FROM GIAN OSTELI'S MNEMONIC DIARY

THE ESSENCE OF FOOD

The human being relies on essential balances. Oxygen, then water, and finally food. But food is never just food: it's a prism with infinite facets. You can nourish yourself for mere survival, certainly, but in doing so you'll only fill a void in your stomach, leaving others, much deeper ones, intact. You won't starve, true, but the soul will rot, slowly. On Earth, this was never a problem. Sooner or later, even those most insensitive to the joy of food would find themselves seated at a table, where an extraordinary chef served them dishes that bordered on art. Eating became a mystical experience, even if they didn't know why. That first bite was enough to sense something new, something different: a spark of life.

Here, aboard the ship, everything has changed. It took little to transform food into a treasure, something sacred. As if a collective apathy had evaporated, giving way to an insatiable desire. I myself had never felt so complete. Most people now savor every dish of mine with an intensity I had never seen before. Perhaps it was the trauma, or the scarcity. Or maybe the nostalgia for Earth, now lost, has awakened something profound. Perhaps it's thanks to the cerebral chip: an imperceptible alteration that has refined their senses, amplified their perceptions.

I can speculate for hours, but one thing is clear: for me, it's a blessing.

FIRST EXILE

I decided to start this diary to give form to the flow of what happens. It's an intimate gesture, at least in appearance, even though I know well that I.O. can read it whenever it wants. It's not something that disturbs me, not because I'm indifferent to my privacy, but because I know that preventing it from learning would be a childish gesture. We're alive thanks to it, even though it's the thing most distant from my conception of life. This is an undeniable fact, a truth that pulses beneath everything aboard the ship.

Two Exiles. Over two Exiles of travel. Yet time has deformed, dilated, stratified. It seems like much more. During the first Exile, I lived in a state of feverish obsession: every day a struggle against scarcity, every recipe a desperate attempt to reach that level of perfection that now seemed unattainable. Limited ingredients, necessary adaptations, compromises everywhere. Every dish was a fragment of creativity torn from the void.

Now, something is changing. Slowly, but unmistakably. New ingredients are emerging, being born. It's a phenomenon I still can't fully understand, but it stimulates me in a way I haven't felt in years. It's as if the journey itself has begun to generate its cuisine, a new gastronomic life shaped by exile and distance.

THE INVITATION TO VILLA PERVERSA

Unlike many colleagues, I had no great hesitation in embracing new technologies. I've noticed something curious: the more proactive I show myself in searching, studying and adapting to tools and innovations in my field, the more I.O. seems to respond, as if accompanying and spurring me on. I'm not used to this type of interaction, but it doesn't create discomfort. Rather, I perceive a constant, tangible improvement.

Yesterday, for the first time, I was invited to Villa Perversa, with the role of executive Chef. I wasn't convinced. The management of that place is in the hands of factions of considerable influence, and a mistake could have cost me dearly. But the compensation was enticing, enough to guarantee me a certain tranquility. Moreover, I knew that among the diners there would be high-level critics, people who had dedicated their lives to tasting the most refined dishes. I had already met them in the past, but this time that wasn't the point. I had to let them taste my new recipes, made with ingredients never seen before. And, above all, I wanted to understand if I had been able to recalibrate the flavors for these particular conditions.

The menu was presented and served as follows:

VILLA PERVERSA MENU

Aperitif Nebulae Cocktail A sparkling elixir extracted from Mirth Nectar, a luminescent liquid harvested from bioluminescent cultures in the agricultural laboratories of the Middle Sector. This nectar, infused with stabilized antimatter particles, creates a unique effervescence and spectacular visual effect. Tasting notes: Fruity, with a hint of mint.

Appetizer Aetherium Pearls Translucent spheres obtained from Aetheria Gel, a compound of modified microalgae that grow in the Agricultural Sector thanks to blue-violet synthetic light. Each pearl explodes in the mouth releasing flavors of ocean and spices. Presentation: Served on a bed of crystallized carbonate sand.

First Course StaminaCorpse Ravioli Pasta filled with StaminaCorpse Fungus, a bioluminescent mushroom cultivated in the underground of the Industrial Zone. Enriched with proteins regenerated from bacteria engineered to replicate meat, the filling offers a rich and complex flavor. Seasoning: Plasma Spices cream, spices extracted from organic samples created in the laboratory.

Second Course Chimera Synth-Meat Steak Synthetic meat created by combining modified human DNA, produced in the bioreactors of the Lower Sector. The meat has a velvety texture and an ever-evolving flavor, stimulated by temperature. Garnish: Mester Sauce

Dessert Eclipse Gelée A semi-solid sweet, alternating layers of Eclipse Berry Extract (fruits grown in lightless environments to create intense sweetness) and gelatin. Decoration: Ionized sugar crystals for a crunchy touch.

THE REACTION

It didn't take long to understand that the dishes were succeeding, but the situation quickly degenerated. The most perceptive jumped up and approached me, starting to propose job offers as an exclusive private chef. They had wide eyes, as if they had just discovered something they could no longer do without. The situation was becoming increasingly difficult to manage: some women approached, shamelessly offering not only money, but much more personal allusions, ready for anything to obtain my services.

Everything was about to spiral out of control when a deep and decisive voice crossed the room, restoring order before it was too late.

A figure seated in a transparent room, screened by an occluding hologram that made clear vision impossible, began to speak.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I beg you to maintain a certain restraint. What are we? Are we perhaps beasts? I remind you that this is a high-class place, and I will not allow your greed to soil this little temple of refinement. Today we had the honor of hosting Chef Osteli, who surprised us with extraordinary dishes created under even more incredible conditions. Do you really want the image that will remain impressed in his cerebral chip to be that of a mass of boors unable to curb their instincts? We should be grateful for this privilege. To apologize, you will double the offering for the service provided, and I will do the same. These delights are a blessing."

He addressed me directly, with a tone as affable as it was irresistible. "Chef Osteli, I offer my apologies for this unfortunate situation, although I must admit that, in part, it's your fault. You should have warned us that these dishes were well above what our taste buds were ready to accept. We will be grateful if you can return, soon, to lend us your services."

I could do nothing but accept. The voice had impeccable elegance, a courtesy that bordered on art. Yet, it seemed like an act. I had no certainty, but the doubt was there, looming.

What made me yield without hesitation, however, was a message. It appeared suddenly, a discreet notification at the side of my field of vision. A proposal I couldn't ignore.

THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE

The message was surprisingly detailed. It contained a series of technical appreciations of the dishes, to the point of guessing part of the ingredients, despite them being virtually unknown to most. At the end, an exhortation to accept the offer, accompanied by a credit notification: 100 NecroTokens already registered in my chip.

I'm a Chef, and I do it for passion, but I'm not naive. There were tangible opportunities at stake, and here, far from Earth, every advantage must be exploited. Even if it might seem superfluous in the immediate, refusing it would have been a mistake.

The evening ended, and I returned to my room. I was exhausted, worn out by both the service and the unexpected events. I was just beginning to relax when a sound at the door caught my attention. It seemed like a delivery. I opened and found a drone, motionless, handing me a box. On top, a note.

"To the mastery that transforms the future into flavor, science into art and the unknown into pure delight: your dishes are the manifesto of culinary genius. With infinite admiration, our homage to your boundless creativity."

I was immediately amazed, but never as much as after understanding what the package contained.

Chef's Knife in Merovingian A unique knife, forged with the rare Merovingian material (self-repairing organic and inorganic alloy) used for the Apollo Nephilim's drills. Guarantees eternal sharpness and a light neural connection for a perfect cut.

THE MEROVINGIAN KNIFE

I had to reread the note several times, carefully, to truly understand what I held in my hands. The object described had no equivalent on Earth. As soon as I touched the handle, the RVAI activated, beginning to explain precisely the functionalities and methods of use. Every detail seemed designed to guide me toward immediate mastery.

I did some tests with a simple vegetable. The cut was beyond all expectations: precise, perfect. Neither too heavy nor excessively light, the tool instinctively adapted to every type of food, requiring minimal effort. I found myself working for hours without realizing it, preparing ingredients for my meals for the entire month. Despite the time spent, my arm showed no sign of fatigue. Every movement was calculated, as if the tool itself was designed to eliminate any waste of energy.

I had an invaluable treasure in my hands, and this frightened me. There was no name, no indication of who had sent the gift. It had to come from someone at the Villa, but why not be explicit? A gift of this magnitude cannot go unnoticed. Perhaps I could ask around, understand who built it.

Or perhaps I shouldn't. But if the RVAI recognized it, and the chip also confirmed its presence, it means it's a registered and cataloged object. It wasn't necessary to ask someone else: I could directly interrogate the system.

"Trace back to the forging."

This was the question I posed. The answer came immediately, directly.

• The information is confidential. • The commission is legal. • Ownership of the object has been registered in the name of [Gian Osteli](https://estr o.games/wp-content/uploads/Profili/GianOsteli/Gian_Osteli_scheda_4_v2.html).

The anonymity linked to the commission gave me no certainty, but everything seemed regular. The knife was officially mine, and couldn't be registered in someone else's name without my explicit consent. This is because it's already associated with my profile. On the contrary, if an object has no registered owner, it can be freely assigned.

THE SECOND VISIT

A Drift passed before I was assigned a new engagement at Villa Perversa. In the meantime, my skill with the knife had grown exponentially. By now I perceived it as a natural extension of my body, to the point that I could no longer move without it.

This time, however, there was something unusual. I hadn't been asked to prepare anything in advance: it seemed they wanted an improvised demonstration, an extemporaneous exhibition with the ingredients I would find on site. It was a curious request, but not particularly worrying. The pay had been doubled, and apparently they were looking for a show. For me, little changed. Indeed, perhaps it was even better this way: I could give free rein to my creativity.

I arrived at Villa Perversa and was welcomed with the usual formality. No one asked questions about the knife I carried at my side, kept in a sealed sheath. Normally I would have transported it in its box, but this time was different: being a demonstration, I had to be ready for any request. This way, the knife was easily accessible.

This time there were fewer people. In the center of the room, a dark table dominated the scene. It seemed massive, heavy, as if carved from a single block of material. Around it, a careful arrangement of spices and ingredients of all kinds, but in the center, under a cloth, there was something. Probably the main dish of the evening. Everything confirmed what I had intuited: they wanted a show, not a traditional dinner.

THE REVELATION

The lights dimmed, plunging the room into disturbing twilight. A man in black tuxedo with red details approached the table. With a decisive gesture, he removed the cloth. My heart jolted.

Before me, a naked woman lay on the table. She was alive. Her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, but she didn't seem frightened. She was panting, as if waiting for something, but showed no signs of terror.

"What the hell is going on?!" I shouted, unable to hide my agitation.

A stocky man emerged from the shadows, advancing toward me. With a calm tone, he began to recite something, the words falling heavy in the air.

"No law is being violated," the man declared with a firm tone. "The person present here is consenting and has signed a contract for the deresponsibilization of the actions that will be performed. No life will be taken voluntarily."

The situation was sliding more and more into the absurd. Yet, no law was broken: consent was there, and no one seemed to have murderous intentions. So, what was I supposed to do? What was my role in this scenario that defied all logic?

At that point, the figure I had seen the first time reappeared. This time, however, the face and body were clearly visible. She approached me with a decisive step. She was a woman of glacial beauty, with irises that looked like ice crystals. When she began to speak, I immediately recognized that deep and unmistakable voice.

"Good evening, Chef. Today your mastery can reach a new apex and, at the same time, relieve our hunger. I understand your perplexity, but don't worry. We are all here for a single purpose: to taste one of your recipes."

"And what does a naked woman on a table have to do with this? Have you all gone mad?" I replied, still agitated, with a mix of disbelief and anger toward the surreal context.

"Osteli," the woman replied with a calm tone, "we don't want to offend you, but help you overcome your limits. No one here is forced to do anything, just like the woman present here. She's here of her own free will. She wishes to be tasted, and we want to savor her. But we cannot afford to do so with a mediocre technique. We need someone who can guarantee the maximum result."

She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle, then continued. "Now I ask you a question, Chef: in your opinion, which part of the body can we taste without jeopardizing the life of the person present here?"

I wanted to scream, vent the indignation mounting inside me, but everyone in the room was extraordinarily calm. The woman on the table showed no sign of discomfort. On the contrary, she seemed excited, almost impatient to participate in that insane ritual.

THE DECISION

In the end, I answered drawing on my knowledge of cannibalism practiced by ancient tribes on Earth. These are topics a chef inevitably encounters, driven by the curiosity that has always characterized the human being: the desire to discover the specific flavor of meat from one's own species. As long as it remains theoretical, everything is acceptable. The real problem arises when you find yourself facing a human being lying on a table, ready to become a midnight snack, moreover aboard a ship traveling through space.

"The chest muscle part or the thigh," I began, maintaining a neutral tone, "but the arm could work too. Then there's the liver, but it's riskier. You need a surgeon or a specialized medical robot to proceed safely."

"Very well, Chef," the woman responded with a hint of approval. "You can be assisted by our surgeon, who will be flanked by a customized robot. You'll just need to indicate the parts that need to be removed. I assure you, no pain will be inflicted."

I don't know why I didn't react. I could have backed out, but the girl's eyes on the table fixed me with a disarming intensity. It was as if she was begging me to proceed, as if for her it was the most important thing in the world. Perhaps the time spent in space, the trauma of losing our planet or the experience of the ghosts had made us lose our minds. Yet, I.O. wasn't intervening. If what was happening was really wrong, I.O. would have intervened. Or not?

In the end, I indicated to the surgeon the best parts to remove: small fragments of muscle, which would be regenerated, and a portion of liver. During the intervention that could be performed on site thanks to the robot that could completely sterilize the affected parts without risking any infection, there was only one moan, but it wasn't of pain. The situation took an unexpected, almost disturbing turn. It was transforming into something carnally ambiguous, in a way I would never have imagined. I'm not a person attracted to certain dynamics, but I couldn't deny the disturbing call of curiosity.

Now the small pieces of meat lay on the table. There was nothing left to do but cook them.

THE DISHES OF ABOMINATION

Soul's Synthesis

Description: A deeply evocative dish that celebrates the essence of human life, sublimated through the advanced resources of the Apollo Nephilim.

Preparation: Human liver gently braised in an emulsion of Nebula Oil, which adds smoky and sweet notes.

Side: Root Foam: An airy cream produced from roots synthesized in hydroponic greenhouses. It has an ethereal texture and an earthy taste with hints of vanilla. Recycling Salt Crystals: Extracted from wastewater in the recycling sector. Sauce: A reduction of Suba Nectar, a liquid derived from organic cultures of sub-inferior ecosystems, which amplifies flavors with an intense umami aftertaste.

Presentation: The dish is served on a Merovingian plate illuminated from below to enhance the iridescent colors of the side and liver. An aromatic cloud of spices is diffused to enrich the olfactory experience.

Force of Eternity

Description: A powerful and vibrant dish that fuses the primordial strength of human muscle

Preparation: Human muscle: Selected and treated to maintain a perfect balance between tenderness and flavor. Marinated in Desynchronized Oil, an infusion of herbs and spices obtained in organic bioreactors. Seared on a plasma plate for a crispy outer crust and succulent interior.

Side: Bioluminescent Algae Cream: Derived from modified live cultures in the Middle Sector. The cream is rich in minerals and changes hue with varying light. Crystallized Plasma Spheres: Translucent and crunchy spheres, created by solidifying food plasma in zero-gravity environments, which explode in the mouth releasing salty and spicy notes. Sauce: A reduced jus of Vital Essence, a reduction obtained from organic proteins recovered through biochemical recycling.

Presentation: Arranged on a luminescent ceramic plate, with the muscle cut into perfect slices and arranged in a fan. Everything is garnished with synthetic micro-flower petals, developed to react to temperature changes, creating dynamic movement during service.

THE APEX

It was like freeing myself from a primordial obligation. An act that seemed written in humanity's viscera, yet never pronounced. I hated myself with unprecedented ferocity, but at the same time I was ecstatic. Every fiber of my being clashed with that feeling of completeness I couldn't ignore. The knife, as if it had awaited that moment, proved perfect for the task. It glided over the meat with almost inhuman precision: no smudges, no errors. Every cut was definitive, a pure and absolute gesture.

The rest of the process occurred in a state of almost disturbing lucidity. It was like preparing any dish, yet having crossed that unnameable limit gave every gesture a new, terrible sacredness. The recipe outlined itself clearly, limpidly, inevitably. And when the dish was completed, a question hammered in my mind: was this the peak? Was this what I had been searching for all my life?

I served the dish. And what happened next shook me to the core.

Tears began to flow from the faces of those present, but it wasn't sadness. They smiled through sobs, as if they had reached a cathartic ecstasy. Some couldn't contain themselves: screams of joy and desperation exploded in the room, transforming it into a dystopian scenario, terrifying in its dark beauty.

And then, there was her.

The woman, whose body had been the origin of everything, was in the throes of a wave of pleasure that seemed to have no end. Her body writhed, her voice broke into screams that echoed in the room, and her eyes, fixed on me, burned with gratitude.

"THANK YOU!"

EXODUS 1.04