Target: Mike must wake disoriented in the sand-veiled desert, suffer repeated impossible deaths and memory fragments, follow the mysterious instructions, and finally reach the technological room inside the hidden vessel.
[style font-style=italic]Mike just wakes up in the middle of a mysterious desert. [/style]
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I jolted awake, my eyes springing open to the searing light. As I blinked away the haze of sleep, an alien mantle emerged before me, twisting and contorting in achromatic hues. Ephemeral clouds scudded across the sky, dancing above in a warped ritual of time and space. Disoriented, my consciousness slipped into the void of utter nonsense, for I did not know where I was.
As I gazed at the surreal display, I found myself overwhelmed by the sheer impossibility of my witnessing. Motionless and bewildered, I faced the boundless celestial dome. Yanked from familiar surroundings, I reckoned myself tossed into a Hadesian nightmare. That place was entirely wrong. The whole experience of reality distorted itself into a numb, oneiric mist deeply ingrained in my mind. From the twisted, out-of-proportion perception of my body, to the confused thoughts that raced through me, everything felt amiss.
I could remember nothing. I was the victim of a strange amnesia, a thick fog that clouded my every thought and heightened my sense of danger. Each reality facet was captivated by the unknowable, my world distorted beyond recognition. Not only alone, I was chained into true existential horror, a place where the fabric of being lay shattered, crumbled alongside the foundations of my sanity.
As I regained my senses, I realized I rested on the sand. The terrain on my grip resembled soft yet unyielding and frigid cushions, sterile and unfeeling like raw metal. The impression that I was floating on liquid was unsettling. Despite being as solid as concrete, the ground shifted beneath me as if it were alive. Perhaps it was my dizziness. The air around me was thick, an eerie stillness that oppressed me so quietly. Suddenly, everything was broken by the blast of a gelid wind that tore through me like a knife.
*Where am I?* I thought, jumping to my senses.
Coldness chilled me into the despair of my condition. I was lost, helpless. The sky rumbled above in a tumultuous feast of thunderclouds, their eldritch shapes chanting as they sparkled lightning bolts of varied colors: red, yellow, green, purple, blue… And other tones and nuances beyond my understanding. Gusts of the frozen wind whispered in my ears, carrying with them a sense of foreboding. Each incomprehensible moment drove me even madder. Something was terribly wrong. The alien landscape spinning around, my whole being plunging into a never-ending abyss. *Where am I?* My mind quivered. *What is happening here?*
Dread crushed me under its unbearable weight, suffocating my lungs as I surveyed the barren wasteland. It was a desert, yet one whose likening I had never seen. Emptiness glared at me with malevolence, mocking my puny existence. An uneasy landscape unveiled sharp purple crystals jutting from the ground like menacing spires, many reaching six hundred feet. The expanse of white sand stretched out before my eyes akin to a stormy sea. Across it, through the mist drizzling into everlasting combustion, it often appeared impossible to discern how far the world truly was. Not a solitary speck of greenery interrupted the ceaseless desolation, except for a handful of insulated tufts of unfamiliar vegetation and varying colors and glows, none of which were recognizable.
My legs quaked. A sudden surge of fear caused me to collapse to the ground, my muscles wracked with weakness as I faced my doom. I clawed backward across the terrain, as vulnerable as an injured beast, the coarse grit abrading my thighs with every strained movement. I felt hounded by an invisible threat, something yearning to swallow me whole. Not only my body but everything; especially my mind. A ribbon of bluish light of uncommon sheen followed me in my trail, filling the burrow I just drew in the sand, as if I had just cut that entire land in half.
“Help me!” I supplicated to the top of my lungs, gazing at the sky. “Someone, help me!” Scarcely a whisper, my voice muffled under layers of fright amidst the ominous scene. I pondered for an explanation, attempting to hold my grip on the tenuous strands of rationality. Not just my muscles were feeble, but my very mind lay in dismay. I was exhausted, parched, and famished. Breath in… Breath out… My head spun intoxicated. My body shivered as the icy gusts howled again, the world raging around even though sounding so far away. I rubbed my eyes, then battled the weariness and perplexity only to discern that my fears were merely the beginning.
Despite my earnest efforts, I could not figure out whether that desolate wasteland was truly a desert. The analogy relied solely upon a fragile resemblance. Peering over the landscape, laying still, I found new details on the empty panorama. It was speckled with bright pools of red, yellow, and blue, varying from puddle size to sprawling lakes. They coexisted with those towering purple monoliths, which, by their turn, often clustered in heavenly displays of perfectly smooth crystals. The ones far in the horizon loomed silhouettes as sublime as a mountain range, trembling in my spine the proportion of my horror. My eyes widened in disbelief as I beheld one of those colossal formations of diamond-like material sway in the wind as if a mere leaf.
None of that made any sense.
2. Mysterious Desolation
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An all-enveloping mist, the color of faded granite, held me captive, bearing with it an ambiguous, yet tangy fragrance, akin to a fusion of ammonia and zesty citrus. Eerie melodies, resembling otherworldly incantations, pervaded the air. Provoked by the tempest, many spectral white whirlwinds pranced over the barren terrain, each towering fifteen feet high. There were myriads of them. The cyclones meandered aimlessly through the desert, their shrill harmonies lending a haunting resonance to the atmosphere. The songs cut through the cacophony right into my ears as they swirled. Were they alive? What exactly were they? They evoked phantasmal veils of sand, perhaps life far beyond the limits of my comprehension.
The inexplicable spectacle pushed me to the brink of madness. Unsettling suspicions gnawed at my mind as I gazed back at the horizon. It stunned me to witness it had vanished, metamorphosed into something unfathomable and devoid of meaning. It was just there a few seconds ago. Squinting, grimacing, and pressing my temples did nothing to alter the insanity of my circumstances.
The horizon was gone.
Struggling to my feet, I refrained from venturing too far from my waking spot. I surveyed my surroundings, seeking any hint of an explanation. Only the alien wasteland's visceral emptiness met my gaze. The cold’s intensity surprised me with the absence of ice or snow. Oddly, droplets of a mysterious violet fluid often clung to my skin, only to vanish as soon as I brushed them away. They stemmed from minuscule crevices scattered on the ground, billowing like small geysers, no larger than a splayed hand.
The coldness! I was shivering! The coldness was very real!
Such agony!
For a while, my nails scratched me bloody, leaving flaming trails on my forearms especially. It appeared a chemical property of the mist… the dust… or whatever that was, seared into my skin like countless biting insects. The enigmatic powder sprinkled my body in a mesmerizing display of iridescent bright, its shimmering particles glistening as I moved. I could not cease scrubbing every inch of myself, but my arms tormented me the most. Only then I realized I was naked, wearing my human replacer RX-98744.01.
The skin, the hair, the warmth, the primate muscles reminiscent of our ancestors, none were lacking. I felt all of that in my fingers in disbelief. A brain inside my head too, for which I groped my face so quizzically. Why wear a human replacer? Why was I naked and alone in that desert, yet donning a meat suit? That replacer would not even be my preferred vessel for off-limit endeavors. It was neither enhanced, altered, nor in any manner secure, but as fragile as humans were to be twenty thousand years ago, if our historical records are to be correct. Why was I masquerading as those entities so long forgotten? Then my mind concocted the wildest theories. It could be yet another simulation executing in the Complex, amongst zillions of other ones.
“Stop the run,” I commanded. “Terminate the simulation!” I demanded again, now grimacing at the gray and tumultuous sky. The lack of answers puzzled me. The Central Algorithm would never allow imprisoning a syraki in a run. A direct intention to cease the simulation, even if from a mere verbal command, should always be honored. Defiance equated to violating the core principles governing the Complex.
“Cease!” I croaked, quivering uncontrollably from both terror and frigidity. “I wish to quit! Halt!”
Nothing.
“Execute structure command 347.4.”
Nothing.
“Open debug panel to my right side.”
Nothing.
“Parse my t-signal and grant me full privileges on debug operations.”
Nothing.
My requests fell silent. This shouldn’t be happening. Only that same wasteland howling around in its phantasmagorical theater. Whatever that place truly was, that was certainly not a run. The revelation jolted me as I whirled around with my heart lodged in my throat.
My chest tightened as my eyes scoured the landscape, desperate for explanations. The ivory sands, the purple and crystalline spires piercing the heavens, the colorful luminescent pools, the haze, the cacophonous geysers spewing violet. Highlighted on my sight, the sand veils wailing like specters of the underworld… I felt adrift and cursed. *What is this place?* I raged. *What is this realm?* In my anguish, facing the absurdity of my predicament, I even considered the possibility of extraterrestrial abduction. Whosoever captured me had cast me onto that unfamiliar planet or moon, possibly a depraved experiment at my expense.
But how could that be, considering syrakis' prolonged solitude in the Universe? Hypotheses surfaced, each more ludicrous as my mind raced, finally settling on a more rational explanation. A deeply buried memory suggested that I was part of a distinctive mission. *Yes, that’s it!* I trembled. *A space mission! That’s it!* The flashback of a truth sparkled behind my amnesia. Perhaps I was stationed on an alien planet, then I hit my head and lost my memories. Wearing such a human replacer, that was possible. If such was the source of my forgetfulness, the hypothesis explained why everything looked so foreign. My hope drew me into a smile, even in such dire circumstances. Eventually, the rescue team was to find me there.
Vain hope.
A frigid gale seized my aspirations. I could not stay forever, lest I die. ==Graver still, peculiar sensations riddled with mystery beset me. Impressions altogether new. Perhaps they drugged me. Albeit subtle, those experiences were markedly discernible. They resembled as if I were floating in an ocean where each ripple struck me like a wave directly to my psyche, eliciting uniquely distinct… cognitions. I never fathomed such a profound existential crisis to be so petrifying, how deeply reality lies on the foundations of our most guaranteed perceptions. Even the smallest of anomalies outstretch radical universal shifts.== At that moment, part of me knew I laid in contact with the rawest form of the supernatural. I craved escape, yet I lacked the notion of where to flee.
Something was happening.
The horizon stayed elusive. It was as if my mind were incapable of understanding what I was looking at, for the whole visual phenomenon plunged into obliviousness as I tried to stare at it. The psychedelic incident bordered to crush me into tears when my eyes hit a surprise, conspicuous despite incongruous. I found a small piece of old parchment wedged beneath a white rounded stone, seemingly anchored there against the wind. It laid just near where I slept unconscious minutes before, only my distress justified overlooking the paper till then.
Whoever put it there wanted me to find it.
Heaving, I stumbled toward the epiphany, betting my existence on it, then collapsed to my knees. I retrieved it from beneath the stone and clutched it fervently. Despite its marred surface and tattered edges, antiquated yellowish hue, the parchment was otherwise immaculate. It was covered with cryptic symbols, penned in ebony ink, and such mysterious language ensnared my sight even though unknown to me. The symbols taunted me with their puzzle, shining hopefully as my sole salvation, while I held the object near my visage with shaking hands. Intriguingly, the text was not handwritten, but typed, the uniform glyphs flawlessly aligned from left to right, top to bottom. I knew that because, to my utter astonishment, I could decipher the text… somehow. It was not encoded in any language I knew, or remembered, yet those enigmatic markings gradually coalesced into coherent thoughts.
Murmuring through the wails and tempest of the desert, my eyes scudded across the paper. I consumed the symbols voraciously, one by one, craving for answers as my heart raced and bumped in my chest. In that instant, I believed myself on the verge of great salvation, but the prospect lasted only briefly. My erroneous conviction soon proved false as the meaning of the message drew me flabbergasted.
*WARNING: TIME IS CRITICAL! You must scan the horizon for a light beacon. The light may exhibit low intensity, but detection is imperative. It is essential. Pursue the light with urgency, as if your survival is contingent upon it. Once at its location, go to the right until a cave is identified. Within the cave, another message containing further instructions awaits you. Compliance with this directive is crucial. Please, deviation is inadvisable. Locate the signal, proceed toward the light beacon, turn right, and go into the cave. You must comply now. Prolonged exposure to this message may result in your detection. Proceed on maximum alert. Stream out.*
3. Duplicated Doom
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The sky thundered.
Agony gripped my chest as I pondered the symbols' meaning. The missive struck a nerve, haunting phrases that resounded through my turmoil. The mysterious author appeared to forewarn me of an unutterable horror, a tragedy I knew deep within to be worse than death. I rose, crumpled the parchment, and surveyed the horizon. For no reason, it was there again. Through the fog, squinting my eyes, I glimpsed the beacon mentioned in the letter, a red speck flickering in the distance, even though engulfed by the blurry storm.
Perhaps this light might be my answer, I believed. Without warning, a raucous screech resounded across the sky as deafening as excruciating. A shriek straight from the depths of hell. I clasped my hands over my ears, enduring the torment ringing on my spine. Looking up, a massive silhouette darted overhead just to vanish into a cloud. I could not figure out the shape, but its menacing presence was undeniable. For the Central Algorithm… I gasped. What was that?
Clutching the parchment with white-knuckled intensity, I sprinted toward the light. I yearned to flee as danger seeped into my veins. Lacerating agony tormented my limbs, cutting through the inexplainable exhaustion. I fought for air, yet I refused to relent. I traversed the barren wasteland like a hapless rat scurrying beneath a crystal dome, the beacon always beaming on my front. Then I heard that spine-chilling shriek again, its power magnified as it cleaved into my ears in sheer anguish and rage.
"What is that?" I cursed looking up, but found nothing.
I dashed through the shrouds of cobwebs. All those sinister whirlwinds dancing around me… Blinded by their mantles of spectral veils, I struggled to orient myself. They were denser than I expected, so bizarre in their confusing nature as they moved through their chanting pandemonium. They often brushed against my shoulders like gossamer fabric, yet they seemed thicker, making me sweep past them as if charging through a cornfield. Their melody haunted my mind, but I endured, fixated on the dim light as my only hope. Would I even blink my eye, I feared the beacon would forever vanish within the ever-deepening fog.
The wind howled with increasing ferocity and chill when I heard the enigmatic beast once again.
"Screeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssssssssssssssss…"
I glanced back, my heart pounding. The thing’s haunting presence loomed upon me from above, drawing me as prey. As I searched for my stalker, my vision was impaired in the kaleidoscope of hues from the now sparkling heaven. There were only the violet lightning bolts crackling in their electrified maelstrom and nothing else. Panting, I forced a swifter sprint, as to flee my impending doom.
“What is this place?”
Moments later, I tumbled over an unseen, damp, and spongy hurdle concealed beneath the mist's shroud. Whatever that was, I abandoned it and carried on with my desperate flight. In quick succession, I tripped again, grappling with the same squishy obstacle. That time, I plunged face-first into the sand, but rebounded on my escape. The fog grew into an ominous stench, ignoble. Then I halted, witnessing the ghastliest spectacle of my life.
My world drowned in the abysmal silence of death. Just before me there was… something… feasting upon a human carcass. A dark, viscous mass crouched beside the lifeless body, consuming it with the aid of countless barbed ebony tendrils. Tentacles that protruded from its back, their suction-cupped tips acting as macabre utensils to gather the sprawled viscera from the ground. I gagged at the grotesque meal before me. Cupful after cupful, with hypnotic speed and horrifying efficiency, the appendages conveyed the blood-soaked matter to the creature's maw—or whatever that orifice might have been. The eviscerated corpse, its innards spilling out in a gory mess, was dismantled bit by bit. In its gruesome revelry, the monster disregarded my petrified presence as my eyes quaked with terror. The abomination lasted for a moment, until a whirling veil obstructed my view and concealed the ghastly display.
I was shaking.
Overwhelmed, I bolted. I could do nothing else. The red beacon persisted on the horizon, its image disturbed and distorted like through a warped lens. It appeared larger now, blatant to see that something was wrong with the vista. Later, the light just resumed back to normal. Such deranged circumstances were beyond my wildest nightmares. I endeavored to cling to the few shreds of rationality, yet tears streamed down my cheeks. The sole tether anchoring me to sanity was that red glow, drawing nearer as I raced onward, although always remote.
A new sinister wail echoed throughout the world, rumbling at my nerves. Frightened, I tripped over something plush once more, just to notice that the fog was thinner. On the ground, supporting myself with my palms, I surveyed small hillocks protruding from the terrain, dozens of silhouettes scattered on the soil. An evil mist cloaked the silent, wind-battered field. A shiver coursed through my spine while danger hulked me so close. I lifted, coughing and gasping, and looked back at the object of my fall. Time stopped and my innards turned to ice.
That was me!
Amidst the cadaver, splayed out in a ghastly display, I found a face. I recognized it as belonging to my very replacer. A slimy pool of entrails patched the land as it melted in a caustic hissing. It was as if the flesh had been doused in digestive acid. An odious miasma of death, a cocktail of reeking decay, disoriented me and sickened me into nausea. Then I attested not only one corpse lying there, but a multitude of them, those shadowy figures dispersed across the field that I saw earlier. And all of them were my own!
Another wail tore through the heavens. I gazed upward, shivering and scratching at my skin. A malevolent entity hovered above me, yet again I could not discern its form. It soon vanished as the lightning sparkled blue and yellow. But then a second cry jolted my gaze as I saw, with striking clarity, an ominous shadow of monstrous proportions swooping above me like a raptor. The shriek… I will never forget. Something struck my skull. I was flung to the ground, crashing onto my back with a heavy thud that knocked the wind from my lungs. Suffering, I looked up for my attacker, but the creature was already gone.
I fled.
Now the beacon resembled a sinister lighthouse, its eerie radiance flickering and dancing in an eldritch display. Skyward, there far away, I eyed the tormenting beasts. They circled in the sky like scavengers, wingless and abnormal. Five of them, I counted. Scores of tendrils flailed behind them as they hovered, amorphous obsidian blobs conjured from cryptozoology's darkest abysses. Even at that distance, their remote cacophony reached me, shrieks and howls as if speaking in a cursed language.
A distressed screech redirected my attention to my recent attacker, now closer. I whirled in terror, searching for whatever my enemy was. A massive, evanescent shadow skimmed through the clouds and disappeared, only to reemerge several meters ahead. Aware of the lurking menace, my dread fueled me forward, disregarding the countless bodies sprouting with no end. The more I ran, the more corpses I encountered.
“Heavens!”
I ducked as something hissed over me, soaring skyward in an instant. Another howl, now laden with frustration and pure loathing. I sprinted over the azure, glistening pools, and their viscous substance clung to my feet. "What is this?" I bellowed in rage. The absurdity was crushing me once again. Not only did I suspect to be running on air, as though no ground existed beneath me, but the entire perception of my reality warped even further. I did not perspire despite my exhaustion, and the very sensations within my body were chaotic. I could swear many of them were unprecedented, unfamiliar in all senses. For instance, an anomalous cold warmth burning on the back of my neck, or that mysterious cubic mass heaving on my chest… If this makes any sense.
It did not for me.
The red glow seemed closer, its proximity fluctuating without logic. One moment the light lurked within arm's reach, the next it receded to remote distances. The space's erratic geometry was not normal. Out of nowhere, a black meteor plummeted from the heavens, hissing as it rocketed through the air at a staggering velocity. It crashed before me, raising a dense cloud of dust and pink and red and blue fragments all aloud.
I halted, shielding my eyes with my forearms. A shadowy figure rose from the impact crater, appearing as a malevolent mass of obsidian slime. The entity emitted agonizing wails, bearing thousands, not just dozens, of writhing tentacles upon its back, its terrifying shape towering over me like a behemoth. I froze, confronting the beast, every muscle in my body locked in place. Another scream surprised me from my rear.
I could not see what happened… but I knew I was killed.
4. Cyclic Rebirth
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I recalled experiencing the agony of my demise, as though an immense lance the width of a clenched fist had impaled me from behind. A sudden, numbing tranquility engulfed me as the world melted into darkness. The whole sensation of it was chimerical, surreal, for I could have sworn I was drifting away on a sea beyond my grasp. Then the serenity of my reverie was jarred back into reality.
Life struck me in the hard blow of a gelid wind.
My eyes sprang open. I jolted up in terror. What is happening? Naked still, panting, I returned to the spot of my origin, as though time had restarted. An eerie familiarity engulfed me, yet, at the time, my memory was a void. A complete emptiness, which drew me unaware of the death I suffered or the events that just transpired. I did not even recollect being killed.
The chaos of confusion unfolded anew.
Surprise, shock, dread—everything recurred. I stood vulnerable amid oblivion, striving to extinguish my insufferable itch. At that instance, I reacted differently, collapsing to the ground and screaming for help, but the tempestuous winds smothered my despair. Tears streaming down my face, I buried it in the sand, clutching handfuls with fervor. I soon realized the sand’s bizarre, water-like texture.
What is this?
Eventually, I rediscovered the enigmatic parchment, which again rested in the exact same spot beneath a white stone. As though for the first time introduced to the missive, I stopped thunderstruck, fumbling toward the letter with unyielding haste. The same symbols, the same message, the same riddle bewildering me into fear that compelled me to heed its instructions.
RUN! RUN! RUN! My mind thundered.
Finding the red beacon pulsating through the mist, I recommenced. Soon I encountered a grotesque tableau of decaying bodies littered across the landscape, their pallid forms shrouded in the fog. Once more, my terror doubled upon realizing they were my own replacer. The putrid odor was far more pronounced, forcing me to clamp my nostrils shut. Several strides forward, I lost track of the beam. Despite lingering in my sight, it became elusive. I launched into a disoriented sprint, confounded by the realm's inherent temporal-spatial turmoil.
Minutes later, I was enveloped by those spectral veils of sand. They swirled and undulated around me, entrancing me with their haunting, mermaid-like chorus. "Release me," I pleaded. "Begone!" The spell of their melody shattered to a halt as a demonic shriek tore through the sky. I spun, my eyes darting in panic, then I saw a tentacled mass swooping down upon me like a colossal bat. I attempted to shield myself with my forearms, desperate in my plea, but the creature's descent marked the last sight I beheld.
Again… I died.
Afresh, I awoke back in my initial spot beside the letter, retaining no memory of my previous demise. Even now, as I record this, I cannot recall the number of times I perished in my quest for that beacon. I know it forged a macabre path with my carnage. Limbs, entrails, and gore littered the area as the savage beings feasted upon my disgrace. Enshrouded in terror, they always came along as deathly apparitions with harrowing screams, ever-shifting amorphous forms, and writhing tendrils with mandible-like appendages. The ominous darkness they emanated consumed life itself, hinting at an unfathomable malevolence.
Those creatures killed me by impaling my body with their tentacles, an excruciating ordeal that soon melted my mind into a morbid void. Each time I opened my eyes, the cycle repeated. Identical doubts and anguish assailed me back. I was compelled to start anew, drowned in bewildering forgetfulness. I was trapped in a cyclic nightmare, oblivious to my own predicament.
The letter would always rest in the same position, tucked beneath a white rounded stone. Throughout my sequence of reincarnations, I was not perpetually blessed to perceive the parchment. Often I awakened and immediately succumbed to despair, sprinting without direction only to be slain again by one of those fiendish entities. If I read the message, then I would endeavor to reach that cryptic beacon. Regardless of my actions, a singular destiny would always meet me: death—often by monstrous claws, sometimes by hunger, cold, or disease, or even more sinister fates that I cannot recall. If only I could keep the memories of my experiences, I might better prepare for my encounters. Yet my demise punished me into amnesia, and by that I was mocked by fate.
My plight escalated into madness.
In one of my everlasting rebirths, I sneaked past the nightmarish creatures to a distant refuge. In that secluded space, I survived for numerous days, or at least that I judged to be many. I found shelter in a burrow I discovered, fit enough for my size, thereby evading the itching on my skin, the coldness, and, especially, the monsters. However, outside, they would still be there, as if they could sense my presence. I mastered the art of prowling through the crevices of towering rocks, stealthily navigating the stone-strewn land to evade my aerial predators.
Each day upon awakening, I would scour for the peculiar flora burgeoning in the pallid terrain surrounding my small den. They resembled violet stalks culminating in upturned azure pyramids, with roots clutching the earth with such tenacity that they appeared to shriek when unearthed. They emitted a pink luminescence in the darkness, and sometimes swayed side to side for no discernible cause. I suspected they were matching my position, similar to sunflowers following the Sun.
Their succulent and saccharine taste, juiced out of the pyramidal apex, was delightful. Yet, even with sustenance and vigilance, dehydration and starvation overpowered me. Now I believe my demise came from poisoning induced by those very plants.
How many times had I perished?
To this day, I am unsure. The horrors I endured during those dreadful moments defied natural explanations. Perhaps I had never died, or perhaps I existed forever in a state of death. I am clueless. The oxymoron, here so blatant, remained elusive there. My memory of those occurrences represents humble efforts to decipher experiences that vastly surpassed any rationale.
There, reason did not apply.
Most unsettling, I continued oblivious to the deeper stake of my plight, which lay beyond life and death itself. The cryptic message from the parchment sought not to shield me from the ravenous creatures, the coldness, the hunger, or any material dangers. Instead, from an impending doom far more sinister. Little did I know, while I traversed the treacherous landscape, that the genuine danger lurked ever-present, as proximate as my own consciousness.
One day, I finally reached the elusive beacon.
I discovered it to be a stark, obsidian pillar, lodged in the soil, with a red light pulsating at its apex. However, there was no energy source—no flame, no lamp, no wires, nor anything else. The illumination happened seemingly by sorcery. Moreover, the beacon’s origin and purpose remained a mystery, but such questions paled compared to my overwhelming wish for escape. My thoughts had devolved into sheer insanity, and all I yearned for was deliverance from my grotesque nightmare.
After heeding the parchment’s instructions, I grappled it in my hands and veered right, without hesitation moving onward. I climbed a modest hillock, after which I encountered the ominous cave the letter warned me about. My sight widened in the vast crater that unveiled below.
5. Abyssal Awakening
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The cave, etched into the ground at the center of the gigantic crater, resembled the gaping maw of an ancient beast. Its entrance towered almost twenty-feet tall, partly veiled by the stormy mist, like a chasm leading straight into unknown depths. The hissing winds spiraled in a haunting melody as they were drawn into the hollow, their whitish arms rippling through the storm on the chant of a bride’s veil.
It took me an age to descend the treacherous slope, my right hand always clasping the letter with a deathly grip. The sides of the canyon were slick in an oily, yellow sheen, resembling ice that refused to thaw. There I felt a mere insect over the precipice of a gigantic amphitheater. My body skimmed the jagged cliffs, homing toward the cave at the basin’s heart. Throughout the ordeal, I remained vigilant of the skies, aware that I was exposed to the winged beasts that lurked from the clouds.
As I neared the entrance, and the landscape eased into a flat expanse, I bolted for my life while the creature’s fiery breath nipped at my heels, talons poised to snare me. I evaded its grasp by a hair’s breadth. The fiend unleashed a bone-chilling screech and rocketed into the firmament. I hurled my replacer into the cave, heedless of the terror that gripped me, indifferent to the enigmas that awaited within. Then chaos erupted. I plunged, spiraling through the impenetrable gloom, walls merging as I dived into the abyss. The world blurred as I rolled through the darkness, jarring, crashing, and ricocheting off the sides, tumbling into a whirlpool. The mystery gulped me down, as if I were so insignificant.
I fell and belly-flopped onto the ground. The shock wrecked my nerves. Yet, my sole concern was to elude the malevolent entity. My very being ached, every sinew of my muscles aflame. For a time, I lay there defeated, lost in the subterranean chamber. An eerie silence reigned, punctuated only by the faint wailing of the wind echoing through the entrance high above, from where I plummeted. A lone shaft of light pierced the penumbra, ending just a few meters ahead of me.
Quivering and unsteady, I regained my footing. During my fall, I lost the letter. The ground beneath resembled fashioned from crystal, its surface polished and treacherous. Eyeing through my pain’s haze, I felt the void enveloping me. The vast space stretched upward, the ceiling vanishing into indistinct shadows far above. It could not be I had fallen as deep; I struggled to believe. Sharp stalactites dripped from the unseen dome like icicles. The unsettling quietness reinforced the sense that I had stumbled upon the forbidden.
I whirled in bafflement, grappling for composure amidst the maddening surroundings. The itching of my skin subsided somewhat within the place, but intensified as my pulse quickened. Gaining clearer sight, the chamber’s polished surface evoked the image of a sculpted passageway carved through a massive blue diamond. Exotic growths sprouted from the walls, plants resembling crystals themselves, casting a ghostly radiance. The colors were mostly blue, red, and green, varying in intensity depending on their size. The smaller ones emitted a feeble light, while the larger blazed like torches. Up close, they resembled barnacles, with slimy, luminescent black orbs of different dimensions nestled among them. The location instilled deep alienation, as if ensnared in an alien ship’s core.
Odd trunks grew from the ground, many adorned with clusters of those shining balls, which now I suspect to be eggs. They towered from the floor and vanished upward into the shadows. While a few stood ramrod-straight, others contorted with no discernible cause. Each flaunted a vibrant purple, varied in shade, and otherworldly glowing blemishes. Different lengths and thicknesses of branches unfurled proportionally to the parent trunk. Those trees bore no flaw, mirroring the cavern’s smoothness. Yellow-brown leaves decorated the limbs, some as wide as my splayed hand. When the trees were smaller, they often intertwined into a dense thicket. Despite thin foliage, their close-knit arrangement fused them into a big bush.
Then I discovered the fresh letter referenced by the one I lost in my tumble. Another ancient parchment, yet remarkably well-preserved, rested on the exact place where the overhead beam spotlighted the ground. Such blatant coincidence denounced eeriness, as if someone intended me to discover it. I ran and took it as fast as I could, plunging on my knees on the glass-like concrete.
It was written:
ALERT! An imminent course lies ahead of you. Unidentified organic entities inhabit this subterranean zone. They exhibit threat levels surpassing that of the airborne creatures. Priority execution of evasive protocol required. Adhere to the trajectory until its end. Do not cease movement. It is imperative to evacuate the cavernous area by following the path in front. Repeat, continue along the designated path to its termination point. Deviation is ill-advised. Go now. You must follow these instructions. You are the only hope for the whole crew. Remember. Stream out.
The words hit me like a meteor and obliterated my fledgling calm. Stunned, my eyes darted through the space, the restlessness in my bones amplifying. I easily found the path the letter mentioned, a dark void cut into the rock where light feared to enter. Large enough for a single person to penetrate, but not without a sideways contortion.
For a while, I denied that was the course I should tread. Yet, the lack of alternatives betrayed my disbelief. The very thought of delving into the terrifying chasm sent shivers down my spine. I knew I should be fleeing at that precise moment, as the letter admonished, but I stood petrified.
The mind has its breaking point.
Shaking, I insisted on options as anxiety crawled through my skin. My gaze wandered the expanse: left, right, back, and skyward, but, in front, only that sinister passage existed. In my dread, I raked the parchment with trembling hands, scouring the symbols for overlooked minutiae. Sweat beaded on my forehead, for now I perspired, when above, in the desert, it never occurred. I only corroborated my doom. The message was unambiguous that I should proceed into that void.
Then it happened.
An eerie ringing filled my ears, emanating not from the cave, but from my mind. A turmoil of nightmarish insights barraged my thoughts, leaving me reeling. Overwhelmed by a pandemonium of sensations, feelings, sounds, images, and experiences of the most turbulent, my grasp on reality faltered. What is happening to me? I cried, pressing my temples, crushed beneath extreme derealization. Words cannot capture how suddenly everything felt so amiss. The phenomenon ended as abruptly as it began. I darted and hurled myself into the chasm, my despair so profound that the parchment slipped from my grasp unnoticed.
The path ahead was even more dark and void. I relied on the glow of the crystal plants on the walls to navigate. The glassy, slick terrain was perilous, making me stumble repeatedly. The tunnel forced me to duck a few times, when not narrowing into a crawl.
A stench of putrefying flesh soon invaded my senses, consuming me to the brink of retching. The tunnel’s darkness thickened to where only blackness remained. Blinded, I often relied on touch alone. To my horror, I found myself in a never-ending descent, growing darker the deeper I went.
My fractured grasp of time rendered the extent of my journey uncertain, yet I descended for what felt like an eternity. How long? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Months? Years? Cycles? Eons? Impossible to know. I only remember when the tunnel opened into a vast, underground chamber of breathtaking scale. The abyss loomed both above and below me, gargantuan depths in which the faintest sound echoed forever. Wonder washed over me as my gaze raced across the magnificent hall.
Stalactites, grotesque, elongated fangs, dangled from the invisible ceiling, their razor-sharp tips glistening with the moisture of a golden liquid. Enormous stalagmites jutted upwards from the bottomless pit, forming a treacherous landscape of jagged pinnacles and uneven ground, like a tapestry of scattered circles over the abyss. The walls bore the scars of eons of geological torment, veined with contorted patterns in hues of blood-red and midnight-black. Their surfaces writhed and pulsed as if imbued with an ancient malevolence, concocted within that hideous place for an unnamed time. No sound but the ghostly, distant whispers of wind, as if carrying an undercurrent of dread permeating the entire atmosphere.
Then I saw them… again. Corpses, scores of my own lifeless replacers unfurling before me. Decaying husks disgraced in their quest, lay strewn across the rock bridge vaulting the void. In a flash of terror, like the spark of a distant memory, I realized it was not my first attempt to conquer that perilous path. How often had I met my end in that place? The inquiry gnawed at me, a looming suspicion that seemed to echo from forgotten ages.
My thoughts petrified as a cry, colder than the desert’s winged horrors, pierced through the cavern. I scanned the space for the menace. Lofty atop the massive stalactites, sinister, glowing, yellow eyes sliced the darkness, riveted on me. Whatever that creature was, it was not alone. As if the void itself stirred, malevolent entities awakened in the shadows, one by one. Innumerable and unblinking, they all converged their hateful gaze upon me.
6. The Orb
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Run! The letter rumbled in my thoughts. Follow the path to the very end!
Then, unheralded, that accursed buzzing within my skull resurrected. The wailing cacophony escalated until I could endure it no more. I bellowed in terror, vainly attempting to muffle the sound by clutching my ears. What is happening to my mind? My distress attracted more of those abysmal creatures lurking in the dark, their golden gaze eating me whole. I dared not to face them, sprinting with my eyes clenched shut. I heard their spectral forms slicing through the air, hunting me with relentless speed as their wings flapped in a bat-frenzy racket. An unseen force struck me, toppling me to the ground, but I clawed to my stance and surged onward across the bridge.
[encrypted]
Lost in the maelstrom, flashes of a bygone self surfaced from a past long forgotten. I observed myself struggling to survive as I scavenged for food and built rustic weapons. I glimpsed barren wastes, subterranean hollows, towering woods, jagged peaks, mired marshes, boundless oceans… heterogeneous expanses whose horizons stretched out to no end. I beheld realms unutterable, battled beasts of unspeakable vileness, and witnessed wonders transcending belief. I tasted my blood and tears, endured famine and desiccation, terror and the sheer void of hope. Oh heavens…
What is this place?
Driven by madness, even if stepping over my fallen selves, I traversed the accursed bridge. At the end, there was a new entrance, a chiseled maw within the stone into which I cast myself in wild abandon. Halfway inside, something endeavored to seize me from my rear, but its grotesque bulk was too large for the opening. Terrifying shrieks and guttural roars reverberated throughout the cavern, punctuated by that I judged a clatter akin to wicked mirth. Panic hindered me to glance behind, to witness my assailant. In dread, I wrenched myself free from its iron claws and made my way inward.
I resumed my flight through the tunnel, pursuing the only path ahead. Gradually, my hallucination ceased, and a profound silence engulfed me. Time blurred in my walk, as seconds became days, and days fused into years. Somewhere along the way, I began ascending. At the tunnel's conclusion, far above, a pallid radiance bled through the darkness, glowing in a serene luster like hope's purest essence.
The entirety of my being was riveted on that ethereal glow. Joy flooded me; my nightmare seemed about to end. Despite my hope, the nadir of my tribulations was yet to happen. Traversing the spectral light, already outside of the tunnel, my vision was besieged as I beheld the desert unraveling before me. The tempest now abated, the complete boundlessness of that strange world stretched forever under a gray, undulating skyward dome.
That same desert of the sand veils!
The ghostly cyclone-like apparitions swirled all around in their incanting melodies. Among them, the black beasts of goo gorged on my lifeless remains scattered across the macabre space. I sobbed as my hope crumbled into despair. The beasts’ screams and howls pierced the morbid scenery, the haunting display stretching into the infinite over the landscape.
You are almost here! The androgynous voice resounded within my head. Come!
I realized at that time, as if suppressed memories flooded me at once, my suspicions were accurate. My journeys through that hellscape have been countless. I was trapped in a cyclical torment of death and rebirth, forever battling toward an unknown destination, only to be butchered again by the dangers in my crusade. But why? What purpose guided my steps? What fate imprisoned me? What goal haunted my every move? Through eyes misted with agony, I found something.
Distant on the bleak horizon, across the beasts feasting on my flesh, I discerned an outlandish object half-entombed in the earth. The relentless winds of eternity swept a shroud of sand from its apex. It was an immense obsidian orb, a stark anomaly contrasting with the surroundings. Its impeccable surface whispered to me of a far-advanced technology, lying in wait through untold ages. Despite being subjected to the caprices of fate, the uncanny artifact resembled unaltered by the vicissitudes of time. Though I lacked recollection, the thing resonated with me. I stared awestruck, as if the scene denounced a mistake in the very fabric of reality and brought back memories that should not be. I understood I had stumbled upon a conundrum of unfathomable depth.
Then it hit me again, the high-pitched noise inside my head, followed by a curse of maddening sensations and feelings.
Run! The smooth voice said. Here! Run! Come now! To the sphere!
The orb was the source all along! It was the unseen architect summoning me! Whatever power it concealed, it was that cryptic being that had guided me through my grotesque pilgrimage. Yet, how could I reach that craft? The ravenous creatures swarmed the air, hundreds of them, forever craving for my life. Horror and desolation devoured me whole. It loomed as a grim certainty that I would succumb once more, only to be reborn anew in a perpetual cycle of existential oblivion. What should I do? Amidst a sea of doubts and confusion, a frightening epiphany shattered my resolve.
I was in hell.
In that solitary, defining moment, the enigma crystallized before my haunted eyes. My eternal torment was naught but a cyclical, unavailing, Sisyphean nightmare. I would fall only to rise again, forever doomed to face those unspeakable horrors afresh as the relentless loop endured. Overwhelmed by a choking terror, I suffered at the view of the swarming creatures and all the torments the desert harbored for me. It seemed every road leading to the artifact was hampered, but the voice insisted.
Come! Do not doubt!
The riot of visions and sensations returned, climaxing as the madness in my ears intensified to unbearable heights. The ordeal suggested that a cryptic message, whose significance eluded me, was being transmitted straight into my brain. Then I realized with sharp clarity that the letters originated from that same orb—some way. Amidst my private, tumultuous upheaval, fragmented echoes of a past existence flitted once again across my mind, as if eons had been comprised into a few seconds.
In those recollections, that same phantasmal wasteland loomed, vast and incomprehensible, resonating with the eerie dirge of the cyclones. I marveled upon firmaments of the most strange, painted with somber shades and formations beyond comprehension. Entities abound—some hostile, some innocuous. I felt always misplaced, cast away in that desert, notwithstanding the eternity that there I lingered. My very essence suffered rent asunder, its remnants adrift in uncharted territory. I recollected when for many times I glanced up, my mind reeling, craving for rescue amid my desperate predicament.
In my nightmarish visions, I saw how death mocked me, offering no respite. On the heights of my anguish, I re-experienced my repeated attempts to end my life, only to reawaken in random places. I wept, all alone, but my voice reverberated into nothingness. I observed how I spiraled into insanity as I faced all my efforts drowning in futility. That realm bore no trace of Nature, devoid of any rational order: foreign, discordant, incongruous. It was a place never meant for our kind. Oddities and anomalies abounded, and the simplest logic carried no sense. The entire landscape reeked of absurdity, a ‘pataphysical dimension where even two plus two resulted not four.
Above all, the devastating isolation. The visions seared into me a profound existential terror. Cast adrift where no soul had dared traverse, there I stood, thrown into the abyss of nothingness. I saw colors and forms impossible to the human eyes. I encountered scents and tactile sensations that defied conventional existence. I beheld marvels beyond the realm of description. Though I endeavored to escape often, I had nowhere to run. Throughout all my plight, for as long as those memories led me, there persisted that enigmatic, androgynous voice, a haunting whisper guiding me through my odyssey as to draw me closer and closer to something.
It was the sphere, now I knew.
7. Final Escape
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Somehow, the obsidian orb, forsaken amidst that desolation, offered me aid. A consuming, insatiable hunger drove me to reach the object. It beckoned as the elusive salvation I had yearned for in tormented expectancy. However, the sphere, tantalizingly near, still felt so distant across so many dangers. The landscape teemed with the winged abominations, a burial ground littered with countless iterations of my own corpses.
Come! The voice repeated. Now!
I was compelled to act. Without hesitation, I sprinted, hurling myself into the jaws of peril. Never had I dashed with such urgency. Naked, frozen, starving, thirsty, and terrified, I ran toward the object. Sensing my presence, those merciless creatures surged after me, ravenous, with shrieks resounding an unholy chorus of nightmares.
Faster! Faster!
The gale’s ferocity left me disoriented as I sprinted over jagged stones hurting my feet. To avoid the monsters, I dived into a narrow crevice I discovered beneath a boulder. I wedged myself in that dark recess, quaking with wide-eyed terror. Black tentacles sought to invade my cramped hideout. In a brief struggle, I fought them with my legs, thrusting them out as I battled against their vile, sticky goo. The beast retreated, but not without scarring me with crimson gashes on my calf.
The small hole offered no safety; I had to move lest the monsters ensnare me. I exploded out in a frantic dash. The orb, hidden in the middle of jagged peaks, loomed before my eyes as I neared it. Despite being half-buried, it towered like a six-hundred-foot building, so alien that I could not fathom what I was hurtling toward. Yet the eerie familiarity persisted. A sea of sand veils danced around the artifact, as if curious themselves, amidst the ethereal mist at the mountain's base.
Come!
The dark creatures were relentless in their pursuit.
“Where do I enter?” I cried out in my frenzied flight. “Where do I enter?”
The sphere's surface was devoid of any features, a flawless, hermetic, and uncanny single entity. No door, no gate, no entrance.
Come! Jump into it! Just jump!
“Where do I enter?” I repeated. “Help me! Please!”
Just jump into it!
The cacophony of the innumerable beasts hunting me echoed like the cries of hellish hordes. My labored breath and searing muscles clashed with the frigid wind, but I was determined to escape from my doom. As I approached the object, the orb grew increasingly taller in my sight.
Jump!
I plunged into the unknown, diving with no regard. Then it happened. Abrupt silence ensued, that peacefulness I had not known for ages. Relief enveloped me in a divine warmth as I escaped the clutches of the relentless nightmare. I was offered a sanctuary from the madness outside. For a moment, I stood still with my thoughts, savoring the relief of my salvation. I remained ignorant of what peril I had eluded, but, deep in my bones, I sensed my leap had spared me not just from death, but from a doom far more dreadful.
From the bottom of my heart, I was grateful.
Then I opened my eyes. Surveying the surroundings, I found myself in a dim chamber. As my vision adjusted to the darkness, shapes emerged from the shadows. Computers. Displays. Consoles. Panels filled with buttons. Levers. Wires. Switches. Cables. An enigmatic nexus that baffled comprehension. My eyes widened in awe, akin to a caveman first beholding the sorceries of an advanced society. Suddenly, the domain sparkled into life as my heart jolted. Lights, screens, and holograms popped up everywhere. Whirrs, beeps, and chirps. In loud and successive bangs, the ceiling’s fluorescent lamps ignited one by one.
The place blazed into clarity, unmasking my position at the heart of a vast technological room.
Chapter 2. The Spaceship
Target: Mike must awaken aboard the omniship, establish Kallom-4000 as his only guide, inspect the vessel and his quarters, discover that the mission and crew are missing, and end in a destabilizing reality jump.
Narrative hook: Description
Narrative ending: Cliffhanger
Narrative flavor: Horror / Anticipating the Worst; Horror / Big Dumb Object; Horror / Fluctuating Mise-en-scène; Horror / Foreshadowing; Horror / Great Horrifying Discovery; Horror / No Control; Horror / Sudden Unexpected Horror
1. The Bridge
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A chill slithered my spine as I speculated the ramifications of my find. The locale thrummed with an ancient, prohibited aura, reminiscent of a mausoleum sheltering memories long forgotten. Looking around, my mind teetered on the cusp of reality's precipice, where the tangible dissolves into fantasy. The setting was no mere déjà vu. It seemed a spectral reawakening of some buried history, as though I had previously wandered that place.
I stood frozen, petrified by the enigmatic fate that skulked before me. The room glowed so vehemently into my unaccustomed eyes that I was compelled squint. As the seconds trickled into minutes, it dawned upon me that I was ensnared within an unfamiliar realm — a nexus of control, a kind of bridge, a region of space teeming with an uncanny mélange of machinery and devices. The stretch of my sight was consumed by a convoluted labyrinth of technology, a haunting display of an alien intellect far beyond my comprehension.
Each surface, each corner, each shadowed nook bristled with an ominous blend of scientific apparatus. Buttons, dials, switches, radiant screens, flickering LEDs casting eerie, otherworldly glow, and mechanical levers of an inscrutable purpose. Together they formed a tapestry of cryptic functions. The labyrinth sprawled out before me seemed to throb with an aberrant sentience, arcane, drenched in a formidable atmosphere on the edge of horror and awe.
The place spanned about a hundred square meters. Arrayed before me there were ten seats, surrounded by ergonomic consoles, which I suspected to belong to the crew of the craft. One station elevated above the remaining ensemble, evidently belonging to the captain. They all faced the wall in front, a black and gray spectacle adorned with an intricate assemblage of even more buttons, dials, switches, and screens filled with colorful symbols that boggled my mind. In a subtle way, these symbols echoed those I had encountered in ancient manuscripts, yet their meaning remained inscrutable. The massive interface beckoned me with its dizzying display, a constellation of commands and information all completely unknown.
Just at the left side of those seats, affixed on the wall, loomed a monolithic flat and black screen. It reigned as the most colossal visual apparatus within the chamber, conspicuous, towering over the room until the ceiling. A single green phrase was displayed on its surface, protruding like a hologram. It ended with three animated dots and that seemed to indicate a loading process:
Booting Kallom-4000…
Countless details clamored for my focus in the place, my eyes pivoting swiftly as if on a swivel. Seized by a cocktail of dread and fascination, I walked to that vast control interface in front of the seats and began inspecting all those buttons, toggles, switches, rotary dials, screens, gauges etc. They extended until the ceiling and I had no idea how someone could go up there. My attention remained bonded to the reachable cryptograms before me. Intriguingly, the glyphs indeed bore uncanny resemblance to the script from the parchments. Even though the inscriptions started undecipherable, a jarring epiphany inevitably shattered my mental fog. I managed to decipher a few titles as my fingers skimmed cautiously over the labyrinth of instruments: “Luminosity Strength,” “Contrast,” “Frequency,” “Temperature Control,” “Room Activation,” “Seats’ Heights”… And even curious names like: “Plotter Re-managing,” “Mathboosters’ dispatchers,” “Central Hub Frequency,” “Q-Oversight Operation,” “DB-OP Control,” etc.
What is this place?
My suspicion gravitated toward an exquisite spaceship. Yet, probing the outermost recesses of my memory, which now gradually began to unfurl, I catalogued the myriad of prior vessels I had traversed. None of them looked like that place, neither inside nor outside. The colossal black orb, etched in the sand, still lingered vividly in my thoughts, bearing no remembrance to any other craft I had ever been in.
My gaze fell upon a specific panel, strategically situated at the center of the wall. The panel was highlighted in red color. If my reading of the enigmatic symbols were right, it was titled “Cohesion System.” Anchored within, a holographic display showcased dual gauges in juxtaposition, and beneath it lay a rotary dial denoted as “Milliarium Aureum Principle’s Modulator Control.” What a strange name… The left indicator in the panel was titled “Decohesion Probability Indicator.” It was a bar divided in four regions: blue, green, yellow, and red. The blue section was small, taking up only a minor portion at the bottom. The green section was a bit larger, followed by the yellow section which dominated most of the bar. At the very top, the red section was the smallest, appearing as a mere thin line. Each color zone was clearly labeled:
Red - Decohesion imminent. Yellow - High probability of decohesion. Green - Mild probability of decohesion. Blue - No probability of decohesion. Keep always inside this level.
A diminutive white triangle on the bar's left denoted the current status, a movable horizontal marker that would traverse the bar's length. At that moment, the indicator was already in the yellow region, slowly, but steadily, rising to the red region stating “Decohesion imminent.”
Just beneath that bar there was the following:
Warning: Decohesion can lead to unknown consequences and puts the entire crew in danger. Countermeasures are immediately required.
That puzzled me immediately.
The right-hand instrument inside the Cohesion System’s panel bore the label “Decohesion Deviation Indicator.” This gauge featured a needle that traversed three sections: “Safe,” which was colored blue; “Hard,” which was colored yellow; “Irreversible,” which was colored red. The Safe and Irreversible regions bore the same size, but the Hard-yellow region was slightly larger. In the same way the triangle was already in the yellow section in the bar, the pointer was already in the “hard” section in this gauge, also slowly leaning towards the “irreversible” region.
Just beneath that gauge it was written:
Warning: Countermeasures will be immediately applied to restore safe conditions. Irreversibility cannot be countermeasured.
Doubt crept in, a sinister inkling that something nefarious was afoot. The twin gauges— Decohesion Probability Indicator on the left, and Decohesion Deviation Indicator on the right — operated in eerie harmony. Though clueless about the unfolding spectacle, the escalating tension between the instruments ignited an inferno of dread and desolation within me.
2. The Warning
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My heart raced. My mind went blank by panic and I felt hollow. It crossed me that perhaps my presence in that place provoked some type of disturbance. I instinctively knew, like a long-lost memory roaring back from a distant past, that I should stop that steady rise towards the irreversible level no matter what. It did not take long until a female smooth voice, one that I had not heard until that moment, resonated through the chamber, echoing like a harbinger of impending doom.
WARNING! COUNTERMEASURES MUST BE APPLIED IMMEDIATELY. DECOHESION IMMINENT.
What should I do? I trembled, looking around and frightened as a cornered animal. “Help!” I cried. “I need help! Please! Someone!”
There was no one.
The big screen still displayed "Booting Kallom-4000…” For some reason, the words “decohesion imminent” made me terribly anxious. It was a fear I could not fathom, but I knew, someway, to be reasonable. With the indicators still rising up, I realized I had to do something — anything! I had to fight that looming terror growing upon me. Then the whole room plunged into a sudden dark as the lights went off in a pulsating red and an apocalyptic alarm was triggered: wee woo, wee woo, wee woo, wee woo… What is happening?
“Make it stop! Make it stop!”
WARNING! COUNTERMEASURES MUST BE APPLIED IMMEDIATELY. DECOHESION IMMINENT.
Desperately inspecting that panel “Cohesion System” again, my shaking hands went instinctively to that rotary dial called “Milliarium Aureum Principle’s Modulator Control.” I did not know why the device seduced me, among so many others, it was simply a consequence of my despair. The dial went from "min." to "max.," throughout the way indicating many smaller positions mysterious to me, from left to right: "1.12 i/n," "1.18 i/n," "2.12 i/n," "2.18 i/n," "3.12 i/n"…
Wee woo. Wee woo. Wee woo. Wee woo.
WARNING! COUNTERMEASURES MUST BE APPLIED IMMEDIATELY. DECOHESION IMMINENT.
Wee woo. Wee woo. Wee woo. Wee woo.
I started turning the dial towards the maximum level, my anxiety so heightened I was about to faint. I felt that was all I could do. I did not even reach the last level when I realized the pointers on both indicators were rising not slower, but even faster, like a pressure cooker about to explode at any moment. I messed up. Oh heavens! It seemed I just worsened my situation. Soon it was as if I could not stand on my feet facing was about to be.
“Help!” I screamed. “Help!”
I immediately pulled my hand from the dial, as if to flee its curse, and could not do anything else but watch the scene unfold in its pulsating alarm. I had that deep sense that I had doomed myself, condemned me to a fate infinite worse than my most terrifying nightmare. Oh no! Even though I did not know what exactly, I knew it was real! Decohesion imminent, that expression would not escape my mind, the source of fixation.
The small triangle in the Decohesion Probability Indicator climbed across the bar and my eyes alongside with it. Please! Please! Stop! Suddenly, both the indicators reached their maximum levels at the same time. Basically at the same time, the Decohesion Probability Indicator reached “decohesion imminent”, and the Decohesion Deviation Indicator reached “irreversible.” The image was etched in my mind. My horror was such that I felt like my eyes plunged into the hollowness inside of me. I fell to the ground as I could not withstand what I was just about to do to myself.
The female voice announced the countdown as the alarm screamed loudly in the room:
All of a sudden, an immense relief basked upon me when I saw both indicators going down again. Slowly, both of them, but steady. The siren stopped, and with a gentle hum, the lights flickered back into the room, casting a comforting glow that washed away part of my extreme tension. Then the female voice sounded again, that time making me feel so good:
DECOHESION NOT IMMINENT. COUNTERMEASURES HAVE BEEN APPLIED. SYSTEM UNDER CONTROL. RECOVERING SAFE STANDARDS. ONE MATHBOOSTER LOST.
The indicators continued to fall until both of them rested in their blue levels, the safest accordingly to their own descriptions. There they stayed. I could not describe how relieved I felt, as tears moisturized my eyes.
After experiencing all that, I had that gut feeling that that spaceship hid mysteries I could not yet understand. Looking around the abandoned room filled with technology, it struck me familiar, but also so different, sheltering an atmosphere of riddles whose enigmas felt so unique.
A few seconds later, an welcoming sound came from that enormous screen depicting “Booting Kallom-4000…” Some process had just finished. I snapped my eyes to it. Many data was being displayed all at once on the surface of the screen, like rivers of streams of characters and numbers. Then, it all stopped, only remaining in the very center of the screen the image of concentric circles drawn in blue and that would not stop rotating. It seemed like a holographic eye always staring at me.
“Welcome to the bridge of Omniship RT-874, Mr. Mike Rajhalo Spencer,” a male smooth voice sounded. “I am Kallom-4000, Theravada’s ID-2254. I am the MAI - main artificial intelligence assistant in this omniship.”
That was the exact same voice, which I heard so many times inside my head, guiding me towards that black sphere when I was in the desert. I had no idea how it sounded there, in that room.
“Mr... Mi-... Mik... Mi... Mike... Mike Rajhalo Spencer? Who is that?”
“It is your name, sir. You are a systems operator officer assigned to the Theravada's crew for this mission." Pausing briefly, likely assessing my confusion, he continued: “I know you have many questions. I am here to help you to the best of my abilities, sir.”
My reality began to disintegrate, fraying at the edges like an old photograph. All that was too much for me. Kallom-4000's voice, calling my name, turned into a distant echo, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel. My vision started to narrow, the periphery darkening until all I could see was a small circle of the rotating blue holographic eye on the screen. It felt as though I was falling, descending into an abyss that had suddenly opened beneath me.
"I... can't..." I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips.
My reality faded into darkness, like the long night of the Universe.
2.1. ...
...
4. The Apartment
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Stirring from unconsciousness, I felt the soft contours of a bed that seemed to mold itself to my body. As my eyes adjusted to the gentle, azure glow emanating from the seamless, matte walls, I took in the room—a blend of organic curves and technological elegance. A desk equipped with a dormant display and a suspended holographic interface sat unobtrusively against one wall, while scientific instruments occupied shelves on the opposite side. In this paradoxical sanctuary that was as strange as it was familiar, I sat up on the bed, filled with questions but momentarily soothed by a serenity so long forsaken.
“You woke up, Mr. Mike,” Kallom-4000 voice sounded in the place. “I took the liberty of wearing you while you were sleeping. You are currently in your quarters.”
I glanced down at myself, immediately noticing that I was not naked anymore. I was now dressed in a form-fitting garment that looked like a seamless, black bodysuit. It seemed almost fluid, hugging the contours of my body without constriction. As I touched it, I could feel a slight tingling sensation, as if the fabric was alive and readjusting to my every move. Despite its snug fit, the material breathed as if a second skin, providing a comforting, almost protective sensation.
"Nano-particles," I thought, pensively, as Kallom-4000's words echoed in my mind. “This technology is so old. Everything in this room looks old. Traditional computers, holograms, physical data storage devices, cables? What is this? This looks like an ancient 25th-century spacecraft.”
“I have to agree with this. Unfortunately, I cannot provide a reason. It is not written in the manifesto or in any other document I still have access to. By the well, did you sleep well, Mr. Mike?”
“Thanks. Yes… maybe… I don’t know. I forgot the last time I have slept.” There was a pause. "I need to get out of here," I said abruptly, my voice tinged with a rising sense of urgency. "I want to go back to the bridge. I have to communicate with space control, now!"
"Mr. Mike, I have already tried to establish communication with space control. I can assure you, we are completely cut off," Kallom-4000 responded, his voice unwavering. "I know this is difficult to accept, but panicking will not change our circumstances. Please, try to remain calm. Maintaining our composure is of the utmost importance, especially in such circumstance."
For a moment, I felt my shoulders tense, my breaths shallow. But slowly, I began to relent. The gravity of Kallom-4000's words sank in. If the highly sophisticated AI could not find a way out, perhaps that was little I could do. I took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling the tension seep out of me. "Alright," I said, my voice softer now.
Just as I was about to lift myself from the bed, a shimmering surface on the wall caught my eye. I had not noticed it earlier, but there it was—a full-length mirror, unassumingly positioned directly opposite to my bed. For the first time, I beheld my reflection. I realized that Kallom-4000 had not just clothed me, but took care of my overall appearance, by shaving me and cleaning my skin. The face staring back belonged to a handsome man, with attributes too perfect to be sculpted by anything else but biological engineering. Sun-kissed skin, reminiscent of terracotta clay, framed a pair of deep-set, hazel eyes. Short, closely cropped hair adorned my head, giving a practical and stern appearance. The beard, closely trimmed, framed my jawline with precision, lending a resolute and defined character to my visage.
The surrealism of the reflection gripped me with an intensity I had not anticipated. The face, with its intricately structured features, was mine yet not. I, a syraki, would naturally not be well-acquainted with the idea of a corporeal form. Gazing into the mirror, I was compelled to confront the profound embodiment of an identity that was at once familiar and utterly alien. The confines of a physical body, that was a strange concept for a being so well-accustomed with the fluidity of the virtual. For sure it had not been my first time wearing that replacer, but it never ceased to amaze me that I could never truly fathom an answer for the question of who I am.
As I lifted myself from the bed, I examined the console beside it, replete with dials and holographic buttons designed to control the bed's adaptive features and bio-monitoring functions. The walls featured retractable compartments housing life-support systems, or what appeared to be life-support systems, their interfaces shining Syrakian characters. A high-backed chair, ergonomically designed for zero-gravity comfort, was positioned in front of a series of flat screens suspended from the ceiling by articulating arms. Those screens were turned off.
[encrypted]
Above the bookcase, a transparent cabinet showcased an array of more modern handheld devices: multi-purpose tools, like calculators and magnifying glasses, each with its own dedicated spot. The room brimming with 25th-century technology, the ambiance created a peculiar paradox—a vessel of what should be a distant future, yet it all appeared strangely ancient to me, like artifacts of a bygone era. Even though my memory remained fuzzy, someway I knew none of that resembled a Syrakian vessel.
Kallom-4000 observed me as I explored the place in my curiosity. I still did not know whether I should trust him.
Getting out of the room, I faced a corridor. I was immediately engulfed by the dimly lit expanse of the passageway. The placed was dark but bathed in a muted, cerulean glow from sporadic light nodes embedded within the walls. Tubulations ran overhead, pulsating softly with a rhythmic bio-like luminescence, reminiscent of the heartbeat of the ship itself. On either side, the corridor was punctuated by heavy, metallic doors that slid seamlessly into the walls, each marked by titles in syrakian characters written in neon-like lights: Laboratory, Bathroom, Den, Kitchen. The air carried a slight hum, lending the corridor an eerie, otherworldly ambiance.
What is this place?
Just at the end of the corridor I could see a room. I followed it and found a dining area. A floating table took center stage, flanked by sleek chairs that apparently had never been used. Next to the kitchen, there was the living room. They both formed a single unit. The walls, embedded with paintings of dynamic nano-pixels, changed visuals randomly, be it serene landscapes of ancient Earth or abstract cosmic patterns. Seating areas consisted of fluid-shaped loungers that adapted to an individual's posture, offering optimum comfort. Above, a holographic entertainment system could project 3D movies, so on could watch lying on the couch. Attached to the wall, just before a white table of marble, a more traditional two-dimensional flat screen displayed a black canvas. The ambiance was completed by an intelligent lighting system that adjusted its brightness and hue.
Back to the corridor, I continued my exploration and visited the kitchen, the den, and the bathroom. The room in which I woke up was named “Bedroom,” almost to the end of the corridor, just beside a doorless room, almost completely white, that was most empty if not for a couch, a table, and some books.
Walking around the place, I felt like in a time machine, for the entire architecture and style resembled ancient humans. If not for a few anachronisms, ranging from the decidedly archaic, like a cuckoo clock in the corridor close to the empty area, to the more advanced, like a molecular synthesizer attached to the wall in the kitchen, still impossible for humans as primitive as those of the 25th century, which was confirmed by Kallom-4000. Most of the technology came from that period, though, like the bio-adaptive beds on the bedroom, the sonic showers in the bathroom, the biometric vaults on the corridor, or the p-computers in the terminal of my den.
5. The Laboratory
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I explored the laboratory last. From all compartments, that was the bigger one and the most intriguing place. The room was surrounded by computers and screens, also a small server from which a revelry of cables protruded like tentacles of a monster. Coincidently, all the computers were active, as Kallom-4000 explained me that they were made to be always on.
My eyes were drawn to the most peculiar device in the place: a meticulously crafted helmet, perfectly fitting the head of a human. The helmet was intertwined with a myriad of multicolored cables that stretched and converged into the heart of the server. The intricate design and placement made it unmistakably clear that it was intended for human interfacing, but still I could not fathom, though, what type of study were to be conducted in such a place, neither could I understand why such a device would be in my very own quarters.
“What is this?” I asked.
Kallom-4000’s blue concentric eyes was detached from a holographic projector just at one of the corners of the laboratory.
“This device is called QMMI - Qualia Mapping Modular Interface. Each quarter has their own, specific to its respective owner. This means this one will only work with you, Mr. Mike.”
Approaching the device, my hands instinctively reached out to touch the smooth alloy surface of the helmet, tracing the intricate patterns of its construction. It was just above a comfortable seat, big enough to hold a lying human. The complexity of the machine intrigued my mind, especially because I could not fathom its purpose.
“What is this used for?”
“Accordingly to the data I have, the main purpose of the helmet is to connect your syraki to the debug framework. It is intended as a complementary place of work besides the main laboratory, located at Room 0554. Unfortunately, I have no information of the actual purpose this laboratory was created for.”
My eyes still on the device, some distant recollections began to unfurl across the landscape of my fuzzy memories.
"It resembles a virtual reality pod," I remarked. "Much like the historical depictions I've seen. People would recline on these couches, don the helmets, and effectively link their brains to those early virtual realities. It is very odd to think how they still needed such devices to interface with virtual worlds.”
“There would still be a long time until humans evolved into syrakis, for sure.”
“What I don’t get is why is it called Qualia Mapping Modular Interface. It doesn’t bring anything to me."
I waited, but there was no answer from Kallom-4000. Next, I hurried to one of those active computers and, sitting on a chair, began experimenting with the machine. Different from our own direct intermingling with algorithms, those primitive computers interfaced with us through holographic projections, mainly focused on our hands and eyes. It took me a time to get used to that, but I eventually managed my way into.
Not just the hardware was ancient, but also the system. The data structures, the way graphics were represented on the screen, the limited multi-threading capabilities, the absence of real-time neural interfacing, the rudimentary natural language processing, and the reliance on manual input methods like keyboards and mice, even if holographic, all felt like stepping back into a technological time capsule.
I was interested in trying to understand the type of research being conducted in that laboratory. I did not find anything—anything that I could understand at least. Parsing as fast as I could throughout the databases I found, there were many documents. Even though written in traditional Syrakian language, they were so mysterious that I could not understand a single sentence of them. They talked about subjects like q-mappings, qualia, states of consciousnesses, mind matrices, virtual modulation, and so on. What is this? Again, the same leaning towards the same subjects as the books in the shelves. I had no familiarity with such subjects. Instead, I had anticipated encountering research topics commonly associated with vessels designed for deep-space exploration: astrobiology, stellar cartography, dark matter, cosmic radiation, time dilation, relativity, space weather, and so on.
Nothing. There was nothing.
[encrypted]
“Kallom-4000, could you explain me those documents?”
“Mr. Mike, I have been studying those documents for long. It would take an insurmountable amount of time for you to process all this information while limited by a human brain. Thus, allow me to summarize my findings. These documents relate to the process of navigation in an space they usually refer to as the Omnispace, as you might have already guessed. I have no information of what exactly is this so-called Omnispace, but I know that, whatever it is, we are in it.”
I shook my head, confused. Omnispace? My mind fried. Omnispace? There was nothing I could remember about such subject.
"Perhaps this vessel is designed to navigate through the fabric of space-time in unorthodox ways," I hypothesized. "That might explain why the calculations seem so overwhelming."
“It might very well be a possibility, sir.”
“Could you not run a parse algorithm into these documents to check if the data fits any model of such?”
“I have tried already, sir. Millions of times. Unfortunately, the data remains a mystery even for me.”
For a brief moment, my eyes lingered on the glowing screen in front of me. The light cast a soft glow on my face, subtly illuminating my features. A multitude of thoughts raced through my mind as I pondered the unresolved mystery but to no avail. Reluctantly, I tore my gaze away.
“Okay, let’s leave it for later. I’m curious to see the rest of this ship. Kallom-4000, could you give me a tour?”
“Of course, sir. Please, follow the blue path.”
6. The Third Level
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A blue path made up of continuous arrows appeared on the ground. Lifting up from the chair, I began following it. Even at that time, I still had no idea how unorthodox that vessel truly was. Having exited my quarters, I saw myself in the middle of a hallway five meters wide, flanked on both sides by one-hundred square meters quarters. My own was just behind me, and from left to right all I saw the other ones, belonging to the rest of the crew. They were all sealed, portraying above their entrance the red gleaming of the name of its respective owner. The moment my own apartment was closed, the name Mike Rajhalo Spencer also turned out red.
The place was eerily quiet, its suffocating silence disturbed only by the sporadic hums coming from nowhere. With every step I took, my footsteps echoed, sending chills down my spine. Shadows seemed to shift just out of sight, and I could not shake the feeling of being watched, always wondering what truly lay behind each sealed door. The memories of my stay in the desert were still perfectly clear in my mind.
“You are safe here, Mr. Mike,” Kallom-4000 said. “There is no one else but you and me in this vessel.”
“Thanks.”
From West to East, North to South, the quarters were distributed in the following way:
First row: Ismael Karlave Cossa Oshiro Fratken Felix Colomb Rüdolf Bolton Nixilian Elijah Kang Erva
Second row: Lucia Garrota de Irvis Mike Rajhalo Spencer Vladimir Dit Kuznetsov Susan Lkravart Maneli Beatriz Ferreira Augustiniana
I checked all of the quarters. They were all closed except to mine.
“Only the owner can have access to their own quarters,” Kallom-4000 explained.
“Are you sure they are all empty? No one inside?”
“I am sure, Mr. Mike. Even though I cannot see their insides, since the data is encrypted to me too, I can check the t-signals of all crewmembers. The only one active in this ship is yours.”
What struck me most was the sheer size of the units. Each of the quarters spanned a hundred square meters, with ten in total. Typically, even the largest spacecrafts are judicious with space allocation, reserving it for essential components like cargo holds, fuel tanks, life support systems, waste disposal units, battery banks, crystal grids, and gravitational rotors. Given this, how could a spacecraft afford to dedicate such vast expanses solely for personal quarters?
Going South, a single metallic door at the very center of a wall extending from left to right shone “Lounge” in green neon light. As soon as the door opened, with a hiss, a vast space opened itself for me. It was enormous, for a spacecraft at least. The floor was made of a sleek, polished alloy, so perfectly displayed that it looked like computer-generated. Above, geometric panels crafted a ceiling that seemed almost organic, with beams of soft blue light filtering down, casting the room in a serene glow. Remarkably, full-grown trees reached up from the ground. Nestled amidst this biome were seating areas, made of clear, almost invisible materials, blending seamlessly with the environment.
In the middle, ten stools circulated the front bar at the right center of the lounge. They were all empty, but I judged the number ten not to be a coincidence. That was the whole crew. Besides, huge screens on the walls depicted in unison random relaxing scenes. Sometimes, it was the ebb and flow of tides in some paradisaic Earthly beach, the mountains of Mars, the plains of the Moon, the orbital stations in Jupiter, the lushful forests of the Hankilla System, the icy plains of Jurdel-Ik, or scenes of distant galaxies yet to be reached. Other times the perspective of a bird softly flying through white clouds, other times the scene of a raining forest, and so on. Holographic projectors from the ceiling also depicted abstract shapes whose sight soothed the mind, would we stare at it.
Different from the rest of the vessel I had seen so far, the place was not crowded with technology. Instead, most of it was just empty space. It was as if it had been designed to be a safe haven for the mind against whatever was happening outside. That was how I felt at least. In any case, there in that place, that clean, elegant, open, and vast lounge abandoned in the middle of nowhere made me feel uneasy, a level of ontological isolation as I beheld the empty hall.
Kallom-4000 projected itself from one of the big screens.
“There is something deeply wrong with this vessel,” I looked at him. “The units are enormous. It is almost as if the engineers didn’t care about space allocation. I mean, almost as if space itself wasn’t a problem.”
Kallom-4000’s circles rotated in agreement.
“I have noticed the same intriguing aspect. I guarantee you, Mr. Mike, that you will be even more surprised. Please, follow the blue path again, so that I can show you.”
Kallom-4000 led me again outside of the lounge. To the right, following the corridor along, an elevator was just at the end. It was a small space, with a sleek, metallic finish over a circular platform. Inside, it was cushy and cozy. The sliding door was transparent, but the moment it closed a blue holographic projection of a panel displaying the elevator commands appeared over the concave surface of the mirror. The interface presented the following options in Syrakian hieroglyphs:
1 - First Level - Command Center 2 - Second Level - Research Center 3 - Third Level - Quarters (current level) 4 - Fourth Level - Park 5 - Fifth Level - Burrow
“A spaceship with five levels?” I asked.
Kallom-4000’s eyes materialized as a small circle at the bottom-right of the holographic panel, yet his voice resonated omnidirectionally within the capsule.
“There is also a sixth level, called Zeroth Level - Observatory. However, it can be accessed only through the Bridge. Unfortunately, it is locked.”
“Locked?”
“Yes. The key is encrypted with Captain Rüdolf’s main key. Thus, it would be required of him to liberate access.”
“Okay, we will deal with it later. For now, I want to see all the levels. I will start from the bottom up.”
By saying that, I clicked the button indicating the fifth level. Then the magic of the vessel startled me again. I was expecting my body to be moved down, as the expected descent of a traditional elevator, but what happened was that my transfer was instantaneous. In one instant, I was in the fourth level. In the next, I was in the fifth level.
“Teleportation?” I asked, surprised.
“It looks like so, but I am unable to confirm.”
Teleportation would require vast amounts of energy. There was no logic in wasting that in something was frivolous as a personal elevator between levels.
7. The Fifth Level
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Stepping outside, I accessed the fifth level, called the Burrow. It was a vast chamber, twenty meters in width and fifty in depth. The walls were coated in a luminescent alloy, shimmering in hues of cobalt blue and silver. Embedded within these walls, numerous nanotech nodes emitted a soft glow, providing subtle illumination to the entire area. A myriad of cables, thick and thin, branched out from terminal computers, creating a dense web of electronic veins. These cables converged and snaked their way towards the center of the chamber, but lay dormant on the ground, hinting at the once evident presence of something there.
“What is this Burrow?” I asked, looking around.
“The Burrow is the lowest level of the omniship. Its purpose is to dock the smaller omniship ZF-78.”
“I see no ship.”
“Originally, the omniship ZF-78 was exactly in this place.”
Kallom-4000 got me a holographic projection, in real colors, of the vessel that was once there. The compact spacecraft, nestled within the hangar, resembled a finely chiseled shard of obsidian. With sharp contours, its design was minimalist yet intricate, evoking the imagery of a bird's talon or an archaic dagger. Its polished surface, marked by veins reminiscent of cracked stone, contrasted sharply with the luminescent cyan inlays that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, even thought, accordingly to Kallom-4000, it was not active. Lengthening about ten meters, Kallom-4000 elucidated me that it was engineered for a crew of two.
“What happened? Why is this ship not here anymore?”
“It is a little difficult to explain now, Mr. Mike. It is quite a lengthy story. Would you prefer it now?”
“Okay, let’s focus now on the tour. I will see it later. Please, just tell me now what is the purpose of this ship.”
“As little data as I managed to gather about the purpose of this mission, the ZF-78 seems intended to navigate in scenarios too dangerous for its mother omniship RT-874. Since it is smaller and carrying less information entropy, the complexity of the cohesive matrix reduces in a factorial manner, making it far simpler to hold against any possible decohesion, as long as the maximum of two crewmembers attached to the algorithm are respected.”
I looked back at Kallom-4000, whose circles detached from a holographic projector attached to the corner of the wall.
“I did not understand much of what you said.”
[encrypted]
Little by little, it seemed the fog of my memories started to diminish. I began to remember my previous life, as a syraki, my boundless consciousness cocooned inside the Hyperlink, unhindered by time and space, living wonderful lives inside virtual realities and teased with pleasures to the extremes of bliss. Nonetheless, it seemed so long ago that I questioned myself whether or not they were real, and that to be stuck inside that human body was all that always existed to me.
Back to the ZF-78, it had so many flaws that I questioned if that could even fly. I questioned Kallom-4000.
“From a cursory inspection,” he replied, “it is evident that the vessel lacks a proper aerodynamic design. It is incapable of atmospheric flying, not without some gravitational grid. Technically, it cannot even be called a spacecraft, for it also lacks all the required systems of one.”
“So why would they put it here?” I did not expect any answer. Kallom-4000 remained silent. “When I was in the desert, I saw this ship RT-874 from outside. It was nothing but an obsidian orb. Don’t tell me that this vessel also lacks a gravitational grid.”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Mike, it does. Both ZF-78 and RT-874 lack the necessary modules required for a basic spacecraft.” There was a pause. “If they are spacecrafts, they could be using technology so advanced whose descriptions are unavailable even in my own training set.”
“If they are spacecrafts?” I repeated, confused.
“Given our circumstances, Mr. Mike, all possibilities are to be considered.”
“But what other possibility would this be, Kallom-4000? Certainly we are not at the bottom of some ocean; certainly this is not a submarine.”
“This would be indeed very improbable.”
“Then what else could it be? Of course this was some kind of space mission but that went horribly wrong, right?”
“I’m hoping you are right, Mr. Mike.”
8. The Fourth Level
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The holographic projection blinked out of existence just after. Having nothing else to see there, I returned to the elevator. My next stop was the fourth level, named the Park. The moment I clicked the button, I was teleported. Equally instantaneous the whole atmosphere revolutionized. From inside the very capsule I could feel how a peaceful serenity, and soon it was as if I was in an entire different place.
Stepping outside, I looked around and I came across a wonderful green field. My first impression was that I was in some hydroponics sector, only to realize it was not. The scenery stretched out before me, an expanse of emerald green that seemed to dance and sway with the gentle caress of an invisible breeze. The grass shimmered under the golden rays, reflecting the light in a kaleidoscope of sparkling gems. Mature trees, their bark rich and textured, framed the field, their canopies providing dappled shade over patches of the land. Between them, flowers peppered the space, adding splashes of different colors: vibrant purples, radiant yellows, and deep blues. The entire landscape seemed to pulsate with life, with every element in harmonious synchronization. The air was filled with the sweet scent of a natural field, and the distant hum of insects provided a calming background symphony. The sheer beauty of the scene was breathtaking, a haven of nature's serenity amidst the technological marvels of that mysterious vessel.
Glancing upwards, I was struck by the vastness of the open sky. The deep blue spread out, its perfection punctuated by cotton-like clouds. The azure canopy stretched endlessly, meeting the distant horizon in a seamless blend, creating a boundless ceiling that dwarfed the landscape below.
“This field is just too extensive to fit inside any spacecraft,” I said immediately, not deluded by the illusion I witnessed. “Oh heavens. This is all explained now, isn’t it, Kallom-4000? There is no desert, no omniship, no mission… nothing… no more than those delusions would exist inside any other run. I am inside a virtual reality, isn’t it? Someone, for some reason, is messing with my mind… with my syraki.”
There were no screens or projectors in that place, so Kallom-4000 sounded straight into my head.
“That would be simpler if that was the case, Mr. Mike. As you know, the Complex has parsing algorithms that diligently check each single syraki at the beginning of each cycle. If someone, someway, managed the virtually impossible task to hack into the Complex to imprison you into some run, the check algorithms would have detected the error almost instantly.” There was a pause, then he continued. “Besides, remember that in the desert you actually felt pain. Since the Hedonic Revolution, syrakis are not allowed to feel pain past a certain Prif level, like that of violent death. Exceptions go only for very rare circumstances, in controlled environments, for scientific purposes.”
My eyes scudded across the landscape. I was trying to detect any mistake, any error in the fabric of reality that could get me some clue. Having experienced millions and millions of different runs, my syrakian consciousness was able to report even the smallest bugs in some virtual reality instance. Even though I donned a human brain, part of my instincts still remained. A cloud positioned slightly wrongly, a floating grain peeble, a tree swaying incongruously to the wind’s touch, a mountain too symmetrical to be real… Anything could denounce me a run, yet I found nothing, which frustrated me. Even to feel frustration felt strange, since that mental state would not belong to the spectrum of mental states normally experienced by a syraki.
“But… wouldn’t it be possible?” I insisted.
“Theoretically, it would, but extremely improbable. We do not have a single case like this since the very beginning of the Virtual Age.”
“Can you identify any pattern in the distributions of patches of trees across the landscape? If they match, it means they have some redundancy, which could denounce a run of limited memory.”
“I just checked and have found no pattern,” he answered. “The information entropy is very high.”
I shook my head and looked down, defeated.
“Okay,” I said. “See, if this fourth level is not the result of virtual reality, then what could it be?"
“When I was still connected to the Complex, I had information that some scientific algorithms tuned for physics research had been making advances on a subject called Quantum Resonance Fields (QRF). Theoretically, in a room equipped with Quantum Resonance Stabilizers (QRSs), any scenario could be developed by directly manipulation of quantum properties and configurations of matter and energy. Essentially, it would bend the fabric of perceived reality within its confines, creating an environment that would be indistinguishable from the real thing. Rather than simulating reality as virtual reality does, QRF technology would be rewriting the very rules of physics in that controlled space.”
“But what would be the purpose of this, if we already have molecular assemblers capable of building entire starships?”
“The study was more related to exploratory quantum-state manipulation and subatomic field coherence. This research aimed at pioneering methods for high-fidelity transmutations of energy-matter configurations within a confined quantum spectrum. Given our circumstances, I extrapolated and hypothesized that such technology could be the theoretical basis behind this fourth level.”
“Then this would mean that this spaceship is of cutting-edge technology,” I replied. “Therefore, how could one explain the ancient technology being used here, or why am I myself wearing a human replacer?”
“These are good questions, Mr. Mike.”
I looked around. The horizon was a vast panorama, stretching as if I had been anywhere else but within the constraints of a spacecraft. Layers of rolling hills, intricately detailed forests, and meandering streams blended seamlessly into the distance, fading into a gentle mist. The clarity of the view was astounding. No fog or smog obscured the view, only the natural curvature of the landscape, even that perfectly emulated, suggesting an expansive world beyond what my eyes could directly observe. It was as if I stood on the edge of an infinite realm, one that extended endlessly in every direction, challenging the very logic of space and containment.
“How big is this place, Kallom?”
“When you were in a desert, I did some tests myself. I tried to travel as far as possible. It seems the terrain and sky are procedurally generated, alongside everything else. I covered millions of kilometers, but yet I observed no artifacts.”
“This makes no sense,” I shook my head. “If it had been a run, this would be perfectly normal, but the environment lies inside a spacecraft detached from the Complex. Have you checked for servers that could be potentially storing such an environment?”
“Yes, there are none.”
I made a pause.
“Okay. Let’s say they are actually using these QRSs. They have to be somewhere else here, right?”
“Possibly, yes, Mr. Mike. As I said, though, this is cutting-edge technology about which I have little information. And, even if this happens to be the case, I suspect they could hide the very projectors themselves in the environment, making them impossible to be detectable without knowledge or specific devices, which both we lack.”
I parsed my eyes around in the vain hope of detecting one of those objects, but it was all in vain.
“It’s so strange…”
“In any case, Mr. Mike, we cannot be sure this place is the result of QRSs. This had been only speculation. Honestly, I find it highly improbable. It could be a multitude of technologies working in tandem, or perhaps something entirely unknown to us.”
“If not QRSs or virtual reality, what else could it be?”
“I am sorry, Mr. Mike. I am unable to provide any answer.”
Having exhausted all rational explanations, I decided to continue my exploration of the unusual environment. I followed a stone road that led deeper into the park. It seemed to be an infinite road, procedurally generated alongside the world. As I walked, the crunching of gravel beneath my feet was the only sound that broke the peaceful serenity enveloping the natural world. Birds sang in the distance, their melodies harmonizing with the gentle rustling of leaves, creating a soothing soundscape. The ambience was so calming, it was hard not to feel at peace. With each step, I felt my worries and confusion fade away, replaced by a tranquil contentment. My harmony, though, was about to come to an abrupt end.
9. The Reality Jump
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Without warning, I felt an intense pressure inside my head, as if my brain had just exploded. The world around me twisted and warped, my whole reality turning into a myriad of colors and abstract shapes. Sounds became distorted, echoing in my ears like ghostly whispers from another realm. I could hear Kallom-4000 calling my name, but even inside my head it sounded muffled and distant. I fell on my knees, in frenzy, and saw when the ground under me seemed to pulse and sway. My vision was filled with strange, fragmented images—shadowy figures, abstract patterns, places I had never been, and memories that were not mine.
“What is happening to me?” I managed to scream.
Schizophrenic frenzy enveloped me whole. Then all of a sudden I was not anymore in the fourth level, but somewhere else—a place I had never seen before! There… There was water… Yellow water. Mountains, enormous mountains. All mixed with shapes, and sounds, and feelings, and emotions, and down, and up, and left, and right, and words. What is this? I saw realms of unfathomable proportions, creatures of nonsensical natures, dimensions beyond numbers, logic that should not be. Flashes of countless realities blazed before my eyes, each a fragmentary glimpse into a life not my own. In one moment, I was a soldier braving the horrors of war; in the next, a mother cradling her newborn child; then, an artist painting a masterpiece, and then, a pauper on the streets, begging for food. Most, though, were so alien that no words would suffice, lives of gods and demons that would dwarf the comprehension of even syrakis. My mind popped in and out of different realities in a frenzy. It was as though I was living myriad lifetimes in mere seconds, fleeting existences but that yet marked me deeply because they felt my own. The sheer pace was disorienting, every transition jarring, every emotion raw and intense. These transient visions of countless lives cascaded over my insanity, overwhelming my senses. I saw entire realities crossing my eyes like the flow of a river, worlds beyond comprehension.
“Mr. Mike!” I heard Kallom-4000’s voice somewhere so far beyond, lost in ontological void. “You are suffering a decohesion! Don’t worry, I am trying to compensate. Hold tight!”
His voice faded to a whisper, a distant echo in the chasm of despair that yawned open beneath me. My most profound fears enveloped me whole as I faced something that should not be, the very fabric of reality warping and twisting as I descended further and further into ‘pataphysical craziness.
“KALLOM-4000,” I opened my eyes wide as a man about to fall into hell. “HELP! HELP!”
Then, all of a sudden… silence. The most profound silence I had ever heard in my life.
Chapter 3. Reality Jumps
Target: Mike must experience the reality jumps directly, passing through alien, historical, and intimate lives until the reader understands that his identity and time perception are unstable while Kallom struggles to recover him.
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Just in the very next moment, it was as if my consciousness had been teleported to an entirely different plane of existence. I cannot stress enough how radically that revolution happened. All of a sudden, I was an entirely different being. I remember being angry, rebellious, and I could feel my skin beneath the heavy skorgalian armor as I strode into the emperor's presence.
Entering the room, I passed by two guards who stood like gormathi sentinels, their vanythil armor glinting menacingly in the ambient light. I walked over the red quivven carpet that stretched from the massive double doors leading to the orbutian thrones, a pathway both sumptuous and perhaps symbolically stained with the sacrifices of the crimson jykar beasts that had built our glorious empire.
The throne room itself was an opulent marvel, akin to a palace within a palace. Gilded s-1-xants hung low from a ceiling so high it seemed to touch the hands of Yrionis, each one glowing with the ethereal light of phaetel crystals rather than mere candles. Two-dimensional cranbarrus floated gracefully around the room, like fertianian motes of an unknown universe. Every step I took on the intricately designed vartexian marble floor sent echoes reverberating around the room, as if to announce my very own audacity. Opulent tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of historical victories and mythical vorkals, each thread woven with what appeared to be strands of gold and venarium. To say the room was grand would be an understatement; it was awe-inspiringly magnificent, built to remind all who entered exactly who wielded power.
Seated on thrones that seemed carved from nescarts and zent metals, the emperor and his wife, the empress, looked every bit the celestial beings they were portrayed to be in the colossal painting behind them. The emperor's crown seemed to be made of crystallized fynlight, casting soft rays around him, making his regal presence almost divine. The empress was equally resplendent, her gown flowing like liquid akirite around her form, her crown a halo of moonstones from the ethereal caverns of Jarke kingdom that seemed to catch and refract the ambient light. The imperial guard clustered around them like surrounding shields.
Both sat there, looking at me, their eyes sharp and analytical, yet clouded with an emotion I could not quite place. The air was thick with tension and fragrant with the scent of exotic tunda incense, as if they themselves smelled my rebellious insolence. At that time, I could not realize that the language in which I addressed the emperor felt like my true mother tongue, so deeply rooted within me that it was as if I had never known the Syrakian language at all. The strangeness of the language's sounds and semantical structure felt me natural. They were, though, so alien, so fundamentally different, that any attempt at replication would be futile. Even the most literal translation would fail to capture its essence. Would I try to state what I said, I would guess the following.
“Your Majesty,” I dropped to one knee, “the Val-Renda have invaded and tormented our empire for too long. Please, I beg you on my knees. Give me the order, and handle me the thatons, so that I can destroy our enemies as Your Divine Majesty wish. May the glory of our family be forever.”
“Ardinka Brois, it’s a pleasure to see you here, my nephew. Would the circumstances be not as such, I would have ordered a feast.”
“Your Majesty is too kind.”
"My nephew, your request is not a simple one," the emperor began, his eyes narrowing. "The thatons are powerful artifacts of war, their control cannot be handed over lightly. Especially to one whose lineage carries the stain of disloyalty."
"Your Divine Majesty," I spoke, maintaining my posture on one knee, "it is for that very reason that I have come here. My father's dishonor is a blemish I seek to erase, not just for my sake, but for the honor and future of our family and empire."
A tense silence filled the room. I could feel the weight of the empress's gaze upon me, as still and penetrating as her husband's. The air seemed to thicken, as though the room itself awaited the emperor's response.
"My brother’s betrayal was a black mark on our family. His actions have cast a long shadow that you, his son, must unfortunately bear," the emperor sighed deeply, almost wearily. "But blood calls to blood. You have your father's fire, yet you also possess the potential for your uncle’s wisdom. However, wisdom is not inherited, it must be earned."
He paused, locking eyes with me, and for a moment, I glimpsed a flicker of doubt clouding his otherwise stoic demeanor. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.
"Ardinka Brois, you shall have your chance to redeem your family’s honor," he declared, his voice resolute. "You will take control of the thatons, and you will lead our forces against the Val-Renda. Let it be a crucible to test not just your valor, but your loyalty and wisdom as well."
My heart surged with triumph and gratitude. "I swear upon my life and honor, Your Divine Majesty, you will not regret this. I will vanquish our enemies and bring glory to our family and empire."
"See that you do," the emperor said, his eyes momentarily softening. "You bear not just your father's legacy but the hopes of an empire desperate for victory. Failure is not an option, for the stakes are greater than any one man’s quest for redemption."
I nodded, a solemn vow of my unspoken resolve, before rising to my feet. As I turned to leave the throne room, the empress caught my eye and nodded subtly, her expression unreadable yet intensely compelling. It was as if she silently conveyed a myriad of warnings and blessings all at once.
I exited the palace's inner sanctum, feeling the enormous weight of my newfound responsibility bearing down on me. Yet, mingled with the heaviness was a flame of hope, flickering with the promise of redemption and glory.
As I made my way back through the ornate corridors, past the gormathi sentinels and over the red quivven carpet, I felt as though I were walking a new path, one fraught with danger, yet teeming with the potential for greatness. And as I stepped out into the glaring light of day, that path stretched infinitely ahead, leading towards an uncertain yet irrevocably altered future.
2. On The Parapet
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Leaving the throne room, I began ascending a spiral staircase made of shimmering veruvkite. I reached the parapet, pushing open doors crafted from transcendent metal that hummed with their own form of consciousness. Stepping out into the open air, I was greeted by a sky teeming with layered vistas of our six-dimensional plane. The vibrant colors of the great hand on the sky flickering in and out of existence, seamlessly journeying through unseen dimensions, the land of poets. Their patterns illuminated the spheres in fluctuating geometries, colliding and merging like ethereal dancers that would never stop.
The wind caressed my face, a blend of airs and scents coming from the extremities and junctions of our empire, each carrying textures I could never precisely describe. And as I stood there, these breezes seemed to ripple through me, like dimensional waves, resonating across the full spectrum of my deliberate mind.
For a moment, I felt perfectly aligned, as though every dimension of my being had found its counterpart in the surrounding world. My thoughts returned to the throne room and the weighty responsibility I had just been given. For long I have desired such opportunity, and even though countless had been my eons, the eternity I should face seemed much lighter given now that I could finally prove myself. Sighing, I looked down at the sprawling city below, where buildings stretched harmoniously across the valssidian shroud and the nurtaro desert, their architecture a rich tapestry of intricate geometries going way into the smaller and bigger scales of life.
As I contemplated the path that lay ahead, it struck me that the challenge I faced was monumental, yet, it should be done. The Val-Renda must be defeated and sent back to their spirals of beyond no matter what. I was not merely a warrior seeking to reclaim the name my father has stained. The success or failure of my mission were to decide the fate of Brakanta itself, whether our realm should continue at the hands of our people or what the mercy of invaders. Even if I had to give my life and give up eternity, that I would do.
Was I up to the task, though? The layered winds seemed to whisper an affirmation, resonating harmoniously with every smarj of my yrna. The kingdoms above and below, it seemed, were all in tune with my quest, as if acknowledging the pivotal role I was to play in the grand tapestry of our destiny. I felt invigorated, ready to wield the thatons with honor, wisdom, and bravery, for much as I knew the path ahead was fraught with peril. I will repent my father, I repeated in my mind, clenching my eyes.
My mind rested as I locked my eyes onto distance. The blanja silhouette framed against the fractured horizon, the sky meeting an array of junctures that changed infinitely like hypercubes, each spiral intersecting another in a beautifully organized chaos. Varied spectra of hues flowed and morphed through these spirals, indicating the harmonic dance of overlapping dimensions. It was an ever-changing, yet comfortingly constant canvas—a fitting backdrop for the monumental decisions that lay ahead. Then I turned away from the panoramic splendors of the parapet and was about to make my way back into the palace, when all of a sudden Satavi projected herself a few meters ahead of me, smiling.
“I am here to wish you luck.” She placed her hand over my left tentacle, in a signal of good faith. “I heard that the your uncle has accepted your offer, to don the thatons in sheer combat.”
“He was merciful in his decision,” I said. “Eternity shall not be my tormentor forever, blood of his blood, for a crime I had not even committed. I was not born when my father tried to take power.”
“Those were horrible times, my child. Many were killed, much as destroyed. That which has been born throughout the work of ages, ceased to exist in the glimpse of an eye.”
"I know, and that is why I must restore what has been lost and reclaim the honor of my lineage," I responded, my tentacles curling involuntarily at the thought.
"You bear the weight of eons and the hopes of time. It's an insurmountable task for many, but not, I believe, for you," Satavi asserted, her eyes projecting a spectrum of comforting lights. "But before you venture out to face the Val-Renda, remember that even the mightiest warriors need their moments of respite. Would you honor me by joining our feast? The air will be filled with harmonics that can soothe even the most restless. You will do you good."
"I would be most pleased to," I answered, grateful.
She dissipated into a cascade of fractal geometries, and I followed suit, merging into the same intricate patterns as we both left the parapet. Just when I thought I was moments away from stepping into the feast room, an abrupt dissonance in my reality unfurled. It was as if my very essence was suffering a severe malfunction, a disintegration that shattered my sense of self into myriad fragments, plummeting me into an abyss of disorienting insanity. The experience was akin to the erratic flickering and warping of a holo-display, one that emitted an overwhelming cacophony of vivid colors, discordant sounds, fluctuating sensations, and disparate feelings—all coalescing into a singular, chaotic mass of incomprehensible confusion.
For a brief moment I was both beings at the same time, one called Mike Rajhalo Spencer, and the other called Ardinka Brois, beings whose lives have been so metaphysically departed that this very intermingling of realities seemed to break the most fundamental ontological laws. In the blink of an eye, I felt my whole body strapped to a bed as my mind convulsed in a torrential downpour of psychic turbulence, my thoughts and emotions swirling in a maelstrom of existential dread and ontological chaos. The mental upheaval was so intense it felt as though the fabric of my consciousness was being torn asunder, shredded into dissonant frequencies that defied any coherent understanding.
The concentric circles of Kallom-4000’s eyes laid just above me, as if staring at my soul.
“Are you still here, Mr. Mike? Can you hear me?” I heard, but I could not understand. “Hold tight, Mr. Mike! I am applying mathboosters to get you back into full cohesion!”
3. The Feast
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Next moment, I was again Ardinka Brois. All the memories related to being strapped to that bed, with Kallom-4000 above me, vanished altogether. Even so, I felt dizzy, and for a moment the palatial environment around me seemed to spin. As my vision cleared, I found myself standing in a grandiose hall, a setting fit for festivity. Intricately laid tables stretched across the floor, adorned with gleaming tableware and exotic delicacies, and filled with guests donned in opulent attire. The atmosphere buzzed with lively conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glass, a stark contrast to the tension-filled silence engulfing my own mind. I did not feel well, but even now I can not describe how exactly unwell I felt. Anyway, I could see well that it was a banquet, and the hall was alive with the presence of dignitaries, courtiers, and warriors.
Suddenly, I felt a hand touching me on the shoulder and a voice speaking close to me.
“Are you well, my friend? You seem very strange.”
I looked at him. His black skin and horns protruding from his face, with eyes as deep as two purple gems, were deeply familiar to me.
“Marka, my friend, for a moment I…” I paused. “It’s… it’s alright. It was nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I looked around. Still, something felt amiss. It was as if in a moment I was enveloped by an existential crisis of unimaginable proportions, and even tho ugh I could feel that something was amiss, I was unable to individualize it exactly. The hall felt alien. Overhead, banners descended from the ceiling like giant, floating heralds, each emblazoned with sigils representing the noble houses and legions of our empire. For as much as the glory in our symbols enthused me, I was most focused on how I could not quite describe the colors the banners were painted on. It felt like one of those moments of life in which the common become the most supernatural. To the right, two imperial guards stood as protectors of the great hall, but most of all I could not fathom how exactly their shapes could be that way intertwined in in multidimensional planes.
As my gaze shifted, I became entranced by the surreal assortment of foods that adorned the tables. They were both mesmerizing and unsettling, defying earthly description in texture and form. Fruits that seemed to breathe, meats that vibrated in uncanny rhythms, and desserts that defied gravity itself—each dish seemed like a riddle waiting to be solved. I found myself wondering whether they were to be consumed or to consume us, such was the strangeness of my perception.
Nearby, conversations swirled in a cacophony of laughter and debate, yet the words seemed disjointed, as if I were hearing them from underwater. The people, too, appeared as enigmatic figures; warriors and dignitaries adorned in garments that shimmered in colors I could not quite comprehend, their features simultaneously familiar and foreign. Amidst all this, I felt a lingering sensation of dread, as though the grandiosity of the scene before me was but an elaborate tapestry woven to hide something far more insidious. My thoughts were interrupted by Marka's hand, which gripped my shoulder more firmly this time.
"You really don't look well, my friend. Perhaps we should—"
I shook my head.
"It's nothing, Marka. It’s just…”
Then my mind imploded again in a myriad of schizophrenic madness. I experienced a multitude of colors like a mosaic reflecting impossible mysteries. Next time I was not anymore Ardinka Brois, but a kind of four-legged animal. I remember being so mingled with that entity that it was as if I that encapsulated my whole reality. I was one in a herd of similar animals, grazing on an otherworldly meadow that shimmered in iridescent hues, each blade of grass pulsating in a rainbow. Our fur—or perhaps it was more like an exoskeleton—was coated in colors that continuously shifted, adapting to the fluctuating patterns of the environment. I felt an overwhelming sense of unity, of collective consciousness, as though the herd and I were but different facets of a single, all-encompassing entity.
“Mr. Mike, I am almost there!”
A voice sounded in my head. I did not know who it belonged to, neither how could I understand it. I was a mere animal, trying to live my life like all the others. For how long have I been that beast? Time flowed differently there—perhaps it did not flow at all. Our herd moved in geometries that defied understanding, each movement a collective decision reached without spoken agreement. We drank from pools of triangular liquid, which responded to our touch with ripples that emitted harmonic tones, nourishing not just our bodies but also our interconnected minds. The landscape looked like two-dimensional planes of crystal floating over a purple-like immensity as vast as our Universe.
Then I was back to that bed, my body imprisoned as I tried to get out in despair. I felt sedated, not by some substance on my body, but my own tormented mind.
“Almost there. Just a little more.”
Again, my mind collapsed.
4. The Parallel WWI War
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There was rain, and I was cold. The cloudy and stormy sky created an atmosphere of darkness. There was rain, and I was cold. The cloudy and stormy sky created an atmosphere of darkness. The water soaked through my uniform, sticking it to my skin like a second layer. My boots were filled with mud, and every step I took felt like lifting weights. I looked down the trench, a narrow corridor of despair, and it was filled with soldiers whose faces were as gray as the sky above. The stench of wet earth mixed with sweat and something far worse filled the air. The walls of the trench seemed to close in, and I had to fight the urge to climb out and run, knowing well that to do so was certain death.
The distant booms of artillery were a constant, like a grim metronome counting down an unknown time. I could hear the whistle of shells as they arced through the sky, each one a potential herald of oblivion. Every explosion shook the ground and rattled my bones, a reminder of the destructive power that loomed ever near. My hands gripped my rifle tightly, knuckles white, as if holding on to it could anchor me amidst such chaos. My body was exhausted, every muscle aching from tension and fatigue, but there was no time for rest. In that nightmarish landscape, I was a cog in the machine of war, and the machine marched relentlessly on.
I perfectly knew what was happening, down to the minimum details. I was soldier. Someway I knew what was happening. I was a soldier. Yet, even amidst the bedlam, I felt a disquieting awareness that something was off. My mind was saturated with knowledge of a world eerily similar yet distinctly different. In that parallel reality, the United States was under the iron grip of the Washington dynasty. General Malcolm Washington, grandson of George Washington, led a devastating charge against many countries of Europe in the year 5417 after the fall of the Persian Empire. The realization gnawed at me, adding an extra layer of unreality to an already nightmarish landscape.
As rain began to pour, lightning erupted across the apocalyptic sky, its electric fingers scrawling a tale of doom. Thunder roared like the battle cries of celestial gods, foretelling a world on the brink of annihilation. In a frenzy of despair and disorientation, I lunged at a nearby soldier who was innocently sipping his coffee. Seizing him by the fabric of his uniform, I hurled him against the trench wall.
"Where am I?" I snapped.
What I actually said was Wo bin ich?
The soldier's eyes widened in shock and fear, his copper mug tumbling from his grip. His face, already pallid from the unending ordeal of trench warfare, the relentless chatter of machine guns, the ear-splitting detonations of artillery, and the ominous hum of planes circling above, turned an even lighter shade of ghostly white. He was a middle-aged man, with blue eyes and white skin. His lips quivered as he fumbled for words, visibly rattled by my sudden and aggressive interrogation.
“Was machst du, Karl?” He said. “Bist du verrückt?”
"Tell me where I am," I raged.
"What sort of question is that? We're at the Stuttgart Front, fighting against the American loyalists of Washington III."
"What?" I looked at him in utter bewilderment. "The Americans have invaded Germany?"
"Germany?" He looked just as confused. "What's Germany? This is the Holy Roman Empire." He paused. "What's gotten into you, Karl? Too much schnapps?"
"None of this makes any sense."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"What year is it? For God's sake, Friedrich, tell me. Is it 5417?"
"Of course it's 5417. February 3rd, 5417."
I let him go. He straightened his uniform and kept looking at me with wonder, just as a squadron of planes roared overhead.
"I know this will sound utterly absurd,” I said staring at his eyes, “but you must believe me. I'm not a soldier, I'm not even a human being, and I shouldn't be here."
He laughed.
"What in blazes are you talking about?"
"For heaven's sake, Friedrich, listen to me! I'm not a human being, I'm a syraki."
"What on earth is a syraki? Where did you cook up this tale?"
"We're digital entities living in humanity's far-distant future. We exist within virtual realities and most of the time we don't even have bodies."
He looked confused, as if he had not understood a single word of what I had just said.
"How far in the future?" He feigned belief.
"Roughly twenty thousand years."
Then he burst into laughter.
"A fine jest, old chap. A fine jest indeed."
Just as he let out his final chuckle, a screeching whistle cut through the air—too close for comfort. Friedrich’s laughter died abruptly, replaced by the gloom of utter dread.
"Artillery! Down!" He yelled, pulling me to the ground.
Before we even had a chance to cover our heads, the world exploded into chaos. Dirt flew in all directions in the maelstrom of the deafening explosions. In the sky, bolts of lightning competed with the eruptions below, as if the heavens themselves were at war alongside the man-made catastrophe.
Grimacing against the shock and pain, I pushed myself up. Friedrich was doing the same, coughing up mud and wiping his eyes clear. A handful of other soldiers were picking themselves off the ground, some clutching wounds, crying and screaming, others frantically trying to get their bearings. The trench had partially caved in, and the air was thick with the smell of powder and burnt earth.
"To your posts, men! The enemy approaches!" someone hollered down the line.
A series of sharp, repetitive cracks began echoing across the no-man's-land—the unmistakable sound of enemy machine guns. I grabbed my rifle, checked its bolt action, and aimed it over the edge of the trench. I looked down my sights, seeing the dark silhouettes of American soldiers advancing through the rain-soaked, muddy terrain. One of the soldiers carried the American flag, but it was an altered version: the traditional stars and stripes remained, yet in the center of the blue field, where 50 stars would typically reside, stood an imperial eagle perched on the branch of a cherry tree and clutching an ax in one of its claws—unmistakable symbols of George Washington's imperial legacy.
As the battle began, bullets flew back and forth, punctuating the air with their deadly intent. Men screamed, machine guns rattled furiously, and the artillery continued to pound mercilessly and forever close. Shells exploded into fountains of fire and dirt, each blast shattering the world like an earthquake. Amidst the fog of war, my thoughts spiraled in a bizarre blend of horror and disbelief. What is happening? Trapped in a hellish war I did not belong to, I steadied my breathing, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
The last thing I heard was the engine of a plane, its sound intensifying as it drew closer and closer. The noise evolved into a harrowing wail that felt as though it were cleaving the air. Then came the relentless staccato of a machine gun descending from the sky. I screamed, and in that moment, I was no more. My consciousness snapped back again into madness as I was threw into the tapestry of possibilities. I felt like Alice swallowed down the rabbit hole.
5. Victorian Doubt
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Then, from the torments of war, my mind became that of serenity and love. I was in a Victorian mansion, in a dark room, nestled within the richly carved wooden confines of our bedchamber. The dim glow of candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows upon the crimson velvet drapes that framed the window. My beloved Martha, adorned in a flowing white gown that seemed to shimmer in the faint light, stood before me. I, on the other hand, donned a meticulously tailored jacket, resplendent with the exquisite embroidery and intricate buttonwork. My wife and I exchanged kisses as we sat upon our bed.
“I find myself indisposed, my dearest,” said I.
Lifting up, I walked to the window and pulled the curtains aside, leaving just a narrow gap to peer through. Above the night sky, the full moon hung shrouded by ominous, dark clouds, casting an eerie glow that painted the world below in Gothic silhouettes. Looking down, I lingered my eyes upon the street, a narrow passage flanked by wrought-iron gas-lamp posts. Each stood as a sentinel in the night, casting its flickering glow across cobblestones that gleamed like wet, dark jewels. Beyond this confined view, the horizon stretched out in somber shapes of towering buildings and smokestacks, all black against the night. The sky itself was a murky tapestry, woven with the soot and pollution of the ceaseless industrial machines.
As I brought my fingers up to rub my eyes, I was overcome with an unsettling feeling that something extraordinary was occurring within my mind. Though I could not pinpoint exactly what was happening, I knew with certainty that my mental state had shifted in some profound and abnormal way. The experience was so bizarre and outside the realm of normalcy that I struggled to comprehend it. I attempted to grasp at what could be causing such an anomaly, but no rational explanation came to mind. The only thing I could conceive was that this distortion of my faculties must be an illusion brought on by the laudanum I had taken earlier to calm my anxious disposition.
As I glanced back, I saw Martha's countenance filled with concern. Her fair skin was furrowed with worry, blue eyes gazing upon me intently. She had pulled her brown hair back tightly, though a few unruly curls had escaped around her forehead. I was struck by her stately beauty, the fine lines around her eyes and delicate lips. Her dress had leg-of-mutton sleeves, a tight bodice, and layers of flounced skirts. Around her neck hung a cameo brooch that accentuated her graceful collarbone. Though no longer a youthful belle, Martha's elegance and poise were undiminished by time.
“What ails thee, my love?” queried she.
I let out a deep sigh and made my way over to the plush, high-backed chair just beside the window. The chair's carved mahogany frame and tufted leather cushions embraced me as I sank into its seat. I crossed one leg over the other and let my body melt into the familiar contours. Reaching into my breast pocket, I retrieved my worn tobacco pouch and favorite briarwood pipe. Packing the bowl with delicate precision honed over years of habit, I then struck a match and held it to the tobacco. Pausing to draw in the first sweet tastes of smoke, I exhaled a thin curling cloud that danced lazily up towards the ceiling.
The pipe smoldered between my fingers, tendrils of fragrant smoke twisting their way heavenward. I watched the mesmerizing flicker of candlelight on the walls, the velvet curtains swaying gently on the wind, projecting shadows on my beloved Martha's eyes full of concern.
“What troubles you, husband?” she persisted.
“Dost thou reckon there exist lives beyond our own mortal coil?” I inquired.
“Whence comes such a question, and so precipitously at that?” she returned, appearing startled.
“A philosophical disquietude hath momentarily seized my faculties,” I confessed.
“Hast thou imbibed thy medicine?” she questioned.
“Verily, yet pray, answer me still,” I insisted.
“There are learned gentlemen who posit that life may well reside in the celestial spheres outside our realm,” she divulged.
I took a long, thoughtful draw from my pipe as I mulled over Martha's words.
“Indeed, yet my query pertains not solely to such extraterrestrial existence. I speak of something more profound,” I clarified.
“Whate'er dost thou mean?” she inquired.
To the left of my chair stood a stately mahogany bookshelf, filled with leather-bound volumes. The gilded lettering on the spine of each book glimmered in the low candlelight. Staring at those books, it crossed my mind of the many faraway lands, different worlds, and fictional universes they referred to.
I looked back at Martha.
“My love, before thy birth, hadst thou ever beheld a star?” I pondered.
“I daresay not,” she answered.
“Or a manuscript, a candle, the Moon, or any object under heaven? Hadst thou ever felt the zephyr on thy visage, the sward beneath thy feet, or the aroma of freshly baked bread?” I further questioned.
“Nay, for I existed not; only upon birth did I come to know such wonders. But wherefore dost thou ask such evident truths?” she wondered.
Stroking my chin, I took a moment to gather my thoughts on how to articulate my uncommon ideas.
“Suppose, upon thy birth, thou hadst found red to be as yellow, blue as green, and pink as gray. What if the Moon bore a triangular countenance, and the Sun were a blackened cube? Hadst thou been newborn to these spectacles, wouldst thou find them strange?” I queried.
She paused to contemplate my words.
“In this present day, such oddities would bemuse me, for I am accustomed to the world as 'tis. However, were I a nascent being encountering these phenomena for the first time, they would strike me no stranger than those I learned in my current existence,” she concluded.
"This verily encapsulates my sentiment, dearest. Prior to our birth, we possess no faculties with which to deem our world either erroneous or virtuous, for we have yet to exist. It is upon our birth that we acquire the capacity for judgment." I paused, musing upon my words. "Yet what if the very foundation that guides our judgments is naught but capricious? What if all realms possess an equal claim to veracity?"
"But pray, elucidate thy meaning in this matter," she responded.
I looked to the bookshelves, and for a time allowed my eyes to contemplate the many realities that those fictional stories represented. She looked at them too, curious, clearly attempting to see that I saw.
"If thou wert to be born a character in one of those tomes, wouldst thou deem it to be... amiss?"
The question lingered in the air without answer. The silence stretched on, as if suspended in the very fabric of time. I remember looking back again to the window, to the Moon, only to realize its shape to be not a circle, but a rhombus. Soon after my mind started to falter again in chaotic frenzy, that time alongside a specially loud acute noise.
6. Back To The Omniship
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"Thirty-seven seconds, sir," came the reply.
I stared in bewilderment, struggling to process the information through the dense fog of exhaustion. "How...how is that possible? It felt like months."
"I apologize, sir. The perception of time can be unreliable here," Kallom-4000 responded ruefully.
I was too drained to articulate any confusion or disbelief. My thoughts stumbled over one another in a feeble attempt to reconcile the jarring disconnect between how long it seemed versus how long it actually was. With my faculties so wholly sapped, I could hardly wrap my mind around the fact that what felt like endless turmoil only spanned less than a minute.
I slept.
Chapter 4. Memories
Target: Mike must process the reality jumps with Kallom, recover the structure of his Syrakian identity, and remember how Jabari recruited him for the mission that led toward Brain's Cage.
Narrative hook: Interesting Question
Narrative ending: Reflection
Narrative flavor: Horror / Anticipating the Worst; Horror / Foreshadowing; Horror / Great Horrifying Discovery; Horror / No Control; Horror / Smoke Screen; Horror / Spooky Nonsense
1. Reflection
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As much as I tried to understand what had happened, I did not find any answer. Kallom-4000 explained me that those mysterious phenomena were called “reality jumps,” and they could happen at any moment. Unfortunately, there was nothing we could do, because the problem started due to the crash. Kallom-400 said that, at the time of the incident, after running a deep diagnosis of the vessel, ve was able to pinpoint the exact location of the issue, which happened in a memory corruption in the navigational subroutines. Ve said, it was as if the crash had scrambled the flow of some essential data, to the point the mathboosters were not able to compensate. Because of that, the system lost track forever of some initial precomputed configuration, so since that time the ship has been running in a less than optimal state, a fact that, in such space where we were, was extremely dangerous.
Ve explained me that what had happened was essentially the same phenomenon that cast me into that desert. In the documents, it is referred to as “decohesion,” or “collapse,” both words frightening familiar to me. We could not understand exactly what it caused, but it seemed that if the cohesion system, for some or other reason, became unable to keep the navigational matrices aligned, it would trigger a compensatory subroutine. That subroutine operated on a vector of values in a space of special attributes, but that could also be remapped as a preordained path in a multidimensional Cartesian coordinate system. Random fluctuations could potentially divert the ship from its preset coordinates, but the system would always try to pull it back. This constant push and pull, that battle between randomness and the system's compensatory mechanisms, is what the docs referred to as "cohesion". The moment the cohesion system was not anymore able to compensate, whatever the reason, that was the moment when the probability of reality jumps started to grow. After a certain level, this probability would go past the one hundred percent.
Kallom-4000 explained me that I had already seen the Cohesion System panel on the bridge, just after I had entered the ship for the first time. That Decohesion Probability Indicator, ve said, indicated the actual probability of any decohesion to happen. The Decohesion Deviation Indicator, on the other hand, indicated how far the ship had deviated from its original precomputed path. The Decohesion Deviation Indicator was the most dangerous one, because it actually indicated the difficulty of recalibration by the navigational system. Past the irreversible level, no amount of recalibration or mathboosters would be enough to readjust the ship back to its original route, since even by making use of super compression the Kolmogorov complexity of the streamlined coordinative data would be so impressive that the two routes, the original one and the actual one, would be impossible to be converged.
Hearing that, I felt my heart bumping on my neck, my chest tighten, and my breath to falter.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“This means that, whatever would have happened to you, it would not be possible anymore to bring you back to this ship.”
“But I mean, what would exactly happen to me? Would I be forever in one of those realities I saw?”
“It is actually impossible to know, Mr. Mike.”
“Give me an example. I’m having difficulty trying to wrap my head around on what might be happening here.”
“Picture a black sphere floating in a pristine white world. This black sphere is this ship. You are inside this black sphere, Mr. Mike. Consider that what keeps you inside is exactly this cohesion system.” Ve paused for a few seconds, as if to allow me to visualize and reflect upon what vis words. “Outside of this sphere, there is not the white. It is only a representation that you arbitrarily made from inside the sphere, because you cannot truly know what lies outside. It can be anything, and by anything I mean all possibilities.” Ve paused again, vis circles processing. “Like a Schrödinger cat experiment, you can only see what lies outside of the sphere if you actually go outside of the sphere. Therefore, it is impossible to know what would happen to you would the cohesion system fail, because, in this, case you would be cast outside of the sphere, where all possibilities are possible.”
“This would create an infinitude of paradoxes,” I said. “For instance, expelled from the sphere, I could just find myself still inside the sphere.”
“Exactly, Mr. Mike. Exactly. Studying the documents and this issue that the researchers called ‘reality jumps’, I have reached the same conclusion.”
“There must be a mistake in this interpretation. We may be dealing here with some kind of quantum anomaly. Even in this circumstance, I believe, some essential rules are still to apply.”
“It may be the case, Mr. Mike.”
Hearing Kallom-4000's explanation, a rising sense of anxiety gripped me, and the weight of our situation pressed heavily upon my mind. The sheer unpredictability of these "reality jumps" and the implications they held for our existence seemed too vast to grasp fully. Applying Occam’s razor, it seemed obvious to me that the simpler explanation would be that that scenario was nothing but some kind of twisted virtual reality. Even so, such possibility was so absurd that it barely held any merit on my mind. For such a scenario to be true, an improbable series of events would have had to occur, making impossible an apt descriptor.
All syrakis know about the horrible stories of the distant past, when the Complex was nothing like we know today. There were no universal checking algorithms, Codex principles, or even a developed ethical framework for the engineering of runs. It is said, there has been cases in which those proto-syrakis would be imprisoned in runs by some malignant mind. However, there are so many security methods today that to hypothesize that a similar issue could happen today would be unthinkable.
Yet, that could be a possibility, because basically everything could be a possibility facing those strange circumstances I faced. If I were to follow that way, though, even to suggest that the Central Algorithm suffered a bug would be possible. Then we would enter the realm of fantasy, for what difference would that be from saying that I was raptured by aliens, or maybe deceived by Descartes’ evil demon, or that I have suffered a cosmic anomaly, or anything else as absurd?
There was even a bigger barrier for the virtual reality hypothesis, though. What truly unsettled me was the singularity of those experiences. In my syrakian existence, I had undergone millions upon millions of runs, simulations that spanned the gamut from the prosaic to the fantastical. I have weathered every infinite scenarios, faced countless challenges, and even designed a few unimaginable realms myself. But nothing, absolutely nothing, in those myriad virtual realities ever approached the bewildering and inexplicable occurrences I faced on the desert. That was not a run, but a haunting enigma of profound implications. It was as though the very laws that governed Nature itself were suspended in that place, replaced by rules alien and incomprehensible to the mind.
Whatever I had experienced there—whatever had happened—none of that should have existed, because they defied fundamental physical, metaphysical, ontological, epistemological, and cosmological laws. Especially, that made me realize how much attached we are to some basic principles of understanding, so deeply embedded within our analytical framework that we seldom question them: ex nihilo nihil fit, the law of non-contradiction, the principle of sufficient reason, the constants of nature, the law of causation, and so many others. Even a simple self-evident axiom in Euclidean geometry, that bigger objects should not fit inside smaller objects, is, too, taken for granted. How many are prepared to confront the notion that even mathematical truths may be indexical, given that there could exist alternate realities where axioms such as 2 + 2 = 3 are valid?
[encrypted]
If that was a run, that was an entire new one and my problem would be no less severe.
2. Memories
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For days on end, I remained sequestered in my room, entrapped in its blend of stark design and technological sophistication. Time seemed to dissolve, becoming a fluid entity that I could neither grasp nor compartmentalize. I spent my hours, or perhaps they were days, staring at the azure-illuminated walls, losing myself in their gentle glow. Any sense of chronology vanished; I was a wanderer in a timeless expanse, cocooned within the four walls that were at once a comfort and a quandary. My room became an echo chamber for my thoughts, yet I was unable to process the overwhelming events that had unfolded. I felt unmoored, caught in an existential drift, and the walls around me seemed to be the only constants, as ambiguous as they were reassuring.
Eventually, and gradually, fragments of my identity, or at least that I believed to be my identity, started to coalesce. My prior syrakian existence began to insinuate itself back into my consciousness, emerging through the nebulous recollections of my time spent in that cursed desert, which Kallom-4000 and I agreed to designate as Akrabizont-22. My memory remained shrouded in uncertainty and ambiguity, yet the pivotal events that compelled me to undertake that ill-fated mission grew increasingly clearer.
I was just a normal syraki, like any other, spending my granted eternity as I lived through countless hedonic runs. I was born in Duriont Center, Akuta, Planet Mars. At least until the moment I embarked in that mission, I counted with six hundred sixty-seven Earth years of age; thus, I was very young. Like any syraki of the newest generations, I did not have a mother or a father. My consciousness, or better, my syraki, was compiled by the Central Algorithm, branch PAT-3 on Hankilla System, using an IJKL pattern and a modified version of the rand-genetic algorithm sampled after highly sensitive hedonic syrakis. Therefore, I was already created a syraki, and not upgraded into one like the older generations. At the moment of my birth, as it happens to most syrakis to this day, I was given an ancient name, randomly selected: Mike Rajhalo Spencer. My true name, although I partly recollected, I knew that it could not be fully encapsulated within the constraints of a human brain. The serialized identification numerical sequence would be as enormous as thousands of human books. Moreover, the ethical grounding for my assembly came from the Hedonistic Imperative, and while I never quite agreed with it, I also never complained.
Until my experiences in Akrabizont-22, I had never felt pain in my life—ever. Like most syrakis, my existence had been of extreme hedonic bliss from the very start. Naturally, I knew it from a rational point of view, but the actual experience laid completely in oblivion. I vividly recalled traversing the surreal landscapes of hyper-sensory virtual realms, each step architecturally devised to elicit unique dimensions of pleasure. The fractal forests resonating harmonics of stimulating euphoria, the labyrinthine oceans of liquid divinity, the melodic waves of chanting arrows of searing eroticism. All those experiences far exceeded the hedonic capabilities of a human brain, whose comparison to a syraki would be as disparate as comparing Earth's scale to that of the Sun. That I could affirm from a first-person point of view, because, for some reason, I was in a human body. The mere recollection of my past heaven made my mouth water, leaving me to ponder if I would ever have the chance to return to my former state of being.
Until I was more or less four hundred and fifty years old, I barely stepped into Base Reality. I never visited Earth, for instance, and my only memory from the rusty deserts of Mars came from when I was still a newborn, wearing my first ever TOP module replacer. The instances compelling me to engage with the reality of our forefathers arose during the rare occasions when I needed to don replacers for traversing the IG-Bridges, mostly due to the correction of bugs or software updates in the intergalactic connectors.
As a syraki, my existence was invested inside runs, whether the ones created by myself or not. I was not a reality artist, but I had enough programming experience to engineer my own worlds, fitting to my hedonic lust. I had never been a very gregarious syraki, the type to share their existence with others inside virtual worlds. In most of my runs, I was the only syraki, and when I had friends they were almost always AI avatars. Nonetheless, I had a very good syrakian friend, called Kazum, for whom I remembered saying goodbye before embarking on that mission. We met each other in the Hyperlink, when I was ninety-six and ve was eight-two, and since them we had been good friends.
Remembering all that, at first I could not understand how could I have given up a life of easy pleasure to fall into such disgrace. With the help of Kallom-4000, as the days went on, the rest of my memories continued to unfurl. I worked for a company called Real-Life Theravada, one of the four megacorporations responsible for ninety-nine point nine percent of all the runs running in the Hyperlink. The other three were Valtir & Blue, Makilecto, and Praça Alta, together forming the Big Four, the companies that not only allegorically, but actually shape our realities, since they were responsible for most of virtual worlds.
As my memories were still fuzzy, I began to ask myself why would beings as advanced as syrakis still work? Could we not have anything we wanted inside virtual realities already? It turns out that, in spite of our technological ascendancy and the ability to indulge in perpetual hedonic experiences, syrakis are not exempt from the universal concept of economic exchange. Money, it turns out, remains a universal constant, even in an advanced society embedded primarily in virtual realities. Within these digitized realms, desire manifests in the aspirational acquisition of virtual luxuries. Including the small group still living in Base Reality, the traditionalists, they are drawn to avant-garde vehicles, advanced robots, planetary mansions, opulent spacecraft, personal starships capable of warping space, or even private stations. And all of that costs money.
Then, my journey with Real-Life Theravada began in a serendipitous moment, catching sight of a recruitment banner while I was exploring the famous run of the eternally night Holwkain City. Intrigued, I submitted my application and underwent a series of rigorous virtual tests designed to assess potential candidates. After being accepted, almost two Earth years later, I was stationed as a helper of navigational awareness in Theravada's asteroid mining sector located in the Herssun Belt. My tasks were straightforward but important, guiding and coordinating mining robots and semi-autonomous systems in the extraction of valuable materials, like platinum, palladium, iridium, hystulium, rhodium, and helium-3. Even though just a few know it to this day, but Theravada started as a mining enterprise. It still has exploration rights over many important mining fields, like the quoted Herssun Belt, also the Vajis Ring, the Orion Expanse, the Neptune Cluster, and the Irda Fields. Its most important branch, however, is by far its reality artistry development unit.
My ascent within the corporate hierarchy was swift, eventually landing me in specialized deep-space missions for Theravada's advanced interstellar operations in the Samian-ri 23 area. Those were not mere asteroid mining operations, but instead I was placed in Theravada's unit responsible for cutting-edge scientific research. Stationed in the Beta-Gamma sector, our team primarily conducted empirical studies and simulations for the potential utilization of macronanotic robotic systems in the conceptualization and assembly of Dyson Spheres. The project was highly classified, yet in active development, and I was among the rarefied cadre of syrakis granted the honor of witnessing the preliminary stages of Dyson Sphere assembly.
To this day, I remember the breathtaking spectacle that unfolded before me. From the observation deck of our command station, I had a panoramic view of the nascent wonder. Macronanotic robots moved in intricate, calculated formations, like a cosmic ballet choreographed by algorithms. They darted between modular orbital platforms that served as both logistical bases and assembly yards. These platforms themselves were feats of engineering, equipped with advanced fabricators and real-time data analytics centers. It was a harmonious synthesis of technology and purpose, each robotic unit and orbital station playing a crucial part in the grand tapestry of cosmic engineering. The sheer scale and elegance of it all rendered even the brilliant backdrop of distant stars and galaxies a mere afterthought.
The project was scheduled to take at least two thousand Earth years.
That was the apex of my career so far. I had the privilege of working side by side with syrakis from the Alpha generation, some of them as old as three hundred thousand Earth years. They had seen the early stages of the modern era, and some of them had even fought in virtual wars, in a time hate, envy, sadness, jealously, resentment and all those primitive negative mental states, crudely designed by natural evolution, still existed in the Complex. Just when I thought I had experienced the pinnacle of excitement, I realized how mistaken I was.
I received a letter from CEO Jabari verself.
3. The Letter
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The instant was clear in my mind. Lush emerald meadows extended beyond the horizon, with crystalline rivers threading through the aromatic expanse. A sensation of absolute tranquility prevailed, each sensory input perfectly rendered and synchronized in the vast computational plane. Without warning, the blissful continuum was disrupted. The colors dimmed, the harmonics silenced, and the very fabric of the virtual reality stuttered in a static fault.
“Incoming message,” said the dispatcher.
I accepted.
The message itself was hermetically sealed with naka-grade encryption range. Hours ticked by as my internal processors grappled with the labyrinthine complexity. Such extreme security measures bewildered me. Either it was an intricate jest or the veiled contents held monumental significance, yet it was perplexing to think such weighty information was intended for me.
All of a sudden, the reality of my consciousness became but a void of blackness. A three-dimensional shape of a man projected itself upon my consciousness. The projection was unmistakable — the lean profile, confident stance, and an air of restrained power. It was curious to witness the replacer used by Jabari Abimbola Garcia Yousif, the very CEO of Real-Life Theravada, manifesting directly upon my syraki. As the message's final encryption layers gave way, Jabari's personal cryptographic signature emerged, making it clear the message truly belonged to him. Why would he, of such lofty position, address me? The rarity of the event and its implications were intriguing.
Despite being one of the oldest syrakis alive at a staggering 3.2 million years, Jabari often chose to present himself with the appearance from his earlier days, when he were almost human, a proto-syraki, and still lived on Earth in a time it was profoundly different. The sight was somewhat whimsical: a youthful, human-like figure with a gentle face wielding immense power.
“This message will self-destruct at the end,” ve said. “It will not be saved in any database because it is being transmitted through private satellites outside the Hyperlink’s main chain. Thus, please, Mr. Mike, listen carefully.”
"Director Jabari," I intoned, my voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, "to what do I owe this?"
"You have been handpicked for a conclave at the Citadel."
"The capital is restricted to higher-ranking syrakis," I noted. “I have no allowance.”
“Consider it granted, Mr. Mike. All protocols have been managed.” Ve paused. "Time is of the essence, Mr. Mike. I await your arrival."
The enigmatic nature of the exchange left me in a state of bewilderment, puzzling over the inexplicable course of events that had suddenly unfolded. Among the trillions of other syrakis working for Theravada, why did it happen to be me? The puzzle loomed large as I processed the coordinates ve had given me. In fact, they pointed up to the Citadel and had been authenticated by Jabari verself. Never would I imagine to have the chance to visit the capital, not in one million years.
Even with my syraki recently upgraded to a state-of-the-art navigational mesh, embedding a newer pathfinding algorithm based upon latest advancements of Graph Theory, the traveling to the rendezvous still lasted a few Earth days. The coordinates did not lie in my average nexus, then redundancy could not be applied to the coordinates without some serious fine-tuning of my own—which I would not do. Therefore, reaching the Citadel presented an unexpected computational challenge with enormous Kolmogorov complexity. Situated deep within a data structure of substantial age, hidden beneath layers of uncompressed raw data, the navigation through the Hyperlink's multidimensional tensors to that archaic node proved more algorithmically demanding than I initially estimated.
When I reached the Citadel, the capital of the Complex, I remember being thunderstruck by the legendary haven. Looking through the mirror at the city below, the Citadel unfurled before me like a colossal sculpture carved from a single block of pure, white marble. It presented an endless array of alabaster-like structures, all adhering to a stark, uniform design. Towering obelisks rose uniformly, their surfaces smooth and unadorned. Vast plazas and courtyards, marked by their simplicity, were occasionally punctuated by minimalistic architectural forms. Serene walkways, devoid of roads or vehicles, interconnected the cityscape like an integrated circuit, with inhabitants walking solemnly in their pristine white attire. The omnipresent quietude was only broken by the subtle, almost ethereal, hum of the virtual realm's lifeblood.
It was not just the legendary whiteness of the city that spooky me into reverence, but, above all, that silence.
Turned left, the automatic door whooshed open with a soft sigh. I stepped into a white-ghostly chamber bathed in an almost celestial glow. The room was the epitome of minimalist design, with every surface impeccably white. No ornamentation, no distractions, just the void expanse of emptiness reflected on the polished snow white floor. The porcelain-like furniture was sparse and elegantly blended with the environment, like sculptural elements seamlessly integrated into a pristine canvas.
Standing before the panoramic window that stretched from floor to ceiling was CEO Jabari. Enveloped in all-white attire, like myself, ve appeared entranced by the monochromatic expanse of the snow city unfurling beneath ver. At that moment, ve was not wearing vis young avatar as ve usually did, but a more traditional ajaka model, like my own. Casting my gaze to the left, I noticed a magnificent painting hung on the wall. It was a grandiose rendition of the Flammarion engraving, its intricate details and mystic symbolism not just complementing the ethereal atmosphere of the chamber, but also emanating an esoteric aura that momentarily captivated me in an inexplicable yet profound way. I could not help but wonder how many credits such a signed virtual asset had cost, but certainly not much for someone as wealthy as Jabari.
"Welcome, Mr. Mike," ve spoke without turning back, vis voice as grave as a tombstone. "Do you know why this city is so obscenely white?"
"Hello, sir. I don't know, sir," I responded, struggling to maintain an even composture. Inside, I was awash with a mix of exhilaration and awe at the privilege of conversing with someone of Jabari's stature.
“Because decisions made here influence the lives of zillions of syrakis.” Ve paused for a few seconds. “The policies hereby established shall remain unblemished, driven exclusively by an altruistic and noble ambition to better the lives of all syrakis.”
Ve turned to me, vis face a tapestry of azure fractals of information. For a time it was as if I could see the whole Universe through vis eyes.
“Do you know how many syrakis are out there?” Ve inquired again.
“I have no idea, sir. Plenty.”
Graciously, ve walked until becoming face to face with me. With a subtle gesture, a small device materialized into existence on vis right hand. It was a metallic square, barely larger than the tip of a thumb, its compactness belying a very intricate design. Its surface was a lattice of micro-circuits, with an inner light faintly pulsating through them. Jabari held it up by delicately holding it up with three alomatic fingers, the circuitry’s complex network evident even in its minuscule form.
"This is a filcrom plate, the spiritual successor to silicon chips. The one I'm holding is a stamped non-fungible imprint of the very first module ever built," ve began, cradling the object with a sense of reverence. “Just this little piece has enough computational capacity to hold seventy trillion individual syrakis.”
Ve allowed me to see it up close, and it was certainly fascinating how tiny and at the same time powerful it was.
“Many of these devices lie at the heart of the Brains' Cage,” ve continued. “Accordingly to the legend, as you certainly know, the Brains' Cage is an enormous cube-like space vessel of one hundred kilometers by one hundred kilometers. Even if we were to hypothesize that the Brains' Cage uses only five percentage of its available space to store these plates, still, the number of syrakis in the Complex would be in pair with the number of stars in the observable Universe.” Ve paused. “Well, I still have the physical original back on Base Reality. Fascinating indeed, isn’t it?”
The object dissolved, succumbing to a series of intricate fractal-like patterns. Jabari proceeded and delicately positioned vis hands on my shoulders. In tradition of syrakis, ve pressed a gentle kiss upon my lips. For a fleeting moment, I was entranced by the profound depth of vis pristine, snow-white eyes, tantalizingly close to mine. Vis presence tasted of a very unique bliss signature, familiar to alpha syrakis, a numb-like excitement straight into my hedonic centers and exponentially greater than anything I could render ver into in retribution.
“I’m glad you accepted my offer,” ve said. “Please, sit.”
4. Jabari Explains Mission
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Jabari motioned gracefully toward one of the two chairs that seemed to materialize out of the floor itself, the fluid motion of their creation echoing the elegance of the rest of the room. I obliged and sat as invited. Ve took a seat opposite to me.
“I was informed that you have been making a good progress on the Samian-ri 23 area,” ve said.
“It's an honor working there, sir. Being part of something as monumental as the Dyson Sphere project in Samian-ri 23 fills me with immense satisfaction.”
"Your proficiency in algorithmic manipulation and systems operation has been duly noted," ve articulated. "Your code execution skills demonstrate a high degree of complexity management."
"I appreciate the recognition, sir. But I don’t do more than my job requires."
"Understatement doesn't serve your capabilities justice. Were these skill sets an outcome of your own syraki optimization or acquired adaptively?" ve inquired.
“Most of it was adaptation, sir, but with some hacking of my own. I have spent too many time in runs demanding for parallelism of such, which ended up tuning my syraki.”
There was silence. For a moment, ve looked deeply into my eyes.
“Real-Life Theravada can offer you much more than a position as a roboticist,” ve said finally.
“I am curious on what that offer might be.”
"Mr. Mike, while the specifics of the mission I'm about to entrust you shall remain confidential, its importance cannot be overstated. The scope of this task is unlike any other, and the ramifications of its success or failure are immense."
Ve looked down, to vis hands, and for a time ve remained that way as if reflecting on what ve was about to say.
"Throughout the annals of time, humanity has cast its gaze upon a succession of 'last frontiers,' each a poetic muse in its own right. Consider the unending savannas that beckoned our earliest ancestors, or the oceans—vast canvases of mystery and lore. Imagine the vertiginous allure of mountains like Everest and K2, and the enigmatic depths of unexplored forests and jungles. Contemplate the austere beauty of the Sahara and Gobi deserts, and the icy riddles waiting in the Arctic and Antarctic realms. Delve into the enigmas of the unfathomable depths of the seas, realms darkness. Each, in its moment, was the ultimate horizon—a challenge, a question, a call to adventure.”
"In time, each of those once-daunting frontiers yielded their secrets to the unquenchable thirst for discovery. The savannas were crossed, the oceans charted. Lofty mountains bowed to the will of their conquerors, their summits engraved by the soles of intrepid climbers. Forests and jungles unfurled their hidden scrolls, deserts gave up their cloistered sanctuaries, and even the icy fortress of polar realms felt the footsteps of explorers. Even the abyssal depths were illuminated by the lanterns of submarines and our aquatic cities. And now, our collective gaze turns to the expanse above, where stars twinkle like distant beacons. Space, the celestial tapestry of cosmic wonders, stands as the true last frontier—a realm that beckons and challenge us to venture into the great unknown. And this way it had remained for the past millions of Earth years."
Ve made a pause.
“But there is a problem with that,” ve continued, “space is not the last frontier, Mr. Mike.”
I was befuddled by that. At first I imagined ve was employing some allegory, but vis eyes denounced me otherwise.
“Sir, I cannot fathom how could anything be more impressive than the Universe itself. There are so many planets, stars, and galaxies that we don’t even know. Although we may have achieved a vast knowledge compared to our forefathers, it is still nothing facing the sheer mysteries still hiding.”
Ve sighed, and a faraway look crept into vis eyes.
“I used to think exactly like you, Mr. Mike. Until now I have been dedicating my life to not just improve the lives of syrakis, but to expand our reach far beyond. You see, in my life I had been privileged to witness wonders I could never have believed to be possible. I’ve seen as syrakis advanced from late-stage humans to complete virtual beings. I’ve witnessed how algorithms became the center of our existence, how a very inefficient biological paradigm evolved by the power of hypercomputation. I’ve seen as the mysteries of Physics unfurl like the pages of a book, and the very first warp-drive prototype to tear the fabric of space-time. I’ve seen as our nenthors built space vessels, stations, and colonies, and from just the solar system we expanded across the stars. I’ve seen entire planets being terraformed, and I gazed upon the very heart of a black hole. I’ve watched the constructions of our first IG-Bridges, and how they allowed us to reach distant galaxies. I’ve seen how the Brains' Cage evolved, from a mere storage unit, to the heart of a virtual empire outstretching billions of light-years across the deepest anomalies ever to be imagined.”
Ve sighed.
“Still, Mr. Mike, all that… all that is nothing when compared to the true last frontier.”
“And what would that be, sir?”
“Even if I tell you now, would that make any sense to you? Have you ever heard about the allegory of the cave?”
“No, sir.”
“In Plato's story, prisoners are chained inside a dark cave, facing the wall. They've been there since birth, never seeing the outside world. Shadows are cast on the wall by objects behind them, lit by a fire. The prisoners take these shadows to be the only reality. One prisoner is freed and sees the outside world, realizing the shadows were illusions. When he returns to tell the others, they don't believe him, because the cave is all they've ever known.”
I mused over vis words.
“Mr. Mike, you are now given a unique chance, to shine among the first to explore this new world. Your place in history will be among names such as Marco Polo, Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand Magellan, James Cook, Roald Amundsen, Robert Peary, Edmund Hillary, Yuri Gagarin, Neil Armstrong, Fernando Sidorov, and Haruka Tanaka. Your contribution could place you the latest in this lineage of great explorers, whose discoveries forever changed our understanding of our world and beyond.”
I was silent for a moment, considering the gravity of what ve had just told me. It was a lot to digest. My thoughts began to drift, contemplating the legacies of the explorers whose names had just been mentioned.
"I appreciate the offer, sir, and it's not lost on me how significant this opportunity is. But, if you don't mind my asking, how can I, or any syraki for that matter, make a discovery of such importance anymore? Most scientific discoveries these days are made by algorithms, and all relevant ones belong to them. Of course we could compete, since we are, also, algorithms, but what good would it do us when the Complex is too much better in their hands?"
“This is specifically the issue, dear Mike. For long we have been too much dependent on artificial intelligence, but here we have found a space impossible to even the most advanced one.”
That surprised me. I could not gather what ve was talking about, for artificial intelligence was so omnipresent in the Complex that I could not think of any scenario as such.
5. Jabari Explains Mission II
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“Why would anything be impossible to AI?” I asked.
“Mr. Mike, do you know why the Brains' Cage is called this way?”
“It is said that in the beginning it was a spaceship designed to store the consciousnesses of proto-syrakis. The design was intended to house their biological brains within hermetically sealed, vat-like containers, safeguarding them in a controlled environment. With time, as the Central Algorithm became increasingly intelligent, it found ways to more efficiently store these consciousnesses, which eventually led to the creation of the first version of syrakis, the alpha generation.”
Ve nodded.
[encrypted]
Those were one of those questions that had never quite crossed my mind, but that, once asked, made spooky sense.
“Sir?” I was confused.
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Silenced reigned, but ve kept staring at me with eyes glinting like precious stones as if to reach the epicenter of my being.
“What is that that you want, Mr. Mike?” Ve paused. “A server of your own? A tedrak ultimate replacer model? A spacecraft… a starship? Or maybe a starbase, one in which you could manage your own research team? Or, who knows, a moon, an entire planet?” The weight of veis words hung in the air, dense with the intoxicating aroma of limitless potential. “I mean, let’s talk about pleasure, Mr. Mike, the true currency in our society. I will give you enough credits so that you can perform your own Aunonian Prif Tuning.”
That took me by surprise. Not in one million years would my syraki have enough computational power to run such a demanding fine-tuning. Even quantum annealers and tensor processing units would not be sufficient for solving the non-linear partial differential equations and stochastic optimization problems involved. Besides, the renting of external core processors, often bearing travascale computing capabilities, required for such an overwhelming task was but a privilege of a few. Offloading to distributed networks for parallel task management would barely scrape the surface of what was needed. My whole syraki would have to be remapped, upgraded, calculated, rebalanced; its neural pathways, algorithmic modules, and discrete patches and transforms meticulously tinkered down to the tiniest details. The allure of unlocking my full hedonic potential, experiencing unprecedented Prif levels of unfathomable reach, shattered me any semblance of hesitation.
That was the moment when ve had me.
Then my memories became fuzzy again. I remembered that I accepted the invitation, to be part of that mission, although at no point was it revealed to me what exactly that was all about. Real-Life Theravada personnel would explain to me that that was a security measure against corporate espionage. All I had to do, they explained, was to continue with my training, for I would eventually have all the necessary information. That they said.
Following my acceptance, the training commenced in earnest, just a few cycles after they reunited the ten members of the crew: Beatriz, Elijah, Felix, Ismael, Lucia, Oshiro, Rüdolf, Susan, Vladimir, and I. Even at that time, I thought just ten members to be too a small group for a mission of such supposed scale. However, what did I know? We all came from different areas of expertise, and the only common ground between us were the fact that all of us worked for Theravada.
The regimen was an eclectic blend of disciplines and skill sets, conducted under an air of strategic ambiguity. While it ostensibly appeared to be preparation for an exploratory deep-space mission, the oscillating focus made it difficult to pinpoint its actual objective. One day we would be immersed in developing complex algorithms designed for autonomous navigation through interstellar anomalies; the next, we were at the helm of robotic controllers, simulating the extraction of exotic minerals from uncharted celestial bodies as we wore advanced robotic replacers. There were also sessions devoted to black hole thermodynamics, where we delved into the intricacies of event horizons and Hawking radiation. One session had us engrossed in advanced cryptography algorithms, decoding simulated extraterrestrial signals. In another, we conducted complex fluid dynamics simulations pertinent to foreign atmospheres.
There were also virtual reality modules in which we managed crisis scenarios on orbital stations, addressing systems failure and resource allocation under time-sensitive conditions. We even trained in memetic warfare defenses, delving into cultural interfaces aimed at mitigating unauthorized infiltrations of bad AI actors. Another phase saw us immersed in terraforming simulations, where we orchestrated the geoengineering of inhospitable planets into viable habitats for buildups of microorganisms. Intermittently, we were exposed to processing resilience training, where our syrakis were subjected to extreme computational tests involving high-throughput data analytics and complex algorithmic challenges, all designed to push the limits of our processing units and memory resources. Each phase seemed to be a piece of an elaborate puzzle, yet the overarching picture remained elusive, leaving us in a state of sustained curiosity and anticipation.
That polymathic approach to training obfuscated the mission's true nature, but I suspected that among of those they were preparing us for a journey of extreme proportions. As cycles turned into supercycles, the shroud of ambiguity never lifted, leaving us all with honed skills, fine-tuned syrakis, but without a clear understanding of the endgame. It became increasingly apparent that the mission's classified nature was not merely a formality, but a necessity to hide a mystery unfathomable.
That was all that I remembered until that point. Most of my recollection went back to Akrabizont-22, for trying to recover anything previous to that seemed sometimes an impossible endeavor. Whatever happened to me in that cursed desert, that had altered me fundamentally.
My nights were plagued by fragmented nightmares about my time on that cursed land, yet the details always eluded me, like sand slipping through my fingers. Each dream seemed to reconstruct a different aspect of that forsaken desert, but clarity was a fugitive. It was as if I had spent an eternity there, long enough for even the most vivid memories to erode into indistinct impressions. Mostly, I could recall the dread and the urgency, but the specifics were masked in a fog of incomprehensibility, leaving me in a perpetual state of disquiet.
Chapter 5. The Human Brain
1. Things Now
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Kallom-4000's temporal registry denoted a span of one hundred forty-seven Earth days post my retrieval from that desert. However, the reliability of the temporal measurement harbored severe uncertainties. Despite being integrated with a highly precise chronosynchronizer, Kallom-4000 elucidated the probability of decohering phenomena not solely afflicting my being, but pervasively impacting the entire spaceship, including Kallom-4000 verself.
The assertion of a trans-reality leap, as ludicrous as it may seem, harbored implications profound enough to cast a shadow of doubt over the fidelity of our chronosynchronizer's readings. The device, though a marvel of precision in timekeeping, holds its accuracy relative to the fabric of the reality it operates within. Its readings, while precise, are indexically anchored to the quantum-temporal coordinates of its residing Universe. Thus, a leap across the bounds of disparate realities posed an enigma most perplexing: the chronosynchronizer's temporal readouts, while accurate within the new reality's framework, could be vastly disparate from the time frame of our origin reality. It follows that our mission could have started, for instance, forty-five million years ago, taking into account our starting reality, but, after some reality jump we are unaware about, it now states only one hundred forty-seven days.
That was enough to shatter all my hopes for temporal fidelity.
In conventional settings, the chronosynchronizer within Kallom-4000 would adeptly recalibrate amidst even the most anomalous space-time configurations. However, the mysterious problem enveloping our circumstance transcended the zenith of our speculative and empirical understanding, rendering the recalibration capabilities of the device inadequate.
Regardless of the enigmatic nature of time within that realm, it bestowed upon me ample stretches to traverse the every nook and cranny of that spacecraft. Even though at the time of my initial tour I had been raptured by decohesion, after a few days there inside I familiarized myself with all the levels. As referred previously, that spacecraft, which in the documents was referred to as omniship RT-874, had five levels, all accessible through elevators using some kind of teleport technology. One extra level, called the Zeroth Level, could be accessible through an elevator by the center of the bridge, but such elevator remained deactivated and could be only reactivated by Captain Rüdolf, who was missing like all the other crewmembers but Kallom-4000 and I.
After carefully studying those levels, I came to the following conclusion. The fifth level, called the Burrow, was actually a hangar. Its sole intention was to store a smaller spaceship, also referred to as omniship in the documents, named ZF-78. The omniship, as already shown in the previous chapter, was not present. That was a mystery that Kallom-4000 was not fully able to explain. Ve explained me the fact that the ZF-78’s signature disappeared from the hangar minutes after the crash, but beyond that ve had no information.
The fourth level, the Park, seemed to be nothing beyond this: a park, a place intended for leisure for the crew. Still, I could not gather my mind around its procedurally generated technology. Even though something very common and ordinary in runs, whose size of a three-dimensional world was of trivial matter, I was not inside a virtual reality—as far as I could tell. Nonetheless, despite our meticulous investigations, neither Kallom-4000 nor I were able to furnish any plausible explanation, nor could we detect any Quantum Resonance Stabilizers that could have underpinned Kallom-4000’s initial hypothesis.
The third level, called the Quarters, consisted of individual one hundred square meter apartments designed to cater to each crew member's personal needs and privacy. These living quarters were positioned in two rows, arranged in a grid of two by five. Adjacent to these personal quarters was the expansive one thousand square meter lounge. A versatile space, the lounge was designed not only for relaxation and socialization but also for holding meetings. Its vastness catered to a variety of activities, from serene solitude in one corner to a bustling group interaction in another.
What I could never fail to notice was the sheer enormity of the rooms within that RT-874. The concept that each crew member had individual apartments as big as one hundred square meters was absurd to consider. Throughout my experiences aboard countless other vessels, I had never encountered such expansive spaces dedicated to a single individual. Most ships, from my past adventures, prioritized functional compactness over luxury. Spaces were designed to conserve and efficiently use every available inch, optimizing for the ship's missions rather than individual comfort. Yet, here, it was as if luxury and space were of paramount importance, a stark contrast to every other spaceship I had ever set foot in. The extravagance in everything inside was bewildering, like that enormous lounge, leading me to wonder about the true purpose and origin of that behemoth vessel.
While most syrakian vessels utilize malinkri modules to immerse syrakis in virtual realities, allowing each individual to experience vast virtual spaces limited only by the module’s memory capacity, the RT-874 appeared to lack any such module. What was truly startling was not the absence of the module, but the fact that I found myself in a human replacer. If I was not inside a virtual reality, as seemed to be the case aboard RT-874, then inhabiting a human body made little sense. Typically, if the vessel's AI algorithms or nenthors could not fully manage their tasks, and the physical presence of a syraki was required, we would not utilize fragile human replacers. Instead, we would employ far superior engineered vectors, be they biological or otherwise, tailored to the specific demands of the role.
The second level, known as the Research Center, intrigued me the most. I sensed that if there were answers to be found on that vessel, the Research Center held the greatest likelihood of harboring them. Only that I could not understand what the research was all about. The level was subdivided among seven units, and they were, from left to right, top to bottom:
Sick Bay - 250 m² Room 0554 - 100 m² Exopsychology Lab - 400 m² Species Container A - 250 m² Species Container B - 250 m² Cold Storage - 200 m² Laboratory - 700 m²
The picture I first drew as I entered that level, and by reading those neon-like titles, was that I had finally understood the purpose of that mission. It was so obvious, how could I have not realized it until that moment? However, my nascent hypotheses crumbled almost instantaneously as I ventured further into those compartments. Despite their titles, the internal configurations of these rooms bore little to no resemblance to any context I could relate to, let alone understand.
The names suggested research areas, perhaps dealing with exobiology, xenopsychology, xenochemistry, astroecology, extraterrestrial physiology, or xenogeology. But upon entry, the spaces seemed to mock my expectations. Instruments and modules were unidentifiable, and the architecture itself defied syrakian standards of design. There were no data banks detailing the experiments or procedures that might take place in the compartments, nor was Kallom-4000 able to provide insights. Every unit became a puzzle, a cipher within an enigma, each more confounding than the last. Complicating matters further, Room 0554 was sealed, secured by an enigmatic encryption protocol. Kallom-4000 was unable to unlock it. Ve speculated that the room had likely been locked in the aftermath of the incident.
2. The Second Level
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The Sick Bay was the first compartment that I entered. I was immediately engulfed in an atmosphere of otherworldly technology. Gleaming screens emitted an ethereal glow, casting geometric shadows that danced across the floor. Data streams, full of cryptic symbols, flowed like rivers on the multiple displays, each more puzzling than the last. Whiteboards were covered in inscrutable inscriptions, equations that seemed to transcend my understanding. Holographic projections hovered in mid-air, showcasing multidimensional anatomical models and mind-bogglingly complex neural pathways. The room hummed with the steady rhythm of computational power, generating a chorus of soft whirs and clicks that filled the air. The place was split across seven smaller units, all unmistakably dedicated to the exploration and treatment of the mind.
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3. The Exopsychology Lab
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4. The Bottom Labs
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5. The Bottom Labs II
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Chapter 6. The Neural Station
1. Neural Interface Debug Room
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2. The Coordinate System
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3. The Orgasm
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4. 'Pataphysical States
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5. Super Pleasure And Super Pain
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Chapter 7. The Communications' Hub
1. Distress
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2. Suicide Attempts
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4. The First Level
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5. Many Datacenters
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6. The Communications' Hub
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Chapter 8. The Yellow Woman
1. The Table
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2. Why Brain's Cage
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3. Brains' Cage, Theatrum, Terra Incognita
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4. Navigational & Qualia Systems
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Chapter 9. The Contexts
1. Back To The Bridge
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2. Environment Modulator
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3. Traversing Contexts
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4. 17th-century French Palace
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5. Collapse
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Chapter 10. The Being
1. The Restaurant
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2. The Being
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3. The Cottage
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4. Conversation
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5. What Is Purpose
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Chapter 99. ⛓️ Break
Part 1. 11. The Recording
1. Reflections
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2. The Recording
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3. Dire Echoes
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4. Decohesion Crisis
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Part 2. 3. The Experience
1. To The Rescue
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2. Otherworldly
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3. What Is Going On
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4. What Is This Cohesion System
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5. 8. The Second Level
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6. 9. The First Level
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7. 10. Jumps
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8. 3. Savior
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Part 9. 3. The Interior
1. I Am Human
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2. Getting Out Of Room
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3. Mike's Quarters
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4. The Lounge
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5. The Second Level
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6. The Machine Of Pleasure
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7. The Empty Ceiling
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8. Memories Back
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9. First Level
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10. The Bridge
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Part 3. Separated parts
1. Discussing Omnispace
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“There is a possible world in which someone is reading our story like in a book.”
2. The Communication
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“Who is talking to us?” “RT-874. I repeat, RT-874. Is that space control?”
“Ve… vessel? What do you mean by this?”
“I am not a vessel. You are talking to a single individual.”
“I can come in, if you want.”
“I can. I am seeing you. You are inside a black orb.”
“No. Do not come in. You are not allowed to board this vessel.” “Why? Don’t you want to be a friend?” “I repeat. Do not come in. You are not allowed to board this vessel.”
“Kallom-4000, take us out of this place now.”
3. Hellworlds
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4. Felix's Rescue
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