...

...

...

My... Head...

It feels... awful. Like it's been... hollowed out. And filled with... static. With white noise. With a... a buzzing.

"Six-eight-two..."

I try to open my eyes, but they won't. They feel like they're... glued shut. Heavy. Like they're weighted down with... lead. Or... something else. Something... unfamiliar.

"Six-eight-two..."

I try to move my arms, my legs, my fingers, my toes. Nothing. I'm... paralyzed.

Then, the light comes, a gentle glow through the heavy curtains of my eyelids. A silhouette in front of me, presumably holding my eyelids open, because they aren't open of my own volition. The face is... blurry. Unfamiliar. I can't tell who this is or what they look like, I can just... See them.

"Responding to light, but pupil dilation is minimal. Still early." The voice is calm.

"He's stable." Another voice, this one... different. Deeper. More... resonant. "Vitals are holding steady." The silhouette moves back.

"Six-eighty-two, can you hear me?" The first voice says. I try to nod, but my head won't move. I try to speak, but my throat won't make a sound.

"We're going to be moving you now. Try not to resist." The second voice says.

I feel a... a... sensation. A feeling of... being lifted. Of being... carried. It's not a normal feeling, not like being carried by a person. It's more... mechanical. Precise. Inhuman. I'm on a... a bed? A table?

The room spins. Or... I spin. The world tilts on its axis.

Then, the motion stops. The spinning ceases. The world is... still. I'm in a new room. This one is... different.

"How long until he regains consciousness?" The second voice asks.

"Hard to say. The dampening agent used is... potent. It's designed to suppress higher brain function." A third voice says. "It could be hours. It could be days."

"We have to get him prepped for the integration process as soon as possible." The second voice says. "The window is closing."

"I know. We're working as fast as we can."

I feel a... a touch. A light, gentle pressure on my arm. A needle. "I'm going to administer a counter-agent. It should help to speed things up."

A cool, tingling sensation spreads from the injection site, a wave of... something... washing through me. The static in my head... it lessens. The buzzing... it fades. The white noise... it recedes.

"Good." The female voice says. "He's responding. Can you see me, Six-eighty-two?"

I nod, barely, more like turning my head, but it works the same, they know that I am alive.

"It's alright. Don't try to move. Just... listen." Her voice is a balm, a soothing melody in the cacophony of my mind. "My name is Dr. Lira. I'm going to be helping you through the initial onboarding process. You're at the Institute for Cognitive Continuity and Understanding."

"Water..."

"Of course." A straw is pressed to my lips. Cool, clear liquid flows into my mouth, a welcome relief, a small mercy in a sea of confusion.

"We just need to take a few baseline samples and evaluate how your brain is handling after the neural agent. Do you understand that?"

I try to speak, but my throat is raw, my vocal cords... frozen. I manage a... a sound. A grunt.

"That's a yes." The other voice says. The deeper one. Dr. Lira turns to him.

"Give him a few minutes and let the counter-agent do its job. What was the dosage that we gave Kaius' again? I want to be prepared for any adverse reactions. Did he mention any pre-existing conditions we should be aware of?"

"The dosage was around 40 milligrams." The male voice answers. I see him now, he is a Mënskan. He stands beside the bed, watching me with a professional, detached curiosity.

"Alright. I will take my leave then." He says, and with that, he turns and leaves, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft, almost silent whoosh.

I try to sit up, but Dr. Lira gently pushes me back down.

"Easy now. You currently have a neural agent mixed with some opiates in your bloodstream, its going to hurt a lot if you try and sit up. Just breathe for me, okay?"

She's right. As soon as I try to move, a wave of nausea hits me, the room tilting and spinning in a nauseating kaleidoscope of color and light. I collapse back onto the bed. My head throbbing, its a persistent ache that seems to emanate from the very core of my being. The world becomes a blur of shapes and sounds that my brain struggles to process.

I don't know how long this goes on, but it, much like all pain, begins to fade away. Its starting to get easier to recognize things, easier to comprehend what I'm seeing.

"Sorry, we don't exactly have previous data to go off, so our dosage may have been a bit too high. We just needed to be sure you were unconscious during the transit." She says with a nervous laugh. "You're our... well, our very special guest here, you know? So we have to be careful."

Special guest.

That's a new one. I've been called a lot of things. A subject. A number. A menace. A problem. But never that.

"Okay, I believe you should be good to go, try sitting up for me please, slowly." She says as she extends a hand to help. I take it, and with her assistance, I manage to sit up, the room swaying for a moment before settling into a stable image. I'm on a bed, or well, a cot. It looks to be part of a machine that spins it around the room on a track.

"Hold your hand out for me please? Just the right one." I do, and she puts her hands on mine, applying a light amount of pressure here and there. "Alright, now the left." And so she continues with her tests for the next few minutes, checking my reflexes, my motor skills, my cognitive functions.

Everything is... fine. I can move. I can see. I can speak.

"You should be fine to stand. Give it a try."

I nod and swing my legs over the side of the cot, my bare feet touching the cool, smooth floor. I'm still wearing the same clothes I had on when Kaius stuck me with that... thing, but I manage to steady myself.

I'm... alive.

"I... I can walk." I say, a little surprised.

"Of course you can." Dr. Lira says. "We didn't do anything to you. Not yet, anyway. Kaius was a bit reluctant at first to help us, but it was either we sent someone with him, or he handled it on his own, you can see which choice he made. I apologize if you're feeling a bit woozy."

"It's... fine." I say. "Where is he?"

"Kaius? I mean, hes a rather busy man, I'm sure he would have wanted to stay to see you wake, but he has other matters to attend to."

"Oh..." I rub my eyes and get a good look at her for the first time. Dr. Lira is a Mënskan woman, probably in her late thirties, with brown eyes and a warm, friendly smile. She's wearing a simple, white lab coat over a pair of blue scrubs, her long, dark hair tied back in a neat, practical ponytail. She looks... normal.

"If you would follow me, please." She says, gesturing towards the door. "We have a lot to get through today."

I follow her out of the room, my bare feet padding silently on the cool, polished floor. We're in a long, white corridor, much like the ones at the Institute, but... different. The walls are a soft, off-white, the lighting is warm and indirect, and there are... plants. Potted plants of all shapes and sizes, their green leaves are a rather welcome splash of color in the otherwise monotone environment. It's clean, it's organized, but it doesn't feel like a prison.

She taps a keycard against a panel and a door slides open, revealing a small, comfortable-looking room with a desk, two chairs, and a large, floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks a well-manicured garden. "Please, have a seat." She says, gesturing towards one of the chairs. "The lead researcher will be in here shortly to debrief you. I need to go check on a few things, but I'll be back for you in a bit. Just stay put and don't try to leave this room. The doors are all locked from the outside anyway."

I nod and take a seat, the chair is a plush, ergonomic design that molds to my body, its comfy.

A few minutes later, the door slides open and a Taijekan man walks in, followed by another, a Mënskan this time. They are both wearing lab coats. The Taijekan is tall and slender, with a coat of sleek, gray fur and a pair of amber eyes. The Mënskan is shorter, stockier, with a mop of unruly brown hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He clutches a datapad to his chest.

"I hope my appearance does not anger you." The Taijekan says, his voice calm. I'm a little taken aback by his directness.

"Who are you?"

"I am Dr. Joric, and this is my colleague, Dr. Alani. We will be leading the trial that you will be taking place in." He gestures to the empty chair across from me. "May I?"

I nod, and he sits down, his posture perfect, his hands resting on the table in front of him. Dr. Alani remains standing, hovering near the door.

"I'm aware of your... history." Dr. Joric continues, "Everyone is. But judging from what I see in front of me, things at the institution must have changed how you feel towards us, no?"

"What?"

"Your... Prejudice."

"Oh. Um, no."

"Is it going to be a problem then? If so, I will have you sent back to the Institution, for the safety of every Taijekan here, I hope you understand. We cannot have any altercations, not here."

"It won't." This is not what I expected. Not at all.

"Alright." Dr. Joric says, "We need to ask you a few questions, Six-eighty-two, is it? Just some routine things. It's for your own safety, as well as ours."

"Go ahead."

"Good. First, do you know why you're here?" Dr. Alani chimes in, his voice a little too high.

"Because I was about to be put down." I say. "And my lawyer—"

"Advocate." Dr. Joric corrects.

"My Advocate... made a deal."

"Correct. A very beneficial deal for you. Do you understand the nature of that deal? The study you'll be participating in?" Dr. Alani asks.

"No."

"Then I will explain." Dr. Joric says. "The ICCU as we call it, has given me and my colleague here an opportunity to expand our research into volunteer trials. I myself specialize in the field of Neuroanatomy and physiology, or the study of the brain and nervous system. My work is dedicated to understanding the fundamental nature of consciousness. Not just the how, but the what and the why. I believe that consciousness is not a product of the brain, but a separate, distinct entity, a pattern, a signal, if you will, that the brain is simply tuned to receive and interpret. A radio, and consciousness is the broadcast."

I stare at him like he just spoke gibberish, because he did... Sort of. It's too abstract. Too philosophical. I don't really get what he's trying to say.

"We believe this 'signal' can be... transferred. From one receiver to another. From one brain to another." Dr. Alani picks up the thread, his words tumbling out in a rush of nervous excitement. "Think of the implications! The end of disability. The extension of life. The ability to... to become something more than what we are. To transcend the limitations of our... our biology."

Dr. Joric waves his hand "Dr. Alani is... enthusiastic." Dr. Joric says with a slight smile. "But he is not wrong. We have been conducting preliminary experiments for some time now. With lower order lifeforms. Insects. Rodents. The results have been very promising and have given us so much useful information. But we have reached a plateau. To advance our research, we need a more complex signal. A sapient mind. A sapient consciousness, such as yourself. One that can directly tell us what it is experiencing."

"I don't think I follow..."

"You will be the very first person to have your consciousness... transferred into a new body. And then, after a period of observation, you will be transferred back. We'll have your body preserved for that eventuality, so we can assure you that you will be okay." He says, like it is some great honor. "We want to perform more tests on a larger scale, but without this first push, nothing can get done. With your participation, you are helping to pave the way for a brighter, better future. For everyone."

"You want to put my mind in someone else's body?"

"Precisely. In theory, when the transfer happens, you will be able to have full control over the body you inhabit. You will be able to see through its eyes, hear through its ears, and think with its brain." Dr. Alani adds, "All while retaining your memories, your personality, your sense of self."

"And after all is said and done, you will be put back into your body like nothing ever happened. Dr. Alani here is a Bio-stasis Engineer. Him and I are working in tandem on this trial, just in different aspects. I oversee the transfer of your conciousness, while Dr. Alani ensures that your body is preserved perfectly. His work can preserve bodies for up to several years in a cryo-stasis."

"Like a big refrigerator!" Dr. Alani says.

"Yes, Dr. Alani." Dr. Joric says, "like a big refrigerator."

"Thats..."

"Insane? I understand your skepticism. But we have run the simulations. We have done the tests countless times. We have prepared. We have everything in place. All that we need is you."

"What happens if something goes wrong? What happens if your 'transfer' doesn't work, whats going to happen to me?"

"I figured you may ask something like that, and the answer is simple. Before the procedure, you will be put to sleep by the same agent used to bring you here. Albeit a bit tuned, our first batch was a little heavy. You will go to sleep, and when you wake up, poof! You'll have moved and that's that."

"But," he continues "If there are complications with the transfer, we have a failsafe that will put you back in your own body like nothing ever happened. But in the event that the failsafe doesn't work out, you will simply just cease. No pain, no nothing. It would be just like being put to sleep and never waking up, which was already going to happen had you not been brought here." He says, like it's the most normal, logical thing in the world. "But we are fairly confident it will work. Dr. Alani here can attest to the amount of data we have gathered from our lower lifeform trials."

Dr. Alani nods enthusiastically, a little too eagerly. "Oh, yes! We've successfully transferred the consciousness of a lab rat into a freshly deceased specimen! It... it scrambled around for a few minutes, then its little heart started beating again! It was... Incredible!"

I look between them, a cold dread settling in my stomach. They're both so calm, so matter-of-fact about this... this insanity. They talk about transferring minds like they're discussing the weather.

"How... How does it work?" I ask. "The... the transfer."

Dr. Joric's smile widens. "Ah, the crux of the matter. The mechanism of it all. In essence, it's a relatively straightforward process. Its all thanks to the Neural Attractor Migration Engine. Or NAME for short." He gestures to Dr. Alani, who fumbles with his datapad, pulling up a holographic display that shimmers in the air between us. It's a complex, three-dimensional model of a brain, a swirling vortex of lights and colors, a visual representation of neural activity.

He clears his throat. "It synchronizes two brains, aligning their rhythms, electrical impulses, hormonal and blood levels, their very being down to a point until the pattern from one brain matches the other. Then, all of the data from the "target" is sent back to the host brain to be interpreted as if the host really was in the target.

"In simpler terms, Six-eighty-two." Dr. Joric adds, "We just track your brain, and the way you think, then your NAME device will transmit each and every little action your brain does, into the target. The target will mimic your brain activity so that you, the host, can have complete control over the body, as if it were your own. This is all theoretical of course, but based on our data we are very confident in our hypothesis."

"So what will happen to my brain if I get moved?"

"It will be inert. Empty. Much like being put into a vegetative state, your original body will still very much be alive, breathing, and functioning, but without any mind controlling it. The NAME ensures that your "actions and intent" so to speak are only replicated on the side of the target."

"Nobody is controlling my body when I move?"

"Not at all, we have not even begun looking into the concept of swapping two minds at the same time, there are way too many factors involved in that, It is one way for the time being."

"So what will happen to whoever I am controlling? What will it be like for them?"

"Well, it depends on the individual." Dr. Joric leans forward, steepling his fingers on the table in front of him. "We have not gone too deep into the concept of living hosts occupying living targets. For you, it will be different. The body we have selected for your trial is deceased."

Deceased.

"The body has no mind of its own, no consciousness to be displaced."

Dead.

"We will simply be reoccupying the vessel."

Gone.

My mind is full of questions, concerns, anything of the sort. I want to ask more, to understand the full implications of what they're proposing, but my throat is dry, my tongue feels thick and clumsy. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I'm a fish out of water, gasping for air in a world that has suddenly become alien and incomprehensible.

"Are you alright, Six-eighty-two?" Dr. Alani asks. "You look a little pale."

"I'm fine." I lie, forcing a weak, unconvincing smile. "Just... processing."

"Of course. This is a lot to take in." Dr. Joric says. "We understand your hesitation, your apprehension. It's only natural. But we want to assure you that you are in good hands. That we will take every precaution to ensure your safety and well-being. This is not a punishment. It is an opportunity. An opportunity to contribute to something. Something greater than yourself."

Are they mad!? A chance to contribute? I don't care about contributing, all that I care about is living.

Is this really, really what I have to do to just live? Dance on the edge of death and morality just so that I don't have to die? To be in a dead body? I'm not even allowed to have a normal life? A normal chance? This is all that's left for me?

Fuck me...

"So, Six-eighty-two, how does that sound? Are you ready to make the world a better place?" Dr. Alani asks with a smile.

"What if I say no...?"

Dr. Joric's expression shifts, he glances around the room momentarily, then looks back at me. "We will send you back to the Institute for Social Correction. Your execution would be the day after your return, we were lucky to get you in when we did. And, if we did send you back, we would need to remove your implant before you go."

"What?"

"Oh, did Dr. Lira not tell you? While you were unconscious, we took the time to install your NAME receiver, its designed to be as discreet feeling as possible, so I don't even blame you for not noticing."

"W-where?"

"On your forehead. Er, Dr. Alani you wouldn't happen to have a mirror, would you?" Dr. Alani fumbles with his coat for a bit before pulling out a small, square mirror and handing it to me. On my forehead, a small metallic circle, about the size of a coin, sits above my left eyebrown, a band of metal travels to my left ear, where a metal rod hangs down to my earlobe. There are some square looking wires coming out of it and some lights, but they are dull, save for the one on my forehead, which is glowing a static, blood red. Its... unnerving.

I look up at Dr. Joric, who is trying his best to look reassuring but I can tell that this is all a bit weird for him too.

"I..."

"It's a necessary component, Six-eighty-two. Without it, the process is impossible." Dr. Joric's calm is a thin veneer over a deep well of scientific curiosity. "It's the antenna, for lack of a better term. The interface point. The bridge between your consciousness and the NAME system." He leans forward, his amber eyes fixed on mine. "The removal process is rather delicate. The NAME integrates with the subject's neural architecture. It's not like taking off a piece of jewelry. Removing it could lead to severe neurological damage. Cognitive impairment. Memory loss. possibly death."

Death.

I stare at him, the mirror slipping from my fingers and clattering to the floor. The sound echoes in the quiet of the room. I'm branded. A piece of hardware fused to my skull. The choice he presented wasn't a choice at all. It was a threat. A beautifully worded, scientifically sanctioned threat. My brain, my very essence, is now their property.

"So... my 'advocate'..."

"Mr. Ovin has been fully apprised of the situation," Dr. Joric says. "Though, a lot of the information is classified to the general public, so we had to make it rather vague, if you understand. Did you read the fine print of the consent form he gave you?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "It outlines the ICCU's right to install necessary monitoring and interfacing equipment. Legally binding, I assure you. The same form that saved you from the Institute also gave us this."

Dr. Alani shifts on his feet, his gaze darting between me, Dr. Joric, and the floor. "We... we really do believe this is for the best, Six-eighty-two. For everyone. This research... it could change everything." There's a desperate plea in his voice, a need for me to understand, to agree.

I understand all right. I nod slowly, the movement stiff, my neck aching with the effort. The weight of the device on my forehead feels heavier now.

"Excellent." Dr. Joric's smile returns, as placid and unreadable as before. "Now that we're all on the same page, let's move on to the logistics of your stay here. Your living quarters, your schedule, the rules of the facility. While you are not a prisoner, you are still a participant in a highly sensitive, exclusive study. Certain protocols must be followed."

I've always hated my hair, honestly they're doing me a favor. Two assistants stand over me, their faces a blur behind masks. They're shaving my head. The buzz of the clippers is a low, angry drone in my ears, accompanied by a vibration that travels down my spine. A fine dust of my own hair falls onto the coarse green gown they've made me wear. I watch it settle on my shoulders. This is how it starts.

My gaze drifts to a monitor across the room. It shows a live feed of my brain, its a chaotic nebula of firing neurons rendered in a vibrant, false-color. A cascade of data streams down one side.

---
Freq: 42.1Hz
Amp: 7.3 µV
Coh: Delta (spiking at T+3.2s)
---

Jargon.

Numbers.

"You're surprisingly calm," a voice says, one of the assistants. I look up to meet their gaze, its a Taijekan man, a rabbit-like one, with long ears that droop slightly at the tips.

"What else were you expecting?"

"Well, usually when it comes to preparations before a trial, one of us has to hold them down or, let them hold our hand because they're nervous." He chuckles a bit. "Are you nervous at all?"

"I thought I was the only one for this trial,"

"Yes, you are, but we do have other ongoing trials for less invasive things, like fine grain memory suppression. We like to think it helps people get over trauma, but we haven't had a whole lot of success." The assistant continues, running a damp cloth over my now-bare scalp.

"What else?"

"What else what?"

"What other 'trials' do you have here?"

"Oh, a few. There's the one I just mentioned, memory suppression. They are also working on a way to... I guess you could say, 'imprint' skills directly into the brain. Like learning a new language in an afternoon, or how to play the piano without ever touching a key. It's... still very much in its infancy, though. Lots of cognitive dissonance."

"Cogni-what?"

"Yeah, the brain doesn't really like it when you try to cram new information into it without context. It can lead to some interesting side effects. Hallucinations. Aphasia. Sometimes, complete and total personality shifts."

"We had one subject who, after a 'language imprint,' started speaking in a dialect that didn't even exist. He'd just... make up words. A whole new lexicon, right there in his head. Fascinating, really."

I don't respond. I just stare at the monitor. It's a terrifying thought. My mind, my very essence, reduced to a series of electrical impulses, a pattern that can be copied, transferred, or even overwritten.

"I think you look good." The other assistant, a Mënskan woman this time, says as she finishes cleaning my scalp. "Bald is a good look for you."

"Sure it is."

"Well, I think so." She says with a shrug. "Gosh, I really hate calling you numbers, but Dr. Joric says it's for the best. What's your name?"

"Six-eighty-two."

"No, I mean your name." She insists.

"Its, well..." I don't want to tell her. I don't want her to know. "I'd really rather not say."

"Oh, okay. I get it. The whole, 'I'm not a person, I'm a number' thing." She says. "Well, I'm Cassie. This is Rylan." She says, gesturing to the Taijekan man.

Rylan nods. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Six-eighty-two. Even if it's... under these circumstances."

A pleasure. He says it's a pleasure. To meet me.

"Alright, let's get you hooked up." Cassie says. She picks up a coiled cable, a thin, flexible silver wire with a small, octagonal connector at the end. "This is the primary data stream. It'll connect to the NAME device and broadcast your neural activity to the system. We need to calibrate it, make sure we're getting a clean signal before we begin the migration."

Rylan moves to a console on the other side of the room, his fingers dancing across a holographic interface. The monitor displaying my brain activity changes, the chaotic nebula of color resolving into a more organized, structured pattern. "Okay, Six-eighty-two. We're going to need you to do a few cognitive exercises for me. Just follow the prompts on the screen in front of you."

A small screen, mounted on the arm of the chair, flickers to life. A series of simple instructions appear.

> PROMPT: COMPLETE EACH TASK IN ORDER.
> [PROMPT START]
---
1) RECALL A HAPPY MEMORY.

2) COUNT BACKWARDS FROM ONE HUNDRED BY INTERVALS OF SEVEN (7).

3) A BOAT IS TRAVELING UPSTREAM AT 10 KNOTS. THE CURRENT IS FLOWING DOWNSTREAM AT 3 KNOTS. HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE THE BOAT TO TRAVEL 50 MILES UPSTREAM?
---

The happy memory is a childhood one, a trip to the beach with my parents before... before everything.

The counting is easy, a rote task I've done a thousand times in my solitary confinement at the institute. 100, 93, 86, 79... You get the idea.

The puzzle though is a little more challenging, I don't actually know what a 'knot' is.

"Excellent." Rylan says, his eyes glued to the monitor. "We're getting a strong, stable reading. The attractor pattern is well-defined. Very coherent. That's a good sign." He glances at Cassie. "He's ready for the primary coupling."

"Okay, Six-eighty-two. This is it." Cassie says. "The only thing that's left is to put you under, after that, we will begin the process. Anything you want to say before we begin?"

"What do those numbers mean? On the monitor?" I ask. "Its nonsense to me."

"It's a measure of your brain's activity. The frequency, the amplitude, the coherence of the signal. How... 'you' you are, in a sense." Rylan says. "The higher the numbers, the more stable your consciousness is, the more responsive your brain is, and the easier it is for the NAME to track you. It all gets averaged out onto a chart from zero to a hundred percent. Right now, you're at about ninety-nine point eight percent brain integrity. Lets call it a hundred percent. You're in perfect shape Six-eighty-two." He says, patting my shoulder a little too hard.

I don't respond. I just watch the screen, the scrolling numbers a meaningless litany of my own impending erasure. Ninety-nine point eight percent. Almost whole. Almost me. I want to hold onto that number. I want to tattoo it on my soul. One hundred percent.

"Alright, lets do it." Cassie says, "Lets get you onto the table and to your destination." She says with a smile.

I stand up a little reluctantly. I feel like I'm walking to my own execution. To my own... rebirth? I suppose so.

I lie down on a slab of cold, polished metal that seems to suck the warmth right out of my bones. Rylan and Cassie strap me in with thick leather restraints around my wrists, my ankles, my chest. The cold seeps through the thin fabric of the gown.

I'm a specimen pinned to a board, ready for dissection.

"We're going to start the sedation now." Cassie says. She holds up a syringe, filled with a clear, viscous liquid. "Just a little prick. You'll be asleep before you know it."

I look away, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. I count the ceiling tiles.

One, two, three...

I don't even feel the needle go in. A coldness spreads from my arm until it envelops my body. The edges of my vision start to blur, the sounds in the room becoming muffled, distant. The numbers on the monitor begin to swim.

"Ninety-eight... ninety-seven..."

I hear Rylan's voice, but the words are just noise, a meaningless string of phonetics. The lights above me begin to dim. I try to hold on, to fight the encroaching darkness, but it's a losing battle. The world is dissolving around me, my thoughts becoming sluggish, disjointed.

"Ninety-six... ninety-five..."

"Nin... Our... ...inte..."

"N..."

"..."

...

...

...Am I dead? I don't feel dead. I feel... nothing. No, not nothing. Certainly not something, but not nothing. I'm aware. I'm aware of my own awareness. That's the only way I can describe it. A state of being without form, without substance. I'm a thought, a concept, a ghost. I'm a ghost.

So I am dead.

"..."

Wait, I hear something. A voice. A distant, muffled sound. Like I'm underwater. Or maybe... maybe it's not a sound. Maybe it's just... an echo. A memory of a sound. A memory of a voice. A woman's voice? Or... no, a man's. I don't know. I can't tell.

"...ty... is... ..."

The echo fades, and I'm alone again in the vast, empty expanse of my own consciousness. I try to remember my name. What is my name? It's... it's...

"...ON..."

Are they shouting? Or is that just the pressure? The pressure is... immense. It's not a physical pressure. It's not a pain. It's a... a squeezing. A compression. My very being is being squeezed, forced into a shape it was never meant to take. It's... agonizing. A slow, torturous process of being... unmade and remade at the same time.

"A... O... N..."

The name. My name. It's... it's...

"...ON... CIOUS... SS..."

The pressure is getting worse. The echo is getting louder. Or maybe I'm just... closer to it.

"...PUMP, DAMN IT!" a different voice. Sharper. More urgent. "GET THE PUMP IN NOW!" it's a man. I think. It's hard to tell. The echo is... distorting everything. The pressure is... unbearable. I feel like I'm going to... to what? Explode? Implode? Cease to exist?

"BRAIN INTEGRITY... ZERO..." Rylan's voice. Or maybe it's... It's so hard to tell. "SOMEONE GET DR. LIRA!" another voice. It's... a cacophony. A symphony of panic.

The pressure is... releasing. No, not releasing. It's... shifting. The compression is giving way to a... a void. A great, gaping emptiness where my consciousness used to be. I'm... disappearing. Dissipating into the ether.

"...NEURAL ACTIVITY... FLATLINE..."

I am... nothing.

...

...

...

...A faint hum. A rhythmic, mechanical thrumming. It's... A steady, unwavering presence in the vast, empty expanse of my non-existence. It's... the only thing I can perceive. I try to focus on it, to latch onto it, to use it to pull myself out of this... this void. But it's too distant. Too... abstract. I'm a ghost trying to catch a ghost.

I try to remember my name again. It's... it's...

"A... On..."

I'm... I'm trying to say it. I'm trying to form the word, but the...

"DOCTOR!"

Loud. Too loud. The mechanical hum is now a cacophony of sound. I feel a... a... a jolt. A sharp, stabbing sensation in my... in my... in my... head. Yes, head. I have a head. And it hurts.

"..."

"...!"

I try to scream, but no sound comes out. I try to open my eyes, but I can't. I try to move, but I can't. I'm a prisoner in my own... body? Do I have a body? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

"Its... Its up!" a woman's voice. Dr. Lira? Maybe. "Brain integrity is... eight percent! Its... its working! We have brain activity!"

"B-but the heart... its not..." a man's voice. Rylan. I think. It's still so hard to tell. The sounds are... static. Distorted. Like a bad radio signal.

"nnnh... nngh..."

This sound... it's coming from me. But I'm not making it. At least, I don't think I am. It's just... happening.

"We're breathing! Forcing it, but we're breathing!" Cassie. Yes, that's Cassie. Her voice is a little clearer now. A little more... real. "But there's no heartbeat. The body's not... It's not taking over."

"We have a mind, but no life." Rylan again. His voice is laced with... disappointment? Frustration?

"So... what? We just... let him... die?" a new voice. I don't recognize this one.

"No. Absolutely not." Dr. Lira's voice, firm, resolute. "This is a setback. A significant one, but it is not failure. We prepared for this."

"We keep him alive. Artificially."

Alive.

I...

I'm alive?