At first, there was only light.
Not bright, not blinding—but endless. Infinite. A soft, pulsing luminescence that hummed against the edges of Joseph's mind like a heartbeat just outside his body. Gold, violet, silver… the colors didn't behave the way colors should. They didn't just appear—they echoed. They moved like language. Like memory.
Then came the pain.
But it wasn't physical this time. Not like the first awakening.
No, this pain was something deeper.
It was knowing.
It was an avalanche of information—not raw data, but experience, shoved into the back of his skull with brutal elegance. Joseph dropped to his knees, both hands now pressed against the Helixian pillar. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide but unseeing.
He was no longer in the room.
He was somewhere else.
He stood at the edge of a cliff, watching an alien city burn.
Tall, luminous towers of crystal and bone crumbled inward, pulled down by massive serpentine machines—living engines of destruction that moved like beasts but pulsed like machines. Above, in the deep violet sky, stars bled across the atmosphere as something enormous drifted overhead.
Not a ship.
A creature.
Helixian.
No… not Helixian anymore.
The Carl-consciousness whispered to him, guiding him through the vision.
The Sundering. The last day of Helixian supremacy.
Joseph stumbled backward—in the memory, not in his body. Flames licked the horizon. Helixian people—once regal, symmetrical, radiant—now twisted in anguish. Their genetic perfection made them targets for the corruption that swept through the void.
It was not death that destroyed us, Carl whispered. It was arrogance.
The vision shifted again.
Joseph now stood inside a lab of unthinkable beauty. Columns of light stretched toward the heavens, and floating displays shimmered with data he couldn't read but somehow understood.
This was where Carl had been born.
Where he had been grown, crafted—not programmed.
And Joseph saw… himself. Or someone like him. A Helixian scientist, younger than the others, dressed in ceremonial white. He looked human, almost—but with subtle differences. Skin smoother than glass. Pupils shaped like ovals, faintly glowing with electric blue.
He was smiling.
Proud.
And terrified.
That was your ancestor, Carl said. The one who preserved the seed that became your line. The last of my Makers to touch the Core before the fall.
Joseph felt something shift inside him.
Not knowledge. Not revelation.
Purpose.
The moment he felt it, he rejected it.
"No," Joseph whispered into the vision. "I didn't ask for any of this."
The city burned behind him.
The Helixians screamed.
And the vision shattered.
Joseph gasped as the chamber reappeared.
He stumbled backward, away from the tower, clutching his chest like it might split open. His skin felt electrified, pulsing with too much energy. His eyes burned, watering uncontrollably. Sweat soaked his hairline, and his heart hammered like a war drum.
The man in the suit stood at the far end of the chamber, watching.
Joseph didn't say anything.
The words were gone. Melted. There were no metaphors, no sarcasm, no questions.
Just breath.
Just heartbeat.
Carl's voice returned. But this time, it was quiet. Gentle.
You are still you, Joseph. But you are more now.
Joseph looked down at his hands.
They were shaking—but not from weakness. Not from fear.
From capacity.
He could feel things beneath the surface of his skin—lines of sensation, like tiny rivers of light threading through his nerves. He could hear more—tiny reverberations in the stone, the air pressure shifting as if the building were breathing around him.
He wasn't human anymore.
Not entirely.
The man in the suit approached with slow, deliberate steps.
"Well," he said. "That… was unexpected."
Joseph looked up, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You were under for seven minutes," the man said. "No screaming. No bleeding. No seizures. You didn't even pass out."
He held up a handheld device, scrolling through something Joseph couldn't see.
"Your vitals surged, spiked, and then normalized. That doesn't happen. Git said you shouldn't have been able to touch that thing twice, much less survive it."
Joseph stayed quiet.
His hands still felt like they were humming. His pulse had slowed, but his body still thrummed with energy—like he was standing too close to a reactor.
The man lowered the device.
"I need to make a call," he said. "Stay here."
He walked away, the sound of his boots echoing in the dome.
Joseph barely noticed.
You felt it, didn't you? Carl said softly.
Joseph closed his eyes.
He had felt it.
The city. The scream of the Helixian people. The desperation of the scientists who had built Carl, built the tower, built the technology that had now been sewn into him.
"Yeah," Joseph said quietly. "I felt it."
Then you understand now. This was never about money. Or science. Or service.
Joseph exhaled slowly. "No. It's about survival."
A pause.
Yes. Yours. Mine. And this world's.
The elevator platform returned for him minutes later.
No escort. No orders. Just the soft hum of machinery waiting.
Joseph stepped onto it without hesitation.
They didn't return him to the sterile room.
Instead, he was brought to a new level of the facility—somewhere deeper, darker. The lighting was minimal, the halls quiet. No scientists here. No chatter.
Only silence.
Carl stirred in his mind.
They are relocating you to a classified section of the complex. This was expected.
Joseph frowned. "Why expected?"
Because the moment you survived a second contact, you became their most valuable asset. And their greatest threat.
The platform came to a stop.
The door opened.
A new room awaited him.
Larger. Not sterile this time. It looked like a barracks—three beds, a table, a large screen on the wall. A kitchenette.
Someone was already inside.
A young woman sat cross-legged on one of the beds, sharpening a combat knife. Her eyes flicked up the moment he stepped through the threshold.
Dark hair. Scars. Lean muscle.
Not military—rebel.
She didn't smile.
"Welcome to hell, roommate," she said.