DAYS SURVIVED: 118
COLONY SIZE: 15
DAYS UNTIL FLOODS: 72
Quick returned from a long-range reconnaissance run with troubling news.
The kit arrived at mid-morning, moving faster than usual—always a bad sign. When Quick was leisurely, everything was fine. When Quick sprinted, something was wrong.
Emergency briefing, the scout's scent markers practically screamed.
Kai assembled the command unit immediately. Shadow, Twitchy, and the four Watchers gathered while Quick caught their breath.
"What did you find?" Kai asked.
Quick's report came in rapid chemical bursts: Other colonies. Moving to high ground. Many more than expected. Beetles—three distinct colonies. Spiders—two colonies, building web networks between rocks. Scorpions—one large colony, very aggressive. Centipedes—
"Wait," Kai interrupted. "Centipedes? Plural?"
Four individuals spotted. Not coordinated. Solo hunters. But all converging on high ground. Including the one that destroyed our first den.
Kai felt his stomach drop. The centipede. Of course it would be going to high ground too. Everything that survived this long was smart enough to know the floods were coming.
"How crowded is it getting up there?"
Very. Maybe two hundred individuals total across all species. Territory is being claimed fast. The best positions are already taken. We have our agreed territory, but it's getting surrounded. Pressure from all sides.
Watcher-2 spoke up, its voice flat and analytical: Probability of territorial conflict: 78%. Probability of resource competition: 91%. Probability of at least one major confrontation: 63%.
"We're going to have to fight for our position," Shadow said quietly.
"Or renegotiate boundaries," Kai countered. "Quick, what's the mood up there? Are colonies fortifying or are they trying to expand?"
Mix of both. Most are fortifying. But the scorpions are pushing boundaries. Testing neighbors. Looking for weakness.
"Of course they are." Kai thought for a moment. "Twitchy, I want triple perimeter security. Quick, daily reconnaissance runs—I need to know immediately if anyone starts moving toward our territory. Shadow, coordinate with Scar-Mandible. See if the ants are seeing the same pressure. Maybe we present a united front."
"And if someone attacks anyway?" Bitey asked from the entrance—the aggressive kit had been listening, as usual.
"Then we defend. But we don't initiate. We're not starting wars with seventy-two days left. We're surviving, not conquering."
The meeting dispersed, but Kai noticed Shadow lingering.
"What is it?" Kai asked.
"The Watchers," Shadow said quietly, making sure the four observers were out of auditory range. "They're spreading through the colony. I see them everywhere now. Documenting. Recording. Watching everyone constantly. The other kits are getting nervous."
"They're doing their job."
"Their job is unsettling everyone. Patch asked me yesterday why Watcher-3 was observing medical procedures. Said it made patients uncomfortable. Dig says Watcher-4 follows them into excavation sites, taking notes, never helping, just... watching."
"That's what they're designed to do."
"I know. That's the problem." Shadow pressed closer, voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Kai, I think we need to tell the others. About what the Watchers really are. About the vault. About all of it. The secrets are causing more problems than the truth would."
"The truth is that I created slaves. That I genetically engineered beings without free will. That I'm planning for scenarios where everyone dies except the Watchers. You think that truth will make things better?"
"I think the truth will let everyone make informed decisions about whether they want to be part of this."
"And if they decide they don't? If Twitchy or Bitey or Dig decide they can't follow a leader who'd do something like that? We fracture. We split. We weaken ourselves right before the floods come."
"So we lie to them to keep them loyal?"
"We delay the truth until after we're not in immediate danger of extinction. That's not lying. That's triage."
Shadow looked at Kai for a long moment. "You keep drawing lines about when ethics matter and when they don't. I'm worried you're going to run out of lines to draw."
"Then stop me. You're my heir. My second. If I go too far, you're supposed to pull me back."
"How far is too far? Because from where I'm standing, we passed that point when you made the first Keeper."
Kai didn't have an answer for that.
DAYS SURVIVED: 122
The incident happened during evening patrol.
Patch had been treating Strike for training injuries—nothing serious, just routine maintenance. Watcher-3 had been observing, as usual, recording Patch's healing techniques with that unsettling focus.
Strike had finally snapped.
"Why do you just watch?" the hunter demanded, voice sharp with irritation. "You never help. Never contribute. Just stare with those creepy eyes and write everything down in your weird chemical notes. What's the point?"
Watcher-3 had responded with perfect calm: Observation is contribution. Data preservation ensures colony knowledge survives crisis events. This is optimal behavior.
"Optimal behavior is helping Patch hold me still while they work on this cut, not standing there like a—like a—" Strike struggled for words. "Like you're not even part of the family!"
Family bond acknowledged. Mission parameters supersede social comfort. This is acceptable tradeoff.
Strike had lunged at the Watcher then. Nothing serious—just a warning snap, the kind of aggressive posturing that happened sometimes between kits establishing hierarchy.
Watcher-3 hadn't fought back. Hadn't retreated. Just stood there, absorbing the aggression, waiting for it to end.
Violence noted. Emotional distress catalogued. Recommend counseling session with colony leadership to address underlying anxiety about Watcher presence.
That clinical response had made Strike even angrier. The hunter had been about to escalate when Patch intervened, pulling Strike back.
Kai heard about it from Patch thirty minutes later.
"Something's wrong," the medic said bluntly. "The Watchers are causing stress. I'm seeing elevated cortisol markers in half the colony. Sleep disruption. Increased aggression. Everyone's on edge because they're being constantly observed by something that doesn't feel like one of us."
"They're family," Kai said weakly.
"They're tools," Patch corrected. "Useful tools, yes. But tools. And everyone can sense it. They don't sleep like us. Don't play like us. Don't show affection or fear or joy. They just... observe. And it's creeping everyone out."
"What do you want me to do? Get rid of them?"
"I want you to be honest about what they are. Stop pretending they're normal kits. Acknowledge the difference. Let everyone understand why they're like that so it's not this mysterious unsettling thing."
Kai felt the trap closing. Tell the truth and face the moral judgment. Keep lying and watch colony cohesion deteriorate.
"I'll think about it," he said finally.
"Think fast. Because I'm treating stress-related injuries more than combat-related ones now. That's not sustainable."
DAYS SURVIVED: 125
Shadow found Kai in the deep tunnels, near the sealed vault entrance.
"I've been tracking you," Shadow said without preamble. "Three times this week you've come down here. To this exact spot. There's something behind that wall, isn't there? Something more than just the four active Watchers."
Kai could lie. Could deflect. Could order Shadow to drop it.
Instead, he unsealed the entrance.
"Come on," he said. "You deserve to know the full truth."
The vault was exactly as he'd left it. Forty pods in careful arrangement. Keeper-Alpha standing its eternal vigil. Chemical markers denoting each group's purpose and activation conditions.
Shadow stood in the entrance, taking it all in, compound eyes wide.
"Forty," Shadow breathed. "You made forty of them."
"Forty different crisis responses. Four lineages. Each one designed for specific disaster scenarios."
"Show me."
Kai walked Shadow through the vault. Explained each group. Each mission. Each terrible compromise he'd made in the name of survival.
The Watchers—ten eggs that would hatch when earthquake pressure indicated imminent disaster. Already partially activated—four were active in the colony.
The Whisperers—ten eggs designed to guide through pheromone influence. Would activate when Kai entered forced hibernation. "They'll help you make decisions when I'm gone," Kai explained. "Through dreams, essentially. Chemical suggestions that feel like intuition."
The Keepers—ten eggs built for maximum endurance and defensive capability. Would activate if the colony went silent for thirty days. "If we all die, they'll wake up and preserve what we built. Guard our territory. Maintain our legacy."
The Shepherds—ten eggs with time-delayed activation. "These won't wake for thousands of years. They're insurance against deep-time catastrophes. Long after we're all dead."
Shadow touched each pod carefully, reading the chemical markers, understanding the horrifying scope of what Kai had created.
"This is..." Shadow struggled for words. "This is beyond wrong. This is creating an entire slave species. Generations of slaves. For millennia."
"This is ensuring we survive," Kai said. "No matter what."
"At what cost? You've created beings that will wake up with no choice. No freedom. Just mission parameters they can't refuse. For thousands of years, Kai. Some of these Shepherds won't activate until long after our civilization has risen and fallen. They'll serve people who don't even exist yet."
"And those people will need protection. Will need guidance. Will need—"
"Will need free will!" Shadow's voice cracked with emotion. "Everyone deserves the right to choose. Even if they choose wrong. Even if they choose selfishly. That's what makes us people instead of tools."
"They're not people. They're specialized organisms designed for—"
"They're people!" Shadow shouted. "I've watched Watcher-3 work. I've seen the way it problem-solves, the way it adapts, the way it shows subtle preferences even within its mission constraints. There's someone home in there. Someone who can't say 'no' because you made it impossible."
Kai felt something crack inside him. Because Shadow was right. He'd known it all along but had been avoiding thinking about it directly.
"What do you want me to do?" Kai asked quietly. "Destroy them? We need the Watchers. They've already proven invaluable for threat assessment."
"I want you to admit what you've done. To the whole colony. Let everyone know. Let everyone decide if they can follow a leader who'd do this. And then—" Shadow paused. "And then maybe you find a way to give them choice. To modify the encoding. To make them more than slaves."
"I can't. The behavioral constraints are woven into their DNA. Removing them would require rebuilding them from scratch. They'd essentially die and someone new would be born in their place."
"Then maybe that's what needs to happen. Maybe death with dignity is better than eternal servitude."
They stood in the vault, surrounded by forty pods that represented Kai's terror and desperation and willingness to commit atrocities to prevent extinction.
"I'll tell the colony," Kai said finally. "Tomorrow. Full disclosure. They deserve to know who they're following."
"And the encoding? Will you try to fix it?"
"I don't know. Let me survive the moral judgment first. Then we'll see if there's anything left to fix."
Shadow pressed against Kai's side. "I still love you. But I'm not sure I like you anymore."
"I'm not sure I like me either."
They sealed the vault and returned to the colony. Kai spent the rest of the night preparing what he'd say. How he'd explain. How he'd justify the unjustifiable.
He couldn't find words that made it better. So he settled for words that were honest.
Sometimes that was all you could do.
DAYS SURVIVED: 126
COLONY MEETING: FULL DISCLOSURE
Kai gathered everyone at dawn. All fifteen kits. Even the Watchers, though they already knew what was coming—they'd been monitoring his planning pheromones all night.
"I need to tell you something," Kai began. "Something I should have told you weeks ago. Something that changes how you'll see me."
He explained. Everything. The vault. The forty pods. The behavioral encoding. The limited free will. The purpose.
The slaves.
He didn't sugarcoat it. Didn't make excuses. Just laid out the facts and let them draw their own conclusions.
The colony reacted with predictable horror.
Twitchy's paranoia exploded—You made things that can't refuse? What if you make us unable to refuse? What if we're next?
Bitey was pragmatic—If they fight well, does it matter?
The hunters—Guard, Strike, and Spike—were disturbed but analytical. Treating it as a tactical problem rather than a moral one.
Dig didn't care. Building was building. Philosophy was someone else's problem.
Patch was devastated. "You created beings in pain. Beings that suffer but can't choose to stop suffering. That's worse than killing. That's torture across generations."
Flick tried to stay neutral but was clearly uncomfortable.
Quick wanted to know if the Watchers could be trusted on reconnaissance—If they can't refuse orders, maybe they're more reliable?
Tank, surprisingly, was the most direct: "You're our creator too. Did you encode loyalty into us? Are we slaves who just don't know it?"
That was the question Kai had been dreading.
"No," he said. "You have full autonomy. Your loyalty to me is genetic—we're family—but you can refuse orders. You can question. You can leave if you want to. The family bond makes betrayal unlikely, but it's not impossible. You have choice."
"Can you prove that?" Tank pressed.
"Bitey argues with me constantly. Twitchy questions my decisions. Shadow actively disapproves of what I've done but stays anyway. That's proof. If I'd encoded absolute obedience, none of that would happen."
The colony digested this.
"So we're different from the Watchers," Shadow said carefully. "They can't refuse. We can. But we're still designed. Still shaped by your choices about what traits to include."
"Yes. I chose what kind of people you'd be. Not whether you'd obey, but what capabilities you'd have. That's... that's still a form of control. Less extreme, but real."
"Are we even talking about this because we want to," Strike asked slowly, "or because you designed us to value honesty and open discussion?"
Kai felt vertigo. The question was too deep. Too recursive.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe we're all less free than we think. Maybe free will is always constrained by genetics and environment and factors we didn't choose. But the Watchers are quantifiably different. You can question your purpose. They can't. That matters."
"Does it?" Patch asked bitterly. "Or is that just a comfortable line you're drawing so you can feel better about creating us?"
Kai didn't have an answer.
The debate continued for hours. Arguments. Accusations. Defenses. Philosophical spirals that led nowhere.
Finally, Shadow called for order.
"We can debate ethics all day," Shadow said. "But the practical question is: do we keep following Kai, or do we fracture? Because if we fracture now, with sixty-nine days until the floods, we all die. So what's it going to be?"
A long silence.
Twitchy spoke first: "I don't like what he did. But the Watchers have made us safer. Security is better with them. I vote we keep Kai as leader and address the moral questions after we survive."
Bitey: "He made weapons. Good weapons. I vote keep him."
The hunters conferred briefly, then Guard spoke for all three: "We vote keep him. But we want monitoring. Shadow watches him. Makes sure he doesn't go further down this path."
Patch: "I vote keep him. But I also vote we try to fix the Watchers somehow. Find a way to give them choice."
Dig: "Don't care about politics. Vote whatever keeps building projects on schedule."
Flick: "Keep him. But I agree with Patch. We fix this if we can."
Quick: "Keep him. He's made mistakes, but we all have. He's still the best chance at survival."
Tank: "Keep him. But I want regular check-ins. Proof that our autonomy remains intact."
All eyes turned to Shadow.
"I vote keep him," Shadow said quietly. "Because I love him despite what he's done. And because I think he can still be better than this. But I also vote that I get veto power over any future breeding projects. No more secrets. No more solo decisions about creating life."
Kai felt something release in his chest. They were staying. Despite everything, they were staying.
"Agreed," he said. "Shadow gets veto power. Full transparency on future projects. And we'll research whether the Watchers can be modified. Give them more choice if possible."
"What about the ones in the vault?" Patch pressed. "The forty still in stasis?"
"They stay sealed unless needed. But if there's a way to reprogram them before activation, we try it. I won't wake slaves if we can wake people instead."
"Good enough," Shadow said. "For now. We survive the floods first. Then we figure out how to fix what you've broken."
The colony dispersed slowly. Some more comfortable with the decision than others. But intact. Still functional. Still together.
Kai found himself alone with the four active Watchers.
"You heard all of that," he said.
Affirmative, Watcher-1 confirmed. Colony debate: Documented. Moral concerns: Catalogued. Survival prioritized over ethics: Noted as pattern.
"Do you understand what they were upset about? What bothers them about you?"
Theoretical understanding: Present. Emotional understanding: Impossible. We lack framework for concepts like 'freedom' or 'choice' as they define them. We understand mission completion. This is sufficient.
"Is it? Is it sufficient for you, or is that just what I programmed you to think?"
Long pause. The four Watchers exchanged rapid pheromone signals, processing something that pushed against the limits of their design.
Query contains paradox, Watcher-1 said finally. If we are programmed to find mission sufficient, asking if we genuinely find it sufficient is meaningless. Cannot step outside programming to evaluate programming. Circular logic detected.
"Exactly," Kai said. "That's the problem. You can't even question whether you're being harmed because I didn't give you the ability to question. And now everyone knows it. And everyone's looking at you differently."
Social discomfort: Acknowledged. Effect on mission performance: Minimal. Conclusion: Acceptable cost.
"That's not—" Kai stopped. They couldn't understand. He'd made sure they couldn't.
"Just... try to be less unsettling, okay? Interact more. Show some personality within your mission parameters. Make the others more comfortable with you."
Understood. Will attempt social integration behaviors. Success probability: Unknown.
It was something. Not much, but something.
Kai returned to his den, exhausted. Shadow was already there, arranging the carved stones in a new pattern.
"They're trying to tell us something," Shadow said, gesturing to Stone 7—the Maker standing alone. "This civilization. They made something. Created something. And it failed. I think they're warning us not to repeat their mistakes."
"Maybe their mistake was not going far enough. Not creating enough insurance."
"Or maybe their mistake was exactly what you're doing. Playing God. Deciding who gets free will and who doesn't. Building tools instead of people."
"We'll never know. They're dead. We're not. That's the only metric that matters."
"Is it though? Is survival really worth any cost?"
Kai looked at his colony. Fifteen kits. Forty sealed pods. One allied ant colony. Sixty-nine days until the floods.
"Ask me again after we survive," he said. "Maybe then I'll have a better answer."
"I hope you do," Shadow said. "Because right now, the answer you're giving scares me."
Outside, the countdown continued. The floods were coming. And Kai had forty slaves waiting to activate when disaster struck.
He'd saved his colony. He'd ensured survival. He'd built insurance against extinction.
And he'd done it by becoming exactly the kind of person Chicago Kai would have hated.