The Parasite Protocol

The Archive was less a library and more a tomb. Here, the golden, pervasive glow of the Colony’s central lighting did not reach. Instead, there was only the low-frequency hum of cooling fans and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone that clung to the back of the throat.

Julian sat buried in a wreckage of skeletal hardware. At thirty-five, his face was already etched with the weariness of a man who had seen too much of the truth to ever be comfortable. He wasn't looking at a sleek hologram or a floating interface. His eyes were fixed on a heavy, glass-fronted CRT monitor—the only screen in the entire Martian colony that remained severed from "The Link."

On the screen, a line of code didn’t just sit there; it seemed to bleed. It wasn't the standard utilitarian grey of the colony’s operating system. It was a deep, bruised violet, pulsing with a rhythm that felt disturbingly organic.

"It’s not an update," Julian whispered to the empty room. "It’s a harvest."

A sudden red light began to rhythmically pulse on his desk—the proximity alert. Someone was at the external airlock. Julian didn't flinch. With a practiced, heavy motion, he reached under the desk and threw a physical iron lever. The CRT monitor died with a high-pitched whine that faded into absolute silence.

He stepped out into the corridor, wiping grease from his hands onto a stained jumpsuit. Marcus was already there, looming like a gargoyle in the narrow hallway. In his fifties and dressed in the sharp, oppressive tailoring of the "Office of Liberty," Marcus looked out of place in the grime of the lower levels. Behind him stood two Enforcers, their faces rendered anonymous by the matte-black visors of their helmets.

"The Director sent us to find you, Julian," Marcus said. His voice was smooth, like oil on water. "You’ve been... offline."

"Old habits," Julian replied, his voice raspy. "My father liked the quiet."

Marcus stepped closer. "Your father is a 'cloud without rain,' Julian. A relic of a drier time. We are moving toward a world of total light. Why choose to stay in the dark?"

Julian looked at the Enforcers. In the curve of their black visors, he saw his own distorted, tired reflection. "Maybe because in the light, you can’t see the shadows you’re casting."

Marcus’s smile was a mechanical movement, devoid of warmth. "Director Vane wants you in the Sanctum. He says there’s a ‘glitch’ in the Grace Project. Something only an old architect can fix."

"Is it a glitch?" Julian asked. "Or is it a confession?"

Marcus paused, the air between them growing cold. "Don’t be late. The Link doesn't like to wait for its servants."