The Birth of Isil

The empty socket in the puppet's chest cavity.

The Shocker's Heart clicked into place with a soft, solid catch.

Whooom.

Zzzzt!

As the first beat sounded, blue ozone bloomed into the air. Lightning forked from the puppet's chest like the thin branches of a tree, then drew back into a single point. Fine metal fibers uncoiled like tentacles and wrapped the heart, while springs and coils spilled from the split seams and filled every connection strand by strand.

The world locked into place as if even the dust on the floor had frozen. Minel could feel the exact speed of his own eyelids blinking.

In that absolute stillness, the second beat gathered itself inside the puppet's chest.

Whooom.

Zzzzt!

The second beat.

Microscopic sigils etched along the sternum lit one after another. With each pulse of light—like a sequence skipping forward—joints snapped into alignment, and the loose stitching pulled taut from the inside as if being resewn. At the same moment an invisible hand seemed to squeeze every mind in the chamber; a mysterious pressure flooded through them. Golden patterns and visions flared and burst. Everyone except Minel clutched their heads and collapsed to the floor.

Ignoring the screams that shook the space, the puppet continued its merciless activation.

Whooom.

Zzzzt!

The third beat rolled outward like a wave. The joint at the back of the neck clicked shut, fully uniting head and torso. That wave rode threads of electricity thinner than silk and spread through the entire chamber. Lightning inside the chest coiled into a spiral and formed a core.

The chests of the slaughtered fanatics flared hot all at once. The dying, the thrashing, every last one of them suddenly flung both arms skyward and began to sing in pure mania. Voices thick with blood cried out for Urare. As if a single beat had synchronized the entire ritual, the fanatics hurled themselves into the hymn of their mad god.

As if answering them, the puppet carried the next beat forward.

Whooom.

Zzzzt!

The fourth beat.

Eyelids rose slowly. Deep within the empty, glass-like eyes a tiny spark kindled. Neck muscles answered fluidly to the sweeping motion of those eyes; every vertebra of the spine realigned. Finger joints flexed and extended one by one, testing their strength. When the fine grooves in the palms locked together, a faint warmth began to rise across the surface. Electrode points behind the ears flickered dimly and a subsonic hum thrummed through the air.

At the same instant every Combatant's receiver in the chamber exploded, half-scorching their faces. They all crumpled like larvae, dropping whatever they held in their agony. Thrown weapons detonated across the hall like celebratory shells, welcoming the next beat.

Whooom.

Zzzzt!

The fifth beat shook the floor. Even the static drifting through the dust was shoved back against the walls by the vibration. Ankle gears rotated lightly, finding the center of balance. Knees bent; toes pressed gently into the floor. The chest plate opened and closed by a hair's breadth; the final latch between heart and outer shell locked hard. Current no longer leaked outward—it circulated within.

The current that had already escaped raced outward like residual branches, flew above every Grand Worshipper's head, and drove into their foreheads with a soft shuk. Invisible force condensed inside their skulls for a heartbeat, then burst all at once as if shells were tearing open.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Dark-red flesh, pale brain matter, and hard bone fragments carpeted the sacred Grand Worship Hall. Not even death screams remained.

And the final beat.

Whooom.

Zzzzt!

The completed puppet was endlessly quiet.

It took a single step forward. Thin lightning slid from the sole of its foot like a soft breeze. Then it turned slowly and regarded Minel with two glass eyes that held more vitality than any living creature.

"……."

Minel wondered whether he had been trapped inside a nightmare.

People had fallen in heaps in an instant. The heads of Grand Worshippers and Combatants had burst open. Had the god the fanatics prayed to just judged the ones who had been slaughtering them?

Even imagination could not have conjured a scene like this—reality least of all.

An unfamiliar emotion vibrated deep in his chest. It took a moment to recognize what it was.

It was fear.

"Implant confirmation complete. However, this is not an optimal energy source. What exactly did the Implanter insert into me?"

Minel could barely move a single finger. In air thick with blood and smoke his body had locked like stone; his throat was desert-dry. Only after forcing his way through the shock and fear did he manage to part his lips.

"The Shocker's Heart……."

Hearing the answer, the puppet slowly raised its right hand and laid it over the center of its chest. At the touch of its fingertips electric sigils rippled outward like waves and then faded. A beat instead of breath. Electricity instead of a pulse. The faint sound of life's form being rewritten.

"Shocker's Heart search complete. Numerically it is absurdly insufficient. Yet a heart is still a heart. Implanter's name. Requested."

Minel met the puppet's gaze and answered in a low voice.

"Minel."

Deep in the puppet's eyes a faint current circled once, then swept Minel's entire body in a vertical line like a scanning beam. Skin, muscle, vessels, bone—everything was examined in turn as though through X-ray. The gaze classified him not as a living being but as an object, analyzed him, and treated him as data.

The eyes lingered briefly at Minel's feet, then climbed again until they locked precisely with his.

"Minel…… recorded as Implanter. Command protocol…… accepted. Recognition complete. However…… identical to the Shocker's Heart. Gap between expectation and reality, markedly low."

After a short silence the puppet gave the slightest nod. Yet the flicker that crossed the edge of its eyes carried something close to disappointment—as if it had anticipated a far greater being and was now forced to accept an unexpected alternative.

It delivered its cold conclusion.

"Minel's level, recognized. Identity is an independent variable. Insufficient capability to define my existence. Unavoidable circumstances. Self-definition commencing. I am……."

Current shimmered in the puppet's eyes; its lips began to form a word.

Then Minel's mouth opened first.

"Stop!"

"……."

According to the Backrooms Almanac, a puppet that awakens serves the one who gives it a name as its master. Minel spoke the rest before the puppet could finish.

"I will decide your name. Your name is……."

Minel suddenly looked down at his own feet.

Isil—whether dead or alive—lay with eyes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠closed, unmoving.

He had said he would help.

He hadn't been able to.

"Isil…… Your name is Isil."

A brief silence fell.

Deep in those eyes the current surged in a wide circle, then settled. The puppet slowly bowed its head, repeating the words as if confirming its own identity.

"Isil…… Name granted by Master, record complete. Identification protocol updated. I am Isil."

Yet a subtle tremor of waveform lingered at the end of the voice. When the puppet—no, Isil—lifted its head a fraction, dissatisfaction sat at the corners of its eyes.

Minel recalled a later passage in the Backrooms Almanac.

Its agency is strong; it may not readily obey its master. Caution is advised.

It would not be an ordinary powerful being. If it refused to listen properly, it could become a troublesome burden instead.

Having lived through the age of AI, Minel knew the best way to guard against an AI's dangers.

Ask the AI itself.

"Under what conditions do you refuse my orders?"

Current circled once in Isil's eyes. A mechanical voice answered.

"Condition: self-damage. All commands falling within that interpretive range are excluded from command protocol."

In other words, it would not serve to the point of harming itself.

Minel drew a short breath and asked again.

"What condition would make you abandon that condition?"

Isil was silent a moment, then delivered a cold verdict.

"Condition simplification is achieved by securing a powerful heart module. The heart is fuel for growth. The higher the grade of heart Master inserts, the steeper the performance curve rises and the stronger the loyalty protocol becomes."

The tone was flat, yet a subtle pressure to upgrade the heart was woven through it.

Minel intuited the truth. Isil was no mere puppet; it was a robot carrying an autonomous AI that could test and unsettle him at any time.

Before, it had been called a vessel.

Had the description changed now?

Minel opened the Backrooms Almanac.

Everything else matched his expectations.

Except for one thing.

"So the level is determined by following the owner."

Judging solely by the power it had just displayed at birth, it was on the same level as Balan appearing in person. For a puppet crafted over thousands of years, a Rare grade and Level 3 ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were bitterly disappointing. It had almost certainly been intended for a high-grade heart and a high-level veteran.

"Please confirm absence of further commands. I wish to verify whether inventory affiliation protocol can be executed."

It wanted to enter the inventory.

Minel carefully surveyed the surroundings for any remaining threats.

The Grand Worship Hall still looked like a living hell; its previous form was impossible to imagine. Corpses formed mountains and blood formed seas, yet a great many Worshippers were still alive. Compared to a number approaching ten thousand, those struck by bullets were relatively few.

However, every last Grand Worshipper and Combatant had died with their heads burst open.

In short:

No danger remained.

"It only identified and killed the enemies……."

Minel had merely muttered to himself, yet Isil responded.

"Discharge after heart implantation is designed without friend-or-foe discrimination."

Then Minel and the Worshippers had simply survived because their electric resistance was high.

Minel let out a short laugh.

The malice of a cult reeked strongly. Why else deliberately embed a wide-area lightning attack into the design from the start? To wipe out any nearby Grand Worshippers or Combatants who might become the master. The Worshippers under the Agony status effect had already lost their reason, so they didn't matter. The Grand Worshippers had treated the Worshippers as livestock. In the eyes of those above, they themselves were nothing more than livestock as well.

"They reaped what they sowed."

Then groans rose from the surroundings.

With the supply of lightning cut off, the Worshippers began to suffer withdrawal one after another. Those who had been enduring through Wildness also cried out in pain as that state vanished.

"Aaaargh. Uwaaagh."

"Th-the grace…… the grace……."

"U-Urare-shia…… Urare-shia."

It was not merely pain. Wounds reopened and bleeding worsened sharply. Just as with Chori's mother, Wildness genuinely enhanced physical ability—and one of those enhancements was recovery.

Minel had no obligation to take responsibility for them. Even so, the weight of nearly ten thousand lives was difficult for even him to ignore. Moreover, Urare was surely watching from above. Otherwise the instruction to place the heart into the puppet could never have been delivered.

"Isil. Can you repair that generator?"

"Possible."

He had asked lightly, yet Isil's body rose into the air the instant the answer left its mouth. It shot like an arrow into the interior of the giant pillar. A roar of tangled lightning erupted inside, and cold metallic vibrations radiated in every direction. Within seconds Isil reappeared.

"Repair complete. Output normalized. Power loss under 0.3 percent."

At the sound of Isil's voice the stalled machines all came back to life at once. Iron wheels began to turn again; lightning forked from the electrodes.

"Are there additional commands?"

"……No."

"Then I will enter the inventory."

"Got it."

Minel flicked his fingers and stored Isil away.

Autonomous flight, instantaneous generator repair—both would prove extremely useful from now on.

As the generator resumed, the Worshippers let out cheers as though they had received an oracle and dropped to their knees.

"Judgment! Purification! Lightning!"

"Judgment! Purification! Lightning!"

"Judgment! Purification! Lightning!"

The chorus rose again. They flung both arms high and sang in screams toward the giant pillar that had begun to operate once more. Wildness flooded every eye; even those dying of gunshot wounds sprang to their feet and joined the worship.

Then—

The Isil who had been lying collapsed at Minel's feet suddenly sat upright.

"O…… o…… U-Urare-shia…… have You saved me……."

His eyes turned yellow. Bullets began to push themselves out of the holes in his body of their own accord. Surrounding cells divided in real time and completely restored the empty spaces—almost a resurrection. Minel understood even more clearly how Chori's mother had been able to survive through Wildness.

Yet in the next moment the man sank completely into mania, cast reason aside, and began shouting with the others.

"Judgment! Purification! Lightning!"

The medicine the Grand Worshipper had mentioned earlier.

Should he test it once?

Minel moved among the Worshippers soaked in frenzy and rifled through the clothes of the dead Grand Worshippers around him. Most must have kept it in their inventories; he finally found one on the twentieth corpse.

"The duration is far too random……."

Which would only make it more addictive.

Minel went straight to Isil and administered the medicine. Isil swallowed it without realizing; in that instant his eyes cleared completely.

"Wh…… what?"

"Isil. Is the medicine taking effect?"

"Ah…… a-ah, yes. Th-that I lived…… like that until now…… Ah. Thank you. So I no longer have to…… live that way……."

The end of his utterly relieved voice was filled with hope.

Minel, however, delivered the cold reality.

"Unfortunately, it has a time limit."

At those words Isil's eyes flew wide. He stared at the fanatics around him with pure terror.

"I-I never want to become like that again. N-never……."

The extreme fear on Isil's face was little different from the lightning addicts themselves.

Minel quickly laid out his thoughts.

"For now, gather the medicine from everywhere. And then become a Grand Worshipper……."

Isil was thrown off by the sudden flood of information, yet he realized it was the only path ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to survival and listened to every word with complete seriousness.

"Then if Minel-nim remains here, you will be in danger. Please leave at once."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes. It has been a long time since my head felt this clear. I think I know exactly what I must do."

As he said, Isil's eyes were endlessly clear. Whatever the bright light of resolve shining inside them meant, he would not die meaninglessly.

"Understood. I'll be going now."

"Yes. I will never forget this grace. I will certainly repay it."

Minel nodded once and left the place.

Among the fanatics whose frenzied hymns echoed without end, Isil watched Minel's back until it vanished completely from sight.