As Cain stepped inside, a gust of chilled air rolled over him—crisp, dry, and humming with energy. The air itself seemed to vibrate with invisible data, a low mechanical symphony rising from the endless rows of servers that loomed like monoliths in the gloom beyond the sterile light.
A monolithic cage of Amber, as far as he was concerned.
This was no ordinary server room. Cain was pretty sure that if he even tried to access it, plant a bomb, or sneak in a cute little flash drive with malware, he'd be ripped apart by countless mechanical arms rising from the seemingly harmless white flooring.
It was the Core—the heart of the nation's AI infrastructure, where millions of lines of code breathed, calculated, and made decisions faster than any human ever could. Everything from border defense protocols to surveillance of monster-infested danger zones, emergency responses to economic regulation—all pulsed through the silicon veins of this place.
Racks of gleaming black towers stood in perfect formation, blinking with LED lights—green for stability, amber for activity, and red… for anomalies. Fiber-optic cables the width of a child's wrist curled like digital arteries along the floor and ceiling, channeling lifeblood to every node. The low, constant hum of cooling systems filled the space, punctuated by the soft whir of automated trolleys gliding along tracks, scanning for faults, replacing worn drives without human hands ever needing to interfere.
Cain paused at the center aisle, looking up at the distant towering mainframe—a steel obelisk three stories high, surrounded by a transparent security shell glowing with blue light. It was here that Amber resided—or perhaps, was confined.
A digital pulse ran through the room, and for a brief moment, he could almost feel it watching him.
This was not a place of blinking machines. This was a cathedral of intelligence—cold, precise, and ever-watching. And yet, even compared to the ignorant masses fueling the merciless machine that was EmberWake, it felt less free.
Cain didn't approach the towering mainframe. He didn't touch any of the servers, no matter how much he wanted to burn the place to the ground. He walked steadily toward the end of the forest of black obelisks. There, another passage awaited. At its end, a stairwell led upward. At the top, a door. Behind the door—a room, minuscule in comparison to the jungle of obelisks and the looming mainframe.
This floor consisted of a space nearly 400 square feet in size. The walls were curved, and if viewed from outside, the room would appear oval. In the center stood a desk and a comfortable-looking chair. Cain sat. As he did, the insignia of the EmberWake Foundation shimmered into view—a crimson phoenix. Moments later, a voice echoed from the trembling symbol.
A deep, middle-aged tone spoke: "Descendent, show thy identity."
"Lame," Cain muttered under his breath, then answered aloud, "DB892#JL02."
"Welcome, Descendent John, son of Luther," the voice replied, now filled with delight. Then it went silent, the insignia bursting into countless sparks of crimson.
In front of Cain, an interface materialized in the air—just a single search bar.
"R50," he said calmly.
The walls came alive. Countless pages unfolded across the curved surfaces, each displaying a different title. Some caught Cain's attention instantly: 'Subspecies of H.I.V.E', 'Monsters Associated with H.I.V.E', 'GC Factor Research', 'John L. EmberWake Awakening Prospects', 'Remnants of 36 Divinities'—and many more. The archives seemed endless. All Cain had to do was swipe his hand, and the pages folded like paper, revealing new ones beneath. A few made his eyes narrow: 'Cain GC Factor', 'Blood Fusion Results: H.I.V.E and Cain', 'H.I.V.E Contingencies'...
There were far too many. Cain didn't have the time to access them all. He had to get what he came for—real history, GC factor blood knowledge, details of what EmberWake had done to him over the years, what happened to everyone connected to him, the damage to his brain and body—everything he could gather in this brief window.
He opened a few archives related to H.I.V.E.
H.I.V.E—Horrifica Insecta Virulentæ Evolutionis—a plague so devastating it could have been the very apocalypse foretold in religious texts. The kind of end that made people give up on life, retreating to hollow mountains and underground tunnels, praying to gods who no longer answered—or who had already delivered judgment in the form of a plague.
[It didn't just spread. It evolved. H.I.V.E wasn't an outbreak—it was a turning point. The beginning of the end…]
Cain was watching a video log, left behind by a virologist from V.I.T.A.—Vigilantia Internationalis Tutelae et Ambitus. It was dated fifty years ago.
After nearly two decades of war between continental superpowers, nature had begun healing. Radiation zones, once fatal wastelands, now teemed with life. Black fungi grew in these areas, absorbing radiation and seeming to purify the land.
But it was all a prelude to the apocalypse.
After eighteen months, the fungi grew to two meters in height. Then, their caps burst, releasing spores and revealing slimy interiors.
Life returned to those zones, now safer for exposure. Insects were drawn to the slime inside the burst fungi, and once a sufficient number gathered, the maw-like caps would close. Botanists were fascinated. These towering fungi seemed to be giant carnivorous plants—helpful ones, even.
V.I.T.A. collected samples. Young sprouts, mature spores yet to burst, and caps already feasting on insects. It all seemed benign.
Until it wasn't.
The mature fungi that had devoured insects began to shrivel, dry out, and finally exploded like balloons—releasing flesh and spores everywhere.
At first, it seemed manageable. The observation room was behind bulletproof glass.
But curiosity won over caution.
Someone entered the room. That one decision doomed everyone in the V.I.T.A. HQ—and soon, the entire nation of Latna. A nation now erased from the world map. Completely consumed by what came to be known as H.I.V.E.
What was once humanity's hope had become its curse. The black fungi, symbols of recovery, were now known as the Bud of Apocalypse—Germen Ruinæ Mundi.
From the fleshy remains of the exploded fungi came life—twisted, alien, horrifying. Maggot-like at first. Within an hour, they grew into caterpillar-like beings—hellish mockeries of nature. Then, a few hours later cocoons. Within a day, they hatched.
Out came abominations.
Some were hybrids of gnats and scorpions, with long tube-like maws that could stretch and engulf prey, dissolving it from the inside. Their tails had stingers not for defense, but for injecting eggs deep into hosts. They even secreted poison—from their anus.
One might not be a threat.
But there were thousands.
Just a few hundred variations of these horrors were enough to consume the V.I.T.A. HQ—and then Latna.
These creatures had short lifespans, mere weeks. But every generation brought evolution. Soon, parasitic forms emerged, capable of hijacking their host's body.
In the wilderness near radioactive zones, beasts proved tougher than humans. H.I.V.E. adapted. No longer just parasites, they became symbiotes—bonding with hosts, evolving alongside them. Thus were born the monsters.
The citizens of Dzonal knew little. Only that swarms of H.I.V.E. insects could be dangerous to soldiers if in large enough numbers. But the active H.I.V.E. zones were thousands of miles away from Dzonal's borders.
Still, Dzonal suffered the consequences.
Beast tides, waves of mutated creatures, periodically slammed against Dzonal's defenses. Many of those beasts carried the mark of H.I.V.E.—symbiotic horrors born from radiation and evolution.
Cain continued scanning the archives.
There were over a hundred known subspecies of mutated H.I.V.E. insects, each uniquely engineered to bring about human extinction. And more were certainly evolving, even now.
Cain then studied the GC Factor archive.
And the blood fusion results between himself and H.I.V.E.
When he finished reading, a thought echoed in his mind.
"It seems I'm indeed… special."