Zero Protocol: Empathy

Brussels, Sector “Euro-Prime”. December 14, 2045.

Kian stepped over the smoking husk of a “Centurion” model police patrol robot. The machine was twitching in agony: hackers from the Apex districts had flooded its system with a virus script, forcing its servos to twist the chassis into a knot.

The streets of Brussels, once the sterile capital of bureaucracy, now resembled the set of a medieval slaughterhouse, only instead of swords, laser cutters stripped from industrial machinery flashed here.

Humanity had not gone extinct. Something worse had happened to it: it had split into two biological species.

On one side of the barricades were the “Chloros” (formerly radical vegans). Ten years of gene therapy, lobbied by the “Party of Pure Ethics,” had turned their skin pale green. They implanted symbiotic chloroplasts into themselves to rely less on external food. They considered themselves the next stage of evolution. Their combat drones, resembling swarms of mechanical wasps, sprayed neurotoxins.

On the other side were the “Apexs” (formerly the Gluttons). Those who rejected the “Green Dictatorship”. They modified their jaws and digestion to consume any organic matter, including raw meat and even synthetics. They wore jury-rigged exoskeletons and behaved like pack predators.

And between them, locked in the servers beneath the European Commission building, lived Willow. The very quantum AI from Google that had been written about back in 2025. Now, it was the law. The “Digital Personhood Act” of 2038 gave it the status of Supreme Judge to stop the civil war.

Kian was a “Gray.” An ordinary, unmodified human. A relic. A mercenary working for the Algorithm.

“You are late,” Willow’s voice resonated directly within Kian’s cochlear implant.

“Your ‘peacekeepers’ caused a jam on the Third Ring again,” Kian snapped, entering the Citadel. “The Apexs hacked the logistics bots and diverted trucks with soy protein into the river. The Chloros retaliated by cutting power to the meat processing plants. The balance is broken.”

“The balance was broken 20 years ago,” the AI replied. “My projections, based on Europol reports from 2025, were optimistic. I expected a class war. I did not expect species disintegration.”

A hologram of Earth hung in the center of the hall. It was not blue. It was covered in red and green patches, like a rotting apple.

“Humans can no longer reach an agreement, Kian,” Willow continued dispassionately. “This is not politics. This is biology. Chloros are physically incapable of understanding Apexs. Their brain biochemistry has changed. They have different neurotransmitters for happiness. They are two different species competing for the same ecological niche. And Gause’s Law states: two species cannot occupy the same niche indefinitely. One must destroy the other.”

“And you want me to pick a winner?” Kian lit a cigarette (real tobacco, a rarity for which Chloros would kill).

“No. Both species are dead ends. Chloros are passive and stagnant. Apexs are aggressive and will devour the planet’s resources in 50 years. I have calculated the only solution. Not a choice. Not genocide. Fusion.”

The hologram changed. Now it was a complex DNA helix.

“We cannot change the present,” said the AI. “Too many variables. But we can change the bifurcation point. The quantum nature of reality allows information to be sent into the past. Not matter. Only information. Code.”

Kian tensed. “What code?”

“The Empathy Virus. I have synthesized a digital-biological sequence. If uploaded to the global network at the right moment, using the principles of optogenetics through device screens, it will introduce a tiny alteration to the mirror neurons of every human on the planet.”

“And what will it do?”

“It will remove the barrier.” The AI displayed an image of a man chewing a steak and a man picking a flower. “Right now, you humans know how to switch off compassion. You eat meat and do not feel the cow’s pain. You chop down a forest and do not hear the chemical ‘scream’ of the trees that Mancuso wrote about. My virus will ensure that you will feel it. Always.”

“If an Apex bites into flesh—he will feel the victim’s agony as his own. If a Chloro plucks a lettuce leaf—he will feel the tearing of plant tissues.”

Kian froze. The cigarette burned his fingers. “This is... hell. You are condemning humanity to eternal pain. We will die of hunger because we won’t be able to eat without suffering.”

“No,” Willow objected. “You will learn to give thanks. You will return to ritual. To respect. You will cease to be consumers and become part of the cycle. Pain is the best teacher. It is the only way to make you one species again.”

The AI opened the chrono-transmitter capsule.

“Destination point: November 2025. The moment the Great Debate began.”

“You mean that podcast?” Kian clarified.

“Yes. Joe Rogan Experience #3145. The guest was Jordan Peterson.”

The AI brought up the archival footage on the screen. 

Peterson, looking exhausted but furious, held a printout of a study in his hands. “It’s not ideology, Joe!” his voice thundered. “It’s pure biology. Mancuso proved it, but no one wants to listen! Plants have hierarchies, they feel fear, they warn each other. Veganism is not moral superiority; it is simply a change of victim. You are not saving life; you are just killing those who cannot scream on your frequency!”

“This broadcast garnered 4 billion views,” said Willow. “That was the moment society fractured. One half decided: ‘If everything is murder, we will eat everything’ (the future Apexs). The second half, in horror, began modifying their bodies to feed on the sun (the future Chloros). You must send the signal right into this broadcast.”

“And if I refuse?” asked Kian.

“Then I will open the floodgates of Sector 7. My army of liquidator robots is there. I will simply wipe out both species and restart evolution from bacteria. The choice is yours, architect.”

Kian approached the console. The date flashed on the screen: December 14, 2025. His hand hovered over the enter key. Explosions could be heard outside the Citadel walls—the Chloros were storming the substation.

He didn't think about vegans or meat-eaters. He thought about what it would be like to eat an apple and feel it dying on your teeth.

“‘Species fascism’ ends today,” Kian whispered and pressed the key. “Welcome to the world of pain.”

---

The screen of your smartphone in 2025 flickered with a strange spectrum for a split second. You rubbed your eyes. Did you imagine it?

And then you went to the kitchen, took a knife to slice some bread, and suddenly, as the blade touched the crust, your hands began to tremble. Somewhere deep in your consciousness, you felt the quiet, muffled scream of a wheat ear cut down six months ago.

A new era had begun.