The Keramon Incident.

Among digimon researchers, sandwiched as it was between the Spiral Mountain Sky and the Christmas Invasion of 2002, it was often overlooked – at least, among that proportion of digimon researchers who had not personally witnessed the battle between Omegamon and Diablomon on livestream.

Not so, however, among those with an interest in international politics. Accidental missile releases had happened only a few times in the nuclear age – which was, observers invariably are quick to point out, also the computer age. It would be impossible to accurately calculate the trajectory of an intercontinental ballistic missile without the aid of computers, and the two technologies developed in tandem throughout their earliest decades.

Ten years before digimon entered Earth in force, an optimistic scholar proclaimed the end of history. Unfortunately, history since that date had made his proclamations of incipient world peace something of a punchline.

There are persistent rumors in the nuclear security community that, after the fall of the Soviet Union, a handful of loose nukes from the former USSR made their way to North Korea and Pakistan, and that millions, if not billions, of dollars changed hands.

The Organization, however, did not have state financing, so one whiff of the price on the dark web was enough to scare them off. But one of their members, in another lifetime, had watched a certain battle on the internet, and this so-called "Keramon disc" represented a significantly cheaper alternative.

There remain many around the world for whom Diablomon's activities were an inspiration, a proof of concept; one did not have to develop their own nuclear weapons, or even steal them in the old-fashioned way, to obliterate the cities of their enemies. All that was required was to hack into the Pentagon – or, for that matter, the equivalent facilities owned by the world's other nuclear powers.


There were (and unfortunately, even after the arrival of digimon, still are) many places around the world like the one which gave rise to the Organization. Places with no economy, no hope, and no answer from the world's great powers except for repression.

Not everyone in the Organization's home province supported them, because many feared the consequences of rebellion. As bad as things were, at least they weren't in Afghanistan; even if the dictator were to be overthrown (and would the people from the capital truly welcome such a thing? What if the elections really weren't rigged?) the consequences of US retaliation would be mighty indeed. But just about everyone thought things would improve if they somehow were to win, and the Leader, if nothing else, was extremely confident that he had a scheme do it with zero loss of life.

He had sold everything he owned for this moment. Converted it into cryptocurrency. Was living full-time in the Organization's HQ in the wilderness, his farm now the property of a multinational bank.

"And to think I e-mailed Omegamon to cheer him on back then. If that little girl could see me today, she'd think I was such a traitor."

"Can't be helped. We didn't know anything back then. Maybe that's why they're called the Chosen Children; only a child would want to protect this miserable world."


The Leader (and, for that matter, the small circle of advisors he brought with him to serve as bodyguards) had never been to the Deep Web before, never touched even a fragment of the digital world. The best that could be said was that the Guide was something of a tech geek, at least by the standards of this remote country, and had been since childhood; the Keramon scheme was her idea, and she was the one they'd been leaning on for advice.

"We're in Hell."

Darkness surrounded them, lit up only by the occasional flashing red light. When they could see, it was usually the sky – one full of flying monkey creatures that were even called Evilmon, plus the occasional Devimon or Devidramon flying around. "Hell" was not an unreasonable characterization.

"Officially, this section of the Deep Web is called the Dark Area."

"Should we really be doing this? Are we becoming the villains?"

"Screw this. I'm out."

One desertion became a stampede; before long, only the Leader and the Guide remained. It was understandable, all things considered; the Leader himself, a college-educated ideologue, was himself an atheist. But this was still a conservative peasant society, so excessive dogmatism on that point could only drive people away.

Nor had everyone with him had made the same kind of personal sacrifice. And surely, as frightened as he was of this place, it would be all the more terrifying to someone who actually believed in Hell.

The possibility of robbery now weighed heavily on the Leader's mind. Yes, both of them were experienced insurgents. Yes, they'd come armed, just in case. But if one of these monsters were to actually attack – if they had a Tamer, if humans could truly command them – then he had more than enough knowledge to realize just how little they could do.

He'd made it this long by knowing when to retreat. It was how he became Leader of the Organization, after all; his predecessor was less cautious, and it had cost him his life.

A young man wearing a mask appeared at the appointed location, a white imp of a dragon by his side. He handed over a positively ancient floppy disk, grey in color, on which someone had doodled a strange face with antennae and a pair of green eyes. After a long stare at the disk and a nod from the Guide, the Leader handed over his wallet in exchange.

They gated home the moment it was over.


Much to the Leader's consternation, none of the bodyguards – his advisors, his cabinet - who had fled from the Dark Area were waiting for him at Headquarters when he got back. Had they defected to the regime, horrified by what they considered a deal with the devil? Had they simply deserted out of fear of punishment? Or had they just gone home, figuring that was enough for one day?

He could take solace in the fact that his plan didn't actually require their help. As long as it finished its meal before a regime army reached him, all he needed was Keramon. With that in mind, he inserted the floppy disk into a truly ancient desktop computer, one salvaged from a junkyard and hooked up to the internet for this very moment.

"I-it's cuuuuute!"

The creature that walked out of the computer looked deeply alien, complete with long arms and antennae; its face, at least, looked like a more serious version of the one that had been doodled on the floppy disk. Its body was an interlocking mass of tendrils which somewhat recalled a jellyfish, with long arms and extra eyes on its hands.

"hello!"

The Leader was wary of getting too attached to it; this creature, however charming, was a work animal, not a pet. Still, they had to become close enough for this Keramon to understand and obey orders.

Nuclear blackmail could win concessions. But a nuclear first strike would ensure a terrible revenge.

"I've been waiting forever to meet you!" Keramon said – to the Leader, not the Guide – and followed it up with his name. His given name, at least, not his full name, but it was still one that even the Guide had not known. "My partner!"

The Leader did return Keramon's hug, all while thinking that he had a lot to teach this newborn about security procedure.


Even in the best of times, the Organization had kept sparse records. One never knows when one will have to move – this was not its first headquarters – and the damage, if their records were seized, would be insurmountable.

Yet running an insurgency on a province-wide scale, and occasionally even striking the capital, does require paperwork – payments for weapon shipments, payments to the families of the deceased, compensation for time spent on missions, orders to sub-commanders, and so on.

All of this would become Keramon's food.

The Leader spent much of the next few hours reviewing and committing the most important pieces to memory, all while his new digimon ate. The fact that the contents of this single computer were enough to take Keramon hours to eat ought to have given him pause, but for all his organizational strengths, tech savvy was not among them.

The two chatted between bites, while the Leader explained his cause, much as he would to a new Organization member. Keramon was eager to learn, but often asked questions like "what are farms" and "what's a France?" that no human recruit could possibly fail to know. The Leader wasn't sure if to think of him as a newborn, or simply as an alien; either could explain his ignorance.

At least loyalty wasn't an issue. Keramon was friendly – excessively so, even, with little regard for hierarchy – and happily called the Leader his partner. If he could learn what data to eat, if he could comprehend the Organization's plan, there was every reason to believe that this digimon would enthusiastically follow through.


Tera 1000. Perhaps the world's most powerful supercomputer. And, far more importantly for the Organization's purposes, the one with responsibility to oversee the French nuclear arsenal.

Russia's, in many ways, represented an easier target. But the prospect of "hacked Russian nukes" could too easily be mistaken as a half-baked excuse made after a real Russian first strike, and the Organization was trying to obtain independence, not to end the world.

Furthermore, there was the factor of time. Hacking into the Pentagon itself, nuking America from America, would necessarily mean an instant attack. Not enough time for negotiations. For this reason alone, it had to be intercontinental.

Therefore, stealing nuclear weapons from a US ally was the only option.

"There's so much food in here! What should I eat next?"

Keramon had, at least, been able to devour its way past the Tera 1000's security – France having already forgotten the lessons of 2000, or simply chalked them up to American incompetence. But this was not a creature with an appetite so vast it could devour the entire internet. Nothing happened to the financial system or the phone lines, nor had it evolved.

Had the Guide betrayed him too? Betrayed him first? No, on further thought; Keramon was real, and it was doing at least the kind of thing she'd described. It was simply that the internet had changed too much in the 21st century.

But this wasn't the first time he'd had to adapt a plan on the fly. He'd just have to hope that Keramon's very presence was a threat no one could afford to ignore.

"Contact the White House."


Conspiracy theorists would concoct a wide variety of explanations for the news report – which made front page headlines internationally at the time, but saw shockingly little follow-up – of a live Keramon obtaining root access to a supercomputer that could operate France's nuclear arsenal. However, as no one involved was talking, their theories were invariably wildly off the mark; most of them centered on a secret digimon weapons program, or linked it to various hacking and cyberwarfare attacks between Great Powers.

Even inside the affected country, few connected the beginning of the peace process with the Keramon incident; like elsewhere in the developing world, people therein were slower to reach the point where everyone had a digimon partner of their own. Therefore, the newly opened public sphere tended not to jump to technological explanations, and preferred to explain it in terms of internal or international politics – rumors abounded that the ex-president had offended the US, France, or Russia somehow, or that he was getting old and wanted to retire anyway, or that the Organization had won a couple important battles and the government was lying about how dire the military situation had become.

No one connected the data disposal specialist with a Keramon partner to the recent events, although, like nearly everyone of any prominence in his home province, suspicions abounded that he had not been entirely forthright about what he had done during the civil war. Still, business was booming; the peace process meant that there was an awful lot of embarrassing information for to destroy.

There would be no Truth and Reconciliation Commission here. Too many important people had too many secrets, and Keramon was hungry.


"There is only one conclusion to be drawn from this incident," Yagami Taichi reported to the United Nations General Assembly. "If the world still needs nuclear missiles, which I reiterate were designed for the challenges of a pre-digimon age, they absolutely must be safely stored. And in a world where we must co-exist with digimon, safe storage means analog only."

"Doesn't your best friend have a dog that shoots nuclear weapons from his back?" a voice retorted from the gallery, and the world's most straight-laced, serious diplomats roared with laughter.

The joke was enough, alas, to shoot down his proposal. The world's leaders still greatly feared the power of digimon, but this fear cut two ways, for they also feared the day would come when they would need to use these awful weapons to defend themselves from one.

All he could do was sigh. "If I ever have to bring out Omegamon again to deal with another one of these…"

Was it a threat or just a grumble? Taichi let his words trail off, let the international community wonder. Maybe it'd get them to change course. Eventually.

The world – two worlds – are still changing. And although the citizens of a certain country are right to be happy about recent developments, there remains ample cause to be skeptical that Earth and humanity as a whole, can adapt to this new reality in time.