Fear of Seeing God
August 12, 2027
Humanity took its last breath.
At 8:47 AM GMT, the first nuclear mushrooms bloomed over the cities like monstrous flowers of the apocalypse. Washington, Moscow, Beijing, London, Paris—one after another, they ignited in blinding flashes, momentarily eclipsing the sun. The final explosions thundered exactly three years later, marking a bloody full stop in the history of the old world.
Three years of darkness. Three winters without sunlight, where snow fell black with ash and temperatures rarely rose above minus twenty. Three eternities in hell, where time lost all meaning, where days blurred into one endless today, where tomorrow might never come.
But the world didn’t end.
It simply began again.
Amid the ruins and ash, it wasn’t just humans who survived—They appeared. Genomes. Creatures that looked human… but weren’t. Some walked on air as if gravity were a cruel joke. Others stretched their limbs like rubber, crawling over rubble like spiders. Some lifted entire buildings with a single touch.
And in their chests, between the third and fourth ribs, pulsed blood-red crystals.
Those who cut them out and touched them could see the world through a Genome’s eyes.
But to do that, they had to kill.
And kill they did. First out of fear. Then out of curiosity. And finally—because the crystals became currency in this mad new world.
Ten years passed. Ten years of hell. Humans stopped praying. They carved crystals from the living, traded organs for abilities, ate the flesh of those who’d once called them friends. They became worse than beasts.
And then… they forgot.
First, the details vanished—dates, names, faces. Then entire events faded. The war, the explosions, the ashen sky—all erased, as if someone had torn pages from the book of history.
But the worst was yet to come.
Because when you forget the mistakes of the past…
You are doomed to repeat them.
