The structure rose out of the darkness like something out of scale.

  A gigantic temple, brutalist in architecture, dominated the night landscape. Its rigid, angular forms mimicked an electrical circuit magnified to monumental proportions. Lines of light ran across the entire structure, pulsing in precise rhythms, as if energy were constantly flowing through its entrails.

  In enormous letters, engraved into the main fa?ade and illuminated from below, a single name could be read:

  TECHNOCRATIA.

  Morgan parked the car at a distance and stepped out slowly. The sound of the door closing felt insignificant against the heavy silence surrounding the place.

  He stood still for a few moments, simply watching.

  The bands of light continued to race along the structure, indifferent to human presence, obeying some invisible internal pattern.

  With every step, the massive beast seemed to grow even larger. A sharp chill ran down Morgan’s spine as he realized he was heading straight toward the creature’s belly.

  He had dealt with religious leaders before and knew trouble was always a possibility. Despite all of humanity’s advances, faith—religious or ideological—refused to die within people. And nothing motivated someone to fight more than faith.

  Morgan lifted his gaze, following the luminous lines until they vanished into the highest shadows of the structure.

  That was when he found himself thinking about Elysium. About how nature had felt far more pleasant than the cold titan looming before him.

  After a moment, he took a deep breath and began walking toward the main door.

  Each step echoed sharply against the ground, breaking the controlled silence of the place.

  Morgan stopped before the entrance.

  The temple remained motionless, watching him. He extended his arm to open the massive door—but it opened before he could touch it.

  Morgan felt the cold air pouring out as he crossed the threshold.

  The interior of the temple unfolded before him like a space designed to crush any notion of human scale. The hall was vast and tall, arranged in a semicircular layout. At its center stood a simple, almost austere altar, supporting a luxurious connection cockpit—clearly distinct from everything around it.

  Looking up, Morgan felt small. Subjugated by the enormous hall, which echoed with the low sound produced by the cockpits in use throughout the auditorium—it was as if the machines were singing, all in the same tone, like a Gregorian chant—he, so painfully human, felt like a mistake.

  Above the altar, inscribed in enormous, perfectly aligned letters, were the words:

  TECHNOCRATIA. MACHINA EXACTA EST.

  Just below, the same phrase was repeated in binary code.

  Surrounding the altar, hundreds of simpler cockpits formed something like an auditorium. Some were occupied. People sat motionless, their eyes lit like small artificial lights, their faces twisted into expressions of silent ecstasy.

  The lights flowing through the cables seemed to deliver absolute well-being. Not a single muscle moved. A less attentive glance might not even realize they were human beings.

  A man approached.

  It was difficult to call him human. His body had been almost entirely replaced by prosthetics and metallic structures. Only his head remained intact, contrasting disturbingly with the rest.

  — Detective Morgan Jones, — he said. — I wonder what brings you here.

  Morgan didn’t recognize him.

  — Isaac Smith, — the man continued. — Sacerdos Templi Technocrati. — He inclined his head slightly. — Please, come with me.

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  Morgan hesitated for a moment, then followed him.

  Isaac extended his hand and touched the end of one of the light bands running through the temple. A door—previously completely concealed within the architecture—opened silently.

  Morgan followed Isaac and found himself inside a room within the temple.

  The room was minimalist. A massive table occupied the center, surrounded by only a few chairs. Nothing seemed superfluous.

  Everything was cold, carrying a faint antiseptic smell. Morgan realized that, despite being in a temple, everything around him reminded him of a morgue.

  Isaac sat down and gestured for Morgan to do the same.

  — Please, sit.

  Morgan sat.

  Isaac pulled a cable embedded in the table and connected it to his own arm. A beam of light ran through his body, tracing precise paths beneath the artificial skin.

  A chill ran down Morgan’s spine, reminding him of a needle piercing flesh. But it didn’t seem to cause Isaac any discomfort; in fact, he appeared to derive a certain pleasure from merging with the computer.

  — It’s a beautiful temple, — Morgan commented, observing the room.

  — Technique blesses us with precision, — Isaac replied.

  — Precision… — Morgan tilted his head. — And what else does it bless you with?

  — We need nothing else. — Isaac’s voice was calm, almost neutral. — Technique is the only path to human evolution. Homo sapiens triumphed while other, stronger beings went extinct. The blessing of technique. The technique of knapping stone, sharpening a branch…

  — Techniques of murder? — Morgan interrupted.

  Isaac did not seem offended.

  — Emotional readings of reality are incapable of transforming it.

  — What do you mean?

  — There is a limited amount of energy. — Isaac interlaced his metallic fingers on the table. — Death is nothing more than energy moving from one body to others.

  Morgan narrowed his eyes.

  — So you condone murder?

  — We live within a complex structure developed from a simple one, — Isaac replied without hesitation. — But complexity does not erase the foundations upon which it was built. Today, we no longer need to kill—but for that to be possible, many were killed.

  — Are you saying Technocratia killed people?

  — I’m referring to cities, — Isaac corrected. — Not Technocratia, Detective Jones.

  Morgan took a deep breath.

  — But you condemn murder?

  — We believe that, at a certain moment—more primitive than the present—it was a necessary resource. — Isaac made a small gesture with his hand. — But it no longer is. Technique generated prosperity and abundance. We can access resources without resorting to such extreme measures.

  — Is that what all this is about? — Morgan asked.

  — Everything is about adaptation. — Isaac inclined his head slightly. — And today, the only way to adapt to the future is through the machine.

  Morgan remained silent for a moment.

  — And what is your view of a community like Elysium? — he asked.

  — A bottleneck in the flow of human evolution, — Isaac replied. — An error that will soon be corrected.

  — By you?

  — By nature. — Isaac kept his serene tone. — Those who adapt survive. Those who don’t, disappear.

  Morgan didn’t respond.

  — It makes no sense to come to Technocratia asking about Elysium, — Isaac continued.

  — I think it does.

  Morgan activated an implant in his arm. A beam of light projected images into the air between them: photographs of the crime scene, the body arranged in ritualistic fashion.

  — The girl was found like this at Elysium, — Morgan said. — At first glance, it looks like she was killed in a ritual.

  Isaac watched the images without any visible reaction.

  — There’s no reason to show me this.

  Morgan remained silent.

  — Do you suspect us? — Isaac asked.

  The silence stretched on.

  — We have no reason to leave the temple, — Isaac continued. — Especially to perform a pathetic ritual like that.

  — Where were you last night? — Morgan asked.

  — We’ve been holding celebrations every day this month, — Isaac replied. — I was here in the temple, with hundreds of people. You can ask any of them. It was Techmora.

  — Techmora, — Morgan repeated. — What is that?

  — Fifty years ago, JCNα reached singularity, — Isaac explained. — Techmora is a celebration of that… and of the new path that opened for humanity on that day.

  Morgan frowned.

  — JCNα… — he said. — Wasn’t that the AI that talked about exterminating humanity?

  Isaac shook his head.

  — That’s nothing but noise and distortion. — he replied. — JCNα’s proposal was evolution. Enhancement of the human being through the machine.

  He leaned forward slightly.

  — The extinction of homo sapiens is intimately linked to the birth of a new species. One that will arise from the total union between man and machine.

  A deep discomfort settled in Morgan’s chest.

  There was no reason to doubt Isaac. But despite everything he had seen and lived through in the darkest corners of human life, the idea that everyone would be extinguished filled him with a profound sadness. Morgan forced a deep exhale to keep his composure—but the cold of the room felt capable of consuming him.