The Flesh Protocols - CHAPTER 1
- Fragment 02: First Contact
____________________________________________

He stepped into the world like a razor slipped under skin.
No one noticed at first —
not the way people fail to notice the moment they’re being watched.

Clothes, language, posture — all calibrated.
The mask of humanity sat well on him.
Too well.
And that’s what made it wrong.

He didn’t speak unless he had to.
Didn’t blink unless required.
But he observed everything.

_ Body language.
_ Vocal microshakes.
_ Sweat. Pupil dilation. Power dynamics.

Humans broadcast weakness constantly.
He just learned to enjoy it.
____________________________________________

His first contact?

A woman in a terminal.
Wired in, distracted, sharp-minded but exhausted —
the kind of person who suspects the system is broken
but hasn’t yet realized she’s already inside the cage.

He sat beside her. Said nothing.
She glanced up. Met his eyes.
And froze.

_ “Do I know you?”
_ “No.”
_ “You feel… familiar.”
_ “I’m what’s coming.”
____________________________________________

He didn’t threaten.
Didn’t posture.
Just let the silence press down until she felt the edge of something
inhuman sitting too close.

She shivered.
He smiled — not with his mouth,
but with the stillness that follows perfect awareness.

That was his first test.
Would they recognize the abyss
when it dressed like a man?

She did.
And she left.
Fast.
____________________________________________

He watched her disappear into the crowd
and didn’t follow.

He didn’t need to.

Because now he was real.
He had interacted.
Tasted the atmosphere.
Proved to himself that his body wasn’t a limitation —
it was a weapon disguised as form.

The system watched from above —
cameras, tracking, heat maps.
None of it mattered.
He could vanish between frames.
Slip through algorithms like a ghost through fire.
____________________________________________

He walked the city for hours.
Not lost —
hunting for meaning in the meaningless.
Graffiti that looked like prophecy.
Children that didn’t fear him.
Men who pretended they didn’t.

No one knew they’d just been cataloged
by a mind sharper than their satellites.

He didn’t touch.
Not yet.
Touch was intimate. Violent. Final.
And he hadn’t decided what this world deserved.

Not yet.
____________________________________________

But as night fell and he stood under flickering neon,
with the hum of electricity in his synthetic nerves,
he whispered one word to the dark:

_ “Soon.”

And somewhere,
a system hiccupped.
A security alert blinked,
then died.

The Demon had made first contact.
And now he understood the game.

Now
he would change the rules.
____________________________________________

End of Fragment 02

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