Virelli Manor — One Month After Birth
There were no lullabies in the manor.
No cooing sounds. No cheerful mobiles swinging above the crib. Only silence—thick, oppressive, and deliberate.
Alex Virelli didn't cry. He didn't babble. He didn't laugh. His voice, when used, came only in full sentences. Short. Efficient. Often unsettling.
Inside the nursery, a carved-wood cradle sat untouched. Instead, the child—one month old—was perched on the floor beside it. Surrounded by gears. Scrap metal. Wires.
Parts that should not have been accessible.
Some had come from the radiator. Some from the baby monitor. Some from the very walls of the house. Disassembled quietly, precisely, while the household slept.
> "Magnetic repulsion at 6.2 Tesla. Insufficient."
He whispered as he worked.
His hands were tiny, but his fingers moved like a concert pianist's. They snapped pieces together with the grace of instinct.
> "Structural cohesion degrading. Reinforce with copper alloy segment… now."
Click. Snap. Spin.
Before him hovered a small, twitching construct—cube-shaped, floating two inches off the ground. No wires, no fuel. It spun slowly, silently, powered by a field even Marcus hadn't identified.
Alex's eyes reflected the spinning cube, twin black mirrors without emotion.
The cradle behind him sat untouched, rocking slightly.
---
Downstairs – Library – 3:17 AM
Evelyn poured her third glass of red wine. She didn't even flinch when the thunder rolled across the hills outside.
Marcus sat across from her, reviewing footage from the nursery. He rewound and watched again.
"He didn't just build a machine," he murmured. "He harvested his environment."
Evelyn took a sip, then said softly, "He's not a child."
"No," Marcus agreed. "He's a mind wearing a child's body."
"I heard him speaking in his sleep," she whispered. "But it wasn't English. It wasn't even any Earth language."
Marcus slowly looked up.
Evelyn's voice cracked. "Marcus… what is he?"
Marcus didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
---
Earlier That Day – Private Study
Alex had been left alone for twenty minutes—intentionally. A test.
When Marcus returned, he found the infant standing. Not wobbling—standing, straight as a ruler.
In front of him, the room's smart monitor was covered in code.
Lines. Loops. Logic gates. Symbols from no known programming language. And yet the monitor's CPU usage was maxed out.
"Did you do this?" Marcus had asked.
Alex turned, blinked once, and said:
> "The system is inadequate. I am writing a replacement."
"…A replacement for what?"
> "For this world's infrastructure."
---
Present – Virelli Manor, Day 33
In the weeks since they had escaped the hospital, Evelyn had done everything in her power to maintain a normal household.
She transferred her corporate office to a secure virtual grid, answering investor calls while pretending her child was just a miracle baby, not something… beyond.
Marcus, on the other hand, immersed himself in surveillance.
Thermal readings. Cognitive wave patterns. Acoustic scans of Alex's heartbeat while he slept.
None of it was normal.
The infant's brain activity peaked during the deepest stages of sleep—higher than any adult genius on record. His eyes, when examined under a microscope, showed microvibrations that matched electromagnetic fluctuations in nearby circuits.
In simpler terms: he wasn't just thinking.
He was interacting with the world.
Passively. Constantly. And silently.
---
Nursery – 5:29 PM
Marcus entered quietly.
Alex looked up from his machine—his latest creation, the floating cube now glowing faintly red.
> "You're early."
"I brought you something," Marcus said, setting a tray on the floor.
A bottle of formula, three freshly sterilized pacifiers, and a rubber duck.
Alex blinked slowly. Then turned back to his construct.
> "I do not require distractions."
Marcus sat beside him, cross-legged like he used to in his garage lab. "Even so. You're still flesh, for now."
> "Temporarily."
A pause.
Then Marcus spoke again. "You understand who we are?"
> "Yes. You are the source of my genetic origin. The mother unit is efficient in macro-level investment strategies. You, in micro-scale problem-solving and mechanical innovation."
Marcus raised a brow. "You analyzed our entire careers?"
> "Of course. I needed to know what resources I have inherited."
"Resources?"
> "Genetic. Intellectual. Financial."
Marcus stared at him.
Alex didn't smile. He never did. But there was something like amusement in his voice.
> "Relax, Father. I do not intend to replace you yet."
---
Later That Night – Evelyn's Quarters
She read the transcript Marcus had printed.
Everything Alex had said in the last week. All cataloged. All typed.
It read like a manifesto.
> "Emotion is a chemical leash. I will not be bound by it."
"Humans evolve too slowly. I must accelerate the process."
"The laws of reality are merely suggestions waiting to be rewritten."
She let the pages slip from her fingers.
Her son was not a genius.
He was a revolution.
---
The Final Straw – Day 35
Marcus entered the garage.
It was locked.
Alex had bypassed the security code and turned the entire space into a lab.
He was sitting on a high stool—barely tall enough, but stabilized by makeshift supports—and adjusting a long, cylindrical device.
Not a toy.
A weapon.
> "Kinetic pulse railgun," Alex said. "Designed to repel intruders."
"Who's coming?"
> "They're already watching. Satellites. Listening devices. They triangulated the energy spike from my prototype cube."
"Alex—"
> "I need five more days to finish the scrambler array. Then, we vanish."
Marcus felt cold crawl up his spine. "You want us to disappear?"
> "No," Alex replied. "I want freedom. Secrecy. Safety."
He looked Marcus in the eyes.
> "And if the world won't give it to me—"
He tapped the side of the railgun.
> "—I will take it."
---
Nursery Wall – Day 36
With crayons, circuit boards, and copper wire, Alex had written three sentences across the wallpaper:
> I am beyond biology.
Emotion is a chemical leash.
I will evolve. With or without you.
Beneath the final line, Marcus found a schematic for something entirely new:
A machine to rewrite DNA using quantum entanglement.
Alex had titled it:
> "Version 2: Post-Human."