18.07.2024 11:40

Trebinje, Bosnia and Hercegovina

Tomas dialed again, desperately seeking anyone at CERN or the UN’s crisis management team—someone who could help. But, like his previous attempts, this call spiraled into an endless loop of transfers and scripted responses.

“I’ll hold,” he said, fighting the growing impatience in his voice.

“Yes, I have additional information regarding Zyphron.”

“No, it’s not about the effect of Zyphron on psychedelic drugs. I know what you’re thinking, but that’s not it.”

“It’s also not related to libido or Zyphron-enhanced stamina…”

“Please, could you just listen to me for a second? ”

“Yes, I’ll wait… but time is of the essence.”

“Useless fucking hotline,” he muttered, feeling the frustration settle in.

“No, I’m sorry; I wasn’t talking to you. I’m trying to reach someone in charge about the Zyphron emissions. I need to schedule a meeting with someone who can take this seriously.”

“Yes, it’s urgent. ”

“No, I can’t explain it over the phone. I just need to be connected to someone in charge of this situation... how hard can this be?”

“No, for fuck’s sake, I’m not paranoid, nor am I on drugs or Zyphron Specials!”

With a burst of anger, he slammed the phone onto the floor. “This is fucking pointless, Michael.”

“I need to find another way to reach these people. I honestly miss the time when I could create ads on LinkedIn targeting specific people with a minimal audience of 200. Now, with all the noise on social media, I can’t even record a TikTok or YouTube video without being seen as one of those virality-chasing fuckers.”

“Marko, you have, or rather had a government job in Germany. Can you think of anyone who could connect me with someone in charge of this whole Zyphron fiasco?”

Marko, deep in concentration as he worked on assembling an IKEA crib—the Sundvik model, which always seemed to come with extra parts just to confuse young parents—looked up.

“Bro, I was working in transportation and logistics. I doubt even my boss’s boss has a direct line to someone in CERN or the UN council… maybe someone in the local government in Munich, but it’s still a long chain to get to the people you want.”

Marko had arrived just as things were stabilizing across Europe. It hadn’t been easy for him to quit his job after years of hard work, but insistent pleading and a transfer of five of his annual salaries to his account from Tomas made the decision for him. Dzenita, or Jenny as friends called her, his wife, panicked when Zyphron hit Munich. The news was dire regarding the situation around Bern; it felt way too close to home.

She could only imagine Marko being caught up in it on his way to work, feeling fear like never before—not only for her husband but also for Nikola, their baby son. Tensions in Munich were high, fear palpable, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t safe. That, along with Tomas’s offer to give them financial security, was the breaking point, so they packed the essentials and took their car on a 14-hour drive to Trebinje. The Autobahn was a ghost town; never in their lives had they seen fewer cars on Bundesbahn 9. It reminded them of the first days of COVID, only worse—so much worse. A few crashed cars were cleared from the road, abandoned by people who didn’t catch the news in time or got caught unaware by the Zyphron emergence.

“I’ll go outside for a smoke,” Tomas said, frustration evident in his voice.

Outside, he met Emir talking to one of his crew.

“Hey, Emir, how does it look? You guys did a great job with the wall so far. Think it’ll take a while to finish?”

Emir glanced at the construction site and shook his head. “When you told me you had a big project, I didn’t expect we’d be building a fortress in Trebinje. I’m still wrapping my head around the scope, but yeah, it’ll probably take a while.”

Tomas took a moment to visualize their plans. In a few days, he’d bought all the neighboring land, paying a premium and greasing a few palms for expedited paperwork at the municipal level. He almost managed to buy the church as well, but the local diocese wouldn’t hear of it. The Church of St. Archangel Michael had stood since the 11th century and would never be privately owned. So, on his land, the church remained a small enclave, surrounded by his property, with a path leading to it.

Michael had warned Tomas about potential dangers from the local wildlife. Trebinje and its surrounding areas had sparse but notable populations of wolves, foxes, brown bears, and wild boars. Tomas had researched these animals, and Michael compared them to species he’d known during the Zyphron era. Having Michael on board was already proving invaluable; he had an almost photographic memory, and his mind processed details like a high-speed computer. While there were gaps in his recall, his analytical skills were exceptional.

Wolves were especially intriguing. While the wolves currently around Trebinje were relatively small, Michael remembered wolves twice their size from his time. Ancient wolves, like the Dire Wolves, had been nearly the size of small horses and surprisingly intelligent—comparable to a human teenager. Some wolves had even evolved under the influence of Zyphron, developing unique elemental adaptations. Shadow Wolves, for instance, had specialized Zyphron nanites that allowed them to manipulate darkness, making them masters of stealth and ambush. Then there were Rock Wolves, massive pack hunters with Zyphron-infused bodies that made them as hard as stone, giving them the strength to barrel through obstacles as a unit—formidable in both size and strength.

In Michaels opinion, they had nothing to worry about the Zyphron enhanced wolf variations until next year March, when the next litter is expected, so that gave him some assurance that they are not yet royally fucked.

The contrast between Michael’s memories and the current, modest wildlife was a stark reminder of how the re-emergence of Zyphron would reshape the world, and it made Tomas anxious.

With input from Emir’s wife, Azra, and Michael, Tomas had designed something akin to a small medieval town, made with modern materials—reinforced walls and enough living space for over a hundred people, just in case. Even though he didn’t know twenty individuals he’d consider letting in, it was better to have more than less. It was a massive project, complete with guard towers, an armory, a dedicated water supply, and planned wind and solar generators for power.

His goal was to have a self-sufficient base of operations. For protein, he’d purchased over 200 hens and 10 roosters, creating a dedicated chicken coop area.

Curiously, the chickens Michael had known were a predatory species. Their beaks had been reinforced by Zyphron, and their claws could, in some variations, project slashing attacks on unsuspecting prey. They were omnivores and pack hunters, with the hens doing the hunting while the roosters protected the pack, similar to lions.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Weird fucking world,” Tomas mused.

Just in case, he put up a big sign in bold letters on the chicken coop reading: “Beware of the chickens.” People needed to be careful in case they suddenly evolved.

Additionally, Tomas had dedicated a large area to greenhouses, still in the early stages of construction. By season’s end, he aimed to harvest a variety of crops—Yukon Gold potatoes, cabbage, green beans, carrots, beets, radishes, and more. The adjoining cellars, equipped with walk-in refrigerators and climate-controlled storage, were essential for preserving this produce long-term. He’d learned firsthand that food security was no luxury; one period of hunger had been enough to teach him that. The memory of scraping by on margarine without bread was a sharp reminder of why he couldn’t leave anything to chance.

The project was cutting substantially into his savings from the company sale, yet it felt necessary. If everything Michael had warned him about was on the horizon, there was no time to lose.

Considering the scope, the tight timeline, and the looming dangers, Tomas wanted this fortress completed yesterday. He turned to Emir, an idea brewing, a determined smile playing on his face.

“This might actually work…”

"Hey, Emir, do you think you can bring in some of your colleagues? I'll pay them the same rate I'm paying you—or, if it’s easier, handle the negotiation yourself and take a cut. Whatever it takes, we need those walls and cellars finished as soon as possible.”

Emir scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I know a few people who might come over. Give me an hour; I'll call them and let you know.”

“Also, Emir, keep in mind that you and your team can now work longer hours without tiring. Just so you know, I’m willing to pay a bonus for overtime. Money isn’t an issue as long as we speed this up. The same goes for your colleagues.”

Emir left to handle his phone calls leaving Tomas who walked in the shadow and took a cold beer from a bucket chilling in the newly dug well near the old walnut tree. Lighting a cigarette, he sat down on the dusty floor, feeling a strange liberation in sitting in the dirt, unbothered by what anyone might think.

Whenever Tomas faced a challenge, his mind kicked into high gear, connecting dots and crafting creative solutions. Since gaining the Zyphron interface, it was as if a fog had lifted—his thoughts were faster, sharper, more goal-oriented. Tasks that would normally take weeks to plan, like the estate layout, were completed with Azra and Michael’s invaluable help in just three days. They had the essentials mapped out, allowing construction to begin immediately, with additional elements integrated over time. By designing a modular approach, they could prioritize core structures first, while seamlessly layering in future expansions.

Right now, his mind was in overdrive.

Every conventional approach he’d tried—email, social media, phone calls, even Fiverr ads with people holding signs in front of the UN and CERN—had failed. He was desperate for face-to-face access to anyone adjacent to the people in charge of managing civilization's transition through this crisis.

Taking a sip of his beer, he lit another cigarette, his mind flipping through ideas. Did he know anyone connected to positions of power? Each attempt led him to dead ends. Even bribing journalists proved impossible; most reporters he knew were startup-focused, not covering global politics or science.

Another conundrum gnawed at him: how to avoid painting a target on his back. A long conversation with Michael had made it clear—he was at his most vulnerable right now, and his potential enemies, particularly factions within the Church, could view him as a threat. Nephilim, as Michael explained, had one purpose: protecting their masters’ interests. They’d been trained from birth for missions related to elimination of anyone in a position to threaten their masters. And information gathering… thus the need for face to face.

Trained killers against a middle-aged man with a borderline drinking problem. Tomas knew who he’d bet on in 99 out of 100 cases.

And it didn’t feel good to be on the wrong side of the odds.

A silent hum of a long-forgotten melody woke him from his musings. In front of the oven in the outdoor kitchen stood his mom, baking bread and preparing a roast for everyone present, including the workers.

His thoughts had been in disarray even before the whole Zyphron debacle, and seeing her there, just as he remembered from before he was even ten years old, touched something essential inside him—the security only a parent can provide, the feeling that, whatever happens, it will be all right.

It was the same feeling he had when they were fleeing under grenade fire.

The same feeling when they arrived, dirty and empty-handed, at a refugee center.

It was the same feeling he had when he quit his studies and came home to work, realizing his tuition expenses were pushing the family deeper into poverty, and he wanted to help.

His mom and dad had been a shield against all that was wrong in the world, and when his dad passed from cancer at the young age of 49, she picked up the pieces.

And when Tomas was unemployed and couldn't afford a pack of cigarettes, she worked and provided, keeping him afloat.

He stood up and walked over to her, hugging her tightly, her 170 cm frame almost wrapped in his 195 cm body.

He took a deep breath, looked into her eyes, and said, "I love you, Mom."

“I love you too son” she said with a smile

“I know the look in your eyes and how your forehead creases… what are you thinking about?”

“Problems… big ones to be honest, but nothing you should worry about, Ill figure it out”

She smacked his forehead gently

“No… not this time Tomas,… I will not accept you reflecting my worry in order to protect me, I am old, not stupid, don't you forget that. You don't have to carry the burden of the whole world on your back, share it, and if we don't figure it out, we didn't figure it out together”

So he told her everything, from how he met Michael, what he knew will come with Zyphron emergence, what he tried to do to help and share what he knew while trying to protect his life at the same time, he let out his fears and frustrations and the unwillingness to give up before he has found a solution.

She listened, only asking questions when something wasn’t clear, but mostly, she just let him unload everything he’d been holding in.

So he continued, sharing his pain from betrayals, his fear of dying alone without a family, and the emptiness and lack of purpose that, while it was less intense now, still gnawed at him regularly.

When he finally finished, he hugged her, resting his head on her shoulder, just like he had as a boy.

They sat together in silence, both smoking a cigarette, watching the clouds drift across the sky. The smell of the roast was heavenly, but they stayed there, saying nothing, until she finally broke the silence.

"Well, you’ve tried everything… except lying, cheating, and pretending. I wonder… Why does it feel so easy for you to lie to your family but you dont even consider it to strangers?"

He looked over, confused, and she continued, "Don’t those scientists always need money for one project or another? Offer them money just to get a seat at the table—and use the time to tell them what you know."

Wide-eyed, Tomas looked at her. He had fuck-you money; The whole world knew he had that money, he could buy his way into any room just by pretending to offer funding. How had he not thought of that?

He jumped up towards his office to see what type of startups CERN was supporting right now, and which one is the closest connected to the LHC experiment which resulted in the Zyphron emergence.

Tomas stopped mid-step, turning around and grabbing his mother in a hug again “You are a genius Mom” he said and stormed of to his laptop.

While he was storming of Vesna, his mother looked at him, “He will always be too honest for his own good…”