CHAPTER 8
I wondered if it’d all been a dream when I woke up. The dark room reminded me of the struggle between living and dying, my earliest pre-waking memory. I resisted thinking more than that—choosing instead to savor this rare moment of peace. Unfortunately, the more relaxed I felt, the more in tune I became with the electricity around me. Which, in turn, made it more difficult to ignore the cameras positioned discreetly in the corners of the room.
The door opened, and the lights slowly ebbed on.
“General Larkkon is on his way.” Agent Nerzogk’s gruff tone matched his untrusting steps. The bruise on his neck had become less noticeable. The memory of it, however, seemed to remain fresh. He stiffened when I sat up.
A needle shifted in a vein on my right hand. I wasn’t sure when the IV had been inserted, I must’ve been too tired to wake up.
Agent Nerzogk’s finger hovered next to the remote ring on his thumb. The threat twisted my stomach as the reminder pulled me back to Doctor Lsar’s lab. I put my hands up in surrender.
“What are you doing?” he asked, observing me with his piercing golden eyes.
I put my arms down and waited for him to unstiffen, then extended my IV’d hand to him. The jade man’s fingers were surprisingly nimble for their size. He removed the needle and dismissed the drone holding the IV’s empty bag and tube from the room. Then he deposited a uniform cartridge onto the bathroom counter and left.
A silent ping shot through the floor simultaneously with the door’s closing, notifying the hub of its status. There was no sound of locking.
The room was silent again after his departure. I took in my surroundings. The design was minimal and sleek, offering a quiet comfort and sense of luxury. And, for once, the walls were not entirely white. They were marble with hues of grey and black accents. The natural rock wall muffled the electric noise behind it. If that was intentional in the design, then it was surprisingly thoughtful.
I considered laying down and testing the limits of how long I could delay this interaction with the General. What consequences would such a minor resistance elicit? The more I thought about it, the less interested I was in finding out. I chose instead to take my time getting ready. I could probably avoid a shock from the implant as long as I was doing something.
The shower steam allowed rare privacy from the cameras. It felt nice, soaking in the heat. My skin was smooth, no longer sensitive but still bearing the signs of being newly formed. It was an odd reminder that my old body had been remolded at a molecular level during the regeneration. A blank slate, giving me no hints at the life I might’ve once led.
“Wrap it up,” Agent Nerzogk commanded over an intercom. I ignored his order and stayed in the steam. The room’s controls flexed their muscles, shutting the water off and switching the dryer on. The steam was chased away, my privacy eliminated along with the clouds of humid heat.
I shivered as the room’s chill quickly stole the shower’s warmth from my body, and wiped the water from my face. Short black stubble, less than half a fingernail’s width long, scraped against my fingertips. My hair’s growth gave me my first indication of time. It had either grown during the doctor’s extensive tests, or I’d been out of it for days afterward. Or both.
I stepped out of the shower to escape the teeming unknowns and released the uniform cartridge left by Agent Nerzogk. I hoped for a jacket or long sleeves. Instead, a white jumpsuit identical to the one I arrived in flowed over my skin. Its material was too thin and slick to offer any protection from the chill.
A cup waited for me on the counter near the door. I downed its contents quickly. Thankfully it didn’t taste as dreadful as it looked. Then I tested the door to see if it’d been deadbolted.
It opened without resistance and sent another silent ping to the hidden hub, committing me to step forward into the training room.
General Larkkon waited with Agent Nerzogk next to the central platform. Both of them wore thick black jackets along with their usual implant-linked rings.
“You look a lot better, Aviator,” the General commented as I approached.
I thought about bringing up my questions about the Empire and the Baet Legion, but it didn’t seem like a good time for that detour. Agent Nerzogk clocked my pace, keeping a ready finger near his ring. The unfiltered curiosity I thought I’d seen the other day was no longer there. The mountainous lizard-man was back to being the lackey I’d come to know, attentively calculating my distance with an abundance of caution.
“I feel better,” I confirmed before reminding myself that I shouldn’t bother making small talk with these people.
I stopped my approach before my distance could create a question of danger towards the General. I felt good after my shower and preferred not to deal with a jolt from the implant if I could avoid it.
“Good. That’s good,” General Larkkon said.
He signaled me to follow him to the most extensive section, where box-like frames cut across nearly half of the room’s width. I checked for Agent Nerzogk’s nod before accompanying the shimmering emerald giant.
The General’s heavy steps stopped at a small control panel connecting two of the box-frames. “I think we can go ahead and get started, then.”
He swiped his thick leather fingers across a small control panel connecting two of the box-frames. The space between the frames responded to his input and a transparent membrane came to life, connecting the structures into a single large rectangular box.
“This is a training simulator, routine for all agents. This one will be exclusive for your use,” he explained while confirming the settings. “Doctor Lsar has been able to calibrate your unique electrical abilities, but we haven’t been able to learn much about your physical baseline. I’m rather curious about it.” His olive-gold eyes smiled.
“What kind of simulation does it run?” I asked, unsure of how I should approach this.
“It’s a basic program right now, the default for most agents. A series of artificial assassins will block your path, becoming more advanced the further you go on. It will help us to determine your level of combat skill.”
“You’re suggesting I could make use of combat skills if I had them?” I didn’t hide my confusion. This General insisted on treating me as a comrade despite all evidence contradicting him.
“I know this is a strange situation for you, Aviator. The Empire is taking precautions while we figure this out. And you need time to adjust as well.” He paused to let his reassurance settle in. “Your cooperation will fast-track your integration. You can take this time to prove your worth as an asset to the Empire. Make yourself too valuable not to be utilized.”
The more he spoke about the Empire, the more my confusion grew. I’d already decided to play it safe. There wasn’t much more to talk about. I would cooperate, bide my time—but I didn’t have to excel. I had no interest in giving anything more than necessary to my captors.
General Larkkon waited. Agent Nerzogk stood behind him, watching and waiting with a different level of attentiveness than the General. The agent signaled to me, nodding in the direction of the frame, his patience growing thin so the General’s wouldn’t have to.
I relented and stepped through the transparent frame, breaking through the membrane like passing through a veil of tiny beads of condensed air. The floor inside the simulator squished with a strange consistency, rippling under my steps like a shallow liquid. Once I reached the center, the lights faded. I caught a last glimpse of General Larkkon at the control panel outside before the space within the frame plunged into an inky black. The floor drained beneath me, a near imperceptible change inside the directionless midnight void.
The current around me buzzed with energy. I knelt in the dark, my curiosity drawn out. The floor vibrated against my palm, transforming its texture from liquid to solid, warm to the touch and oddly resilient to my cybernetic influence. My sixth sense skimmed the area. I was surrounded by the material siphoned from the floor, transformed and orchestrated with incredible precision by the simulator’s program.
A scene came to life as the lights returned. I let go of my attempted connection. The transformed liquid-solid medium reminded me of the medical bed dissolving beneath me during Doctor Lsar’s tests.
When I stood, I found myself in a warehouse with heavy wooden crates larger than myself scattered and stacked in no apparent pattern. I analyzed the maze. The crates blocked my view, but they could also serve as cover. When I stepped forward, my steps echoed off the transformed concrete floor. I felt exposed, vulnerable.
I moved forward through the crates, marveling at the program’s detail while waiting for the system to make its move. The stacks of wooden boxes began to tower over me, the pathway narrowing. A subtle creak from above alerted me to my first opponent. I jumped back, and a dark figure draped in a black cloak landed where I had been standing a split second earlier. It stood taller than me, a similar height to Agent Nerzogk but unnaturally thin and wiry. It had no features other than form. Its face melted into shadows beneath the hood.
It lunged at me, an object in hand. I pivoted to the side, moving slightly slower than I intended. Its knife brushed past me. The gravity was different from my expectation, somehow. Similar to my miscalculation in the tunnel. I compensated once I realized the change, applying more force than I normally would otherwise. The reality inside of these frames fascinated me. The challenge was rudimentary but incredibly detailed. The assassin's wrist was solid when I grabbed it, made from the same material as the nanobotic floor beneath me, the simulator’s creation completely immersing me in its alternate reality. I swung the cloaked figure around to force it to drop the knife. Then I finished it off with a quick kick to its throat. The weapon clinked against the floor and the minion dissolved in defeat.
I picked up its knife and continued forward. Another assassin appeared, hiding behind a crate to my left. I tested out the knife, issuing a blow to the attacker’s chest. Sure enough, the cloaked figure fell to the ground and dissipated. I tried pricking my finger with the knife to see how realistic the simulation was. I could feel the pressure against my skin, but the blade didn’t penetrate—an apparent safety measure.
More of the cloaked attackers appeared. This time in a group of three. Two from the front, one from behind. I moved reactively, dodging and taking advantage of openings. My breath slowed, and I eased into an intoxicating height of mind. This high fueled me to push further, faster. One by one, the three figures dropped and dissipated as I cut through them. I continued, eager for the next encounter and the next. Two to the right. Three crates further, one from above, sidestep two from behind.
Finding an oasis away from the confusing reality outside these frames thrilled me. This simulated world was sequential. Everything made sense. I listened for the subtlest movements. At the same time, I pushed myself to react faster and with more precision, reaching an exhilarating balance. My actions held a sense of familiarity, of belonging. I latched onto this simplicity, to my blissfully empty mind through movement and clarity of objectives, and quickly forgot about any half-formed plans about strategy outside these frames.
The assassins became more complex; now, each assassin had the strength of three earlier versions. I met the challenge. I wasn’t exceptionally strong, but I could read their movements and use them to my advantage. Two from above, one more from the left. I manipulated two of them to take each other out and dispatched the third after a quick exchange of blows. One of the cloaked figures landed a strong hit against my ribs. I pushed the pain out of mind and continued forward.
I lost track of time. The assassins increased in strength with each progression. They took longer for me to neutralize now, and the encounters left me more and more exhausted.
A group of five cloaked figures surrounded me from all sides. I slowed my breath, connecting with the sense of balance I’d clung to this far. I didn’t want to leave the simulation. It didn’t matter how tired or bruised I was. The complexity outside of these frames was far more menacing than the program’s faceless creations.
They attacked in a coordinated effort. I dodged at first, but they could read me as fluently as I could read them by this point. I took a blow to the gut and crashed against a tower of crates. The stack shuddered and swayed off balance. I knocked one of the assassins into the path of crashing wood. The other four converged again. I used one against another, two of them dissolved into dust. My luck ran out there. One of the remaining assassins pinned me down, while the other stopped just shy of driving a knife into my chest. The scene paused. The world plunged into darkness. The simulated arms holding me down melted into the air.
When the lights came on, I felt as empty as the simulator’s frames. I wanted to go back in. I was exhausted and aching all over, but I wanted to get back into that world of balance and ease.
General Larkkon’s footsteps approached, muted by the simulator’s strange texture. Soon he stood above me, accompanied by a bot similar to the ones from Doctor Lsar’s lab. The machine began running a scan.
“That was impressive, Aviator,” he said with a grin.
A sinking dread filled my chest. My strategy for playing it safe came back to mind. I hadn’t intended to go as far as I had. At the same time, however, I was eager to return to that alternate world as soon as possible.
The bot finished its scan. General Larkkon looked over the readings.
“You’ve got a broken rib and some minor internal trauma,” he announced. “Fortunately, we have all the equipment here for targeted regeneration.”
He said it casually, but the content of his words confounded me.
“If regeneration is so commonplace, why all this interest around me?” I asked, questioning if I’d misread the underlying reason behind my predicament.
“Regenerating a cut, or a broken bone, is commonplace, yes,” the General laughed. “A complete regeneration is an entirely different game.”
Another pair of steps drew near. I almost hadn’t noticed. The ground inside the simulator absorbed most of the sound. Doctor Lsar joined General Larkkon. They loomed over me, their scalps gleaming with their embedded jewels. His shimmered emerald; hers dazzled crimson red.
“An entirely different game is an understatement,” she announced simply. “The procedure you endured broke your cells apart at the most fundamental levels, then fused you back together from scratch. Biologically, you are a new life form. Similar to what you were, but unmistakably different as well.”
Her ruby eyes locked onto mine, and her voice transported me back to the lab and her endless analyses. I shivered. Then she blinked, the side-to-side reptilian blink, and the intensity thankfully faded from her gaze.
“However,” she continued, “I am intrigued to see how your renewed body reacts to a more routine regeneration.”
I missed the simulator’s safety even more than before. Agent Nerzogk shadowed the doctor, coming forward to situate himself in case he needed to intervene.
“Can you stand, Aviator?” General Larkkon asked.
Agent Nerzogk didn’t wait for me to answer. The green man reached down and lifted me up. I pushed his oversized hand aside. He relented and watched me steady myself from exhaustion, then followed me out of the simulator toward the med bay. Doctor Lsar activated the bay’s equipment from a line of panels, one of which opened and materialized a medical bed.
The three of them waited expectantly. I checked the room, impossibly hoping some weakness might’ve opened up. It hadn’t. I sighed and took my place, lying on the bed.
“The medical bot can perform simple functions like this,” the doctor informed me matter-of-factly. “Keep that in mind for next time. And if you are unconscious, they will run the procedures automatically.”
“That’s reassuring,” I mumbled, never sure if she expected a response. She was already absorbed in her work.
My accent was getting better. I was good at language. But if that were the case, why had I not already been efficient with this one? Another question…I pushed it aside.
“Yes, well, we can’t have a subject like you dying unnecessarily,” she responded. Then she paused for a second, considering something. “Although, it would be intriguing to run another complete regeneration. If you survived once, it’s likely you would survive a second run. Or, at the very least, I could gain new data.”
I looked over to General Larkkon, a moment of fear triggered by her curiosity. He shook his emerald head to reassure me that another complete regeneration wasn’t in the plans.
Before my confusion could swell into a question, molecular lightning shot through my ribs. I cried out. Doctor Lsar hadn’t given any warning about the regeneration starting.