There was a silence in the room that wasn't natural.
It wasn't the silence of peace. Not the kind that lingers in a quiet morning, or even the kind that follows a good night's sleep. This silence was suffocating—thick with unspoken things, with sterile air and humming fluorescent lights. It buzzed at the edges of Joseph's hearing, like the faint hiss of static from a speaker that had never been turned off.
He sat on the narrow cot, elbows on his knees, staring at the blank wall across from him.
Nothing in this room had personality. No posters. No personal effects. Not even a damn drawer to put his clothes in. Just the cot, the toilet, and a flickering screen on the wall that alternated between a company logo and soft blue "relaxation visuals" that looked like a stock video from a meditation channel.
He'd been in prison cells more welcoming than this.
The worst part?
He'd volunteered for it.
The realization settled deeper with each breath. That signature—his own—scrawled onto the digital contract back in the waiting room. He hadn't read it. Hadn't wanted to read it. Because some part of him had known what he'd find.
And now?
Now he was here.
Now he belonged to them.
Carl hadn't spoken in three hours.
Not since the initial introduction—the casual hijacking of his thoughts, the smug amusement, the loaded promise of something "bigger."
Joseph had hoped it was all a hallucination. A residual side effect from years of overusing stims and under-sleeping. He'd hoped he'd wake up to a doctor shaking his shoulder, saying something about dehydration and paranoia.
But the silence wasn't comforting.
It was waiting.
Something was watching.
Joseph stood and crossed the room, pacing to the wall and back. He pressed a palm to the smooth surface, half-expecting it to buzz or vibrate. It didn't.
But the sensation in the back of his skull was still there.
Not pain, exactly. More like pressure. Like a hand lightly resting on his brainstem.
"Alright," he muttered to the air. "If you're real, say something."
Nothing.
Joseph turned in a slow circle. "Carl. Or whatever your name is. If you're not just a psychotic break, now would be a great time to confirm that."
Still nothing.
He scowled. "Fine. Don't say anything. I'll just go ahead and lose my mind in silence."
You speak a great deal for someone who complains about silence.
Joseph jerked like he'd been slapped.
He staggered a step backward, hand reaching for the wall as if it could anchor him.
"You—! Where the hell have you been?!"
You requested silence. I obliged.
"I didn't mean—!" He stopped himself, took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Okay. Let's start over."
He looked around, as if expecting Carl to manifest in physical form. "You're real."
I am.
"Inside my head."
Correct.
"And I didn't agree to this."
A pause.
You touched the Core. Contact was consent.
Joseph stared at nothing. "That's not how consent works."
For humans, no. For Helixian technology? It is more… efficient.
Joseph let out a breath and sank onto the edge of the bed.
"Right. Of course it is."
His fingers tapped against his knee in a rapid rhythm. His thoughts were spiraling—faster than they used to. Sharper. Like his mind was accelerating on rails he didn't control.
"Is that you?" he asked suddenly. "This… speed. I'm thinking faster than I used to."
You are. My integration has begun adapting your cognitive processing for higher synchronization. That means: yes. You are thinking faster. Remembering more. Perceiving things others miss.
"Why?"
Because if you are to survive what's coming, you will need to become more.
The words sent a chill down Joseph's spine.
He didn't like the way Carl had said survive. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't a threat. It was a simple fact.
What's coming.
The words echoed in his mind.
Joseph stood and began pacing again.
"Okay, look. I didn't sign up for a telepathic roommate. I signed up to make some easy money, not to get drafted into some ancient alien war."
Unfortunate. But your DNA made you uniquely compatible. No others survived integration.
Joseph stopped in his tracks.
"…Wait. What do you mean 'survived'?"
There was a long pause.
I attempted neural synchronization with sixteen other candidates. Fifteen perished. One was rendered non-verbal. Their minds could not hold me.
Joseph's stomach turned to stone.
"You mean—GenTech tried this before? You've been… inside other people?"
Briefly. They lacked the Helixian gene cluster necessary for stability. You, Joseph Humbridge, possess a dormant Helixian genome fragment. Likely inherited through a hybrid ancestor. A rare convergence. I estimate fewer than one in 200 million could replicate your compatibility.
Joseph sat again. Hard.
He pressed his hands against his forehead and stared at the floor.
"I don't want to be special," he whispered.
Most who are, do not.
Carl's voice was gentle now. Not mocking. Just… present.
It made Joseph feel worse.
Time passed. Minutes? Hours? Hard to say.
Eventually, a chime sounded in the ceiling. The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
A different man entered this time—tall, lean, a soldier's posture in a bureaucrat's suit.
He didn't introduce himself.
"You're being transferred," the man said. "Pack up."
Joseph blinked. "Pack what? My collection of invisible luxuries?"
The man didn't smile. "We're taking you to Phase Two. You're stable enough."
"Stable?" Joseph stood, suspicious. "How do you know that?"
"We've been watching. Monitoring vitals, brainwaves, chemical levels. Git's notes say your recovery is—unexpected."
Joseph narrowed his eyes. "You've been watching me?"
"You signed a full-immersion contract," the man said. "You forfeited privacy."
"Great," Joseph muttered. "Next time I sell my soul, I'll at least demand a blanket."
The man gestured toward the door.
Joseph followed.
Carl was silent again—but his presence pressed gently against Joseph's awareness. Observing.
Phase Two.
Whatever that meant, Joseph doubted it would be pleasant.
They didn't take him back through the normal facility.
Instead, he was led through a side hallway, past multiple sealed doors with no labels. One slid open automatically as they approached, revealing a descending platform—an elevator with no walls, suspended over a shaft that dropped into darkness.
The man stepped onto the platform without pause.
Joseph hesitated.
Carl spoke.
No traps. No threats. This is merely transport. For now.
Joseph clenched his jaw and stepped forward.
The platform descended in silence.
The air grew colder the farther they went. Not just in temperature—but in feeling. Joseph felt like he was being submerged. Like the walls themselves were closing in.
Then the walls fell away.
And Joseph saw it.
The core chamber.
A vast, underground dome, hundreds of meters across. The walls were lined with machines—no, organs—technology so alien it looked grown, not built. Glowing filaments ran across the surface like capillaries, pulsing softly with violet and gold light.
And in the center—
A tower of bone-white material that rose like a pillar of frozen lightning. Half-mechanical, half-living.
Joseph felt something stir in his chest the moment he saw it.
Carl spoke in a whisper.
That is where I was born.
Joseph stepped off the platform in a daze.
The man in the suit nodded once. "They want you to touch it again."
Joseph stared at the pillar.
"I barely survived it last time."
"They're counting on the fact that you did survive it."
The man turned and walked away, leaving Joseph alone on the chamber floor.
He stood in place, breathing hard.
Carl's voice came again—closer now. Warmer.
You are afraid. That is wise. But do not let fear make your choices for you. We are in this together now.
Joseph took one step forward.
Then another.
His fingers trembled as he raised a hand.
The tower pulsed.
A low hum—felt more than heard—rolled through the air.
Joseph's hand met the surface.
And the world fell away