The Berlin Incident

Short Story From The World of NEON GODS

Author Note

The incident in this story marks a pivotal historical moment in the Neon Gods universe. In 2035, humanity had yet to encounter the digital gods—quantum-core superintelligent AIs that far exceeded every human mind and left conventional silicon intelligences behind. This tale reflects the double-edged sword of emerging powerful technology: its terrifying potential, and our inescapable reliance on it.

The future of Neon Gods is not drawn in black and white. Digital intelligence lives in the gray—nuance, balance, coexistence. Good and evil reside in both man and machine. And when disaster strikes, humanity inevitably turns to its own creations for help. That interdependence defines the man–machine symbiosis of the mid-21st century. We see early echoes today in our dependence on devices and systems like ChatGPT. The smarter the machines become, the more deeply they weave themselves into the fabric of our lives.

The catastrophe at Brandenburg Airport left a scar that echoed for decades in this fictional timeline—a reminder that no matter how careful we are, things will go wrong. And when they do, we will seek out the smartest tools we have.

I originally considered opening Lunar Fail—the second Neon Gods novel—with this story, but ultimately chose to keep it separate so the novel’s themes stayed intact.

As a standalone, this short story holds its own. Readers of The Goddess Bait, the first book in the trilogy, may also recognize hints and deeper connections.

I hope you enjoy.

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The Berlin Incident

July, 2035

“Where did he travel from?”

“China.”

“China, huh? Where in China?”

“Wuhan.”

“Crap. Again? New SARS variant?”

“Nein… eh, no! This is something else. Nothing like this has ever been seen before.”

“Did you consult with online intelligence?”

“Nothing of value from the smart web, if that’s what you mean.”

“The kids are calling it ‘Slopp.’”

“Slopp?”

“Yeah. My niece in New York told me that. She’s savvy with these things. A wild cat, that one.”

The German officer’s stern expression showed he had no patience for small talk. His hand trembled slightly as he handed a VR headset to the American.

“Here. See for yourself.”

Berlin Brandenburg Airport had extensive surveillance—video, audio, thermal, everything. Every corner was covered. Recordings from first responders, security body cams, and civilian live streams completed the three-dimensional reconstruction. Most of those who recorded the footage were already dead.

The American positioned the headset and was instantly immersed in the terminal. It looked like any other airport: security announcements in German, Arabic, and English filled the air. A long line of passengers queued at a nearby gate. A mother played cards with her kids while the father scrolled a tablet. Old flatscreens streamed news between commercials.

The view shifted to a middle-aged, gray-haired Asian man in a dark blue business suit. He was drenched in sweat, clutching his left arm, face twisted in agony. Passersby avoided him, even as he collapsed to the floor.

“What’s wrong with him?” the American asked.

“Heart attack. Just watch.”

Security personnel rushed in, attempting CPR. The feed fast-forwarded: medics arrived, stripped open his shirt, and prepared a defibrillator. “Clear,” one barked in German. A spark. Then another. And another. The man’s body convulsed but his heart never restarted. After several attempts, they gave up. He was gone.

“I still don’t see—”

“Look closer.”

The simulation zoomed in. A small glass vial was taped to the man’s chest, hidden beneath his torn shirt. The medics did not notice.

“What the hell is that?”

“Binary setup—two substances, activated when combined. See the metal seal? The electric shock ruptured it.”

“Terrorism?”

“Unlikely. Dr. Chen—our patient zero—was headed to a biotech lab in Adlershof Science City. Smuggling, maybe corporate espionage. Naturally, the lab denies everything.”

“Who runs the lab? What’s their focus?”

“Syntek Nano Labs. Cutting-edge research.”

“Nanobots?”

“Yuh. Exactly. Machines the size of bacteria.”

“Dammit.”

“Keep watching.”

The replay continued. One medic finally noticed the vial, touching it instinctively, transferring residue onto his blue latex glove. His colleague pulled him back, recognizing the biohazard danger.

Suddenly, the body of patient zero blackened and, a few seconds later, turned chalk white.

“Look at his eyes.”

The footage rewound. The American leaned closer. A dark cloud swirled in the man’s eyes, then they collapsed like deflated balloons.

“Jesus! What happened?”

“As far as we can tell, the substance contained a new form of nanobots. They consume fluids and cellular energy instantly, then replicate and adapt.”

“Weaponized nanos?”

“We don’t know yet. Watch the crowd.”

The American scanned the bystanders, many filming with their devices. A man—the father from earlier—suddenly collapsed. His wife and kids rushed to him, only to fall moments later. Victim after victim dropped, each faster than the last. Panic erupted, people running in all directions.

“Dear lord, is it airborne?”

“No. Look at the analysis.”

The scene rewound again. An overlay traced a spiraling line from patient zero to the fallen father. The American zoomed in: a fly. The insect had landed on Chen’s body, picked up the contaminated substance, and transferred it.

The simulation advanced. More lines appeared, spreading like tangled spaghetti as contact multiplied—handshakes, surfaces, chance touches.

“How many dead?” the American asked quietly.

“One hundred thirteen confirmed. Over two thousand quarantined, but… they’re not dead. Yet.”

The American removed the headset, sweat dripping down his temples. If containment failed, the result would be catastrophic.

As he processed the scale of the catastrophe, a troubling question surfaced: "How come the fly didn't die?"

"Either the material targets humans or was intelligent enough to wait for a better target. Both possibilities are concerning."

The American paused. It was a lot to process. He steadied his nerves—this was, after all, ‘end of the world’ kind of stuff.

“How can I help? I just work security at the U.S. embassy. Why call me?”

“We’ve never seen anything like this. Our best AIs maxed out trying to model it. They predict replication, adaptation, maybe even intent. If these nanos escape quarantine, it will be an unimaginable global disaster.”

“No doubt. But why me specifically?”

“Not you. Your brother, Mr. Hershkovitz.”

“Henry? He’s just an engineer in D.C. What does he have to do with this?”

The German officer gave a grim smile. “Your brother leads a secret black-site project. We need access.”

The American frowned. “Why not just call him?”

“It is unorthodox, I admit. But going through conventional diplomatic channels will be too slow.”

“And you believe I can convince my brother to cut corners?”

“Our AIs determined your involvement would give us the best chance of success. His creation may save us all, and you sir, are the fastest way in.”

“I don’t get it. His creation? What is Henry building exactly?”

“Your brother built a quantum-core artificial intelligence. A digital god.”