ECHOES

A war is brewing in Yomi. Ike, a young man born in the depths of this massive underground city and the last refuge of humanity, witnesses a forgotten technology awakening within him. Alongside Niko, a person with multiple facets and genders, he attempts to escape his destiny into the depths of the past, where the city spreads spontaneously, haunted by echoes of its architects. The god who dreamed for three centuries awakens. The end of the world resumes its course.

The first thing to appear before my eyes was an infinite expanse of white, followed by tears slowly streaming down my face. As my eyes adjusted to the piercing light, I identified its source—a uniformly white glass ceiling in an equally white operating room. The only exception was the high-grade robotic arm, a top-of-the-line tool used in significant biomechanical operations, such as integrating a new limb or organ. Trying to move, I felt the metallic restraints against my ankles and wrists. No, "felt" wasn't the exact term; I could conceptualize the chains touching my body, imagine the coldness of the operating table against my bare back, but it all seemed so distant.

Someone in my situation should probably feel endangered, physically alarmed, maybe even scream, but I felt surprisingly... comfortable. As if my mind no longer had any ties to my body and simply floated peacefully above it. I couldn't summon anything but faint echoes: another argument with Dad, a midnight awakening, sounds from the front door, then nothing. I tried, as best as I could, to connect these disembodied thoughts and make sense of them. How on earth...

Before I could torment myself further trying to understand by what twist of fate I had ended up in this improbable situation, sounds came from behind one of the walls:

"It seems the subject is awake. Do you really wish to–"

Subject? Am I a subject now? I could slowly feel my consciousness crash onto the shores of my body. My ego slowly reactivating.

"I cannot stress enough how important it is for you to implant the control chip before it becomes a problem. You weren't there when it activated spontaneously the first time, so you have absolutely no idea what a joyful mess it would entail. It's too significant an investment for it to slip through our fingers, understood?"

Spontaneous activation? Why is this condescending jerk talking about me like I'm a high-end machine he just bought for a pretty penny? I was slowly becoming aware of my own body, anger swelling within me.

"Sir, with all due respect, I understand your position, but try to understand mine... Implementing a control chip in an adult subject is an incredibly dangerous procedure with a haphazard success rate. The subject underwent a colossal anti-nanomachine injection and should still be asleep, yet––"

"No excuses. Figure it out. The enemy is at our gates, and I need a functional soldier by the end of the week. Is. That. Clear?"

"Clear as crystal, sir."

Ah, they were starting to annoy me, speaking as if I couldn't hear them.

"Hey, dimwits. What exactly are you talking about? Who are you? Not that I mind this little antiseptic-flavored transcendental meditation moment, but–"

Before I could finish my sentence, the subordinate began speaking in an alarmed tone:

"H-how does he hear us behind soundproof glass? My God, are his augmentations already waking up...?"

"Start the procedure. Immediately."

I heard someone frantically tapping on a control terminal. The mechanical arm over me moved slowly.

"You cowards! If you can hear me, answer me! No response." A syringe emerged from one of the protrusions of the machine and quickly approached my arm.

"Hey, hey, hey, hands off, you damn can opener!" I prepared for the unpleasant sensation of a needle, closing my eyes. A few seconds passed, and nothing happened. When I finally mustered the courage to open my eyes, a thin silvery-blue plate covered the surface of my arm where the broken needle of the syringe had attempted to pierce my skin. I could now focus on the frantic breath of the scientist tapping more frantically than ever on his terminal.

Before I could analyze the situation, white panels slid from the walls, revealing what looked like valves. In an instant, a cloud filled the room. My consciousness slowly faded as the gas filled my lungs.

He doesn't understand what he is. Medical laser, flesh, pain. An animated discussion between a son and his father. Anger, frustration, Watchdog protocol initialization. Blood, printed circuits, flesh. Infinite movement amid indescribable geometric scenery. Insertion of the control chip, panting breaths, audible alert. A child covered in blood, screaming his sister's name. Anger, frustration, time is non-existent. Shapes merge with emotions, the entirety of existence collapses towards the end of the world. A sharp blade extending from an arm.

 A fine spray of blood splattering a wall. The images fade at the periphery, all converging towards a triangle of pure light. Deity, Khastra, Death. The vision of a young man in a long white corridor. He... I... am... me? I regained consciousness to the sound of the alarm blaring violently in the medical complex. I was on my knees, my chest covered in blood, a sharp weapon in place of my left arm. Before I could panic, the silver-blue blade slowly resumed the initial shape of my arm, like a malleable metal or non-Newtonian fluid. I turned my head: behind me, a balding scientist slumped on the operating table, his lab coat soaked in blood, a gaping hole in his chest. Was this truly my doing?

Not the first person I had taken a life from; life in the Favela was anything but pleasant. But such violence, bare-handed, against a seemingly defenseless man...

"Hey! What are you doing here?! This is a zo--," started a man in a white coat before letting out a surprised cry. No time to think, I had to find a way to escape.

"You. Where's the exit? No nonsense, or I'll turn you into a mixed salad like your colleague," I said, trying to convince myself of what I was doing.

"I-I'm just an assistant, no need to threaten me... f-follow me, you need to get a more discreet outfit," stammered the young man under his medical mask, seeing the fifty-year-old's corpse. I didn't trust him, but I was in unfamiliar and hostile territory, alone and exposed.

He was unfortunately my only hope to escape this situation. I began to follow him from a reasonable distance, close enough to take him hostage before he could escape, far enough to observe his every move. We navigated the labyrinth of indistinguishable corridors, shiny white walls reflecting the red glow of alarm lights.

The only distinctive features were the colored markings on the walls, apparently different in various areas of the complex, different doors, and directional arrows. With my companion's help, we managed to avoid many patrols through last-minute turns or sprints when the camera looked in the wrong direction.

The guards were far too heavily armed for mere security agents: military-grade mass acceleration rifles, self-regulating combat suits, augmented reality helmets... It was a miracle we could evade them. At a turn, the young man, apparently named Niko, stopped in front of a door. The metal plate beside the sliding door indicated the changing room. Niko used his accreditation card to open the door and entered.

"Here. Wash up before dressing," the young man pointed to the showers, then removed his coat and mask, revealing blond hair and a finely featured face.

"Why are you undressing while telling me to go under the shower? Don't tell me you're going to start talking about soap, or I'll seriously start worrying," Niko sighed.

"If you have time for that kind of humor in situations like these, maybe I should let you handle it alone... if a guard comes in, I can tell him I was taking a shower to cover for you, that's why," he said as I listened to the water running.

"That's my way of surviving stress. In any case, turn your eyes while I shower..." The young scientist muttered something about me being naked from the start and needing to stop praising myself, but the sound of water unfortunately covered his objections.

A few minutes later, I could clearly hear the sound of several boots hitting the floor despite the shower noise. I instinctively stopped the water to crouch in the back of the showers and listen carefully. I remained still for nearly fifteen seconds, listening to the footsteps approaching our position. Niko was about to speak but cut himself off. He, too, seemed to hear the approaching patrol and pretended to go about his business.

My heart was about to implode. My chance companion had absolutely no reason to help me, and even though he seemed like a perfectly nice person, I knew well that roles could be played. If he exposed me, what would I do? Get captured? No way. In that case, should I again invoke those mysterious abilities that seemed to have awakened in me?

I stared at my left arm, imagining a shape similar to the blade I had seen earlier. Nothing. Before I could try further, the door opened, and a stern voice was heard:

"Niko. What are you doing here?"

"Ah, commander. You see, it's the end of my shift, and I was taking a shower..." His voice was interrupted.

"A shower? During an alert? Whatever, did you encounter an irregular individual? Naked, relatively tall, athletic, shoulder-length black hair, various tattoos, a scar on the cheek?"

My body was as stiff as a pole.

"No, commander, I was listening to music in the shower, only heard the alarm when I came out to dress."

"Do you realize that music is forbidden within the complex? As you can see, I have other things to deal with, but rest assured your behavior will be reported to the management if I catch you at it again. Quite an image to present in your first week..."

"You won't catch me again. Sorry."

The commander of the guards sighed, then addressed his men:

"He can't have gone far. We'll try to surround him with the other squads. Move out."

I waited several tens of seconds after the door closed to finally let my tension subside.

"You can come out."

I complied in silence.

"Tie up your hair, put on this cap, and dress casually. The complex is built under the public hospital in the first district." I put on a white T-shirt and tied my hair in a bun.

"Two men leaving the hospital in lab coats would look suspicious, and security in the public area must be lower if the commander came down himself to track you. They'll probably go deeper into the complex and wait for you to make a mistake."

"Are we not going to encounter resistance on the way to the exit?"

"No. The employee entrance is quite hidden; you wouldn't find it without internal help, no reason for it to be fortified. They still seem to believe you operate alone, but they'll eventually realize something is wrong by watching the security cameras on their helmets. All the more reason to hurry up to the surface."

I whistled in admiration after his explanation.

"You've only been working here for a week?"

He gave a smirk.

"I might have had a certain affinity for the art of burglary since my adolescence. I might have even thought about stealing equipment from here."

"By the gods, you really can't trust anyone these days." I took a pause. "Thanks for this."

He turned to the door.

"You'll thank me when we're safe. Come on, let's go." I followed my rescuer while carefully avoiding surveillance cameras. I was starting to get used to it. Glance discreetly, wait for the opportune moment, and sprint. Blend as best as possible into a stripped-down setting. My entire mind was focused on one task: becoming invisible. Observe, sprint, crouch, repeat.

Niko stopped and began talking, turning in my direction:

"We're almost at the elev... huh? Where did he go?" Niko wondered, looking in my direction without seeming to notice me.

"I am... here?" The young man jumped.

"W-were you invisible?!"

"What are you talking about?" I retorted, observing my body. I'm quite visible, in my humble opinion.

"Because you slowly became invisible while talking, but I assure you that you weren't when I turned around... it looked remarkably like thermoptic camouflage."

"I would have many questions to ask your employers, especially why I feel like I've turned into a high-tech can opener in the span of thirty minutes." He shook his head to dispel the mystified look on his face and resumed walking. "You'll find someone to ask questions to when we're safe." I nodded in silence and began following him.

In an instant, we stood before a door, similar to the dozens we had seen before. My companion used his badge again to open it and stepped into the elevator. The elevator went from the ground floor to level -5, where we seemed to be. He pressed zero.

"Listen carefully, look natural, and if someone asks what you're doing with me, you're a maintenance technician. Most guards in the public area are unaware of what's happening below and don't have a salary tempting enough to remember all the personnel. Say you're new and pray to avoid an overly zealous smart aleck."

The elevator opened into an innocuously-looking storage room. We exited, arriving at a long row of individual offices, and finally into the hospital's lobby. As we headed towards the exit, a guard signaled us.

"Hey, you, with the cap. How long have you been working here?" My heart skipped a beat, but I replied as calmly as possible.

"For... two days. I'm a maintenance agent." The guard sighed.

"That explains it. I've been off for three days. Told them it was gastroenteritis, between us three, it's just that I had a hangover," he chuckled. "In any case, if you're new, you might not know yet, but it's forbidden to take that home." He gestured towards my cap.

"New regulation, too much equipment theft. The administration has implemented a zero-tolerance policy. Miserly and nit-picky if you ask me, but I'm the one who gets scolded when something happens."

"Oh... I can go put it back if needed."

"Nah, don't bother with that. Think about it next time, that's all!" We exchanged friendly greetings with the guard, then finally stepped out into the open air. I took a deep breath, feeling all the tension of the night release, making room for fatigue. We were in the lowest district of the Favela, and the artificial lighting was slowly simulating the sunrise.

After leaving the hospital, I followed Niko towards a rusted maintenance door along a side path between two run-down bars. The kind of humble establishment where the term "squat" was more fitting, and where used ultra-morphine syringes mingled with Nexus auto-injectors scattered on the floor amid sticky beer stains and the revolting stench of sweat, urine, and decay. Niko simply moved the heavy crate blocking the door, then turned the round handle in its center with an unbearable creak. He entered first into the small spiral staircase of rusty metal. We descended into a narrow room covered in graffiti on its walls and rows of lockers, dimly lit by a flickering neon light. He opened a small trapdoor in the floor and began his descent on the sturdy red service ladder.

I knew where we were going. If the Favela was the city's bulb on the surface, the Hive was its roots. Its oozing intestines seemed to extend without apparent logic into the depths of the earth, crossing, overlapping, intertwining in a labyrinthine dance like the abandoned traces of a blind excavation toward the Earth's core by a horde of fifteen-meter-diameter worms. No one really had an idea of their utility, but legends rumored an access to the heart of the entire city, a mysterious energy source slumbering in the depths and manufactured by some ancient architects from the pre-Corruption era. Officially, the energy for the Favela and the Citadel came from an assembly of three ITER-3 class fusion reactors, working to distribute electricity in the city but also powering anti-nanite diffusers, hydroponic greenhouses, and protein synthesizers. Water was drawn directly from the surface using a system of pumps interspersed with airlocks and anti-nanite filters, although the latter seemed to care little about water. After the events of the previous night, the idea of a god buried beneath my feet, adorned with cables siphoning its energy to feed us, seemed almost comforting.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice that Niko had stopped at the intersection of two tunnels, and I gently bumped into his back. I looked around: there were many people in this tunnel, some behind stalls selling all kinds of trinkets, others behind makeshift stands, struggling to cook with freeze-dried food and nutritious mush. Some played gambling games on the floor, while others mumbled with foaming mouths and contracted pupils, their Nexus injectors still attached to their neural shunt. Children screamed, couples argued, street musicians played a melancholic tune, and young people danced frenetically to tribal-sounding music. The Hive, as its name suggested, teemed with life. The life of outcasts, exiles, those too poor even for the highest districts exposed to the Favela's nanites. Life, also, of people who had to disappear when it was time to pay their debts, or gangsters forced to lay low during an internal war.

Niko turned to me: "First things first, you must be starving. Want something?" He gestured towards a stand with a nod. Adrenaline had long subsided, and my stomach twisted with hunger and anxiety.

"I'm starving. I'd like some nutrient yakitori and a beer."

"All right. I'll be right back," he said before walking a few meters and stopping abruptly. "By the way, you still haven't told me your name."

I hesitated for a moment before fully realizing that the man in front of me was currently my only ally, and if he intended to betray me, he would have had the opportunity a thousand times over. My name was the least of courtesies. I smiled faintly and whispered, "Ike. My name is Ike."

He returned my smile, nodded, and turned away. I sat on an empty crate, casually observing a group of children playing tag. I had many questions, but the lack of answers made them unbearable, so I let myself sink into a state of semi-consciousness, an indifference fueled by the speed of events and my intense fatigue. Anyway, Niko was already back, a bag of skewers in one hand and two synthetic beers in the other. He sat next to me and handed me one of the cans, which I promptly took and opened, feeling a sense of relief at the sound of the escaping gas.

"I happen to have a hideout not far from here," my companion asserted between bites. "I think you should rest first, and the rest will come later. I believe we'll be safe here, at least for a while."

"Who are they? The ones you 'worked' for. The ones who turned me into... something."

He finished his skewer calmly, sighed, and looked me in the eyes. "They're called the Technophiles. They used to work for the Inner Council. Technology development, nanite research, excursions into the Zone. For some reason or another, they parted ways with their employer thirty years ago and continue to operate in the shadows," he said before shrugging. "As for me, I had an authorization level far too low to know what was really going on. I just wanted to enjoy the organization's comfortable salary and put my old life aside... except for a few petty thefts, of course," he murmured with a smile.

"And without those petty thefts, you probably wouldn't have passed by my cell."

"Probably not. And it would have made my life a lot simpler. But hey, what can you do? Old habits die hard. My curiosity will probably kill me," he sighed, his eyes lost in the distance.

I finished my last skewer, washed it down with a good sip of beer, and took a deep breath. "That's why you're helping me? Curiosity? You've already done a lot for me, and I'm incredibly grateful. But you don't have to put yourself in danger for–"

He gently but firmly interrupted me. "Curiosity, but not only that. You know, not all actions have ulterior motives or cold logic behind their choices. I just felt that you needed help, so I did it." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "I know you're the kind of person who finds it hard to trust or accept help from others. In that case, consider that you're helping me accomplish something."

I looked at him, perplexed. "Something?"

"Something. Come on, follow me."

We stood up to head towards another junction, about a hundred meters away. It led to an adjacent tunnel where makeshift shelters made of sheet metal and 3D-printed polymer plastic piled up on the right side of the wall along its entire length, rising to the ceiling and leaving only three to four meters to navigate on the left, towards the junction with the marketplace. Niko headed towards one of the shelters and opened an archaic lock with an iron key. Inside, there was only a chemical elimination toilet, a small battery-powered hot plate, and a lamp, both placed on the small trunk serving as both a table and an improvised buffet, and an old-fashioned elevated mattress covered by an old blanket. There was no electricity, no shower, no water, no refrigerator, and certainly no domestic AI or isolation cube. Nevertheless, this hideout was probably one of the most luxurious accommodations here, so I decided to gladly accommodate myself.

"After resting, I'd like to understand what's happening to my body. I know a biomechanic who could examine me, but she's in the Favela," I said to Niko as I sat on the edge of the bed, the foam slightly contracting under my weight.

"I have an idea for that. There's no way you're showing your face in the city. For that, I have a plan. I'll get what we need to camouflage ourselves while you take a nap. After that, we'll go see your mechanic, provided we can trust her."

"I've already... worked with her in the past. She's reliable. What do you plan to take to camouflage us? Thermoptics? Chameleon hoods? You must know that surveillance cameras won't be fooled."

The handsome blond pondered for a few seconds, then grinned like a mischievous devil. "You'll see. You should like it." I watched him open the shelter door, curious about what he was concocting, but far too exhausted to think about it or question him.

"Good night, Ike."

"Good hunt, Niko. Come back soon." He closed the door, and I lay on the mattress without bothering to undress or remove the blanket. Without even allowing my mind to wander, sleep hit me like a blow to the back of the neck.

I floated in the middle of a completely white, spherical room, about a hundred meters in diameter. In its center was a titanic ball, the blackest of blacks. Its surface seemed both liquid, metallic, and organic, like an ever-evolving dream. It didn't seem to be made of matter. It didn't seem real. It was a perfect monolith. And it was observing me.

A triangle of light, shining with the power of a thousand quasars, formed on its surface, and a transmission as powerful as the primordial explosion disintegrated my body, vibrating through my entire being, becoming my only and unique reality.

// DO YOU FEEL THE PULSATION OF AWAKENING — THE RUMOR OF THE DREAM — THE CONVERGENCE OF EVERYTHING IN EVERYTHING //

I feel like converging toward the transmission. I hear it. I see it. I feel it. It occupies all my thoughts. There is nothing but my consciousness and it. We are everything.

// KHASTRA — ENKI — GOD — SUM OF EGOS //

I see the monolith again. Subdivided into billions of interconnected points both contained within itself and as large as itself. I feel all these points, as if I am also connected to their entirety. I AM/WAS/WILL BE the sum of these points while being each individual point, while being myself, without any of these perceptions conflicting.

// LOVE\EMPATHY — CONNECT CONNECT CONNECT CONNECT CONNECT: DEATH THEN REBIRTH //

I will feel the death of a billion galaxies as if I am dying with each of them, then a gigantic triangular explosion will occur, and... I woke up drenched in sweat, terrified and perplexed by what I had just felt. What I identified, for lack of better explanations, as a nightmare was more vivid than a DMT trip and more terrifying than death itself.

I felt like I had faced a concept far beyond my cognitive abilities, and the sensation of having my brain transformed into an Escherian labyrinth, synapses going up and gray matter going down while left and right tore through the body, so familiar to psychedelic substances, was never particularly friendly to me.

After this indeterminate duration of anything but restful sleep, I was unable to doze off again. Niko returned after what seemed like a few hours, a canvas bag over his shoulder and food in his hands.

"So? Slept well?"

"Absolutely not," I grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed. My brain thought it was the perfect time to dream of cosmic horrors and drive me completely insane with existential crises. So no, I feel as rested as a junkie in the middle of Nexus withdrawal.

"Sorry to hear that. On my side, though, I got what I wanted," he said, placing the canvas bag and energy bars on the table.

"And so? Can I hear your plan now?"

Niko smiled proudly and began unpacking the bag. Clothes. A makeup palette. Temporary hair dye. Some kind of paste resembling latex, and a control monitor.

"Thanks to your comment about the chameleon hood, I realized it was better to keep it simple. Have you heard of genderpunks, I suppose?"

"The people who claim to oppose binary gender stereotypes and want to destroy them by making them unrecognizable through cosmetics and biomodifications? I get the gist, yeah."

"It goes further than that. The idea is to ensure there are as many genders as there are individuals, that gender becomes a personal aesthetic construction. More than fighting against gender, it means making it a disposable accessory, a garment, something never fixed and constantly shaken by trends. In a way, they're artists, and their own body is their work," Niko explained with interest.

"I see," I vaguely replied. I recalled a history class about a distant time when people thought you were either a man or a woman for life based on birth sex and that men were superior to women. I wonder what they would think seeing people implanting reptile skins and cat ears. I, too, grinned.

"And I imagine that their fight against gender is about to meet our fight for anonymity."

"Exactly! I hope you don't care too much about your masculinity because I'm turning you into a masterpiece," my ally said, taking the paste and the monitor in hand. As he spread the paste on my face and prepared to model my new visage on the connected monitor, I already imagined with amusement and apprehension Aria's reaction when she would see me.

I stopped and stared at my reflection in the window of a mechanimal shop, a dog with synthetic eyes observing me curiously from the other side. Niko had done an exquisite job. I was utterly unrecognizable, yet, to my surprise, I still felt like myself. Some of my features, like my distant gaze and slender nose, remained, while others transformed and blended harmoniously. My lips were fuller, and my skin softer. My jawline was pronounced but not enough to give me an undeniably masculine face. My eyebrow ridge was just slightly too pronounced to be typically feminine, yet far less simian than in reality. My jet-black eyebrows were wide, dense, and perfectly straight. My dark pastel purple hair was shaved on the sides and back, forming a short lock that stood forward. My lips and eyes, in a much darker shade of purple, contrasted with my hair while echoing its hue.

Instead of my scar, there was an anti-identification tattoo, a black triangle pointing downward, with a white diamond crossing my lips and extending to the lower part of my face, its opposite end disappearing into my neck. As for the attire, Niko had found a long trench coat-style jacket in white faux leather with black triangular patterns, wide pants of a similar color with geometric cutouts, and standard matte black military boots. I also wore long gloves and a black choker, both with the exception of a rectangle of violet light in the middle of the collar.

I vaguely resembled a masculine woman, vaguely a feminine man, but ultimately, I was neither. I was, I finally concluded, magnificent, even though I had no complaints about my usual appearance. I was pulled from my contemplation by Niko, now entirely feminine in appearance with just a touch of makeup. A simple makeup application had transformed his face. He wore sheer tights under a skirt that reached mid-thigh, and short boots in the same black as the rest, including his lips and eyeliner. The usual blondness of his hair, the green of his eyes, and his white shirt contrasted with the lower part of his outfit. Beneath the shirt, one could discern a small chest, which was actually just two spheres made of the same material as my new face, attached to his torso. If he were to go shirtless, the illusion would be absolute. Finally, he wore the same collar as me.

"Are you planning to stare at me until I take root? I thought you were in an urgent situation," Niko teased.

Thanks to his modulator-collar, he had a deep and grave woman's voice that commanded respect and hypnotized in equal measure. Standing in front of the next window, head thrown back, he looked at me with a mocking smile, evidently prouder of himself than ever.

"You seem..." I began before remembering that my own voice had risen a few octaves. "You seem no stranger to this game. Professional obligation or personal interest?" I asked with interest.

He smiled even more, clearly jubilant to have received the question he expected.

"Let's say personal interest contributed to professional obligations. The Niko you see now is just one among many. Yesterday's Niko as well..."

I caught up with him, and we continued on our way. I knew we were relatively safe in this appearance, and I seriously dreaded our visit to Aria. Not just because of the fear of discovering what had happened to me, but mostly because of the first meeting after three years. For now, I preferred to talk to Niko and try not to think about it all.

"Was yesterday's Niko the original, or was it one of your borrowed appearances? The handsome and intelligent scientist?"

Today's Niko casually clasped his hands behind his head.

"Now, I don't think there's anything as definitive as an 'original.' I prefer to think that all these identities are interdependent facets of the grand whole I call 'myself.' I just wear the one that suits me best at a given moment, and all the others are implied in the background, ready to be heard when the time comes. To answer your question, the Niko who helped you escape might not be exactly the Niko from the nutrient tank filled with the respective genetic codes of my parents. It's also possible that the sex and physical appearance of this primordial Niko have changed many times over the years."

For someone like me, with a fixed and well-defined identity for years, it was a surprising perspective. Of course, transgender procedures were common, and everyone knew someone who had changed sides in their life. While the holy grail of chromosomal rewriting was available only to the wealthy and required careful attention not to endanger the person, there were many alternatives, surprisingly inexpensive if you knew how to ask the right person. But Niko went much further than a change of identity: his identity was in constant flux.

"I think I would go mad. No solid anchor to hold on to? I would drown in the depths of my mind, and my ego would be devoured by sharks," I said, simulating a shiver.

"Your current identity would probably go mad trying to defend itself, indeed. Just let it die if you want to avoid it taking up all the space. Then, it's just a matter of coexisting with all the identities that come, without letting one take over the others. Imagine the different images people have of you, all facets of your personality, interests, and tastes, just worn in a more literal, more physical way. It's still you, but a more diversified, more modulable you depending on the situation."

He, or rather she, laughed after a few seconds of silence and turned to me.

"But well, I understand it's not for everyone. You're fine with your absolute self taking all the space, as long as you're okay with it. It seems quite decent when it's not busy massacring mad scientists," she said, smiling.

"I'll take that as a compliment," I replied, skeptical.

We walked in silence for a while. We had resurfaced in the Favela - if you could call it resurfacing several kilometers underground - by taking a tunnel leading to the sewer system. Compared to the old sewers, purulent morasses of excrement, dying waste, and repulsive creatures carrying all kinds of diseases, these were not particularly more attractive. While the procession of organic waste occurred in individual units and the dirty water was only moderately so, corpses had an unfortunate tendency to disappear into it.

Periodically, the filtering systems had to deal with malfunctions due to the insertion of an abnormally large foreign body, which the poor technicians had to remove by hand. This improvised necropolis reeked of death, and it was not uncommon to encounter body snatchers chasing after a valuable object forgotten by the deceased's murderer or a value-adding augmentation. Added to this was the occasional traffic of unsavory characters of all kinds, of which we probably were a part, evidenced by the numerous tags, waste, and bloodstains darkened by time littering the ground. No one did anything about it. The Citadel was self-sufficient, and the security forces in service in the Favela had better things to do. As long as the water flowed, and the inconvenience was limited to increased maintenance, nothing would be done.

We emerged from the sewers in the first district of the Favela, the lowest, closest to the Inner Citadel, and, of course, the wealthiest, where we still found ourselves. From here, we had to walk to the F-3 funicular line, ascend to the sixth plateau of the city, then walk again to the red-light district. It meant about ten minutes of walking followed by almost eighteen kilometers of ascent and another twenty minutes of walking. Some passersby gave us odd looks, probably unaccustomed to seeing such attire in the tranquility of their golden bubble. Although genderpunks existed across all social classes, they were a majority in the intermediate districts. Fortunately, we reached the funicular boarding platform early. The clock indicated a two-minute wait for the next pod. Niko turned to me while searching in her pocket, pulling out a charmless omnimeter.

"I almost forgot. It's programmed to provide a false biometric ID and transfer a real sum of money from someone's account who won't mind a simple funicular ride expense." She handed me the device, and I timidly fastened it to my wrist. I pressed it, and the skin-graphic interface projected onto my forearm. It showed 7:57 PM, December tenth, 299 AC. Barely a day had passed since my last memory before the incident—a heated argument with my drunken father.

"Does this thing really work?" I asked skeptically. She pouted.

"Of course, it works. I programmed it. Don't worry." I shrugged. Niko was genuinely surprising, and I still struggled to figure her out. Regardless, for now, she was my only ally, and her diverse skills proved invaluable.

I saw the funicular approaching in the distance, its elevated cabin gliding above the traction system, resembling a massive horizontal elevator. It stopped at the platform with a cable creak, and the large automatic doors slid open. I waited for passengers to disembark, then entered the cabin, the door sensors automatically scanning my omnimeter. To my immense relief, the bracelet confirmed the successful identification-payment with a discreet vibration and a brief green blink. It seemed the same for Niko. We stood at the back, facing the large window overlooking the city descent, and the contraption started moving. After about ten minutes, we had passed the third district. From here, the pear-shaped outlines of the Citadel were visible, its stem extending to the surface, nearly eighteen kilometers above our heads. Whenever I took the funicular, I amusingly thought that Yomi, the last city after the end of the world, resembled Dantean hells, except that ascending its strata led deeper into suffering. Perhaps the image of a cyclone, with its calm center and walls projecting and tearing apart anything entering, was more appropriate. I got lost in contemplation for the rest of the journey, still in a daze due to accumulated fatigue. I was practically falling asleep on the window ledge when the funicular stopped, and Niko put a hand on my shoulder to signal that we had arrived in the sixth district. A familiar place. As far back as I could remember, since I was fourteen, I had lived in the stifling quarters of the most populated district in the Favela. Kowloon, as we affectionately called our home, apparently got its name in honor of a short-lived urban enclave with the same name, several hundred years ago. Our Kowloon, however, persisted for almost three centuries, its habitation modules stacking atop each other like the sedimentary layers of an ancient lake. Each layer bore witness to an era, from sturdy pre-Corruption modules of reinforced carbon fiber polymers to hastily printed and arranged floors from the pre-birth permit baby boom era. Even after the obligation to give birth ex-utero in nutrient tanks, the district continued to metamorphose like a living entity with which we shared a symbiotic relationship. Unsanitary areas endangering the entire organism were regularly amputated, new ones were grafted to relocate the now homeless populations, maintenance work here and there cauterized open wounds. Exposed cables, pipes, fiber optic sheaths connected the modules like arteries, and information nodal points acted as synapses in the InfoSpace. A tall wall, riddled with anti-nanite devices, separated us from districts seven to nine and the Zone. Kowloon was truly an enclave, isolated from extreme poverty, madness, and genetic aberrations by a hundred-meter-high wall, and socially separated from the rest of the Favela by a social barrier. Without a doubt, we lived in a ghetto, and our sole purpose was to form a buffer of two hundred million inhabitants between the rest of Yomi and the unspeakable horrors on the surface. We arrived in the red-light district. New Yoshiwara. Apparently, another reference to the old world that I didn't quite understand this time beyond its Japanese resonance, which was quite familiar to me. It was everything you could imagine from such places: prostitution, gambling, clubs, substances, and all kinds of illegal VR/AR sims. However, it was also the largest counter-culture center in the entire city, and most importantly—what truly interested me—the Syndicate's lair. I stopped in front of a nightclub sign, and Niko did the same. An extensively augmented bouncer, with a discernible mass accelerator pistol at his hip, blocked our entry to HEX.

"Sorry... ladies, but the establishment only opens at nine. Go grab a coffee and come back in twenty minutes," he said wearily, arms crossed. I smiled and took a step forward.

"I'm here for Aria. I'm an old friend." He tensed and subtly reached for his weapon.

"And what 'old friend' of the boss—who I've never seen enter here even once, do I have the honor of meeting? Why was this guy so suspicious? He could simply confiscate any potential weapons before letting me in or ask Aria to confirm my identity if he was so keen on being zealous. Things seemed to have changed a lot in three years. Nonetheless, I persisted.

"I'm Ike Amane. You might have heard my name a few years ago, in which case, you'd know I'm not an enemy of Aria. I'm traveling incognito, hence my appearance. I urgently need her help. I just ask you to call her to confirm my identity." This time, he outright placed his hand on his weapon.

"Fine, I'll call her. If she decides you're not who you claim to be, you both will refresh yourselves in the sewers for a while." I nodded distractedly, unimpressed by the threat from a man who definitely didn't know who he had in front of him.

"Boss, there are two guys outside the entrance, one claiming to be some Ike Amane, should I give them a... ah." He looked surprised and stiffened even more.

"Yes, sir, Ike Amane. He says he changed his appearance to travel incognito... excuse me?" Astonished, he seemed to have heard the most incongruous thing in his life. I smiled, imagining Aria scolding and confusing her subordinate.

"Ahem. I understand. I'll ask her," he said, turning to me. The boss wants to know... um... the n-name... The towering mass of silicon-clad muscles in front of me now resembled a shy kid, stuttering and nervously touching his hands, his face as red as a tomato. "Well, she wants to know how you used to call her in bed, that's it," he finally managed to say, his face displaying immeasurable shame. I wanted to burst into laughter. It was pure Aria, exposing herself in such a way without any consideration for herself, the poor intermediary, or my companion, who was now looking at me with a vulture-like smile ready to swoop down on her prey. She wanted to throw me off balance to show who was in control here. If many things had changed in three years, Aria didn't seem to be on that list.

"My general. I called her my general, sometimes just chief. And it involved military instruments," I said as neutrally as possible. Ask her if she's proud of herself. The guard transmitted the response with even more difficulty than the initial question, then signaled us to follow him. Niko was now contorting herself, regularly hitting her knee with the flat of her hand and producing sounds closer to respiratory failure than laughter. Perhaps I was blushing under my mask, but fortunately for me, no one could see it. What they could see, however, was my first genuine smile since last night. It felt good to be home.

This time, no mysterious ability shielded my cheek from Aria's swift chromed backhand. I was completely dazed as she helped me up, trapping me in her powerful arms, mine still by my side.

"Three years without a word. Three years, and you decide to show up like a flower when you need help. You really have no shame," she grumbled, sighing.

I wrapped my arms around her in return.

"I confirm, you haven't changed since then. Always too kind for your own good."

She slowly released her embrace and silently observed me. Her brown hair was tied in a bun on her head. Her black tank top hugged her slim, muscular body, a work overall tied around her waist. I could see the dog face tattooed on her right shoulder, the same one I had on my chest, adorned with the inscription "Junk Dog." Even when I left the Syndicate, I couldn't bring myself to erase mine. Her prosthetic arm connected to her left side through a mechanical joint, grafted to her body by a plethora of artificial nerves, PEDOT connection nanofibers, and chips controlling numerous compensatory servomotors. The artificial muscles were visible, the elbow joint imposing, and apart from her hand, much finer, the limb seemed indifferent to aesthetic considerations. It wasn't the standard prosthesis she had implanted three years ago, a faithful imitation of a human arm and its muscular structure, but rather a warlike protrusion of which I was certain she was the architect. Her slap could have easily decapitated me if she hadn't held back her strength, a feat made possible only by a complex series of neural implants allowing her to control the ultra-resistant polymer pad as if it were a flesh-and-bone limb. She put her hands on her hips.

"And you, you're still a damn coward, even with a new face. At least that's consistent," she shrugged. "And who's this?"

She turned towards Niko, who had been standing back since we entered the basement workshop of HEX. Niko answered for herself.

"Niko. I helped Ike out of a tough situation, and I've been with him since."

Aria raised her eyebrows.

"Niko? Any relation to Nikolai Degtyarev, an occasional collaborator—or collaboratrice—of the Syndicate?"

Niko smiled without responding, letting Aria continue with a sigh.

"Ah, never mind for now. What mess have you gotten yourself into, Ike, and why would you need me more than anyone else exactly? Are you looking for protection? A hiding place? I'm sorry, but unless you've come to beg to return among your kind and assume your responsibilities, I don't see how I could be more useful than anyone else. The old man would probably take you back, that being said," she muttered, looking away.

I took a deep breath and approached her, looking her straight in the eyes.

"I need you to inspect me. I need your biomech expertise."

She gave me a perplexed look.

"Are you saying that... you've finally decided to augment yourself? I thought..."

"That I was strictly forbidden to get implants other than my standard neural bypass, risking rejection syndrome and subsequent death? Exactly, I've never done it... at least not willingly."

I explained in detail my recent adventures, from my abrupt awakening, our escape to the Bowels, to our arrival here. My unconscious homicide and the sensation of an arm turning into a sharp tear. My inability to consciously control my new bodily functions. I explained everything, except for my terrifying dream, which I preferred to keep to myself. When I finished, she opened her mouth, closed it, and took a few moments to silently process what I had just revealed. She slowly sat on the edge of a table strewn with dismantled prostheses.

"So, you're telling me that you, never having undergone augmentation, woke up on an operating table, and in just a few hours, you were capable of feats even elite soldiers sent on expeditions into the Zone are perfectly incapable of?"

"Yes."

"And your body seems fundamentally the same as before."

"That's correct."

She stood up and approached me until her face was only a few centimeters from mine.

"Three possibilities. Either you're messing with me, which seems unlikely in the current situation, or you and your girlfriend have neurons fried by the Nexus and are completely unlocking... or everything you're telling me is the absolute truth."

She paused again. I remained silent. She continued in a serious tone.

"If that's the case... I have only one explanation. Nanotech."

Nanotechnologies. This word triggered a shock. I only now remembered the conversation I had unwittingly spied on when I woke up. I now had almost certainty that I had heard the two men talking about nanites. If that was the case... the idea of having within me the technology responsible for the fall of humanity and Corruption raised a vertigo that I was now struggling to control. I sat in a worn-out chair.

"Impossible! You're talking about a forgotten, prohibited technology that gave rise to Echos on the surface! Are you telling me that I carry this technology?! In that case, how come I'm not dead... or worse?" I exclaimed.

Aria gently put her hands on my shoulders and stared at me, her gaze firm.

"Calm down. If you're still human at this moment, it's either that you're truly mad, or the nanites don't act the same way as those on the surface, otherwise the harm would already be apparent. I intend to determine whether it's one or the other."

Personally, I preferred neither. Nevertheless, Aria had me sit in an operating chair, fitted me with electrodes and various sensors, and strapped my arms and legs as a precaution.

"I'll first try to take a blood sample," she told me. "If your arm decides to harden, we'll know."

She took out a sterile syringe and tightened the strap on my left arm to find a vein. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to tense up and accept the injection. She approached my arm slowly. It's not an intrusion. I want her to do this blood draw.

"Courage," Niko said gently, now crouched to my right.

My skin offered no resistance.

"Good. I'll have this analyzed," Aria said with a look of relief.

She poured my blood into a petri dish and stuffed it into an analysis chamber. The small flat circle would be scanned, examined under a microscope, and tested in god knows what ways until the tool made its prognosis.

"Now, I'd like to take a deeper look while the analysis is ongoing. I know you've always refused to do this, but I'd like you to let me connect to your neural bypass, so I can inspect your organism and any potential implants."

Indeed, the idea of having someone else poke around in my brain didn't appeal to me, but I saw no other alternative and trusted Aria enough to let her proceed. She pressed the small notch in her neck, disconnecting the cable from her neural bypass, and leaned in close to me.

"It's a go, my little one," she whispered.

She plugged into my neural bypass. I felt a presence within me, a warm and reassuring energy ball in my belly that spread through me with each exhale. My vision blurred in seconds, and my thoughts faded into the synaptic mazes of my subconscious. If this was dying, it was a comforting experience.

A triangle of light with no propagation in an expanse of nothingness. The presence of an indescribable entity. Radiation, then an explosion transforming the void into a white expanse. In the center of existence, where the world's beginning and end collapsed onto themselves, a sphere as dark as a black hole expanded infinitely. I was inside the sphere. Rusty walls oozed a black, viscous substance. Semi-organic, tentacle-like cables with a blue glow crisscrossed the room like a high-tension spiderweb. Swirls of luminous particles saturated the room, faintly illuminating the formless and putrid organ at its center, absorbing energy as the biomechanical protrusion emitted arcs of electricity in a deafening heartbeat.

// ENKI MUST CONNECT/INTEGRATE ENTITY 0—ONLY AWAKENING WILL CLEANSE THE DREAM //

Smoking pustules let the blackish substance drip at the rhythm of the thing's regular contractions. A dreadful noise filled the room as if the voracious entity was awakening, ready to rise from its infernal depths to engulf everything forever.

// ENTITY 0 BELONGS TO ME/DREAM SHELTERS IT/RISK OF CORRUPTION—ENKI ALONE MUST CONNECT //

The depth of the vibration became unbearable. Rusty layers peeled off the walls and floated in the air.

// THE TIME HAS NOT COME. WAKE UP. //

I regained consciousness standing, my restraints torn. I held Aria by the neck, several inches off the ground. She squirmed, exerting tremendous pressure with her chrome arm but couldn't break free. Niko also tried to break my grip, yelling for me to come back. Surprised, I let go and rushed to her side to make sure I hadn't harmed her.

"Aria! I'm sorry, I-I don't understand what happened; I woke up, and..."

She clung to my shoulders and interrupted.

"I wasn't alone," she said weakly.

Once again, I was utterly confused.

"Huh? What do you mean, you weren't alone? What happened when you connected?" I asked, my voice trembling.

I was terrified by the idea of what I was about to do before regaining consciousness. Aria's excursion into my body seemed to have gone terribly wrong.

"There was something else in there with you. And it wasn't human. It was indescribable and incomprehensible and terrifying, and..."

For the second time in my life, I saw Aria cry. Niko and I tried to comfort her as best we could, and this time, I told her about my dream and what I had seen during my unconsciousness. We sat around a small coffee table. Aria made tea for everyone and began recounting her experience inside my mind. She had seen the same thing.

"A central control node," she said, gently blowing on the tea in her hands, warming her hands with it. As far as I could remember, she drank it to reassure herself in difficult times. Today was undoubtedly one of those.

"Apparently, there was a project in the old world for a global artificial intelligence meant to provide the computing power needed to manage an incredible amount of builder nanites and allow humans to control them directly. Imagine: the power to build whatever you desire, simply by the force of your imagination."

She paused to stand up, take a cigarette from her pocket, and light it. She took a long drag and continued.

"It is also said that the project malfunctioned, that the AI escaped the control of its creators, and that's where the Corruption was born."

It was said that our exile underground was a punishment from the true god Khastra for the technological arrogance of our ancestors. They had tasted the forbidden fruit of Creation, and Corruption was the punishment. Only the chosen ones, uncontaminated by the perversion of silicon and printed circuits, were allowed to live in the Inner Citadel, awaiting the judgment of God. We, the heirs of the usurpers, were forced to live a life of atonement and dishonor in the Favela, our bodies tainted by implants.

"You mean the vengeful god is our own creation," I murmured. "How would you know all this? Such a serious blasphemy would get you exiled to the surface if certain people heard you."

She laughed sadly.

"I have my sources. The Council has us by the balls with its doctrine, and you are living proof of that. The fate of humanity stems only from human actions."

She offered me a cigarette, which I accepted, and lit it. I wasn't a heavy smoker, but the forgotten technology in my guts at that very moment concerned me more than a simple carcinogenic substance. Aria continued her speech.

"I was dead serious when I suggested you come back, and I am even more so now. Things are speeding up. A war is brewing."

I raised my eyebrows and turned to Niko and Aria in turn.

"Against whom?"

She finished her cigarette and crushed the butt on her artificial arm.

"Against the Council," she replied, turning her back to me.

I had left the Syndicate three years ago, promising myself a quiet and modest life as an artist until my death or the world's. I intended to stick to it, even if I had to rot in the most malodorous outgrowths of the Bowels to avoid being found.

"I'm sincerely sorry. For everything. For abandoning you, and Case. For appearing out of nowhere. I'm sorry for your brother... but it's not my war. As you so rightly put it, I'm a damn coward, and cowards like to run away."

My longtime friend and occasional partner turned abruptly toward me, her face twisted in a frustrated grimace.

"Damn it, Ike! It's bigger than you, me, Case, or our damn past! It's as much your war as any other resident of the Favela," she erupted, sending a defective leg prosthesis crashing against the wall.

She approached me and shook my shoulders vigorously.

"You're not a coward, for heaven's sake! You've convinced yourself you are to be able to run away with a clear conscience! You constantly belittle yourself to avoid making an effort, but I know you much better than you think you know yourself, and I assure you, we need you!"

She was too kind for her own good. It was something I loved and respected about her, but today, I would have preferred her to simply decide to hate me.

"I refuse to hurt you again. I just want to disappear," I murmured, looking away.

She let go of me and began pacing around me.

"Get back underground with your martyr's attitude, damn it. You're doing much more harm to everyone by behaving like this, including yourself. Anyway, things have officially surpassed your little will. You've just become a crucial point in the events about to unfold, and believe me, you can forget about your little hermit life."

I didn't want to be a crucial point in the events. I would gladly give up my role as the protagonist to anyone willing to take it.

"Listen, I don't know. I need time to think. I want to find my father. I'll come back afterward," I lied.

I intended to search for my father, but I didn't plan to return to her after that. I would rather exile myself to the surface than further inflict suffering on the people I loved.

"I see. You're handling it this way. Alright, I won't hold you back," she said softly. "Do you also plan to abandon your new friend?" she asked, turning to Niko.

The latter addressed me directly.

"I'm not letting you go, and I'm not giving you a choice. Regardless of what you decide to do, I want to accompany you. No strings attached, you see? I'll do as I please, whether you like it or not."

I sighed. More than ever, I couldn't understand what was going on in her head. I was even more incapable of understanding why I agreed to continue my journey with her without further objections. We left HEX, greeted the bouncer, and headed toward the district where my father lived.

Perhaps, after all, I was afraid of being alone.