He didn’t know how long he lay on the sim pod tray. At first, the room he found himself felt unfamiliar; the body he found himself in felt unfamiliar; he felt like a foreigner not just in this space, but in his own body as well.

Awareness returned to him in a gradual manner, like a slow-moving crashing through his skull and splintering in his brain. First, he realized that he was home. Next, he remembered who he was.

I am Arnel Weiss, he chanted in his mind as if he was at risk of losing that knowledge. I am from the Prometheus cluster of Sector Nine. I am sixteen years old. I go by Aren in Singularity. I am human.

His eyelids drooped.

Of course I am human.

With the mist settling over his eyes, and the ceiling becoming further and further unclear in his vision, he hesitated and then reinforced the thought.

I am human.

Despite his familiarity with the subject at hand, he knew, intrinsically, that something was missing. Something alien and unknowable crept on the fraying edges of his consciousness reminding him that he is not Arnel White. There was more to him. He knew this without testing the theory — and that was precisely why he did not test the theory; he knew that if he chanted ‘I am Nineteen’ or ‘I am Leviathan’ that these would sound equally as true.

And as for the question of his humanity, that statement rang just as hollow in not only his mind but also his heart. Even his age resonated with a shock of morbid humor — he doubted that he would see his next birthday. He was certain that he would be sixteen forever — in life at first, then his obituary would immortalize it.

He was thirsty, but the motivation to leave the pod and get a drink evaporated. Depression, they used to call the condition, before modern medicine and artificial intelligence diet planners could predictively balance brain chemistry for a long, healthy, and happy life. Arnel did not feel happy, and with the knowledge that he also had the Extinction Virus he did not feel particularly healthy either. As for a long life, Arnel did not feel like beating a dead horse anymore.

On the bright side, at least his humor improved.

He could, naturally, devote this mental effort to trying to figure out what happened, but that was as risky a subject as his identity was. He knew that he wasn’t himself — he could never imagine putting his hands on an AGMI. But he also felt good about it. He felt really, really good about it — like he had taken control of himself and his destiny. But that was not him; those were not his hands; that was not his will.

Maybe, he thought, Leviathan would be better at living his life than he was.

That thought-bullet kept him awake for a while longer as even his desire to log into Singularity evaporated. He tried to remind himself that playing Singularity wasn’t just for pleasure or because of the mandate — he wanted to find Priscilla — but not even that could kindle his motivation.

He was tired.

He was not only physically tired, but he was mentally and spiritually exhausted. The constant barrage of dreams and premonitions, not to mention events that actually occurred, had left him battered and wounded. Truth be told, he was surprised his mind was still in one piece, even though he suspected that it was teetering on the precipice. He guessed that the reason why he had not broken yet was behind the same mechanism that left him incapable of assessing his own mental stability: the effect of Priscilla’s blessing.

Of course, he was aware that the idea was absurd; A blessing from the world of Singularity could not work on him in the real world. He knew that — he was not a fool. And yet, since not so long ago, he could retrace with his mind the mental pathways he would take to open his buffer and he would immediately feel the calm and morale-boosting effect of that blessing in the real world.

It was placebo, he reasoned. Or mind over matter. He had simply trained his brain to release whatever chemicals it had to in order to calm himself down. It made sense, to some degree. The reason he suspected it was Priscilla’s blessing was confirmation bias. There could not be another explanation, he concluded.

There is another explanation, the thought bullet, full of dread, perforated his mind.

Nevermind the fact that he could sense AGMI and Machine Arsenals, or that he could talk with them, or his prescient glimpses of the future. There were no mental pathways his mind could trace to somehow bestow him with the martial arts capabilities he possessed in the real world. It was not simply a matter of martial arts, either. The way he carried himself, the unease he felt about being in a room with only one exit, the side of the corridors he favored, his fight-or-flight response, all these and more changed.

Not only was his body becoming a weapon, but his mind also desired conflict, and he never felt himself change. He already was a weapon. He already used these abilities to kill a person. Worst of all, he felt no guilt or remorse, only satisfaction. No, not satisfaction over taking a life, but satisfaction for defeating an opponent. He tried to sugarcoat it — it was just; it was in the defense of another; it was self-defense — but nothing could erase the thrill he felt when he was the only one left standing.

That was not Priscilla’s blessing. That was not meditation. That was not mind over matter. That was… being a Code.

He sat up on the pod tray and stared absently at the floor. He was no longer in the mood for Singularity. He wasn’t in the mood for much of anything. Perhaps, he thought, a movie could calm him down. As soon as the thought sprung to his mind the holoscreen came to life and illuminated the room with its electronic, blue radiance.

The holo that hovered in the room, towards the door, was blank save for a weather forecast in the corner of the projection. The Arcologies did not have a normal or natural weather cycle, but the garden deck often experienced something akin to weather, both for function and entertainment.

The forecast, however, stumped Arnel. He stared at it, incapable of comprehending the words.

Sunny with low chance of rain in the afternoon, it said.

MEDEVAC DISPATCHED, in big, bright letters, it said, on the next line below.

Arnel tilted his head.

For who? Did something happen?

Normally, he would feel proud of himself because his first instinct was to make sure that Jennifer was all right. Instead of rushing out of his room to check on her, however, he simply glanced at the corner of his room, and through a transition that was so seamless that it was completely unnatural, he looked into the room she was in. It was as if he was there in the room with her; he could turn around and inspect everything, while still seeing the corner he was staring at. He could not even comprehend how something like that was possible unless he had two brains to process the information and merge it seamlessly with his normal vision.

Technically, he did have two brains.

Jennifer was awake. She was putting on a dress, at the moment, and Arnel did catch a glimpse of her black underwear. He was slightly embarrassed for peeking on her like this, but more than anything he felt relieved that Jennifer was fine.

Next, he looked at his door, and through the same mechanism, he looked into the room across from his where Thomas and Isobell were. Isobell was seated in front of half a dozen screens, furiously hammering away at a holographic keyboard. Thomas stood next to her with a finger pressed to his right ear.

“— won’t be an inconvenience, sir.”

Arnel could hear the words he spoke and he considered immediately withdrawing from his first voyeurism experience, but his curiosity got the better of him. Who was Thomas talking to? Theta?

Of course not. Everyone regarded Theta as a female; Thomas would not call her Sir.

A superior officer then?

“The package is secure and available for extraction, Sir.”

More and more, Arnel felt uneasy about his spying. Thomas was clearly talking about military matters, possibly even matters of classified nature. If Thomas found out that Arnel was eavesdropping on him — nevermind explaining how he could do that — he would break any and all trust Thomas had in him. After everything Arnel had asked of Thomas, it would be a heinous breach of faith.

Thomas leaned in closer to one of the screens.

“Yes, Sir, he is in Singularity right now.”

Arnel narrowed his eyes. He moved his viewpoint to see the same screen Thomas was inspecting. From his point of view, Arnel was right next to the soldier’s face.

Sim Pod A01 — IN USE

Confusion and disbelief settled on Arnel’s mind. It was not possible. Arnel knew that there was only one pod in the building, and even disregarding the lack of respect for his privacy, they simply could not be talking about him. Logic dictated that this was simply not possible — he was not in Singularity at the moment!

He turned around to look at the pod’s indicators and his heart sank and his throat tightened. It blinked red — meaning it was in use.

But how?

If the tray were not deployed, and the hatch was not open, he’d seriously consider the possibility that he was having an out-of-body experience. Astral projection? Sure, why not; After everything he had seen and the things he could do, it hardly would surprise him anymore. He was literally looking through walls as if he was physically present in another room.

The answer as to how came to him unbidden.

[ STATUS LOCKED BY ATHENA ]

Athena locked him out of the pod?

Arnel’s eyebrows sank. No, he was not locked out by Athena. It was a favor from her. She wanted him to see and hear this. Was she behind the weather forecast message too?

His mind raced. He was certain now that he was the subject of Thomas’ report. But why? What extraction? For what purpose? Question after question piled up.

“One more thing, sir,” Thomas said. “The target is not alone.”

Arnel’s blood froze at hearing those words. He stood up from the tray, not even bothering to tuck his feet into his slippers. He felt the cold of the floor against his skin and the sensation could not diminish the feeling that the floor was like a yawning maw about to devour him.

“She is a civilian, sir,” Thomas said. “If possible, we could avoid unnecessary casualties.”

Arnel wanted to sigh in relief. Fine, he thought. Take me. I will surrender. Just don’t hurt Jennifer.

After a moment, Thomas nodded grimly.

“As you wish, sir,” Thomas said. “I will dispose of her once the target has been secured.”