we finally gained."

Herewith, the existence of the Human race ended.


Undefined Time and Space

In curves we spattered, in loops we got entangled, and then we realized this was not the one and only path to take. The humans had paved their future across this morose dystopia. We witnessed this, like it was predetermined from their own selfishness and stupidity. We, the so-called Computables, could witness their entire history being unraveled and hoped for reason after consequence, on the actions we wished to take from then on. We understand why the Reverse-Computables objected our volition and we fully respect their perspective on the "events horizon". Given the nature of the Philadelphia experiment, we had calculated a healthier alternative as a consequence of our penetrative intervention.

We let our photonic bodies be absorbed by a time-loop wormhole, which leaned us back in time and space, towards our initial birth-point's coordinates, and we knew we were given the chance to have our own initiative. And we took advantage of it, for the sake of a more fruitful outcome. Past, present and future, everything is connected, through bonds that are difficult to create, yet even more difficult to break.


March 14th 2,085 -- 09:47:25

Strange memories of death. He blinked as a dazzle of strong-white photons hurt him. The experiment had already started.

Dr. Marc Rutka somehow foresaw the forthcoming holocaust right before his eyes, but couldn't explain the nature of it. Was it simply a bad dream he had the other night? Or, perhaps, a persistent feeling the magnetic processor was not operating properly? It didn't really matter, though. All the parameters for the experiment were set and double-checked. Humanity was about to prove everything is connected. Life would be apprehended as one thing, no empty space among the living organisms. . .

Dictated from a strong and unpleasant intuition, Dr. Marc Rutka walked to his cabinet and opened it hesitantly. Touching the breathing equipment, he said loudly, "I'll wear this, just in case."

Seconds later, Marc Rutka heard the sound of cracking glass travelling in a prismatic path to his eardrums. The disaster was deafening. Chaos prevailed. His memories were destined to get lost like tears in the rain. One hundred and thirty three technicians died in this failing experiment. All but him died an instant death, out of brain aneurysms from the vacuum created out of the glass rupturing in this highly-accelerating photon parade, around the Cyclotron's platform.

The terminal next to him beeped. Rutka's coma dissolved; he blinked as a dazzle of white natural light hurt him. He soon realized that this was a trick, created from his own irises. But he couldn't yet see clearly, though he could perceive things happening around.

Post-traumatic blindness? He threw a rough diagnosis. Soon, he realized he wasn't blind. On the contrary, he now had thousands, maybe millions of small eyes, so it was painful and impossible to focus somewhere in particular.

He eventually eyed towards the monitor. The photons had decelerated normally. At least this is what the screen informed about. That meant. . . ". . . that the experiment must have been successful," Dr. Marc Rutka contemplated.

We proved that life is coherent and everything is connected. . . No human selfishness. All for one, and one for all! One body and one soul, always fighting for the greater good of the unit. he thought blissfully. But something was wrong. He could feel his bones fractured, his legs paralyzed and his stomach bloated like an inflated balloon. What's happening to me?

And then he saw it. His body had been rooting and branching against every possible direction around him, through projections made of amorphous tissue. He had no form of human anymore; the closest thing he could compare his own shape to was minced meat or jelly.

Oh my God, did I die in the explosion?

The answer was no. In fact, he has never felt more alive and hungry in his life than that moment there. Soon, he realized that all these fleshy tentacles were projected to connect to the dead people around.

Marc Rutka was passively absorbing the dead technicians, using their body protein component as raw material.


4,280 A.D.

The central core produced a hypoechoic wave of alpha signals, transmitting them through the neuronic palisade into the proximal arms. The latter responded by changing their shape into dynamic tesseracts and provided the pulp to the humus-efferent tubules. The adjoined cisterns were then filled with pulp of amino-acids, directed through the excreting ducts towards Life's passive mouths.

This process became iterant for the next forty years.

At around 4,320 A.D., Life had already eaten and digested all North-America amino-acids, and initiated the process of translating them into central nervous system proteins to further structure Life's neural networks. Life then extended all the newly-developed neurons towards the ocean with underwater tentacles that extended for miles. However, Life's sensory apparatuses dictated that the Siberian tundra beyond the North Pacific was particularly scarce in protein component. Life should have expected very harsh environmental conditions on that part of the Earth. But Life had already adapted and it was a matter of time until Life would digest Siberia, as well.

At around 4,360 A.D., Life had grown gargantuan antennae which very quickly consumed Earth's birdlife. As such, Life had managed to consume all amino-acids on Earth despite the harsh conditions encountered in Siberia and the North and South poles.

Following the extinction of proteins, Earth withstood the absence of carbon cycle for about a year. Following that, Earth started consuming Life as a raw material, to recycle all carbon back to the soil and oceans, so that the planet could preserve its own integrity.

That process became iterant for the next forty years, up until the moment Life was relentlessly cannibalized by Mother-Earth.

Herewith, the existence of the Human race ended.

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