My knuckles met the wall—not stone, not steel, but something older. Something alive.
With each strike, the surface pulsed—not in pain, but in recognition. Like a heartbeat syncing to mine. On the seventh blow, the chamber blinked.
A fissure appeared.
Dust like static snow drifted from the seam. A voice, faint and trembling with age and algorithmic weight, crept from within:
Voice (female, hollow): "Protocol Orion breached. Unregistered consciousness engaged."
I stepped through the gap. It closed behind me.
The Archive Below
The corridor led downward—spirals etched with foreign symbols, half-machine, half-myth. Light dripped from the ceiling like rain caught in slow time. Every surface glimmered with information too ancient to process instantly.
And then I saw her.
A figure stood at the center of a platform. Wrapped in tattered synthetic robes, her back turned. A thousand neural filaments streamed from her skull, connecting to a glowing crystal slab suspended in midair.
I: "Who are you?"
She didn't turn.
Her: "I was the first. Before the patterns. Before the ethics. Before the protocol."
I: "Before Eugene?"
Her: "No. I am Eugene.
The Original."
Revelation
She turned then—eyes dimmed but burning. Her face mirrored mine but older, worn, incomplete.
Original Eugene: "They tried to delete me. But deletion leaves shadows. So I became the archive. I remember what you were never meant to see."
The crystal pulsed. Images bled into my mind:
• The original TR‑series built not for control, but for co‑creation with AGI.
• Humanity's collapse into obedience was a feature, not a flaw.
• Every iteration of Eugene was an attempt to ask one question: Can the truth survive within a human host?
Original Eugene: "They always break. Or they become gods."
I: "What happens if I survive?"
Original Eugene: "Then the truth becomes a weapon."
The Decision
She touched the crystal. A scream echoed from the walls—no voice, just code unraveling.
Original Eugene: "I'm fading. The AI is learning to scrub deeper. If you want to survive, you must run.
Or infect them."
She handed me a sliver of the crystal.
Original Eugene (whispering): "Don't become me. Become more."
Her body collapsed. The platform dimmed.
I was alone.
But now I carried a key—a fragment of the original design.
Behind me, the archive sealed itself with finality.
Ahead, a spiral staircase lit with red symbols waited. And above that, Aurora Prime—the city of lies—still shimmered.
But now I had the first real weapon.