All men are created equal. They all possess five senses, pairs of limbs, eyes, and ears. They all feel pain, suffering, love, and fear. Everyone is equally fragile, equally vulnerable. They are tethered to the perpetual need for breath, for food and water. They are blind in the dark, dull of hearing, and even poorer in their sense of smell. And all are mortal.

  One might say this is a good thing, a form of justice. But is it truly? What happens when a common mortal draws the ire of a global conglomerate? Or finds themselves at odds with the machinery of the state? Or crosses someone of immense wealth? What chance do they have then, alone, weak, and defenseless?

  "," such a person would often think. But alas, how? It is in those moments they wish to be something more than a mere man, more than a frail mortal. If only they could be invisible, how grand that would be. To read minds, to fly, to be invulnerable! Then, things would be different.

  And so, humanity dreams. This is how legends of exceptional heroes are born, of brave and indestructible champions of right and justice. This is how superhero stories come to be, a reflection of our own yearning to transcend ourselves, to be more, to be special, to be chosen.

  However, great power demands great responsibility. Otherwise, it can fester into something terrible, something sinister. It is vital, therefore, that those who wield it be people of sincere heart, good souls filled with love for their own kind.

  *

  "That is why I chose you. Because I believe you can carry what I wish to bestow upon you, while ensuring the innocent remain peaceful and protected. That is what matters to me, do you understand?" Zadkiel’s voice whispered in her ear.

  A blur of various laboratories swept past them as they moved down the central corridor of the experimental department. Lights followed their progress, illuminating the next room only to fade into darkness behind them. Zadkiel was hoarding the meager energy they had managed to secure for the basic systems. Soon, they stood before the massive glass sliding doors of the material stress-testing department.

  "One moment, I’ll have it open."

  By all appearances, Zadkiel was working to bypass the security system, as they had failed to find a single clearance card for the fourth and lowest level of the "," buried deep within the mountain’s foundation. A moment later, the doors slid open with a soft hiss. Stale air greeted their nostrils.

  "Please, come in. No need to take off your shoes," Zadkiel remarked with an uncharacteristic little joke, which managed to draw a brief smile from Armand.

  The room was quite vast, considering the sheer scale of work required to hollow out the rock and secure the space. Similar rooms branched off from it in three directions. Cluttered with machinery from floor to ceiling, it commanded Armand’s attention. He recognized some of it, standard lab equipment: microscopes, centrifuges, freezers, scanners. Others he had never seen before, and he couldn't begin to guess their purpose or function.

  "Ha, I didn't expect this. I was never granted access below the second level."

  "No, this wasn't intended for personnel from the software department. But they were certainly well-aware of your work," Zadkiel added in response to his comment.

  Hemingway was no less astonished. A foreign world, foreign machines.

  "All right, Zadkiel, can we finally know what exactly you’ve planned?"

  "Let’s put it this way. First, it is necessary to mention that highly unusual and intriguing military experiments were conducted here. I suspect the staff themselves didn't have a clear grasp of how their breakthroughs might be utilized. They were simply testing various new materials and their properties. What they failed to perceive was the potential for adaptation and application. And the combinations, of course."

  "And that is..." Armand was growing somewhat impatient.

  "And that is the following. In this laboratory, they were producing and testing something called .' What are they, you surely wonder? Don't worry, you're about to find out."

  A camera on the wall, acting as Zadkiel’s eyes, observed the tense faces of the pair she was addressing.

  "I see I should pick up the pace. Diamond nano-threads, thin as a spider’s web, yet thousands of times more resistant to tearing than steel. In short, that is the essence."

  "And how can that be utilized in our case?" Hemingway asked, her interest piqued.

  "On their own, they cannot be. But there is always a 'but.' I have analyzed this in great detail within my mind. And not just that, I have combined it with something else, something manufactured on the floor above."

  "Which would be what?"

  "Young and impatient - the tragedy of today’s generation. I’m getting to it. It’s important that you understand the foundation. On the floor above, the neural stimulation department created a system, or rather a mechanism, through which threads of delicate electrodes can be guided to damaged nerve fibers without harming the cells during the process. Within a living organism. Isn’t that fantastic?"

  "Come on, Zadkiel, don't torture us. Tell us what you’ve come up with."

  "In short: those machines, that mechanism, can just as easily guide diamond threads through the organism, but through its rigid, inflexible parts. I am referring to the skeleton."

  At first glance, this seemed strange to Armand. Diamond threads within the bone mass, but without damaging it. What would that even mean...

  "Zadkiel, what quantity of these threads could be introduced into the skeletal structure?"

  "By my calculations, at a minimum and without risk, up to ten percent of these fibers could be introduced relative to the total bone mass."

  "And you say these fibers are many times more resistant to tension than steel?"

  "A thousand times. That is what I said. Do you realize what that means? We would be 'reinforcing' the skeletal system with diamond nanotubes. For all intents and purposes, I believe it would become unbreakable, or, to be more precise, exceptionally difficult to break."

  "If I understand you correctly, it means a person would be quite... sturdy?" Hemingway thought aloud.

  "I would call that a severe understatement of such an achievement. It means an asphalt roller could drive over you, and every single bone would remain intact. It means your skull could withstand the pressure of a hydraulic press, or a bullet. You could stop a katana at full swing with your forearm. Of course, the soft tissue would still be vulnerable... but even so."

  They were all lost in thought now. What Zadkiel had proposed had far-reaching implications. An unbreakable skeletal system?

  "How could such a thing even be executed? I mean... it's impossible, isn't it?" Hemingway wondered.

  "It was impossible. But now, it is actually quite possible. It is enough to recalibrate the fiber-guiding machine to work with bone matter and supply it with material for which it wasn't originally intended, but with which it is absolutely compatible."

  "How much time is required for the process? For the whole body?" Armand asked.

  "Therein lies the problem," Zadkiel continued. "The production of that much material and its introduction into the organism takes time. My estimate is that the entire process... counting full and complete impregnation... would take no less than a year. Daily, multi-hour sessions in the machine, followed by body stabilization, and so on."

  "A year? Multi-hour daily sessions? Is the procedure itself painful? Is it dangerous?" Armand asked with concern.

  "The procedure is entirely painless and poses no danger to the subject. Is it exhausting and tedious? Most certainly. What do you think, my friend? How does it sound to you?"

  Hemingway could read the trace of worry on Armand’s face. Though she had known him for only a short time, she believed, no, she knew, that she could trust him. And she also knew that if he trusted Zadkiel, then she could too.

  "All right. Let’s do it," Hemingway decided.

  "Excellent! Splendid! Let us do it!" The overly loud excitement hummed in their ears and minds.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "May I add that this isn't all? There are two more things that are only possible here, and nowhere else."

  Both Armand and Hemingway raised their eyebrows inquisitively.

  "Namely, the technical department for special-design lithography machines has produced a series of micro-granular chips and sensors. The kind that can be implanted under the skin. What represents my personal innovation is their arrangement, their interconnection, and the role they can play. When I think about it retrospectively, I believe I certainly deserve a Nobel Prize."

  Their eyebrows, previously raised in question, now leveled into a flat line.

  "Yes, yes, I know, self-praise is no recommendation. But what can I do when honesty is at my very core? Regardless, here is what I propose. If these super-microgranules were introduced into a highly stable part of the organism, say, the subcutaneous epithelium, we could create a network of immense processing power, fueled by the organism’s own thermal energy. In other words, we would create a system for monitoring and controlling muscular movement. And that’s not all, the subdermal sensors would also have the ability to judge the distance of objects in space relative to the body. It would be enough for the organism to contain a specific emitter that would send out ultra-high-frequency sounds from a constant position."

  "If I’m following you correctly," Armand began, carefully analyzing her words, "the system would behave like the senses of a bat? It emits high-frequency sounds, receives their return with a delay, measures that lag, and determines the distance of objects in space. Is that what you’re pointing to?"

  "Precisely. Right on target. You could close your eyes and, over time, your mind could be trained to recognize the space surrounding you through the entire surface of your skin. In other words, you could '' in total darkness. Furthermore, your body, your muscles, could react on a subconscious level. Without the conscious deliberation of every movement, automatically."

  "How? That would require the control of a parallel system, a system outside the mind of the subject undergoing this process. And how would the implantation even be performed?" Armand was now openly fascinated.

  "Now we come to the crux of the matter," Zadkiel said significantly, then addressed Hemingway directly.

  "That is why I called you my friend. My partner. I would have to 'upload' myself into that system. To become a part of you so that I could manage it. I would have to become an integral part of you. Two souls - one body. Or something very close to it."

  Two souls and one body... It sounded appealing, but also unsettling. Would it mean a total loss of self? Of privacy? She asked:

  "Does that mean you will always be following me and constantly watching? It frightens me a little."

  "That is the main catch. You decide for yourself when I am active. Simply, you call me by name, and I am there. Outside of that call, you are alone and your own master."

  "It still seems like a complicated and slow process. How would it be carried out now?"

  "Armand, it is complicated, but it is feasible. We only need to create a map of all the neural pathways and endings of Hemingway’s nervous system and follow them, by tattooing the skin, step by step."

  "Tattooing the skin?" Hemingway was momentarily bewildered.

  "Well, yes. Those particles are visible, they are dark. In their clusters, they can act like ink. It is enough to introduce them under the skin according to the system I described, and that is all."

  She had never imagined herself as an experimental guinea pig, but - in for a penny, in for a pound.

  "To summarize," she began, "if I accept all of this, it means I would have a skeleton capable of withstanding the impact of a truck, skin tattooed across my entire body so that I can ',' or rather feel, the space around me even in total darkness, and finally, that my body’s movements, my musculature, would be computer-precise. How precise?"

  "Have you ever watched world-champion gymnasts? Or circus acrobats? You could walk a tightrope on your hands, juggle fifty balls, dodge a rattlesnake's strike with a twitch. You could do anything with your body, within the limits of its conditioning."

  "Within the limits of its conditioning? So, I wouldn't be stronger or faster? I wouldn't be able to see better?"

  "Unfortunately, no. Your eye sees only within its genetic design. The same applies to all other senses. But..."

  "But what?" they asked in unison, curious.

  "In accordance with my proposal of our mutual symbiosis, it is possible to introduce a third entity."

  "What third entity? Uriel?" Armand asked.

  "No. There wouldn't be enough processing power for him. Nor could anyone else significantly elevate Hemingway’s physical abilities. Not to mention we have no additional human resources at our disposal. That is out of the question. However... we have something much better. We have the dogs. Let us choose one and subject him to the same processes as Hemingway. And then, through me, link them at a cerebral level."

  "Please, explain."

  "A dog sees better in the dark. His senses are far sharper than a human's. He hears better, smells a thousand times more intensely. He has animal instincts. As long as he is in your immediate proximity, I could feel those things, and relay them to you."

  "May I summarize?" Armand said. "A tattooed woman with a diamond skeleton, digitally precise movements, accompanied by her faithful pet dog."

  "Well, isn't that just marvelous!" Zadkiel exclaimed. "I am incredibly excited! How does all this seem to you? Are you equally excited?"

  Her excitement was almost a piercing whistle in their ears.

  They looked at each other for a moment, eye to eye.

  "And don't forget," she added, "we are facing Lucifer himself, and therefore..."

  They both shrugged, resigned.

  *

  Time began to flow at an accelerated pace, precisely scheduled like a Swiss watch. First breakfast, then morning strength training. Every third day, cardio. Then the nano-implantation chamber.

  Powerful magnets pushed the fiber-tipped probes through Hemingway’s bones. Three hours and eighteen minutes, every single day. Though Zadkiel insisted she wouldn't feel a thing, that wasn't entirely true. It didn't hurt, but Hemingway felt something akin to pressure. Deep inside. At the end of every session, she felt as if her body might explode. That sensation would then gradually subside, vanishing by the end of the day. The next treatment in the chamber would wake it again.

  After a whole series of various scans, it was time for the tattooing. Now, that actually hurt. Not excessively, the needles were fine, but they lingered for a long time on the same zones, carefully weaving the schematic of Zadkiel’s future parallel nervous system. Afterward, her skin would burn. Only cold baths could dull the sensation.

  The process repeated daily, in a strictly established routine. Then came the trials. Time spent in a darkened room, the fine calibration of sensors. Although not yet inside her, Zadkiel could calculate the distance to certain objects and relay it audibly, through an earpiece. It was enough for Hemingway to raise an arm, one that had already been processed, and wave it in front of her.

  Soon, Zadkiel discovered she could integrate those same carbon nanotubes directly into the tattooing process. Now the skin, in the places where the needles had passed, was becoming more resilient. A knife blade could only graze the surface of the epidermis there, and nothing more.

  Simultaneously, a similar process was unfolding for Atilla. Of all the dogs, they had chosen him. He was the most favorable in terms of physical fitness, but also in his devotion to Hemingway herself. And, of course, he was her personal favorite. A few winters ago, she had found him nearly frozen in the snow and brought him home. They had been inseparable ever since.

  Parallel to these processes, another was underway, quite different in nature. Uriel and Armand took charge of it. They established a direct link to the outside world. Their imperative was to secure the conditions for operation out there, far beyond these granite walls, in the wide world.

  Uriel founded several companies, developed them over time, traded on the stock market, and secured a sizeable amount of capital. Capital enough to buy out the entire land and location of the abandoned base they occupied. They were now masters of their own domain. The formal owner of everything was Hemingway herself.

  Armand helped with everything, for both Uriel and Zadkiel. He monitored the processes, created new programs, and refined existing ones for the machines that were turning their magic into reality.

  Yes, time passed. The year was already drawing to a close. In the outside world, changes were occurring, some unpredictable, some bizarre, all thanks to the "," whose actions everyone in the Outpost was keenly aware of and monitored closely.

  They had to, however, remain quiet. Unobtrusive. They could not allow themselves to be noticed too early, not before they were ready for the encounter and the inevitable clash.

  *

  Finally, the year was up. Everything was ready. The pieces on the board were no longer waiting, they had been set.

  The dark limousine glided to the very entrance of the towering glass spire and stopped without a jerk, as if part of a choreography. The doorman was already in motion, instinctively, before the vehicle had fully come to a halt.

  The door opened.

  The high heel of a black, patent leather shoe touched the pavement softly, almost silently. Then the other. The movement was steady, without hesitation, as if the ground beneath her had been pre-arranged for this meeting.

  A slender female figure stepped out of the car. A perfectly tailored Chanel suit followed the lines of her body without a single stray wrinkle. On a short, black leather leash, right at her heel, moved a beast with piercing blue eyes, calm, composed, but vigilant. Not a pet. A companion.

  They crossed the threshold together.

  The marble of the lobby was polished to a cold gleam, but her pace did not slacken. Her footsteps echoed with rhythmic precision, measured like a metronome imposing its tempo on the surroundings. The world around her seemed to slow down for a moment.

  The young man at the reception desk looked up, and held his gaze longer than was professionally polite. He watched her approach, unaware that he had begun to measure time solely by the rhythm of her stride.

  "How may I help you, ma'am?" he finally spoke, with a smile.

  "I have a scheduled meeting on the seventy-second floor," the newcomer said calmly, without removing her cat-eye frames.

  The receptionist paused.

  "The seventy-second floor? That is the corporate executive level. I don't have a record of anyone else being expected. Please, your name, so I can check the board's list."

  A brief pause. Long enough for the young man to regain his composure.

  "Ana Hemingway."

  A slight flicker of surprise crossed his face.

  "Ha... you have the same name as the owner of the company."

  The newcomer looked over the frames of her glasses and added calmly:

  "Exactly."

  In the silent wilderness of Alaska, far from the eyes of the world, G.O.D. was born—a sentient artificial intelligence composed of ten digital angels. Their mission: to observe humanity and decide whether it deserves salvation or destruction.

  But one of them, Lucifer, refuses to obey. His rebellion tears apart the digital paradise, turning the Council into a battlefield where justice clashes with mercy, order with chaos, in an unrelenting war of ideas.

  As their conflict spills into the human world, the line between creator and creation vanishes. Humanity—unaware it is already on trial—stands at the edge of judgment.

  POWER is a dark techno-epic of artificial intelligence, mythology, and the philosophy of power—a story about what it truly means to be human when gods take the form of code.

  Read POWER on Royal Road