From Idler to Tech Tycoon: Earth
Chapter 86: The Deep State

Chapter 86: Chapter 86: The Deep State

[ Unknown Location - At Least 500 Feet Underground ]

The chamber was a vault deep underground—its architecture more ancient than any recorded civilization. Unknown black stone material arched high overhead, meeting in a circular oculus where no natural sky shone, only a thin lattice of floating glyphs orbiting a silent void.

Along the perimeter, crystalline conduits hummed with a slow, foreboding rhythm, casting ghostly reflections across the obsidian floor. At the center: a monolithic table formed from a single slab of onyx, polished to a mirror sheen, upon which flickered holographic sigils in dialects long erased from human knowledge.

Around this black altar sat twelve figures in high-backed chairs made of carbon-forged alloy, each embossed with an insignia denoting power: a crest of banking dynasties, military orders, corporate hegemonies, bloodlines traced to Babylonian priest-kings and the Vatican.

They were the unseen masters of Earth. two of the 3 families ruled over the United States of America.

Robert Wallenbern, gaunt and pale, sat at the eastern vertex of the table. His fingers were interlocked so tightly the blood fled them. The Wallenberns—who held a majority of tech companies and private oil companies—had long walked the razors of power and fear. But tonight, Robert’s eyes betrayed desperation: the desperate hunger to prove relevance in a shifting cosmic hierarchy.

Anton Rothschild, flushed and visibly sweating despite the cryo-regulated environment, thumbed through a glowing datapad in his lap. He wore the look of a man accustomed to command, now reduced to supplicant. The Rothschilds, a dynasty who owned the vast majority lobbying firms, sat diminished before something greater.

Each figure bore a codename known only within these sanctums. They were the council of the Earth Concordia, but whispered of by many names: Illuminati, Deep State, Cabal. To the outer world, they were figures for conspiracy theorists; here, they were merely servants.

A sonorous chime struck from nowhere—a deep tone that vibrated in the marrow.

Simultaneously, the chamber darkened. The glyphs ceased spinning. Breath caught in lungs.

From the precise center of the table, a column of light descended—not warm or heavenly, but sterile, like divinity filtered through a silicon lens. The floor split silently, unveiling a circular dais. Then, from the light, she emerged.

A towering reptilian sovereign, she stood a full head taller than any man. Her skin shimmered like glass-wet obsidian, scales infused with bioluminescence that shifted with her pulse. A crown of ridged bone crested her skull, and from her back trailed cables of living metal—tendrils connecting her nervous system to unknown frequencies.

The air grew dense with awe and terror.

Without command, all twelve figures stood and dropped to their knees in perfect synchronization, bowing their heads to the floor. Their chants were reverent but edged with raw fear:

"Long live Apostle Krill Khians...""Bearer of Krill Mainu’s breath...""We kneel before the eternal conduit..."

The Apostle’s voice flowed through their minds, bypassing ears entirely. It was music and blade, velvet and iron.

"Welcome to the Fifty-Fourth Celestial Concordance."

Her words lingered in their skulls like scented smoke.

"You have been summoned across oceans and borders, across your petty dominions and conflicts, because your lives—your legacies—are but threads in our design. I am pleased to perceive that your faith, though tested by your greed and cowardice, has not faltered completely."

The kneeling council responded in a chorus of flattery, preprogrammed like actors before a queen:

"Your guidance defines our light.""In your presence, we shed illusion.""We exist to serve the will of Krill Mainu."

Khians gestured, a flick of her clawed hand.

The floor pulsed. Chairs slid back into position of their own accord, and the twelve sat, silently, posture rigid.

"Our purpose tonight," the Apostle continued, "is not to reminisce or indulge ceremony. The acceleration of the planetary Reconfiguration is behind schedule. Humanity must be brought to its knees—not in blood, but in unity. A unity that only submission can yield."

Her gaze circled the room. No one dared meet her eyes.

"The era of markets and borders must yield to singularity. The era of questions must give way to acceptance."

And then her eyes locked onto Robert Wallenbern.

"Robert."

The single word cut the chamber like a scalpel. He stood too fast, almost tripping on his chair, his voice barely controlled.

"L-Lord Apostle... yes, I am here."

"Speak of Orion."

He cleared his throat, bowing his head. "Project Orion has passed primary calibration. Phase Two can commence upon receiving your... consecration."

Khians’ eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but assessment.

"Define your parameters."

Robert recited from memory, hands shaking:

"Neural integration across Tier-2 surveillance satellites complete. Civilian compliance modules are coded within entertainment algorithms. Mindframe interference remains under one percent margin. Our only delay lies in the—"

He paused.

"—in the Korean Peninsula. We have not yet secured control of the launch protocols."

Khians did not blink.

"North Korea’s deterrents are relics. Their codes no longer factor in the equation."

Robert swallowed.

"Your bloodline has long stood as stewards of financial entropy. Tonight, you remind me why you remain useful."

A flicker of relief passed over his face.

"And for your ancestors’ sake," she added, "do not let that usefulness expire."

He dropped back to his seat, unable to hide the tears leaking from his eyes. "My life, and my house, are yours, Apostle."

She gave no acknowledgment.

The obsidian chamber pulsed faintly, as if the stone itself responded to the rising tension. Apostle Khians stood silent, her slitted eyes never blinking, her gaze now anchored squarely on Anton Rothschild.

"Now, Anton," she said—her voice like silk pulled taut over razors. "What is the current state of Terralia’s economy?"

Rothschild stood slowly, careful not to scrape his chair too loudly. He dabbed his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief—white silk already darkened with perspiration.

"Regrettably, Lord Apostle," he began, his voice teetering on the edge of a quiver, "the global economy remains... stubbornly resilient. The recession we engineered through the oil disruptions, the crypto collapses, the manufactured cyber-assaults—all were absorbed."

A rustle of discontent spread through the council. Chairs creaked. Brows furrowed. One delegate scratched furiously at a datapad.

Rothschild continued, his voice now barely above a whisper.

"The source, we’ve determined, is a new emergent entity in Southeast Asia. A tech upstart... Bytebull."

A murmur shot around the obsidian table. Even Wallenbern’s head snapped toward Rothschild in disbelief.

Khians lifted a single claw and brought it down with a crack on the table’s edge.

The sound cut through the chamber like a whip.

Silence fell.

"The reason, Anton?" Khians asked, her voice devoid of volume but saturated with consequence.

Rothschild bowed his head. "Artificial Intelligence, Lord Apostle. Bytebull has created a self-evolving computational architecture. Not merely reactive... but predictive. Its penetration into civil industries, logistics, media, and even state-level defense analysis has been... efficient. Too efficient."

He paused, trembling.

"Their success has inadvertently countered the entropy we were cultivating. Economic stressors rebound. Markets adapt. Civil unrest... declines."

Khians’ gaze narrowed to a predatory slit, then slowly rotated back toward Robert Wallenbern.

Her words were knives wrapped in velvet.

"Robert... Was the development of superior AI models not within the purview of Project Orion?"

Wallenbern stood abruptly, the legs of his chair screeching.

"Y-yes, Lord Apostle!" he stammered, bowing low. "The initial AI models—our proprietary neural constructs—proved insufficient. Too rigid for global integration. However—"

He paused, licking dry lips.

"—we have since acquired the Bytebull framework. Via an industrial espionage, we infiltrated their development servers. The core has been repurposed and folded into Orion’s architecture."

A breathless silence hung in the chamber.

Khians tilted her head, and when she spoke, it was a dagger sheathed in disappointment.

"Then perhaps, Robert... the creators of Bytebull should sit in your chair, should they not?"

The chamber’s temperature seemed to plummet. Wallenbern paled visibly.

"Have I misjudged your lineage?"

"N-no, divine Apostle!" he cried. "They were a threat—I neutralized them, integrated their work into our system. Their knowledge now serves you. I swear it."

She studied him for a long, punishing moment, then exhaled softly—a sound like stone grinding under pressure.

"You are lucky I value results above ego. You live... because God Mainu does not yet demand your replacement."

Wallenbern collapsed into his chair, ashen, trembling.

Khians turned once more to Rothschild.

"And what is the projected arc of this Bytebull entity?"

Rothschild opened his datapad, hands shaking as he projected a holo-graph above the table. Charts, vectors, and pulsating strings of code illuminated the faces around the circle.

"Based on current exponential growth patterns, Bytebull will—within five Earth cycles—eclipse all major tech monopolies. If left unchecked, they may form a decentralized economic bloc... beyond our influence."

Unease rippled through the delegates.

One leaned forward, whispering, "A sovereign digital power...?"

Khians smiled.

It was not a smile of amusement.

"Irrelevant."

Her voice radiated certainty, like a judge passing sentence.

"Human ambition burns bright, then gutters like a dying star. But their desire for immortality? That... never fades."

She paced slowly around the dais, her steps whisper-silent.

"Bytebull’s influence is transient. But its creator—if shaped correctly—may become useful. Or disposable. We shall see which path he walks."

The delegates watched her in reverent silence, their imaginations already devouring possibilities.

"Your directive is thus," Khians intoned, pausing mid-stride. "Observe. Do not interfere directly. Map every digital migration, trace all capital flows, and record each evolutionary leap of their AI."

She let her gaze rest briefly on Rothschild, then Wallenbern.

"We will... encourage their path. Subtly. Should they resist..."

She gestured toward the ceiling.

Above, the oculus shifted. For a moment, the projection displayed Earth—its continents glowing with web-like lights. Then a red dot pulsed ominously over the Philippines.

"...we will silence the anomaly."

Silence reigned.

The chamber’s ambient light dimmed subtly, the obsidian walls flickering with projected starmaps—some familiar, others... entirely unknown to Earth-based astronomy.

Apostle Khians’ voice resonated again, displacing thought and drawing every gaze to her.

"Let us proceed," she declared, her voice ringing with command and expectation. "The status of our celestial defense initiative?"

Silence fell like a curtain, then parted as a figure stood.

Director Aeneas Vortan, a grim figure swathed in a charcoal suit so severe it seemed to absorb light, stepped forward. His features were sharp, carved by discipline and vacuum-hardened years. No one in the chamber mistook his expression for emotion—it was pure function.

"Lord Apostle," he said, his voice deep and measured. "Project Solar Warden is entering Phase Gamma."

The name alone caused a stir among the seated delegates. Vortan pressed his hand to a small embedded sigil on his wrist, and a luminous holographic model flared to life above the obsidian table: a massive capital-class carrier, armed with weapon arrays that shimmered with esoteric energy signatures.

"Our third-iteration warp drive prototype—Xythan Pulse Engine Model VII—has completed static vacuum trials. We are now ready to initiate live tests... beyond the lunar boundary."

His words were clinical. But the implication struck like thunder.

"This test," he continued, "will involve a short-range microfold to Lagrange Point L5, followed by a staggered return on a sub-relativistic curve. We have simulated the stress loads, atmospheric re-entry contingencies, and drift variables. The probability of catastrophic failure has dropped to under 3.7%."

The council members exchanged glances.

Then Vortan’s tone sharpened.

"However, the next phase—battle-capable deployment—requires integration of the AI modules acquired through House Wallenbern’s infiltration of Bytebull. Without autonomous system management, we cannot maintain command efficiency across a full fleet operating across multiple time dilations."

All eyes turned toward Robert.

Wallenbern bowed, spine stiff.

"It shall be done, Lord Apostle," he murmured. "The framework will be decoded and replicated within the week. I... will ensure no ghost architecture remains from the original authors."

Khians gave a shallow nod.

"You will ensure it... because your continued existence depends on it."

Her voice was not cruel. It was simply true.