Night in Astra-9, the capital. Rain lashes neon billboards that scream: "Obey the Armband. Obey the Seed."

A lone man runs through the cracked streets, hood pulled low. His heart pounds - he is a Father on the run. The Bureau alarms already echo through the damp air.

But the streets know before the sirens. A stumble. A shoulder brushes his. The hood slips - for half a second, his face is bare beneath flickering lights.

A green-banded woman gasps, eyes widening, voice breaking the night's tension: "FATHER!"

The word detonates through the rain-soaked air. Green-banded women spill from alleys, feral with desperate hunger. Red-banded mothers waddle forward despite their swollen bellies, risking everything. A Golden Matron lowers her jeweled veil, her whisper trembling like thunder over the growing chaos: "He's real... here among us."

The mob forms around him, a living tide with one purpose. They don't see a man. They see the future of their bloodline, their legacy, their very survival.

The hooded Father stumbles, surrounded on all sides. His breath burns in his chest - he was raised in sterile labs, not these dangerous streets. But tonight, the walls that contained him are gone forever.

The Bureau calls him missing property. The women call him salvation. The rebels call him freedom.

The world calls him one word only: FATHER.

And in every eye around him burns the same hunger - the eternal, bloody, unstoppable... Need for Seed.