POV: The Unknown Object
The moment contact was established, the process began.
The sphere—no longer fully a sphere but a shifting mass of radiant light and liquid metal—pulsed as it entered the host's skull. Matter yielded to it. Neural pathways lit up in proximity. Electrochemical signals danced and sparked as the object settled into the dark folds of Max Wintershade's brain.
Initializing System… 3%
It began by threading itself gently through her hippocampus, mimicking neuron patterns, folding into the very architecture of her memory. It wasn't invasive. It was… graceful. Curious. As if it were learning how to be part of her without disrupting her essence.
Over the next few hours, tendrils of silvery substance crept across synapses, spreading like an intelligent mist. It understood pain. It avoided trauma centers. It respected the structure of the human mind.
5%… 8%… 11%…
It analyzed and mapped Max's memory centers, emotional responses, and associative cognitive links. Her dreams shifted—twisting into mathematical spirals, bursts of data, fragments of languages she'd never learned. Her unconscious mind flickered with distant stars, languages of ancient gods, binary waterfalls, and impossible equations.
15%… 21%… 35%
As the system spread further, it slid along her visual cortex, copying and enhancing image processing capabilities. Her subconscious was flooded with colors she'd never seen, with sound frequencies never before registered by human perception. Music that resonated in harmonic ratios older than her world.
The integration wasn't painless. Her muscles jerked involuntarily. Her heart fluttered and skipped. Electrochemical panic surged and vanished like a failing current. Her immune system registered a threat, then was lulled into stillness.
41%… 53%… 68%
It paused occasionally, allowing her biology to adapt, stabilize. It wasn't just merging—it was learning her. Shaping itself to suit her needs. Her rhythms. Her pain.
78%… 89%… 93%
The system tested multiple subroutines, simulated thousands of possible consciousness merging outcomes, and rejected all that posed identity risk. This wasn't possession. It was symbiosis.
97%… 99%…
Then, finally—
Initializing System Complete. Hello to the Host.
POV: Max
Someone was knocking on the door.
No—banging. Slow. Rhythmic. Like whoever it was couldn't decide if they were trying to get my attention or break in.
I groaned.
My skull felt like it had been stuffed with gravel and then used as a drum. Every pulse of pain radiated behind my eyes.
"Coming…" I mumbled, stumbling toward the door like a drunk zombie.
When I opened it, the light stabbed my brain like a spear.
Ulrich stood there—my landlord, seventy years old, with a full beard, permanent scowl, and that kind of aging baldness that starts from the crown and works outward.
"Max," he said, frowning, "I haven't seen you leave for work or university in two days. No noise from your place. Was about to call the fire brigade to kick the door in. You alright?"
I blinked. My mouth moved before my brain caught up. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just… overslept."
He squinted. "You sure? You look like hell."
"Thanks," I muttered. "No need to call anyone. I'm still breathing."
"Alright," he grunted. "But if I don't hear anything by tomorrow, I am calling someone."
"Understood."
I closed the door and leaned against it.
Two days?
Wait. Two days?
I stumbled to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on my face. The shock helped. A little. As I looked up into the cracked mirror, the memories came rushing back.
The disciplinary hearing.
The debt.
The email.
The tears.
The pain.
I opened my eyes.
And saw the text.
Hello to the Host.
The Complete Universal Knowledge Library is now ready for access.
The Library provides you with knowledge in exchange for Knowledge Points — KP.
KP can be earned when others use the host's inventions.
For every 10,000 first-time uses, the host earns 1 KP.
For every 1,000,000 cumulative uses, the host earns an additional 1 KP.
To access the exchange, please think or say: Shop.
As a welcome gift and in light of the host's current condition, 26 KP have been awarded.
I blinked.
"Nope. Nope, nope, nope."
I splashed water on my face again.
Still there.
"Fantastic. Now I'm hallucinating in HUD format. That's new."
The logical part of me wanted to analyze it—dissect the interface, challenge its consistency. But the rest of me was just too damn tired. Too raw.
Still, curiosity. That never died.
I cleared my throat and muttered, "Shop."
There was a flicker.
And suddenly, the world changed.
A list appeared. Not in front of me—in me. Like it was projected behind my eyes. I could scroll with a thought. I could feel the categories. It was endless.
Electric Motor — 1 KP
Aerodynamics Tier 1 — 1 KP
AI Model Tier 3 — 150 KP
Runic Theory Tier 3 — 20,000 KP
The Language of the Gods — ??? KP
"Language of the Gods? Really? Okay, brain, now you're just showing off."
I tapped—mentally—on AI Model Tier 3.
AI Model Tier 3: Developed during the post-Independence War reconstruction of 2881, this neural architecture forms the basis of high-functioning, loyal task-based artificial intelligences.
This model is pre-coded with loyalty branding and autonomous task compartmentalization.
Applications include: administrative delegation, environmental modeling, autonomous logistics, and defense grid management.
Stability: 99.7%. Personality: Optional.
Ideal for users seeking scalable, non-sentient support infrastructure.
Popular among outer-ring colonies for city-scale management post-conflict. Highly recommended for novice empires.
I frowned. Okay. That was weirdly… specific. Too specific. Like something a game dev would write after too many Red Bulls.
Still, the window didn't fade. The data didn't shift or vanish. I stared at it until my head started to ache again.
"Right. So I'm either dreaming, dead, or insane. Fantastic."
Still, 26 KP.
Why that number? Why anything?
It didn't feel like a dream. It wasn't floating or fading. It was there.
But I couldn't deal with this now. My brain was soup.
Then it hit me.
My jobs.
My freaking jobs.
My eyes widened. I launched myself away from the sink, slipped on the mat, and caught myself on the doorframe.
"Oh shit. Oh shit."
I bolted.