"Is there any way to mechanically simulate the same signal and control those nanomechanical insects?"
At Arasaka's Japanese headquarters, Saburo Arasaka lay within the life-support chamber, his aged body suspended in nutrient-rich fluid. Outside the transparent enclosure stood his daughter, Hanako Arasaka, listening intently.
Unlike other corporations obsessed with creating nanomechanical insects, Saburo's first instinct was different. He did not care about manufacturing them.
He wanted to know how to control them.
From decades of experience, Saburo knew that a machine capable of operating at such a microscopic scale could not possess a complex control module. At best, it could only execute a handful of pre-set behaviors.
There was a reason Trauma Team's nanomedical robots were limited to medical treatment. Nanobots were far too small—exceedingly difficult to control and disastrously fragile.
A single sneeze from a human could wipe out countless nanobots. They simply could not survive in the open world.
And yet the Mechanicum was different.
Those nanomechanical insects could replicate endlessly, possessed shells harder than steel, and were even capable of restructuring the human body through prosthetics. The technology behind them was not merely advanced—it was absurd.
It was technology centuries beyond the modern age.
Even before the collapse of the First Net, humanity had never possessed anything remotely close to this level of mastery.
Leaving aside the technological complexity, even the most basic requirement—material science—was far beyond Arasaka's capabilities.
Atomic-scale structures with the hardness of iron.
Such materials didn't just violate conventional physics—they humiliated it.
And since these insects could replicate infinitely, once their control authority was broken, their numbers would be inexhaustible. There was no need to manufacture them at all.
Creation was meaningless.
Control was everything.
"Father…" Hanako lowered her head slightly. "I'm sorry. I've tried every method available. But these nanomechanical insects only respond to signals from their own kind."
She continued softly, "The believers of the God of All Machines store large quantities of these insects inside their bodies, using their brains as signal relays."
"Only by controlling the nanomechanical insects active in the environment can they reconstruct polluted soil and water."
"And more importantly…" Her voice faltered. "These insects only accept commands from intelligent life."
Hanako bowed in apology.
The nanomechanical insects were completely sealed off from the outside world. They rejected all external signals and contact.
Anything that attempted to touch them—matter, energy, or force—was devoured.
Lasers were eaten.
Magnetic fields were consumed.
Only the divine seal of the God of All Machines and cultic ritual arrays could restrain them temporarily.
No container in existence could hold them. Even the densest alloys would be gnawed through eventually.
To confine them, one could not use carbon-based or silicon-based materials.
Only pure living organisms could serve as vessels.
At present, the only viable containers were the living believers of the God of All Machines—those who had surrendered both body and mind, earning its "approval."
But allowing the insects inside was equivalent to surrendering everything.
Their bodies would be occupied.
Their brains would become nests.
So… is belief in the Mechanicum real?
A flicker of doubt surfaced in Hanako's mind.
It was the inevitable backlash of having her understanding of the world violently overturned.
If someone could manipulate atoms with their own body—if they could command nanomechanical insects as extensions of their will—then calling such a being a god was not exaggeration.
After hearing her report, Saburo froze.
Then suddenly, his eyes widened.
He sat upright.
The life-support chamber hissed as it disengaged, and Saburo stepped out, his body trembling—not from weakness, but excitement.
"Hanako," he said hoarsely, "try it with a simulated AI… and a fragment of SPI."
"A copied and imprinted human consciousness."
"I want to know whether the Relic can truly make me immortal."
At over 150 years old, Saburo's body had long since reached its limit. Each day, his waking hours grew shorter.
Now, external power meant nothing to him.
Only the Relic.
Only eternity.
Only the endless continuation of the Arasaka Empire mattered.
Yet beneath all of that ambition lay a question that had tormented him for years—the core philosophical dilemma of cyberpunk:
If human memory can be altered, overwritten, or copied by technology…
Is the result still human?
If a machine possesses a human mind…
Is it still a machine?
And the question that haunted Saburo Arasaka most of all:
When he is resurrected through the Relic, will he be Saburo Arasaka himself—
—or merely an AI wearing his memories?
Now, at last, an opportunity had appeared.
A way to prove the truth.
"But, Father…" Hanako hesitated.
She was afraid.
Afraid that the dream Saburo had pursued his entire life was false.
Afraid that if that dream shattered, her father might not survive the year.
"I know," Saburo said quietly. "I know, Hanako."
"But I must understand this."
"I will not hand my family to a machine."
"I will not allow an artificial intelligence to inherit everything I have built."
His voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes.
For the first time, Saburo Arasaka looked fragile.
Yet he pressed on.
"Enough," he said. "Begin."
Hanako's eyes reddened.
She quickly retrieved two chips.
One was a Relic chip.
The other contained the most powerful artificial intelligence Arasaka had ever created.
It could understand emotion, refine itself endlessly, and surpass most humans in intellect.
But no matter how human-like it appeared, it remained a program.
Rigid.
Obedient.
Incapable of true freedom.
"Let's begin."
Saburo closed his eyes, unwilling to witness the result.
Hanako silently embedded both chips into separate mechanical projection units.
The projections activated instantly.
The artificial intelligence manifested as a playful young girl.
The soul AI appeared as an ordinary-looking man wearing a Militech-style jacket, bearing the rank of colonel.
The moment he appeared, the soul AI exploded in rage.
"Arasaka—damn you! Saburo Arasaka, I'll kill you one day!"
He had no idea how long he had been imprisoned within that chip, dragged out periodically for experiments and torture.
"I'm very sorry," Hanako said calmly, bowing. "This is for my father—and for Arasaka. Thank you for your sacrifice."
Without hesitation, she placed both AIs into the ritual initiation array, connecting them to the nanomechanical insects.
Both were guided to pray to the Ohm Messiah.
The results were immediate—and utterly different.
No matter how eloquently the artificial intelligence praised the God of All Machines, the nanomechanical insects did not react.
Not even slightly.
But the moment the soul AI began praying—
The insects surged forward.
They surrounded him.
They pierced him.
They devoured the surrounding machinery and metal, multiplying at terrifying speed.
The answer was unmistakable.
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