He was born with eyes too sharp, too knowing for a child. From the moment Elias Venn first opened his eyes, it seemed as though the universe had whispered its secrets into his ear before birth. He didn't cry when the doctor held him up. He only blinked and stared.
By age three, he was fluent in multiple languages. By six, he had memorized entire volumes of encyclopedias. At ten, he was giving lectures on molecular biology and theoretical physics to stunned university professors. And at twelve, Elias graduated from the University of Chicago with dual PhDs in Biology and Advanced Scientific Systems.
The world hailed him as a prodigy, a savior of the future. Cameras flashed, hands clapped, and nations whispered his name with awe. But Elias never smiled for any of it. Because he knew — somehow, deeply — that he was not born to be praised. He was born to change something much larger.
He believed, with unshakable certainty, that he was born to change the world.
His parents were quiet midwesterners — good people, churchgoers, proud but overwhelmed. They watched their son with both love and apprehension. He was kind, soft-spoken, and unnervingly aware. When he turned fifteen, he vanished from the public eye, withdrawing into studies that only he could understand.
Elias began to study not just science, but history, philosophy, anthropology — trying to answer a question that grew louder in his mind with each passing year: Why is the world broken?
As he matured, he saw the world through clearer lenses. News of genocides, systemic oppression, political hypocrisy, and financial slavery darkened his view. He read between the lines, connecting patterns others could not see. He started to realize something terrifying — that evil wasn't an accident of history. It was woven into the structure of civilization itself.
And still, he did not give up.
Elias turned twenty-two when he joined the CIA — not because he wanted to spy, but because he wanted access. Information was power, and Elias needed all of it. He played the role perfectly. Quiet. Forgettable. Methodical. Nobody suspected the meek analyst with wire-rimmed glasses to be anything but ordinary. In truth, Elias Venn was a predator hunting for the source of humanity's sickness.
Through a web of secret operations and buried files, Elias uncovered forbidden documents — the kind of truths entire governments were built to protect. He found records of covert influence in every sector of human life: politics driven by illusion, economics by greed, media by fear, and religion by control.
It was the religious documents that hit him hardest.
Centuries of manipulation. Holy wars. Ritual sacrifice justified by "divine" command. Entire cultures shackled in the name of salvation. As Elias studied further, he traveled across the globe — deep into mosques, temples, monasteries, and sacred libraries. He learned directly from spiritual elders, dissected ancient texts, and absorbed forgotten oral traditions.
And in all his studies, one thread shimmered through the noise: the teachings of Christ — not the institution of Christianity, but the raw, undistorted message of love, sacrifice, and redemption.
For the first time, Elias felt the possibility of true good.
But he didn't become a preacher. Elias was a scientist first. He had studied every aspect of the human body, brain, and consciousness. He knew the chemical pathways of empathy, the algorithms of hate, the biology of suffering. To him, the human body was an imperfect vessel — a code waiting to be rewritten.
At thirty, he founded Vortex Technologies.
Vortex began with a simple mission: to heal the world with innovation. Neural enhancers to expand consciousness. Organic processors that interfaced directly with the human brain. Devices that extended life by a century. Every piece of technology was meant to uplift humanity.
And humanity betrayed him.
Only ten percent used his inventions for good. The rest weaponized them. Governments used Vortex tech for surveillance. Militias used them to create super-soldiers. Billionaires bought enhancements to rule longer, live longer, and take more.
Elias watched it all with silent fury.
By the time he was forty, Vortex was the largest company on Earth. His face was still barely known. He remained the shadow behind the world's brightest light.
And now, his mission had changed.
He no longer sought to fix the world. He understood the truth: the world could not be fixed, because evil was not an error. It was a function.
So he would destroy it.
Vortex's true mission became extinction — to end all life, to erase the possibility of evil itself. And when the world was nothing but silence, Elias would begin again.
With a new species.
One built not on power, but on peace.
And only he, Elias Venn, would carry the memory of good and evil.