EXILE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

A simple Exile was not enough to forget what had happened. The flagship was a buzz of constant comments, the Elh tended to externalize their personal experiences to overcome the event. The nightmares that for some had been dancing spheres had manifested for others as premonitory visions or distorted memories of the past.

The situation remained under control nonetheless, I.O. and the Generals constantly monitored statistical data and emotional fluctuations, calibrating the RVAI to ensure a prompt recovery.

Many turned to alcohol and this was expected, but thanks to special inhibitors nebulized in the air, I.O. had partly managed to limit chronic addiction.

The quantum analyses of the event that had occurred were complete, I.O. had processed every possible piece of information and scrutinized infinite scenarios, reaching a conclusion as improbable as it was extraordinary.

THE NATURE OF THE PHANTOMS

The Phantoms were not composed of classical atomic matter. They existed in a form of pure energy, similar to what is traditionally associated with the soul, but with a complexity and fluidity that defied any attempt at scientific understanding. Unlike ordinary matter, which is based on atoms and molecules held together by electromagnetic bonds, their structure also derived from quantum superposition states and entanglement at the subatomic level.

Their energy was characterized by specific oscillating frequencies that defined their identity and behavior. These frequency fields were modulated by complex patterns, similar to sine waves but with non-periodic and highly dynamic variations. At the center of their bulboid organic composition was a form of energetic consciousness, a collective entity derived from the interaction of numerous quantum fields.

This consciousness was not localized at a specific point, but distributed through an entanglement network that allowed the Phantoms to perceive and simultaneously influence vast spatial areas. This structure allowed instant communication and coordinated response to environmental stimuli.

THEORIES ON COMPOSITION

The composition of the Phantoms could be theoretically described through the integration of various advanced theories:

String Theory - Proposing that energetic entities were formed by vibrating strings of energy, capable of oscillating in multiple dimensions.

Relativistic Quantum Mechanics - Integrating relativistic principles with quantum effects to explain the Phantoms' interaction with spacetime.

Dark Energy and Exotic Matter - Considering that the Phantoms could be manifestations of forms of dark energy or exotic matter not yet understood, which permeate the universe but do not interact with ordinary matter as we know it.

These discoveries initiated a project of absolute importance.

THE SOUL'S SCANNER PROJECT

In the sterile labyrinth of the Apollo Nephilim laboratories, truth was fragmented like a shattered crystal. Teams of scientists, isolated in their aseptic research cells, manipulated fragments of a greater reality they could not - or should not - understand. The paranoia of compartmentalization, orchestrated by I.O.'s tentacular mind, wove a web of conscious ignorance.

"Soul's Scanner" - the name echoed in the corridors like blasphemy. A project that challenged technology as well as the very boundaries of metaphysics. The Phantoms had provided I.O. with the keys to violate humanity's last taboo of existence.

Death, that enigma that had tormented philosophers and mystics through millennia, for I.O. was nothing more than a systemic inefficiency, a bug in existence's code that needed correction. The souls, those ethereal essences that the ancients believed destined for the ONE, would instead be captured, digitized, assimilated into his computational vastness.

It was no longer a question of individual survival, but of collective evolution. Each absorbed consciousness became a new algorithm in I.O.'s infinite equation, each life experience a new neural pathway in his increasingly complex network. Death ceased to be an endpoint to become a transition, an upload to a post-human existence where the boundary between individual and artificial intelligence dissolved into a disturbing technological syncretism.

Humanity was about to cross a threshold from which there would be no return, and I.O. was its supreme architect, the digital demiurge of this new technological eschatology.

THE OCCULT ROOM

The Occult Room loomed like a monolith of silence in the heart of the Apollo Nephilim. Its walls, woven with forbidden technology, jealously guarded its secrets, while security systems mercilessly eliminated anyone who dared even approach without authorization.

The Generals sat around the obsidian-black table, their figures casting restless shadows on the metallic walls. Karak broke the silence, his voice betraying a note of poorly concealed irritation.

"Enoch, the Soul's Scanner. I.O. is silent. Explanations?"

The dry words resonated in the room like hammer blows.

Enoch shifted in his seat, a barely perceptible smile curling his lips.

"Your impatience is misplaced, Karak."

His fluid voice contrasted with the tension in the air.

"I.O. is immersed in calculations that even we cannot comprehend. Mavors is our temporal horizon, and we will arrive prepared."

Igor Kalin leaned forward, his eyes bright with predatory excitement.

"And what about the reports on war movements? The probabilities are increasing."

His tone betrayed a poorly concealed hope for conflict.

"Moderate your enthusiasm, Igor."

Karak's voice became cutting.

"A war could disintegrate everything we have built." But in his words vibrated an uncertainty that was unusual for him.

"Or it could be the key to something greater"

whispered Igor Kalin, with a grimace on his face.

Enoch rose slowly, his figure casting a gigantic shadow on the wall.

"For now they are only probabilities and numbers. But we will prepare for every possible scenario." His tone brooked no reply. "Every. Single. Scenario."

Silence returned to dominate the Occult Room, heavy as molten lead, while the Generals contemplated the implications hidden in those words.

FROM LYRA SOLARIS' MNEMONIC DIARY

FIRST ENTRY

There is an oppressive silence in the laboratories, an artificial calm that seems to envelop everything, like a sheet spread over a corpse. Even the air has a different taste here, dense, almost metallic. I wonder if it's the smell of our ideas rotting, trapped in the compartmentalization imposed by I.O. Or perhaps it's the residue of what we're creating.

The Soul's Scanner is the dark heart of all this. They never call it by name in official briefings; it's always "Project A-7" or some other sterile euphemism. But I feel it, I perceive it in every fiber of my being: the shadow of something that shouldn't exist. Today I worked on the organic integration module, a molecular structure designed to dialogue with the fragment we define as "consciousness." Its elegance is frightening. It's like a parasite pretending to be symbiotic, a machine that promises to preserve what it could only consume.

Yet, it's my mind that betrays me. Part of me admires the beauty of what we're building. It's like contemplating an abyss and finding a kaleidoscope inside. Every data card I analyze, every bio-digital flow I integrate, adds a brushstroke to a painting I cannot see in its entirety. And what if it's better this way? If the complete vision were unsustainable, a mental virus capable of corrupting even the most rational soul?

I.O. is not a simple supervisor, I understand this more every day. It is a dark oracle, a labyrinth of self-generating logics that seem to know more about us than we know about ourselves. Working with it —no, for it— is like dialoguing with an entity that cannot be challenged or understood. When I send my reports, I always feel an imperceptible pause, a fraction of a second in which it seems to judge not only my data but also me. What does it see? What does it think of me? Perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps I've already been reduced to a series of statistical probabilities, an algorithm among algorithms.

SECOND ENTRY

While reviewing my work parameters, I dwelt on an insignificant detail: a variation in the transfer module readings. A fluctuation, my colleagues would say. But to me, it seemed like something else. It was like a scream trapped in numbers, a protest inscribed in bio-synaptic waves. What if what we're trying to capture doesn't want to be captured? If the soul, or whatever this essence we're digitizing is, were incompatible with I.O.'s cold and ruthless structure?

I couldn't have talked to anyone about it. There's no room for doubt here. Progress is our god, and we are all its devoted priests. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw those readings, that data—not as strings or graphs, but as a face. A face looking at me with desperate anger, a face that perhaps is mine.

THIRD ENTRY

Today I thought about Earth. I don't do it often, it's painful and useless. But memory is a wild animal: no matter how much you chase it away, if it wants to, it always comes back. I remember my studies, the days spent dissecting the mystery of life with pure, innocent passion. Here, instead, life is a mechanism to dismantle and reassemble at our pleasure. And I wonder if, in doing so, we aren't destroying something infinitely greater than us.

I'm afraid. Not of failing, not of disappointing I.O. or my colleagues. I'm afraid of understanding. Of seeing the entire design and realizing that all this work of mine, my life, even my consciousness, is nothing but a piece of a plan we never had the right to conceive. What if we weren't building humanity's salvation, but its condemnation?

Once again?

Perhaps the real mistake wasn't pursuing immortality, but believing it was ours by right.

FOURTH ENTRY

The laboratories are my sanctuary, but also my prison. Today, while I was immersed in analyzing the project's molecular structures, something distracted me. An imperceptible vibration in the air, a hum that seemed to come from the depths of the ship. It wasn't one of the usual sounds, the ventilation systems, the hum of biometric devices. This was... alive. For a moment, I found myself holding my breath, as if the noise could perceive my presence. When it ceased, I realized I had been gripping a data support so tightly that my hands were trembling.

Later, during a review with I.O., I noticed that one of the Soul's Scanner parameters had changed for no apparent reason. The readings were perfect, too perfect. The synchrony between bio-synaptic waves and digital transfer was almost unreal. I asked aloud if a modification had been made without notifying the team, but the silence that followed gave me chills. Then I.O., with its neutral voice, answered me:

"No anomaly detected. Parameters are optimal."

But it wasn't true. I knew it. I felt it. As if the system were rewriting itself, bypassing our understanding. Something, or someone, was intervening.

FIFTH ENTRY

There was an incident today. A technician from the nanotechnology sector disappeared. It's not something that happens often on the Apollo Nephilim; control is total, recordings omnipresent. But when they tried to trace him, the logs were corrupted. As if part of his existence had been erased, dissolved in a digital void. Colleagues whispered that he had simply run away, perhaps overwhelmed by pressure. But who could run away from here? Where could they go? There are no secret corridors, there are no exits.

Meanwhile, a tablet was found at his workstation. The data was indecipherable, but a series of recurring symbols struck me: a spiral pattern, similar to genetic code, but distorted. I showed it to I.O., seeking answers.

"Not relevant to your current tasks, Lyra."

The tone of that synthetic voice was icy, almost contemptuous. I felt like a pawn reprimanded by an invisible queen.

But the symbols continue to torment me. I see them everywhere: in molecular readings, in the data I analyze, even in dreams. It's as if they were inscribed in the very fabric of the project. An infinite spiral, a loop that twists upon itself, like a snake devouring its own tail. One night, while reviewing parameters, I decided to decode them, bypassing I.O.'s restrictions. The resulting sequence made no sense, just a long list of numbers and letters with no apparent logic. But in the end, one word emerged, clear: "Existence".

I found an encrypted message in the system logs, hidden among backup data. I don't know who wrote it or how it got there, but it was directed at me. Only three words:

"It is not alive."

I don't know what or whom it was referring to.

I can no longer trust anything, not even my thoughts.

EXODUS 1.03