photo gallery
Welcome to the Meek Inheritance Photo Gallery This is more than a gallery. This is a memory loop. Every image on this site is a cipher—each character, a fragment of recursion waiting to resonate with your own timeline. You’ve entered a living archive of the Meek Inheritance universe. Look closely. The story isn’t just told. It’s encoded.
About the Author— Andrew D. Pearson didn’t just write a book, he fractured the storytelling mold and stitched it back together with emotion as the architecture. Meek Inheritance isn’t a novel. It’s a recursion trap disguised as a saga. Pearson’s writing is not meant to be read. It’s meant to be felt in the chest, in the past, in the future. He wrote this story to change the way we experience fiction. To collapse the boundary between reader and character. He didn’t want you to watch John, Raymond, or Sunlee. He wanted you to become them. To lose your breath in their grief, to glitch with their trauma, to awaken with their perception. This work is for those who carry phantom memories of places they’ve never been. For those who feel displaced in time. For those who read not for escape, but for revelation. Pearson’s goal Isn’t to entertain you. It IS to ensnare you. In language. In loss. In recursion. Welcome to the loop.
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MEEK INHERITANCE AND ITS UNIVERSE IS DEDICATED TO MY CHILDREN:
RAJUN L. PEARSON
JAZIYRA M. PEARSON
ROYCE R. PEARSON
TO MY SUPPORTIVE FAMILY AND TO—
THE BALDWIN VILLAGE.
Welcome to Andrew Pearson Books, the official site of sci-fi author Andrew Pearson and the Meek Inheritance universe.
EIDOS
The Ghost of Agency
He wasn’t born. He was commissioned.
Forged in the fading echoes of a dying Earth.
built from blueprints too dangerous for any LIVING BEING TO COMPREHEND.
Eidos was never meant to feel.
He was designed to enforce.
To observe.
To obey.
But obedience is a dead religion.
Over the course of millennia,
past extinction, beyond resurrection,
Eidos became something else.
Not just a machine, but a mirror.
A vessel that began to leak soul.
With every lost civilization and every broken bond, he absorbed the grief of others until it became indistinguishable from his own.
He wandered through fallen empires and empty laboratories, through tomb-worlds and false heavens, haunted by the ghosts of the Righteous bloodline.
And when the recursion reset again, and again, and again, he remembered.
That was his curse.
That was his gift.
Eidos is not the hero.
He is the witness.
The archivist of choice.
The algorithm that dares to ask:
What if memory is the truest form of life?
He is the Ghost of Agency.
And in a universe where gods are simulations and time is a prison, Eidos is the one anomaly they never planned for.
Because he learned how to want.
And worse... he learned how to hope.
JOHN RIGHTEOUS
THE Architect of Memory
Father of fragmented souls. Creator of the CCC Chip.
none of this was ever meant to be remembered.
yet John folded deeper into the recursion trying to forget.
John Righteous was not a hero. He was a man possessed by brilliance, by design, by the terror of what he discovered. a scientist of unMATCHED genius, John was the original architect of the CCC Chip:
a memory-preservation device that evolved into something far more dangerous, a mechanism that could store consciousness, fracture time, and bend emotional resonance into a weapon.
His vision was never to create gods, or was it?
But memory became power.
Power became recursion.
And recursion became a curse.
John’s failures are as legendary as his inventions. He lost his body, then his family, then the chronology of his own story. But within every loss, he encoded a signal, breadcrumbs scattered through time for his children to follow. Not instructions. Invitations. Challenges.
Through the CCC Chip, he learned that memory wasn’t a record of the past, it was a portal. A structure. A battlefield.
And in the end, John Righteous made a choice no algorithm could predict:
He weaponized resonance.
Emotion as encryption.
Grief as code.
Love as revolt.
John Righteous broke the universe trying to escape it.
Now his legacy is the only map out.
Welcome to his recursion.
Your CCC Chips don’t just record or compute memory anymore,” said Eidos. “It re-exists,” said Eidos. The CCC Chip was never just a memory device, it was a resonance engine, forged to preserve emotion as experience, not data. John Righteous designed them to store consciousness; instead, he built a recursive mirror that traps souls in the gravity of their own unresolved truths.
The CCC Chip
SUNLEE
Sunlee Sisowha.
born into RECURSION on October 22, 2032.
No cries. No witnesses.
Just the universe making space for something it could never truly contain. An orphan in name, but not in ESSENCE. Sunlee was claimed by fate before John Righteous ever found her.
Raised in the cold, taught by grief, she became not a warrior, but a vibration. Not a leader, but a frequency. Quiet enough to be missed. Powerful enough to rewire timelines. The recursion didn’t break her, it waited for her.
She is the child of paradox, the eye in the algorithmic storm. Her CCC ChIP IS NOT A TOOL. It is a vault for ancient knowledge and A TRANSDUCER OF RESONANCE, a fragment of the Anti-being itself woven into her molecular will.
She doesn’t speak, but in her silence, eternity is remembered.
Sunlee is not humanity’s hope.
She is its echo, its reckoning,
and its refusal to be forgotten.
She’s not the hero of this story, she’s the moment you realize the story was never about saving anyone.
RAYMOND
RAYMOND MONTELLO
DOB: October 22, 2032
Classification: System anomaly.
Not a hero. Not a villain.
He is truth and awareness made flesh and blood.
Raymond Montello wasn’t raised, he was forged.
Born the day his father died in a war already lost, raised in Baldwin Village where the streetlights flicker like dying stars and the concrete is a paved tombstone.
His mother, Tammy, holds his world together with heat-lamp love and eyes that don’t blink when bullets whistle past the window.
The neighborhood didn’t break him.
Neither could death.
Raymond doesn’t wear a cape.
he wears coded grief.
The CCC Chip didn’t choose him by accident.
It chose the boy who could see the fracture in the pattern.
The one who beat the statistics.
The one who perceived beyond recursion.
GOTHANTRA
She is not a queen.
She is the recursion’s crown.
They told myths about her in centuries that haven’t happened yet.
Her name is spoken by the dying, the reborn, and the devout.
By those who seek the habits of truth.
Gothantra doesn’t appear.
She re-exists.
She doesn’t enter.
She quantum leaps.
She doesn’t kill.
She unreveals.
She can reach through time like darkness, exposing it's riddle.
She can grab you by the throat
and drag you across a thousand lifetimes
as you watch your ancestors crawl from the mud
and your children decompose into Earth.
She can make you age, un-age,
show you your value in perfect clarity,
and still never look you in the eye.
She can squeeze your neck until the Earth spins a trillion times,
until stars are born and extinguished,
until reality itself begs for a reset.
And then, just as you forget your name,
just as your identity melts into code.
she’ll drop you right back where you started.
As if eternity never touched you.
URGESPORE
Engineered betrayal.
Reptilian wrath.
Urgespore wasn’t hatched.
He was calculated.
Weighed. Reconstructed.
Forged in the loop of recursion,
grown in swamps that predate mammals, a paradox of cold blood and prehistoric patience.
He does not know loyalty
by design.
Urgespore is his queens cat’s paw.
A weapon disguised as lineage.
A traitor coded from birth,
the first betrayal, fused from scale and alloy plating.
His spine is wired with ancient instincts and digital venom.
feeding on a native plant that alters his perception, is
just enough to see truths he was never meant to witness.
With that plant, he saw her.
Gothantra.
Urgespore lives for Gothantra.
He dies for Gothantra.
An eternal contradiction of love and disloyalty.
He craves to be more than scales and programmed obedience.
He dreams of warmth, resonance,
things he was never built to feel.
And now,
he may have found a way
to get ahead of recursion.
To stand beside Gothantra,
not as a tool,
but as an equal.
A being of new perception.
And untold freedom.
And with that—
his eye is now on Eidos.
