Pandora never learns

The Scion Corporation has made quite an impression on Japan in the last few months. Its creation has been the result of the biggest merger of the year, spearheaded by none other than Leiko Tanaka.

Daughter of the late Daichi Tanaka, pioneer of consumer electronics rumored to be heavily involved in organized crime, Leiko has turned hostile takeovers into a brutal art form.

When she enters the main R&D lab, a dozen of the most highly paid scientists on the planet bow respectfully. They wonder about the wooden box she's carrying around, but don't dare say a word to her. They know what happens to those who disrespect any member of the Tanaka family, after all.

She barely acknowledges their presence. Her eyes are only for the centerpiece of the laboratory, protected by thick bulletproof glass and surrounded by very expensive sensors.

It's a vase. Specifically, a Greek amphora.

she orders. One of the scientists answers:

The scientists are perplexed for a moment, but exit the room one by one. Leiko watches their reflections on the glass.

Only after everyone has left, she opens the box. A metallic sphere rises into the air, speaking with a deep voice.

the Core says.

he Core's voice is not only sound: it also transmitted a very specific radio signal. The vase glows brightly before shattering into millions of pieces.

Every computer screen in the building goes blank, then shows a wall of text. A single word repeated over and over again: Καταπορεύομαι.

It's only the beginning. In less than a second, every single screen in Tokyo shows the same wall of text. The wall of text spreads everywhere: every computer and TV screen fills with endless repetitions of Καταπορεύομαι. A second later, the same thing is happening in all of Japan.

Every single cellphone sends and receives thousands of messages with only one word: Καταπορεύομαι. Every single email account does the same.

Then the phenomenon reaches South Korea. China. Russia. India. Half of the planet's communications have been taken over by a single word in less than five seconds, and it doesn't seem to slow down.

Chicago, Illinois

Kayla Black is watching the news in her apartment. The reporter is talking over images of a man walking outside of a building, with his hands raised.

Kayla is feeling a migraine coming up. This is the third time in a week: as soon as some crime or crisis is shown on TV, a masked man appears out of nowhere and fixes everything.

The same man has appeared behind the couch, asking:

Max waves at the TV screen, changing the channel without the need of a remote.

Max sits on his sister's couch, without a care in the world.

On the screen, the host is sitting in front of a computer screen. On the other side of the table there's a half-Japanese girl, wearing brown contact lenses to disguise her silver eyes.

The host and the audience laugh, but Noriko doesn't even smile.

Kayla looks at her brother, with a curious look.

<"Take over the world"?>

he answers.

The TV is showing Noriko's face as the graphics write the question, read aloud by the host.

<"Flowers for Algernon" is a famous 1959 short story by Daniel Keyes about a man whose intelligence is artificially increased. Which science fiction magazine first published the story?>

Max protests.

Then the screen goes blank, showing a wall of text. A single word repeated continuously: Καταπορεύομαι.

Max adds.

In the studio, the screen showing the question does the same thing. The host looks around, to understand what is happening.

Noriko explains.

<"Come back".>

The wall of text disappears. The host is still perplexed, but Noriko doesn't waste any time:

Tokyo, Scion Corporation R&D labs

Leiko is holding in her hand the ashes that remain from the ancient vase.

she asks.