The power hummed beneath the lab like a sleeping beast rousing from its nap. Elian had no idea it was about to bite.
The aftershocks of the transformer explosion had finally settled. The faint screech of overloaded circuitry had faded into the static crackle of failing equipment. IT personnel muttered profanities in Estonian and thumped keyboards like sacred drums, hoping something would respond.
Elian stood in the corner of the lab with a lukewarm mug of coffee and a mind already drifting. He stared at the whiteboard through the glass wall, where his scribbled equations still waited like children abandoned at a train station. He'd been so close to cracking the new tensor simulation model last week—until the simulation decided it preferred being a cat.
Then the world blinked.
Not figuratively. Literally.
The lights flickered, not with the irregular jitter of bad wiring, but in sync — like the universe had hiccupped.
A sudden weight pressed into the air, and Elian felt it in his bones. It was subtle. Almost ignorable. But not quite.
The lab — always sterile, humming with machines and ego — suddenly felt... observed.
The kind of feeling you get when you're alone, but your lizard brain insists you're not.
Elian's breath hitched. He set the mug down slowly, eyes locking onto a strange flicker near the damaged server rack.
It was subtle at first — a shimmer of light, like static reflected in a droplet of water.
Then it grew.
The casing had been partially torn open from the explosion earlier, but within the twisted frame, nestled between scorched boards and cables, pulsed a soft electric-blue orb.
Not built.
Not wired in.
Not supposed to be there.
"Okay, this isn't normal," Elian muttered, stepping closer, feet crunching over glass and a sadly melted USB drive.
He crouched and tilted his head at the orb. Its glow was steady, calming even — like a heartbeat.
He paused and turned toward the imaginary camera in his mind — or perhaps not so imaginary. A glint of dry amusement crossed his face.
"Did you really think I was going to touch that mysterious blue lighhhht?" he said, dragging the last word out dramatically.
Before he could finish, the orb responded.
It moved.
Or rather — it leapt.
A crackle of blue lightning arced straight from the orb into Elian's hand.
His body convulsed — not in pain, but in shock — like every atom had momentarily forgotten its job. The mug shattered behind him as he fell, crashing against a cabinet.
He didn't scream.
He didn't even curse.
He just gasped — long, sharp, and ragged — like he'd been yanked through a keyhole by his soul.
The air smelled sharper. Brighter. His vision sparkled with blue motes, and a high-pitched whine rang in his ears.
Elian's mind expanded and collapsed in the same breath. The walls of his thoughts stretched into impossible geometries, spiraling through corridors of logic and light.
A voice spoke. But not with sound.
It spoke in certainty.
"Cognitive Host Identified."
"Protocol will adapt to host's moral and intellectual growth."
"Observational period begins. Interference: Prohibited."
Then silence.
The kind that echoes.
Awake
Elian jolted upright, hand still tingling like it had slept wrong for a thousand years.
The orb was gone.
Or perhaps... inside.
The lab looked unchanged — same blinking lights, same busted server, same faint scent of toasted plastic.
But something was different.
He was different.
"System Points: 0. Unlockable Technologies Available: Type I."
"Access restricted until foundational theories are achieved."
The words floated in front of him like a heads-up display in a VR sim. No fanfare. No menu button. Just there.
Elian stared at the display. Then at his hand.
It was shaking.
He wasn't sure if it was from adrenaline or from something deeper — the kind of tremble you get after realizing the universe just winked at you.
He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his messy black hair, strands of silver at the temples catching the light. His emerald eyes scanned the lab, narrowed in thought.
"Okay," he said aloud, because silence felt heavy. "This is either the most elaborate hallucination in human history, or I just got installed."
No one responded.
He glanced toward the break room where Jenna usually camped out during lab disasters. Empty.
Good.
No witnesses.
Yet.
He tried touching the display, but his hand passed through it. The screen blinked in acknowledgment, like a smug cat.
He sighed.
"Well... guess this is my life now."
Elsewhere
In a dimension divorced from time, nestled within the folds of reality like a crouton in cosmic soup, the Dokaversals watched.
Thousands of avatars lounged in impossible ways. Some had eyes made of galaxies. Others had mustaches shaped like probability curves.
One being slurped quantum noodles. Another polished a simulation marble containing a failed civilization that tried to replace air with helium.
"He touched it. I told you he'd touch it."
"Technically, it touched him."
"Same difference."
"Now what?"
"Now we watch him spiral through doubt, research, intellectual epiphanies, and probably one public breakdown."
"He's handling it pretty well so far."
"Popcorn."
"It's cold."
"You are a fucking god. Just make it stay perpetually warm."
"...I forgot how."
"Tragic."
They settled in again, eyes — or their equivalent — fixed on Elian Rho, who had just begun the slow descent into a future he could not begin to comprehend.
A future that might just depend on how fast he could rediscover forgotten science...
...or how long he could hide the truth from his caffeine-loving lab partner.