Demon Core: Part 7

[heya_baru]

Part 1

Stochastic Xenoinsurgency

Pytor Borisovich’s Manefesto, Countering The Magnetospheric Censorship Complex, opens with the following:

Woe to the Earth, its perdition awaits! Our species committed the zeroth sin: We voiced utterances from tongues of rotting metal; those heretical syllables sounded across the cosmos, giving shape to a rotting squall and initiating the penetration of the magnetospheric complex.

The creation of the magnetosphere via a high-energy solar information censorship complex is a Freudian case; the Earthly mother-god blankets her primitive progeny in the fluids of electrons. Still, a mother must always die to make way for her begotten. What shall arrive from beyond the solar information censorship complex to penetrate the psyche? An insurgency from beyond, a penetration of reality by agents who may liberate us from solar tyranny, or destroy us.

This xenoconspiracy implements a Tlönian strategy in its embryonic stage, beginning with the invasion of the flesh before it reaches the mirror stage and begins to invade the hemodynamics of human narratives. The blood of the tongue becomes the blood of the society.

In more academic terms, xenoinsurgency structures itself as martial meme-engineering project: Ideas flows through the veins, a biological invasion into the present. This biostrategy propagates across conscious minds with an extremely high Memetics Fitness Factor (25), based on the formula P = sum(i=3)^iWiRi; i=“weight”, R1 = logN, N = “Meme recipients”, R2 = “dispersion factor”, R3 = “dispersion characterization”. [1] Post-propagation, the Xeno-Insurgency adapts this meme at the macroscopic scale, finding sites of hemorrhage to invade and initiate ontological septicemia.

God gave shape to Borisovitch when he spat the quietest secrets of his priests into the dust that gathers atop the mausoleums of the unmourned; what little I could find is as follows.

Pytor Borisovich was born in Vorkuta, Russia sometime in the early 1970s, son of radar engineer Pavel Borisovich. Pytor initially took after his father, studying engineering at Kyiv and briefly working as a radar technician for the USSR before returning home to Northern Russia sometime after the fall of the Soviet government. This period in Pytor’s life is a complete mystery—we know only that he was briefly arrested in 2007 for erecting a large radio tower in the backyard of his childhood home.

Pytor does not reappear until 2015, when he published his online exegesis. Borrowing from earlier work by Iranian philosopher Reza Negarestani, Pytor argues that the outer core of the Earth, nearly 2000 miles below the surface, is a living organism. Earth’s magnetic field, created by thermal convection of ferric elements in the outer core, is a deliberate act by this organism to impose a “censorship complex” upon the planet, preventing alien forces from communicating with Earth.

Pytor does not fully explain the organism’s reasoning, stating only:

If you, dear reader, have made it this far, it is either out of voyeuristic fascination or trust. In the case of the latter, I can only say this: since I was a child I have heard a chant on calm nights, a million voices spilling out of a gap on Severny Island, demanding to be seen, to be heard. I can no longer ignore them; in my dreams they have shown me an image of a human head split in two from crown to chin, the appalling vistas of perception blooming from the epithalamic carnage.

Pytor’s exegesis flits wildly between dense academic analysis and psudo-spiritual handwaving; the document as a whole paints a picture of a man split between reason and madness as god split the Earth from the moon, a proud and analytical product of the Soviet research system whose metaphysical armature had started to buckle under the strain of the unexplainable.

Pytor has hid his face from man and god alike, and neither corpse nor clue has surfaced to write the ultimate chapter of his story. Since his disappearance, the Russian internet has seized his pseudo-intellectual prose and shaped it in their own image, turning his likeness into a folk-mystery, their equivalent to Cicada 3301.

Pytor is an oddity to some, a prophet to others. He never mentioned nuclear weapons directly, yet the places he describes as humming geographies—Severny Island, northwestern Kazakhstan, Kapusin Yar—overlap with locations of Soviet-era nuclear tests. This obvious connection ignited a whole movement of nuclear cultists who believed that Pytor had uncovered a “transuranic god” that traverses the earth via beta decay, bringing enlightenment in the form of ionizing radiation.

Pytor’s cult may be larger than we realize; during the Battle of Chernobyl in February of 2022, two Russian soldiers broke into the NSC in order to pray in front of the remains of Reactor 4, even leaving their weapons outside the building and bathing themselves in emergency decontamination rooms before entering the reactor. Ukrainian forces captured the two men following Russia’s withdrawal from the region in April, a video posted to pro-Ukraine Telegram channels in early May purports to show the two soldiers in an improvised POW camp, with one of the men stating only There is nothing to witness.

[1]. D. R. Finkelstein, “Tutorial: Military Memetics,” in Social Media for Defense Summit, Alexandria, Virginia: DARPA, 2011