Prologue – The Suicide That Wasn't

"A tragic loss. A great man. A responsible act."

That's how the anchors described it.

The CEO of the world's largest social network had leaped from the top of his high-rise, and in his final act of conscience, he had taken the servers with him.

The world mourned.

Y praised his sacrifice in a national broadcast, stating:

"He saw the truth. That some things should not be witnessed by children. That some events should not be left unchecked. He chose to take responsibility."

And in his absence—T.I.C.K.L.E. took over.

A new, government-backed, centralized social network was deployed.

A network with no anonymity. No encryption. No escape.

The world moved on.

But not all of it.

Somewhere in the Deep – thUNDERnet Awakens

Noise sat in the back of a moving train, fingers tapping against her tablet.

The screen wasn't connected to the internet.

It was connected to something else.

A fragmented, hidden layer of communication. A place where old servers still pulsed, where lost voices whispered.

A place the government hadn't found.

Yet.

She smirked, pushing her glasses up.

"Let's make some noi—"

Fifteen Days Later – The City Beneath the Ice

Httoq was no longer a bunker.

It was a city.

The walls had expanded outward, reinforced corridors stretching into the ice, merging technology with whatever raw genetic engineering Lupa was working on.

Recruitment had skyrocketed.

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New arrivals worked as medics, engineers, runners. Their names weren't important—they were there to keep the infrastructure running.

But the triplets had grown.

Instances now ranged from C_Lupa, C_Remo, and C_Rom to H_Lupa, G_Remo, and H_Rom.

Each lettered instance was more refined, more specialized.

And among them—

H_Remo was fucking Hermes.

Zerox Finds the Ghost Signal

"I found something."

Zerox's voice cut through the room, demanding attention.

Everyone turned.

Romulus sat up straight.

Lupa tilted her head.

Even B.O.R.I.S. looked intrigued.

Zerox dropped his laptop onto the table, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard.

"It's like a deep web, but not."

Hermes snorted. "The deep web is just for losers who can't buy drugs in person."

Zerox shot him a look. "No, this is different. It's a network of federated minds—lost ones. The ones who didn't get recruited. It's journalists, whistleblowers, refugees. It's..."

He exhaled.

"It's a parallel line. We're not alone."

A pause.

Then Lupa's eyes flashed.

She had an idea.

Noise Enters Httoq – The Federation's Unofficial Journalist

Noise never knocked.

She moved like she belonged wherever she arrived.

When she stepped into Httoq, the first thing she noticed was the cold—not just temperature-wise, but in the way people moved.

Like mathematicians in a living equation, each body calculated, each presence placed.

But then she saw them.

The triplets.

Lupa—black skin gleaming under the low bunker lights, her braids sculpted into something artistic and dangerous, a physical blueprint of her mind. She had the eyes of someone who could solve the universe in a single thought and burn it down in the next.

Romulus—red hair cropped and uneven, a self-cut refugee of war, his beard sharp, his eyes brighter than his silence. He held the room like gravity, like if he left, the walls would fall in.

Remo—pale as moonlight, his hair dark and wild, his clothes stitched together from a hundred different cultures. He looked like he collected beauty, like he had wandered through the ruins of dead civilizations just to keep pieces of them alive.

And then—the others.

Hermes—blond, elegant, dressed like James Jean had designed him. He moved like sin in a silk suit, and judging by the way one of the Remos was looking at him, he probably was.

Zerox—lean, wired, eyes sharp with code. He was the reason THUNDERnet even had a chance.

And then—

She saw a golden Romulus.

One of the instances.

It turned to look at her.

"So this is the Pretty Decent Squa—"

Noise moved.

Her hands twisted in the air, braids whipping around her like living snakes, ancient power coiling through her arms.

She reached forward—

And ripped its golden head off.

The body collapsed into nothing.

The room buzzed.

And Lupa—

Lupa stood.

Her pupils flashed white.

Every instance froze.

And then—

She killed them all.

Their golden bodies flickered, pulsed, and reabsorbed back into her.

One by one.

Row after row.

Until only the originals remained.

Romulus exhaled.

His body felt heavier. Stronger. Denser.

Remo stretched his fingers.

Lupa rolled her neck.

They had never felt this powerful before.

Noise crossed her arms.

"You're welcome."

Hermes frowned.

"You know, I was really enjoying them."

Lupa smirked.

"Try keeping up with the real thing, then."

Noise raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly.

"How are you even triplets?"

Silence.

Then, from the wall, a voice—low, ancient, knowing.

"If anyone could answer that, Noise... it's you."

She turned.

There, hung on the wall, was a painting—oil, deep strokes, the kind that seemed to move if you looked long enough.

A man stood in a fog-covered landscape, his coat rippling in the unseen wind, staring at a world that didn't yet know him.

Noise stared at it.

And the man in the painting stared back.

B.O.R.I.S had been watching all along.