Saints in a Chip

The car glided fast past the metropolis, leaving behind the concrete skyline, bustling neon streets, and the dense yellow smog fading from the rearview mirror. As they turned through empty fields and thick burned woods, the landscape became a patchwork of blurry greys and black snags.

Jude finally removed his mask, feeling the cool air of the AC wash over his face. It was as if he could finally take a deep breath.

However, with each passing kilometre, Jude felt increasingly misplaced, unsure of where he was being taken.

When informed about the meeting, he anticipated it would occur in the Central Defense Bureau or the UGS Prime House. Still, this route was utterly anonymous to him. The surroundings blurred into a continuous ribbon of dead trees and open fields, offering no familiar landmarks or signs.

Jude finally leaned in and knocked on the thick glass partition that separated him from the driver. “Hey! Where are we going?”

But the driver did not answer. Jude frowned, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. He shifted in his seat, glancing out the window at the fleeting monochromatic scenery of dead trees and bare soil.

Thirty minutes had passed without a word, no indication of their destination or explanation for this detour. The quiet hum of the engine couldn’t shake the feeling that this meeting was much more than he had been led to believe.

Eventually, the car rolled to a stop in front of a white building nestled deep in the woods. The minimalist architecture was modern yet isolated, and there was no indication that this could be a military or governmental building.

As Jude stepped out of the vehicle, he was greeted by the sight of two soldiers waiting on a wooden pavement. They stood at attention, their bodies rigid. Both were wearing breathable masks and dark goggles that concealed their eyes.

Jude felt an unpleasant taste in his mouth; they were clearly prepared for him. They knew who he was and what he could do.

“Follow us, Watcher,” one of the soldiers commanded, his voice muffled by the mask.

Jude nodded. "Well, hello to you too," he grumbled between teeth, following behind them. His footsteps barely made a sound against the wooden planks, muted by the soldiers' heavy boots.

The sight of them marching in rigid stances, one hand hovering near the gun on their belt, made it clear that he was not a guest. Jude applied the only rule he could remember—Silence was gold.

Finally, they arrived at a set of imposing double wooden doors at the end of the corridor. One of the soldiers stepped forward, pushing the doors open. Inside, another soldier stood waiting, eyes hidden behind dark goggles that reflected the harsh overhead lights and finally pointed to an empty seat in front of a table with three figures.

As he took a seat, he scrutinised each of the individuals dressed in fancy suits complemented by dark sunglasses. He crossed his legs and arms, recognising each one.

The first figure in the centre was Secretary Teresa Maple Williams, the head of the UGS. She was a late middle-aged woman with a slender build and warm complexion. Her dark brown hair was tied in a low ponytail. She almost didn’t look her age with her defined jawlines, yet they were deeply carved with wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Teresa had a commanding posture, giving the illusion of being approachable with a carefully curated smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Little was known about her role prior to the election; her past was a clean slate, strategically polished to avoid scrutiny. Her mandate was clear: support countries capable of producing raw materials, particularly in agriculture and livestock.

The Earth was in a dire state, operating on a 60% credit for food. More than half of the globe was starving, struggling without access to the most basic raw goods. It wasn’t a financial problem; the reality was that there was nothing left to buy.

In a world where a meal had become a luxury, lab-grown food had emerged as a temporary solution, but the final product was still far from resembling natural produce. Its nutritional value was inconsistent, and it had proven to be problematic for the population’s health. Reports of adverse reactions and long-term health issues began to surface, raising alarms among scientists and citizens alike.

The second figure to the left was Marshal John Paul Oak. Jude had worked under this big man's command for years, developing a deep respect for his dedication to his role. Oak managed the special unit of the Watchers, a division unlike any other in the military.

Each soldier recruited in this unit was born with an unusual ability, powers that would have been dismissed as science fiction just a century earlier. Individuals like Jude were still rare but no longer seen as anomalies or freaks. Instead, their unique talents were harnessed for military purposes, all under the watchful eye of Marshal Oak.

Jude saw his abilities as a form of mind exploration, a deep dive into others' thoughts, reading their deepest desire and bending their will to command their movements.

However, others could manipulate gravity, bending it to their will as if the laws of physics were mere suggestions. The ability to control the elements, like fire or water. And those who could move objects effortlessly as if gravity was just a suggestion. Watchers with talents so extraordinary that Jude could only dream of.

The Watchers were not something new; they have always existed among the crowds but were kept in the most secrecy, like rat labs, saints, healers, and miracle makers. But now, they were a vital force in the ongoing struggle against outsiders. Their unique skills were employed in the shadows, working silently to neutralise dangers before they escalated—Eidolons, the enemies that came from the stars.

Watcher abilities were used in the real world, and various systems were connected to the alien gride. But none of them have ever faced Eidolons in the flesh.

Finally, the most impressive figure in the room: Neurosystem Architect, Doctor Agatha Cedar, granddaughter of the brilliant mind behind the tenuous peace that humanity clung to—Doctor August Cedar.

August had transformed the realm of possibility with his groundbreaking work in mind sculpting. This technology allowed one’s consciousness to be extracted and transferred into a chip. This innovation made it feasible for consciousness to exist indefinitely as long as it was integrated into a suitable system—a concept now commonly referred to as SiC.

It was thanks to August that humanity had any hope of winning this war. His pioneering efforts made it possible to negotiate with the Eidolon, enabling the transfer of human and alien consciousness into simulations—a neutral battlefield. This remarkable feat allowed the rest of the world to experience a semblance of life and purpose in an apocalyptic conflict. The question left to the world—why the Eidolon agreed was a mystery no one could answer.

It was now the role of his granddaughter to continue the legacy of her grandfather.

Finally, she broke the silence first. “So, should we start?” she asked, turning to the Secretary and whispering. “I have the PowerPoint ready, but if you want to begin, I don’t mind; I still have emails to answer.”

“I think you can start if you wish, Agatha,” Secretary Williams replied with a discreet wave of her hand.

“I really don’t mind if you do, seriously,” Agatha insisted, glancing between them, her fingers still dancing over the keyboard in a frantic rhythm.

“Mr. James! How are you today?” Secretary Williams interjected, visibly running out of patience that showed on her smile devoid of any warmth, while Agatha continued her furious typing beside her.

“Pissed. Didn’t get my coffee or a proper bath,” Jude replied, leaning back further in his chair, stretching his legs out as he slipped his hands into his pockets. His irritation was able to cut through the air like a knife.

“Oh, really, no coffee?” Agatha exclaimed, her surprise evident as she leaned over Secretary Williams, trying to catch the Marshal’s attention. “Can’t we ask for some coffee? I want coffee, too, and cookies!”

She turned back to Jude. “Cookies?”

“No, just coffee,” he replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her bright brown gaze. She wasn't wearing sunglasses, just normal framed ones.

“Coffee then! I’m not going to eat cookies alone.” She leaned her weight again over Secretary Williams, her energy infectious. “John, can you order?”

Agatha was all over the place, leaning over the Secretary while still typing furiously on her laptop, her fingers flying across the keys as if the world depended on it. Secretary Williams, caught between managing the meeting and indulging Agatha’s whims, offered a tight-lipped smile.

The Marshal, who had been observing the exchange with a bemused expression, made a quick sign to one of the soldiers standing guard nearby. “You can start, Doctor,” he instructed, clearly accustomed to the chaos Agatha often brought into any situation.

“Great! Let’s get this show on the road!” Agatha declared, her excitement bubbling over, but not for long. “I’m just trying to open the PowerPoint, but…” Agatha said, her voice trailing off as she suddenly pressed the same key repeatedly. A mechanical beep came out of the laptop that filled the room. “I get the same message over and over again.”

“What is the error?” The Marshal leaned over Secretary Williams, peering at the screen with a furrowed brow. “Oh, you need to enter your credentials.”

“I already did, see! I have the whole presentation on the drive!” Agatha exclaimed, her panic rising as her fingers flew over the keyboard, desperate for a solution.

“Have you connected to the intranet?” the Marshal asked.

“Doesn’t it connect automatically?”

Jude watched the exchange. Here they were, on the brink of a critical discussion about the future of humanity, Agatha caught in a technological snare. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly despite the seriousness of their situation.

The Marshal leaned further over the Secretary, causing her to almost disappear beneath his bulky form. “Let me check.”

Jude watched the technological drama unfold, amused by the chaos surrounding them. Just then, one of the soldiers approached, holding out a steaming cup of coffee. “Thanks,” Jude said, accepting the cup.

The soldier glanced at the desk, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he suppressed a laugh at the scene. Jude couldn’t help but chuckle himself, finding some relief in the absurdity.

“Oh, oh! It’s opening!” Agatha suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands together with excitement. “Okay, I see you have coffee—me too! We’re ready to go!” Her enthusiasm was infectious.

She was likely younger than Jude, wearing big glasses that perfectly matched the stereotype of a scientist. Her messy, curly hair framed her face, complementing her dark complexion.

“I’m all ears, Doc,” Jude said, leaning forward in his chair.

A screen descended behind Agatha, projecting her PowerPoint presentation with bold letters: Project Phantom 2099. “So, let’s start… Project Phantom was created in 2099, humanity faced—”

“Agatha!” the Marshal interrupted, cutting through her enthusiasm. “Please skip the basics; we all had history in high school.”

“But it’s really important to know the foundations!” Agatha insisted, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she prepared to click on the next slide.

“Doctor Cedar, please get to the point,” Secretary Williams agreed with the Marshal.

Jude could feel the tension rising in the room, and this bickering felt counterproductive.

Agatha rolled her eyes and began clicking through the slides rapidly. The first one depicted the arrival of the first spaceship on Earth, a sleek black vessel glinting against the backdrop of a blue planet. The next slide displayed the transcript of the first contact, the words capturing the moment when everything changed.

Then came the chilling image of an Eidolon—hell’s personification. The creature appeared as a black hound, its body crafted from scales and smoke, eyes glowing with an otherworldly menace. The subsequent slides revealed a harrowing montage: images of violence, wildfires devouring forests ignited by the creatures, and chaos engulfing cities as humanity struggled to respond to the sudden threat.

Jude felt a knot form in his stomach as Agatha continued, each slide amplifying the horror of what they had faced. Portraits of well-known Watchers who had lost their lives in the World War Three.

This time, however, humans weren’t the enemy.

Slide after slide, the presentation painted a grim picture of hell on Earth during that fateful year, a relentless onslaught that left destruction in its wake.

Until 2100, the violence suddenly stopped as it started.

The slideshow stopped abruptly on a detailed map. “So… let’s jump here,” Agatha said as she pointed at the screen. “This is a map from the simulation, which operates on a grid system with cells ranging from J to 19, totalling 190 cells. Each cell is approximately 945 meters by 945 meters. The entire map spans about 7.56 kilometres in width and 13.23 kilometres in length, covering an area comparable to a major city 100 square kilometres.”

She pointed her mouse's white arrow over the map, which was predominantly composed of black squares, obscuring the layout's true content.

“From cells 13 to 19J, the territory belongs to the Eidolon, while cells 1 to 12J are under human control. The battle is currently located in the Grand Arena, here in the centre.”

Jude leaned in closer, trying to absorb every detail.

Agatha paused, glancing around the room. “I don’t know if there are any questions,” she continued, slightly flustered. “I jumped so much of my speech. I’m a bit lost on what information I should share.”

Jude raised his hand. “Why am I here?”

“Oh!” Agatha exclaimed, jumping a couple of slides ahead. The new screen was cluttered with graphics—pie charts, comparative values, and a barrage of numbers that swirled together in a way that made Jude’s head spin.

“Let me talk here, sweetheart,” the Marshal interjected, standing up. With his hands clasped behind his back, he adopted a more authoritative demeanour as he addressed Jude directly. “Son, we have no fucking clue what is going on.”

He pointed to the charts displayed on the screen. “Every month since 2200, we receive reports detailing who wins and who loses, who dies and who survives. What were our true numbers and their numbers… As you can see, in the early decades, these figures would change rapidly… very dynamic. So, here at our end, we knew and understood what was going on and prepared for such.”

He paused.

“What’s the real issue, then?” Jude asked.

“They are fake,” Secretary Williams interrupted. “We’ve seen a pattern in the numbers that are cycling, repeating, as if past reports have been reclaimed. The question we have, Mr. James, is why?”

Jude leaned forward, his interest piqued. “You think the Eidolons took over? And we lost?”

“We don’t know,” she replied, frustrated. “If that were the case, why aren’t our skies filled with starships ready to annihilate humanity?”

“Well, we still have a giant starship hovering over Antarctica, “Agatha corrected, her fingers tapping nervously on the table. “And I don't think they are waiting for Santa," she added.

Jude’s brow furrowed. “What about the Watchers connected to this grid? Are they dead? Do we have direct communication with their base?”

The room fell silent.

“I think it’s better if we show him,” the Marshal said, removing his glasses and fixing his eyes on Jude.