A week passed. Alexei's status in the settlement evolved from guarded asset to provisional member. He wore no red armband – they didn't trust him that much – but his movements were less restricted, his contributions more actively sought.
Beyond water filtration, he'd helped improve their food preservation methods, reinforced structural weaknesses in their defenses, and implemented more efficient patrol rotations. Each contribution carefully calculated – valuable enough to increase his worth, limited enough to maintain their need for his continuing insights.
The fractured visions continued, becoming harder to suppress but also providing increasingly useful information. Each use came with physical consequences – nosebleeds, migraines, brief periods of lost consciousness when alone. Alexei had taken to carrying rags in his pockets to discreetly wipe away blood before others noticed.
Today found him in the settlement's medical facility – a repurposed subway station with salvaged equipment. He examined their pharmaceutical supplies with Dr. Elias, an older woman whose medical training predated the Great Collapse.
"Most of these have degraded beyond usefulness," Alexei noted, inspecting discolored containers. He fought back another vision trying to surface – glimpses of these same shelves in better condition, in worse condition, in entirely different arrangements.
Dr. Elias sighed. "We know. But medicinal plants are scarce in this region, and trade with other settlements is... complicated."
A whisper at the edge of Alexei's consciousness suggested something – knowledge he shouldn't possess about local plant species with medicinal properties. He hesitated, uncertain if the information was reliable or another symptom of whatever was happening to him.
"There might be alternatives," he offered cautiously. "Plants that could be cultivated locally."
The doctor's eyes sharpened with interest. "You have medical training as well?"
"Not formal training. But extensive knowledge of botanical properties. Part of narrative construction involved understanding physiological responses."
It was a plausible explanation that shielded his uncertainty about the source of this knowledge – whether it came from his actual NCD training or from whatever fractured information was bleeding into his consciousness.
"I'd need to explore the surrounding area," he continued. "Identify viable specimens. With an escort, of course."
Dr. Elias studied him with measured evaluation. "I'll speak with Commander Merrick. Medical supplies are priority concerns."
Later that day, Alexei found himself summoned to Merrick's command center. The commander wasn't alone. Sergeant Kara stood at his side, along with a figure Alexei hadn't met before – a tall, gaunt man wearing elaborate facial scarring that appeared ritual rather than accidental.
"This is Elder Voss," Merrick introduced. "Our spiritual counsel."
Alexei inclined his head respectfully, fighting back another fractured vision – this same man in different garb, speaking different words, sometimes friend, sometimes foe across what seemed like different versions of reality.
"You've made yourself useful," Merrick continued. "Dr. Elias speaks highly of your pharmaceutical knowledge."
"I merely offered suggestions," Alexei responded, carefully neutral.
"We've decided to allow a botanical expedition," Merrick stated. "Under guard, naturally. Kara will lead the security detail."
"Before you expand your influence here," Elder Voss spoke, voice surprisingly melodic for his harsh appearance, "we require greater understanding of your... departure from the System."
Alexei recognized the true purpose of this meeting – not to authorize the expedition but to probe deeper into his backstory. He felt multiple responses forming in his mind simultaneously, as if different parts of himself were suggesting different approaches.
The sensation was disorienting. For a moment, he couldn't distinguish which thoughts were his own and which came from these fragmenting aspects of his consciousness.
"What would you like to know?" he managed, maintaining outward composure while internally struggling for coherence.
"The truth," Voss answered simply. "Not the narrative you constructed for initial survival, but your actual purpose in the Dead Zone."
Alexei allowed himself a moment before responding, trying to sort through the conflicting impulses in his mind. One urged absolute honesty, another complete deception, others suggesting various combinations between.
"I discovered something within the Babel Tower," he began carefully, selecting what felt like the most coherent path. "Evidence that the perpetual war isn't merely choreographed but serves specific purpose beyond control."
He paused, watching their reactions carefully. Merrick's expression remained guarded, Kara's suspicious, but Voss leaned forward with genuine interest.
"What purpose?" the Elder prompted.
"Consciousness cultivation," Alexei answered, the words coming from somewhere deep within his fragmenting mind. "The System monitors neural patterns, identifying minds capable of detecting its artificial nature."
The whispers in his mind grew louder, contradicting each other, some urging him to reveal more, others warning him to stop. A trickle of blood threatened at the edge of his nostril. He discreetly wiped it away.
"We'll verify these claims through our contacts," Merrick stated flatly. "The expedition leaves tomorrow at dawn. Prepare accordingly."
As the meeting concluded, Alexei felt Elder Voss's evaluating gaze following him – not hostile but intensely curious. The pressure behind his eyes built to nearly unbearable levels. He needed to be alone before he lost control completely.
Back in his quarters, Alexei collapsed to his knees, blood streaming freely from his nose. The visions came unbidden now – cascading fragments of possibilities, variations of this settlement across different timelines, different choices, different outcomes.
Worse, the whispers in his mind had developed into distinct voices – aspects of himself developing independent characteristics. The Analyst calculating probabilities. The Poet seeing patterns in chaos. The Soldier assessing threats. The Child asking simple but devastating questions.
"What's happening to me?" he gasped, the question directed at no one and everyone.
No clear answer came, only competing theories from the fragmenting aspects of his consciousness. Whatever was occurring had accelerated since his arrival in the Dead Zone. Each use of the fractured visions seemed to speed the process, weakening the boundaries between whatever these aspects were.
Tomorrow's expedition would require clear thinking and careful control. He couldn't afford to show these symptoms publicly. Yet the potential knowledge gained from allowing the visions might prove crucial to his survival.
Alexei wiped the blood from his face with trembling hands. One step at a time. Survive tomorrow's expedition. Gather useful specimens. Continue building value.
Then, perhaps, find answers about what was happening to his mind.