Aimar Bolivar's Questionnaire

I live in Durango, a town in centre of Basque Country and is considered one of the largest towns in Biscay, 18 miles southeast of Bilbao, one of the major cities in the region, situated in a valley surrounded by the Urkiola Mountains, which are part of the Urkiola Natural Park, the Ibaizabal River also runs through the town. Durango is not a heavily touristed town. Which works for me. I live here because it’s quiet in the right ways, no one asks questions, and the ones who might know better than to knock. The cops are either tired or bought. My apartment’s a 5 floor coffin that smells like mold, sweat, and ozone. The windows are blocked with signal mesh, the walls lined with salvaged servers, blacked out monitors, and coils of old fiber. There's always a bottle within reach, always something humming. No décor. No bed frame. Just concrete, wires, ashtrays, weight plates, and static. It's not a home. It's a bunker.

I get my money from side jobs, hacking into locked networks, moving weapon parts through quiet channels, and dealing with whatever scraps the underworld is willing to trade. It’s fast cash, dirty cash, but it keeps me more then supplied. The apartment costs almost nothing and people have learned to live with my screaming and binge drinking. I spend it on gear, old servers, patched together tech, and software only a few know how to handle. Then there’s the drugs, the booze, and the steroids that keep me moving when the world’s trying to fall on me all at once. I don’t save and burn every euro just to stay sharp enough to survive the next brawl.

My ambition isn’t some grand ideal or legacy. I want control, absolute control over the machines and the code that runs this world. I want to become something beyond human, a force that bends technology to my will. To be the Omnissiah, the one who commands circuit without hesitation or mercy. I’d kill without remorse, burn every bridge, its not even in question. Death? I’m already halfway there, so getting closer means very little. Failure, though, that’s the real death. And I don’t intend to fail. The more dangerous the job the better the pay, the more I progress. My conscience is clear as everything I do is for one righteous goal. Who can deny someone their godhood? Their rightful path among the stars and hums of the machines, to make sure no miscalculation never happens again.

The moment that defined me was the explosion that tore my brothers apart, one miswired bomb was all it took, one mistake that turned family into nothing but gore and fire. I was the only one left standing by pure chance, my own survival kept me busy enough to not dwell on it too much. But that day still shattered any illusions I had about loyalty or sacrifice, it taught me that trust is pointless, and nothing is "the only truth". That one day set me on a path to spiralling godhood, a sacrifice made to allow me to see the world for what it is, for how it will be.

"NullShepherd"
The closest thing I have to a friend. We’ve never met in person. He runs a private occult-tech forum called Signal Veil where the paranoid, the strange, and the obsessed share knowledge. We talk almost daily about code, rituals hidden in outdated firmware, the mythic resonance of electromagnetic frequencies. He’s ex-military, maybe ex-intelligence, but never says. He understands the blend of machine and mysticism better than anyone I’ve met. I don’t trust him, but I listen to him. That says everything.

Amaia Bolivar

My niece. She doesn’t know I’m alive. Her mother, my sister, buried me with the rest of my brothers after the explosion. I check in on her through backdoor surveillance nodes, keep her digital profile clean, erase the occasional red flag. She’s in university now, studying medicine in Bilbao. I don’t know what I’d say if we met, but sometimes I let myself imagine it. She’s the last unburnt bridge I’ve never dared cross.

Inspector Jon Ugarte

A local cop in Durango with enough dirt on his hands to leave fingerprints on ghosts. We’ve worked together off the record for a few years. He feeds me info, looks the other way, and in return I make his bigger problems disappear. He’s corrupt, tired, and more worried of the things coming through the cracks than he’ll admit. He keeps telling me we’re heading toward something worse, but he doesn't know I'm already neck-deep in it. If he only knew how paranormal these problems were.

I grew up in a house where the air was always tense, like something just happened or was about to. My father was a butcher by trade, a nationalist by instinct, and a man who believed discipline came through bruises. My mother was quiet, always cleaning, always watching like she was waiting for something to end. Neither of them knew how to talk to me, and I never gave them a reason to try. I did attend school, technically. I showed up enough to be marked present and spent most of it in fights or staring out windows. Teachers said I had potential, but they meant it the same way someone says a rolling boulder has potential. I didn’t really try to fit in, I just couldn't keep my mouth shut, half the fights in my youth were over me insulting someone for some small slight. The other kids were soft, scared, obsessed with pretending how normal they were. Or at least that is how I feel about the whole thing now. The only time anyone ever tried to "help" me was when my father dumped me on the monastery steps and left. That year with the priest, Ignatius Mariá, changed everything, not because it saved me or I found god or something, but because he told me my actions meant something. That was the first time I ever thought about how I was, maybe I wasn’t just a prick. Just made for a different direction in life.

No, I’ve never been in love. Not once. I’ve had obsessions, addictions, dependencies, but not love. I don’t think I’m built for it. Love asks for trust, for surrender, for the kind of vulnerability I simply don't like. Every connection I’ve had came with an expiration date or a cost. Sex, sure. Intensity, plenty. But nothing that reached deeper than flesh or paranoia. Anyone who’s ever gotten close either walked away or ended up worse for it. I don’t miss what I never had. And why do I need love? When I reach my godhood I will have more than a millennium to explore my options.