Europe burned without fire.
Streets once devoted to commerce and routine overflowed with bodies and anger. Protesters clashed with police beneath clouds of smoke. Torn flags fluttered like wounded symbols. Sirens drowned out reason.
When technology sought to control identity,
the world split into factions—
and reason vanished.
Across the globe, projects long hidden stepped into the light.
In the Middle East and Africa, vast centers rose from the ground—data pipelines stretching like veins into the earth, feeding machines no citizen was allowed to understand. They called it the Great Ismail Project: development, progress, salvation.
In other regions, people sat calmly as devices were placed upon their heads. Neural interfaces glowed faintly. Screens streamed thoughts translated into numbers. Eyes stared forward, watched even as they watched.
Elsewhere, hospitals expanded rapidly. Vaccination programs multiplied. Laboratories operated behind sealed doors, funded generously, explained vaguely.
Each project was not built for humans…
but to make them controllable data.
Throughout Europe, massive displays lit up the night.
Phones held high showed the same image:
Digital Identity Required.
Crowds roared.
"No to digital surveillance!"
"We are not numbers!"
The laws arrived faster than consensus.
Millions refused to surrender what little remained of their true identity.
Chaos followed.
Societies fractured.
Protests turned against migrants. Against Muslims. Against anyone labeled other. Flags were raised not to unite, but to divide. A new mass ideology spread—faceless, borderless, obedient.
Superficial alliances did not build nations.
They built fear.
They built chaos.
They scattered hearts.
Behind the noise, a man in a tailored suit watched.
He sat in darkness, illuminated only by screens. Economic alliances shifted at his command. Media narratives bent. Digital ID systems were tested, breached, reinforced.
Every move behind the scenes prepared the stage
for one who would test everyone.
Maps changed.
Ancient borders reappeared, traced boldly across modern nations. A vision rooted in scripture stretched from river to river. Strategic points glowed. Populations were reduced to statistics. Cities were marked for control.
A plan framed as divine inheritance…
yet wielded as a weapon of political domination.
Data flowed endlessly.
Surveillance expanded.
Economic models tightened.
Children's lives appeared as moving points.
Every move calculated.
Every step part of a war unseen by human eyes.
In Africa, horror wore a charitable mask.
Hospitals gleamed with promise.
Children lined up obediently.
Locals whispered uneasily.
Behind the smiles and funding, tests were conducted.
"Innocent blood," some would later say,
"was part of the experiment."
A human sat still as the neural device activated.
Graphs spiked. Thoughts translated.
Emotion quantified.
Minds became data.
Freedom became a carefully maintained illusion.
Elito observed it all from the shadows.
Old maps lay scattered. Ink stained his fingers. Reports stacked high.
He smiled.
"Every project. Every lobby. Every scheme…"
"…all under my gaze."
No weapons.
No explosions.
Only intelligence—
and presence.
An encrypted message traveled instantly.
"You believe you control," it read.
"But the one who watches every step,
plants doubt,
and decides who fears and who laughs—
is the true ruler."
The man in the suit froze.
For the first time in his life, he understood.
He turned from the screens and knelt before a massive display.
The one who once moved the world unseen
realized the truth:
The mind holds the crown.
Europe screamed.
Protests intensified. Leaders hesitated. Lobbies panicked. Markets trembled.
The world cried out—
and temptation smiled.
Blood followed.
Militias turned on themselves.
Children vanished into laboratories.
Cities darkened with terror.
Every wrong step.
Every rushed decision.
A bloody mark etched into history.
Elito appeared.
Massive screens activated across continents. He stood motionless.
He did not speak.
Fear spread anyway.
Every conspiracy.
Every project.
Every scheme.
Now beneath his shadow.
Something changed.
A man raised a peace sign before armed police.
Children smiled for the first time in weeks.
Hope returned—
twisted, fragile, dangerous.
The one who saves the world is not always innocent.
But he possesses vision.
Blackness.
Then words.
Projects. Lobbies. Schemes.
And before them all stood the one who feared nothing and bowed to none.
Elito — the new savior.