1-poolBOBJ2Nn-113

> day.113

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The familiar message fills his eyes with gentle red light, softly pulsing:

 

The Command Deck awaits his entrance with an anxious hum. Its tall domed walls glow bright white.

White-clad agents in white helmets whisper in their soft white seats. They quietly peck at data and dashboards inside their warm blue visors.

A panel lining the dome’s wall slides open without a sound.

A tiny light above it switches from red to green.

“Gentlemen!” The General storms in through the door alongside his son. “Meet Commander Altair!”

Their white helmets swing from their hands as they stride toward their battle stations.

All the agents turn to salute the General and the Commander.

“Today’s the day we take back Washington!” The General beams with pride as he dons his shining white helmet and takes his seat at the head of the shining white Command Deck. “And Commander Altair is our ace in the hole!”

Alex marches to the center of the room. A plush, full-body chair hangs from the ceiling on tall, elastic slings—his cushioned cocoon for the coming battle.

“You’ve all been briefed on this operation,” the General continues, “but I will reiterate: we will deploy Aeschylus only in the event of a Condition 3 threat, only if absolutely necessary.”

Agents cloaked in white lab coats and white respirator masks huddle around Alex’s command chair. They douse the chair in sparkling white mist. They clean glossy white blood from the floor. They lift the limp, blue-visored body of a hollow Dummy out of the chair, unplug long white cables from its spine, its helmet, its arms and legs, then carry it away.

A fully masked agent ushers Alex into the empty chair.

“In a Condition 3 event, you will fully integrate Commander Altair into Aeschylus,” the General goes on. “Aeschylus will then override all combat systems, and Aeschylus along with Commander Altair will jointly direct all combat operations. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” The General’s agents all salute.

Alex throws himself into the white command chair, its slings bob up and down, processing his weight, authenticating his brain, verifying his body—highest-tech luxury hammock.

The General smiles out at his army, slides his blue visor down into place. “Today, we have a once in a lifetime opportunity to create a lasting peace! To create the future!”

Alex slides his helmet over his wavy platinum hair, scrunches it around his sharp jaw. Its grip on his skull auto-tightens. Its sensors silently feel around his head for telltale electrical signals.

“And we are blessed to be coordinating this special operation with two men who wish to join us in creating the future,” the General smirks. “Lieutenant General Stone from our Washington command center! And Supreme General Asaju of the African Federation! Gentlemen, are all systems operational on your end?”

“Affirmative!” They respond in unison.

A blue visor slides down from Alex’s helmet, covering his artificial eyes, casting tints of blue over his entire field of view.

“Excellent!” The General grins. “Agent Murphy, status on Aeschylus?”

“Fully operational, sir!” Murphy calls out from his battle station. “100 cognitive clusters online, pumping out 2 GigaTurings of power. Looping Aeschylus into Commander Altair now.”

Alex takes a deep exhale. Cushioned restraints glide out from the chair’s smooth backrest, shoulder pads, leg rests, footrests, gently binding him to the command chair.

“Excellent!” The General repeats. “Lieutenant General Stone! What’s your situation on the ground?”

“In position!” Stone confirms. “Awaiting strike authorization.”

Alex shuts his eyes in meditative darkness—one last moment to absorb the serenity of the pre-mission Command Deck.

“Authorization granted!” The General responds. “Let this be the beginning of the end of this damn war!”

A rush of data pours into Alex’s helmet, notification popping into the center of his vision:

 

 

A blue progress bar expands to the right, 100%, and the strong, rich voice of Aeschylus pops into his mind: “Commander Alexis Altair, 01-Hudson Bay Complex, integration status?”

“Integration successful, ready to operate,” Alex replies.

“Standby for further commands.”

The Command Deck goes eerily quiet. The General and his agents wander off into their own bubbles of virtual reality. Their bodies stay still in their seats, every so often twisting or flicking through the air. Their brains stay glued to their blue visors, glued to the reams of combat data flooding through their hive mind.

A dim electronic hum cascades out from the walls. Soft white noise hisses through the clean white air. The crystal ball and black boxes of Aeschylus pulse and churn deep below the Command Deck.

Far away, a batch of monstrous black eggs plunge down from orbit, crack into pieces, jettison swarms of computerized black steel all across the sky: attack drones, droid landers, surveillance systems, smart bombs and smart missiles all plummeting down to Washington in plumes of atmospheric fire. One of Stone’s infamous Warrior Hives.

“Hive has landed successfully,” Stone announces. “Commencing ground operations.”

The streets of Washington erupt in automated violence. Panic creeps into Alex. If Stone’s Warrior Hive targets civilians instead of combatants—or if it simply fails to push back the rebel forces—then Aeschylus will be responsible for controlling the Hive instead.

Which means Alex will be responsible for controlling Aeschylus.

Alex rapidly inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales. His shoulders tense under the weight of his duty. He glances across his visor to check his psych distortion level—it’s getting high. He’s overthinking the situation, polluting himself with fear. Needs to calm himself down.

“Don’t analyze it,” he reminds himself. Just keep moving. Just trust everyone to serve to the best of their ability. Trust that Stone’s Warrior Hive is well-designed. Trust that it will hunt only those who intend to cause harm. Trust in his team. Trust in his training. Trust in himself.

He replays Mom’s voice in his mind as he slowly inhales. “Sweetie, you’re having a panic attack. Big breath in.” He holds in the Command Deck’s purified air. Takes all his nervous energy, all the bright pasts, all the dark futures he can possibly imagine.

Breathes it all out.

Psych distortion falling back down. Just keep breathing in and out. Focus on the breathing. Remain in the present. In his mind, he replays the soft, AI-generated voice of one Murphy’s training modules: “In this guided meditation, we’ll use breathing exercises to build new identities.”

Inhale Commander Altair. Hold in all of his thoughts. All of his feelings. All of his memories. All of his desires.

Exhale Alex. Release all of her thoughts. All of her feelings. All of her memories. All of her desires.

Inhale Commander Altair.

Hold . . .

Exhale.

Psych distortion back down to zero. Calmness washes over him. The Command Deck glows with peaceful light.

Inhale.

Hold . . .

Exhale.

Body is gone. Mind is empty. Spirit is glowing. Complete and utter peace.

Inhale.

Hold . . .

Exhale.

Inhale

Hold . . .

Exhale.

Inhale

Hold . . .

 

 

Blue visor fills with data, Alex snaps into focus, mission dashboard pops up, the Command Deck melts away. Aeschylus dictates key points from a wall of auto-scrolling text:

 

Context:

 

Object Basilisk has absorbed Alliance Warrior Hive systems.

 

The presumed goals of Basilisk are:

 

• [UNKNOWN]

 

Basilisk has commandeered 36 Warrior Hives across 7 continents.

 

Basilisk is to be destroyed.

 

“Something’s taken control of 36 Warrior Hives?!” Alex gasps to himself. “On every continent?! All at once?! How?!”

But before he can analyze it, Aeschylus keeps moving along, speaking from his script:

 

Representation of cyber defense scenario:

 

A dragon will be guarding a large crystal ball in a cavern.

 

The dragon is your primary target.

 

You must destroy the dragon before it can destroy the crystal ball.

 

If the dragon causes too much damage to the crystal ball, combat mode will be locked to full-auto for the remainder of the mission.

 

Do you understand?

 

Alex pauses for a moment, reflects on the VR representation—what the hell will happen back here in the real world if the dragon breaks that crystal ball?

“Don’t analyze it,” he reminds himself. “Just keep moving.”

“Yes,” Alex confirms.

 

Are you prepared for transfiguration?

 

Alex pauses again, struck by memories of Aeschylus loading his mind into virtual reality. The shock of entering a different body. The overload of sensory data. The surge of giga-dysphoria.

“Don’t analyze it,” he reminds himself. “Just keep moving.”

“Yes,” Alex sighs. “Ready for transfiguration.”

 

Synchronizing.

 

Aeschylus’ script melts away into the white walls of the Command Deck. The air goes numb once again.

 

Transfiguration will occur in 3 seconds.

 

He slips a peek at his psych distortion—it’s gone back up again. Needs to come back down before Aeschylus plunges his mind into another world. Nasty VR hallucination just waiting to happen.

Just inhale, exhale.

3

Inhale Commander Altair.

2

Exhale Alex.

1

His mind rushes through his helmet, out of his control and upward into ethereal cyberspace, perceptions shattered, utter derealization, his body shackled in the world below.

Everything flashing, flashes of people, running, hugging, crying, thousands of drones flying, networks reconnecting, anti-aircraft cannons taking aim, clear blue sky, the attack satellites scowling down at it, Hudson Bay twinkling near the point where his mind dissolves into data, smells turning to colors, supercomputers whirring, atoms spinning, electricity pulsing, dragon roaring, serpentine tail crushing Aeschylus, the Dummies in the Central Processing Unit trapped in their boiling ball of liquid crystal, screaming and writhing in pain, their mutant brains burs̵tin̴g̷, gush̴i̴n̵g with white blood, cities dreading, hall of mirror̶s bre̶͕̅ak̴̜̎i̶ṇ̶̈́g̵͑.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!” Dad’s voice roars into his mind. “BRING THE CPU TEMPERATURE DOWN NOW!”

“We’ve lost connection to Aeschylus!” Murphy shouts back at him. “Basilisk injected some kind of malicious script into Aeschylus! Fire detected in the Core Chamber! Superaligners are all malfunctioning!”

The rush of random data won’t stop pouring into Alex’s mind, overpowers all his senses, the sour smell of sunflowers in the garden, the bitterness of peppermint, summers with Carson and Soren, the bombings, the buzzing of locusts, black gunship outside the Palace, black drones hum and beam secret codes to each other high above New York, a dragon h̸̥̒o̶̗̰̓w̶̜̆̈́͜l̶͈̝̈́̒s amidst its digital inferno, virtual and real melt together, missile launches detected near Washington, Moscow, London, Tehran, Tel Aviv, Paris, Shanghai, Mumbai, troops gawking up at falling airplanes, satellites plummeting like shooting stars, the dragon bel̷l̸o̵w̷s and b̶̖̓l̷̜̲̉o̶͚̼̩̅́ẁ̵̖̈̊s a scorching gust of lightning from its maw.

“WHAT’S ALEX’S STATUS?!” Dad shrieks out into the crumbling metaverse. “WHERE IS HE IN OBJECT SPACE?”

Alex freezes, utterly numb, his final tea with Mom, mothers running from walls of water, babies in their arms, crying, crỷ̴͔̤ͅi̸͍̟͐ń̸͖̂̾g̵͗, floods of glass and steel wash over every shore, the sea invades, the city collapses, cr̷̩̰̪̮̭̔͑͊̕y̷̡̜͚͇̟͐̈́̉͐̐͋̏̈́̚͜i̷̛̛̭̘̼̺̙̹͕̺̇̅͑̅̓̓́͝ṋ̴̰̼̥́̃͂̅̉̾̐͝ͅg, tears flooding over her face, mud staining her white dress, moths devouring the mountainside, i̸n̷͋fe̵cṯ̸͙̉ï̶̼̱̦͚̆̐̚ṅ̵̢͓̭̰͒͂g every village, Soren falling from the summit, tears flooding over his face, people coughing, hacking, wretching, dying, the dragon cack̸l̴̙̒ỉ̵͜n̵̖̊g and roari̴̊͛̎ń̶̙͉̫͎̻͗́͌̈̕g̷̛̤̥͗͑́, its fangs sinking deep into the silky white surface of the crystal ball.

 

 

“Still no signal from Stone!” Murphy’s voice echoes into Alex’s meltdown. “Asaju reporting that Basilisk has gone Type 3!”

“FUCK!” Dad screams. “GET ALEX OUT OF THAT DAMN MACHINE RIGHT THE HELL NOW.”

Smart trucks drive themselves into traffic, smart cars send their riders screaming off roads, 150 miles per hour, fires, sensors glitching, onboard computers lying, floods, fevers, auto-pilots plummeting into cities, 700 miles per hour, black gunships scram̸̱̆̉͜b̴̺͂̓l̵̝̽͜i̸n̶̡͍͝g, fighter drones, 50,000 miles per hour, s̷o̶n̶i̴c̴ ̸b̶o̸o̴m s̷h̶r̶eds a glass tower, missiles shred another, Aeschylus trapped on overdrive, his black neural stacks mḙ̵̖̭́̾ļ̶̖͓̚t̵̀i̸n̶̠̆́̌g, the dragon feasting on fractals and light, sc̷͋̌r̶̓̄eec̸̔͑̈́h̵̛͐͑͛̈́̂͠ȉ̷̧̘̗͔̣̗̾͆̈́̆̇͘͝n̶̈́̔͋̈́̔͑̌̉̈̔͘͝͝ģ̶̺̳̣̎̔̌̕ above a pit of emptied skulls, squawking with pride as gigantic, pulsing blobs of brains rip and tear and grow and swell from every dark scale on its infinite tail.

“General Altair!” Asaju roars from halfway round the world. “Our satellites show several drone swarms headed directly for your Complex. Advising you to activate manual defensive systems!”

The dragon’s eyes glow every color imaginable, every color un̶i̵mag̸̡͗i̴̳̍n̵̤͐a̸̹͂b̶͎̋l̵̙̀e, defying all logic, defying comprehension, its impossible gaze freezing Alex’s mind, frozen logic gates in hijacked computers click and fail, giant magnetic cannons pu̵̱̰̓͋̈́l̸̦̠̚ś̶̱͐e with thunder, servers and power plants explo̵̩̤̣̺͇̊́̈́͂͛de on every continent, a constant sc̵̬͈̈́͗̚̚ŗ̴̼̳͈͂͛̔ḛ̸̖͕̂̑̒̈́a̶̱̚͜m stuck on repeat, whit̴̼̀e ǹ̸͔̻̚o̵͓̯̔i̷̡͓͊̓ś̷͉͇e̸͈̽ clicks through flaming power lines.

“ACTIVATE PROTOCOL 2.26!” Dad’s cry shreds through the ether. “I’M GETTING MY KID OUT OF THIS CYBERSHIT MYSELF.”

The dragon cå̶̫͇̯͍̙̍̉ç̷͕̦̠̺̎͛̀́͌͑͛̈́͘k̴̢͍̣͈͕̻̫̦͓͉̘͗̓̓͒̋͂̌͌̈́̂͠ļ̵̃̆͒̀͗̕ȩ̷̫̪͇͉̘͑̾̈́̈́̋͘͝s̸̛̳̮̦̱͜ and bears its bloody fangs.

“MURPHY, LOOP ME INTO AESCHYLUS SO I CAN HELP ALEX.”

“Sir, that’s a protocol violation!”

Crystal ball cra̸ć̵̳kiñ̶͉̺̲̍͠g, the dragon’s endless tail tightening around it, bursting with brain and blood as the crystal cru̵̢̜͓̲̗̭͛̕͜m̶̧̧̡̙̯̲̳̮̱̳̓b̶̲̜͙̯̳͙̰̈́̀̌̎̋̓ĺ̸̢̫̞̟̖̬̖̜̓̓̑e̴̢̼̰͓̥̰͒̑̉͂͋̓̑͝s̴̡̝̘̝̺̥̦̆̄́, locusts buzzing, elevators stalling, falling, bodies piled in rubble, unhinged from time and space, radiation warning, reality collapsing, crystal ball cavin̶̥͝g ̸̢̚in̴̡̥͛, the dragon grin̸͎͌ning and groaǹ̴̞͖̽i̴̝̮͗͐̅͊n̵̪̰͎͊̎̏̀͂g̴̨̜̻̞̥̃̊͘.

“FUCK YOUR PROTOCOL MURPHY SO HELP ME GOD I WILL CLAW YOU DOWN INTO THE DEPTHS OF HELL WITH ME IF YOU DON’T LOOP MY BRAIN INTO YOUR DEMON MACHINE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, I WILL—”

“Looping you in now, sir!”

Mom smiles in her lab, stirring her supercomputer, takes Alex for ice cream after work, soup for dinner, coughing and wheezing, skeletons in the snow, d̸r̴o̵n̴e̸s̵ ̴d̵e̷s̵c̶e̶n̶d̸i̶n̸g̵ ̵f̷r̷o̴m̷ ̵o̸r̴b̸i̶t̶, bird’s eyes view of the Complex, Carson cry̶͓̅ḯ̶̙̮n̶̜̽g̷͙͘ alone, dancing together under the lavender lights, purple stars in the night sky, dron̷e̵s̵ ̸g̷e̶t̵t̵i̶n̶g̴ ̵c̵l̷o̴s̸e̷r̷, flying through the tall white pillars of the Palace together, flying over and over and over, flying forever, trapped on repeat, pasts, p̴͓͑ͅreș̵̣͆̂e̴̠̭͂nts, futures blur together in a s̴t̷r̷eak̷ of acts and scenes and forms and colors and places and times and people and machines. The dragon bǫ̵̖̇̐̿o̸̟̥̟̜̫̮̐͋m̸͕͇̮͗̾̆̋ͅs out in triumph as the crystal ball s̷̨͇̩̩̦̎̾̍́̀̌̾͑̋̀̈́̀hä̴̛́̈́͋̾̅̆t̵tẹ̴͓͎̰̬̈́̔̑͒͊́͌̂͠r̵̨̛͔̱̂̽̀̌̈́̿̚s in its hideous, pulsing coils:

“Pitiful girl.”

A mighty, alien energy pulls back Alex’s arm, conjures up shining white armor all around his body, trusts an enormous white spear into his grasp, its lucid tip blazing in the white hot lights of the Command Deck.

“YOU HAVE TO KEEP MOVING!” Dad howls into him. “KEEP FIGHTING!”

Dad’s strong spirit pulls Alex’s arm further back, but Alex’s legs qu̶ive̷r̸, q̵ua̷͙̔̀͗̈́́͆ͅk̵͓͆̅͒̈͐͒̈́͑ĕ̷̡̺̺͙̤̪̬͂͗́͝, struggle to stand under the horrible weight of the spear, gazing helplessly at his target far off in the distance. The dragon stares into his soul again with its piercing, fearsome eyes. His mind freezes. His armor sṇ̶͛̿͋̓͌͊̒͘a̴̛̱̰̲͇p̶̢̥͔̺͍͂̑̍̂̂̀͜s̴͋ into pieces.

Dad sighs. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better life than this, Alex. This wasn’t what I envisioned for us at all.”

The Dragon slinks away through the darkness, slithers out of its cavern, struggling to fly under the hefty weight of its prey, brain and blood and fire and steel gushing out from its broken scales, littering the white marble floors of the Palace, locusts and moths and smoke and poisonous clouds clinging to its soaring bright ceilings.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better father than this. I hope you’ll understand one day. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Alex blankly stares into eternity as the dragon makes its escape through the glistening corridors of the Palace.

“You’ve become so strong, Alex.” Dad beams with pride from across the white void. Sparks finally light up his cold grey eyes. “It’s okay if you need to leave me here. I’ll be right here if you ever need me. I’m sorry.”