VITO 01 - Shadows of Steel

<'Narrator: Somber> The air above the dying Earth smelled of burnt ozone and the bitter ash of faded hopes. <!'> If you were born in this era, you knew two things with absolute certainty. <!'> First, the sky was never blue. <!'> It was a constant, angry mosaic of violet storm clouds and toxic veils of ash. <!'> And second: Time was a thief in a great hurry. <!'> The absolute lifespan of a human in this dystopian reality was seventeen, maybe eighteen years. <!'> This was not a biological error, but the cruel result of a society that was devouring itself. <!'> At sixteen, the mental pressure reached its absolute peak. <!'> Teenagers were forced to join one of the factions and threw themselves into a global, endless war with blind, indoctrinated zeal. <!'> No one escaped this pressure. <!'> Even those who had been shown otherwise—those who in quiet moments recognized the senselessness of the killing—found themselves doing things they deeply despised in their hearts. <!'> It was a devilish cycle of regret. <!'> An ongoing, cruel lesson for humanity. <!'> But tonight, this cycle was broken for a brief moment. <!'> A deafening rumble made the atmosphere tremble as twenty massive spaceships tore through the sky. <!'> They fell from the cosmos like steel gods. <!'> The tenth ship—the mothership—led the descent. <!'> It was a leviathan of dark metal, surrounded by a flickering shield that deflected the lightning continuously striking its hull. <!'> On the expansive observation deck at the stern of the tenth ship stood a single man. <!'> Yoruba. <!'> The twilight of the setting sun refracted in the lashing rainbows, while the cold, blue neon lights of the ship’s deck softly illuminated his face. <!'> His dark, shoulder-length mane blew calmly, almost weightlessly, in rhythm with the descent. <!'> The tips of his hair touched his shoulders, completely unimpressed by the raging storm that tore around him. <!'> He radiated no aggressive threat, but rather a deep, almost melancholic grandeur—an aura that was magically attractive, yet simultaneously spoke a silent warning: Do not come too close. <!'> My power is boundless. <!'> Yoruba’s gaze rested on the battered Earth below him. <!'> He was not here to end wars—not yet. <!'> His mission was subtler. <!'> Hidden beneath the deafening noise of the thunder, he stretched out his spirit. <!'> He blessed the sparse flora and fauna that still existed on this planet. <!'> Every blade of grass, every stray dog, every bird high in the clouds received a tiny spark of his divine presence. <!'> It was a preparation. <!'> These animals and plants would later serve as small, silent hints to humanity. <!'> A whisper in the wind that said: God is real. <!'> Someone is pulling the strings. <!'> Ten seconds passed. <!'> The camera of fate seemed to linger just behind him when suddenly an unfathomable metamorphosis began. <!'> Yoruba dissolved into a glowing storm of particles. <!'> He was gone. <!'> The deck was empty. <!'> Ten endless seconds of emptiness. <!'> Only the patter of rain on the metal could be heard. <!'> Then, as if from nowhere, he materialized again. <!'> A broad, knowing smile played on his lips. <!'> He lifted his face, threw his head back, and his voice penetrated not only the storm but the very fabric of reality: <!'>

<'Yoruba: Intense> "FATHER!" <!'>

<'Narrator: Reverent> With lowered head, in a posture of honest, humble reverence, he began to become transparent. <!'> He merged with a cloud that had formed directly on the terrace. <!'> For five seconds he faded, until he was finally one with the stormy sky. <!'> At the same moment, an unnatural, holy silence fell over the ship. <!'> The infants deep inside the mothership, who until a moment ago had been screaming from fear and pressure, fell silent instantly. <!'> They drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep. <!'> The last birds circling high in the storm clouds glided along silently—mute witnesses to the Messiah. <!'> But the silence was merely the prologue to the chaos that nature demanded. <!'> To instill in the children from the very first second that nature was unpredictable and powerful, the ships did not brake softly. <!'> Deep at the bottom of a gigantic oceanic abyss, the wrecks of the massive ships slammed into the pitch-black water. <!'> The impact was apocalyptic. <!'> Gigantic masses of water were displaced, and a devastating tidal wave rolled through the depths. <!'> While the raging water wreaked havoc, the hasty evacuation began in the shadows. <!'> The few initiated helpers loaded the slumbering babies into tiny, pressure-resistant submarines. <!'> Silently and unnoticed, these capsules rose through the turbulent, dark tides to the surface. <!'> On board these submarines, the next cruel game of society awaited. <!'> The children needed parents—so-called "Genies," guardian spirits. <!'> But the system was merciless. <!'> To avoid driving the planet to ruin, there was a strict quota: For every 100% of children, there were only 70% Genies. <!'> The privilege of raising a child was immensely expensive. <!'> An adult who worked their entire life earned only a 10% entitlement. <!'> If a couple wanted a child, they had to sacrifice half of what they contributed to society or the military. <!'> A 35% chance every thirty years, when the ships landed. <!'> The mathematics of survival were cold and calculating. <!'> In the midst of this mathematical cold, a little boy slept. <!'> His name was Vito. <!'> Vito slept deep and soundly, hidden in his capsule, and that was precisely his undoing. <!'> He was brought to the surface last. <!'> When the distribution of Genies took place, the 70% quota was already exhausted. <!'> Vito fell through the cracks. <!'> He was left behind, a nameless orphan, destined for the cold streets of a dying world. <!'> It was Yoruba’s secret test. <!'> A test for the "Saints" on the ship. <!'> Would they greed for the power they felt within themselves, or would they show insight? <!'> What very few understood: Every family, every bloodline, always needed a First—a pioneer who changed the genes and brought new light into the darkness. <!'> Vito was this First. <!'> He had to walk through the mud to reach the stars. <!'> The few remaining helpers left the orphans, including Vito, on the harsh, unknown shore. <!'> The fine sand stuck to their small bodies, the wind howled around them. <!'> The helpers could not stay, but they hoped fervently—they prayed—that the feared military militia would find the children and take them into their secure habitats. <!'> They did not suspect that God himself was putting the powerful military to the test. <!'> Fate did not keep them waiting long. <!'> Heavy, armored military vehicles thundered across the beach. <!'> Their massive tires dug deep furrows into the sand. <!'> Soldiers in dark uniforms collected the sleeping orphans and brought them in a stormy rush behind the thick concrete walls of the military habitat. <!'> It was one of the most feared, strictest disciplinary institutions in the world—but paradoxically, also the safest place for a helpless child. <!'> Inside the facility, it smelled of disinfectant and cold steel. <!'> The glaring neon tubes hummed quietly. <!'> The children had been placed in rows in small, sterile incubators. <!'> Supreme Commander Certus, a tall man with angular features and eyes that had seen too much death, paced the rows in oppressive silence. <!'> His heavy boots echoed on the metal floor. <!'> He did not look at the infants with love, but calculated their value to the army. <!'> Resources. <!'> Cannon fodder for the eternal war. <!'> Suddenly, he stopped. <!'> His eyebrows furrowed in irritation. <!'> He looked at Vito’s incubator. <!'> All the other children were fast asleep, their small chests rising and falling in the monotonous rhythm of exhaustion. <!'> But Vito... Vito was not sleeping. <!'> The boy, not even two years old, lay completely still. <!'> He had shaped his eyelids into tiny slits, a primitive attempt to remain invisible while he observed his surroundings. <!'> What Vito could not yet grasp in his young, brilliant, but inexperienced mind was a fundamental rule of human interaction: An adult, especially a trained commander like Certus, noticed immediately when he was being secretly stared at and watched through narrowed lids. <!'> Vito realized his deception had been exposed. <!'> And in an act of pure, unheard-of rebellion—as if he had already decided to defy all the rules of this cruel world—he slowly opened his right eye completely. <!'> It was not a baby-like gaze. <!'> The eye contact was direct, piercing, and imbued with an intelligence that was absolutely terrifying for a two-year-old. <!'> It was the penetrating, calculating gaze of a five-year-old trapped in the body of a toddler. <!'> The two stared at each other. <!'> The war-torn commander and the orphan who was to change the genes of the world. <!'> The silence between them stretched out. <!'> Then, something unexpected happened. <!'> The stern features of Supreme Commander Certus relaxed. <!'> A faint, rough smile stole onto his lips. <!'> He threw his head back slightly, visibly amused by the pure audacity of this tiny creature, whom he had initially dismissed as just another ordinary cog in the system. <!'>

<'Certus: Amused> "This will be interesting." <!'>

<'Narrator: Neutral> He turned away, his boots carrying him with a firm step out to the heavy steel door. <!'> He did not yet know who or what this boy was, but he knew one thing: This orphan would turn the military—and perhaps the entire world—upside down. <!'>