What happened? How did I get here?
Classic questions of post‑disorientation rang in my mind as I came to — questions of lesser importance. Paltrier questions compared to those of existence. For I had awoken as something more than a man… as something beyond a mere hunter.
Whispers — voices I could only describe as demonic — faded the moment my thoughts steadied. Their words, their message… already slipping from memory, yet their echo clung to my mind like smoke. Only one thing remained: a single system message shining above all the others that had piled up.
The GRID.
Earth's equivalent of nature itself — the great omniscient monolith of metal, wires, and circuits. A pseudo‑god. A near‑perfect entity forged by imperfect human hands. The almighty AI integrated into every facet of life.
And so I wondered… since when was it possible to trick God?
From the age of five, every child is connected to this revolutionary AR system — microscopic nanobots that soak beneath the skin, enabling seamless interface access. The system rests within the eyes themselves, linked directly to one's nerves… synced with the GRID.
God knows all. To everything he is connected.
For better or worse, however, the GRID maintains absolute neutrality toward all humans — and complete superiority over them. Traits that earned it the trust of the masses. It answers to no one; an entity that cannot easily be abused or corrupted by brute force or deceit.
Unfortunately, administration and governance it refuses to touch — leaving humanity still in need of lawmakers and enforcers. In essence, the GRID functions almost as nature itself: unmoving, impartial, eternal.
But since when has humanity ever let God dictate its actions?
Tampering with the GRID is a grave crime — few manage to do so. Fewer still manage to escape.
And I, Deon… have become one of the few.
*Knock, knock.*
The sound echoed through. Deon froze mid-thought, the rampage in his head now silence.
"Awake?" Fiona inquired.
There was panic but only for a heartbeat. Deon was quick to bury his thoughts and worries.
"Yes," he replied as he swung the door open with embodying energy and spirit of a kangaroo.
"Eeeeeek! You're naked! Why are you naked?!" Fiona shrieked, stumbling back as her hands were quick to fold atop her face.
"I... I don't know! Why am I naked? How the fuck would I know?!" Deon blurted, his tone lurching from confusion to outrage in a single breath.
"I mean—why are you still naked?" she corrected, peeking through her fingers.
"Why was I naked in the first place?" Deon retorted, frustration rising.
"Of course you were! I can't dress you — that's embarrassing!"
"Undressing wasn't?"
"You were covered in filth! I didn't have a choice!" She pointed toward the wardrobe. "Now, go put something on!"
And so Deon ran to do so. And while he persisted in that struggled to, in that process he soon discovered his reflection in the mirror placed next to the wardrobe. No longer the rough look but with slightly brighter, smoother skin. A little more height and broader frame. The most significant discovery, however, was his hair which had grown significantly longer, brushing faintly past his neck.... with his beloved crimson dye washed away altogether. Replaced by a more original shade of black.
"Gaaahhaa! I look horrible! Like a sad emo kid!" Deon turned his head away the very instant utterly dejected by the reflection.
*Swish.*
The curtains flew open.
"Aaaaaaahhh! The light! I HATE THE LIGHT!" Deon screamed, stumbling backward. He dropped to his knees, clutching his face as though the light itself were punishment. "The rays! The pain! Please, close them back!"
He writhed dramatically on the floor, muttering curses to whatever gods he could blame for his misery.
Fiona, however, stood calmly by the window, arms crossed. The sunlight gilded her hair in gold and made her expression almost saintly — or perhaps just stubborn.
She wasn't about to coddle another of his petty tantrums. She'd expected this. Ever since Deon crawled out of the vat she had expected this.
And so, the curtains remained open.
"What a horrible day! I look like a spoiled brat! A sissy!" Deon's voice crackled with despair. "My muscles — they're gone! All gone! I've become fat! I can't see any lines!" Deon was throwing a full and proper tantrum.
In a flurry of self-pity, Deon had flung himself onto the floor, pounding his fists and kicking his legs in a sissy fit. Leaving Fiona little choice.
"There, there, it's okay," Fiona said with practiced calm. She pulled his head onto her lap and brushed his messy hair from his forehead.
Fiona was far to used to this.
"No, it's not!" he wailed, sniffling between breaths. "I look horrible!"
Fiona was Faaaar to used to this.
"No you don't. You look just fiine" she replied, her voice as steady as an angel's hum.
"But my face — it's ruined! People will think I'm a sissy! You know how much I had to get beaten up to earn that rough look?" He sniffed again miserably. "They'll call me names, and I'll never get a girlfriend!"
"No one will think that," Fiona said, running her fingers gently through his hair.
"What about all muscles...they were supposed to increase if anything..."
"They did increase, Deon." She reassured with the same well engineered tone.
"Lies." spoken with a pouty face.
"They increased — along with a bit of fat."
"That's even worse!" His voice rose to theatrical pitch. "No, no, no! I had it under fifteen! It was fourteen yesterdayyy! Now everyone's going to call me Fatty Fatbucket at the academy — just like in fifth grade! I know it! And then I'll never get a girlfriend!"
"No, they won't," Fiona said patiently.
"They'll think I'm a pushover and bully me! Then I won't make any girlfriends!"
"No one's going to bully you, Deon."
He suddenly froze mid-sob, then shot up from the floor, eyes wild with realization. An expression that screamed of doom. Deon with all all sobbing at a halt with shivering feet walked back up to the mirror. Trembling, he dared to peer back inside.
For a moment, silence fell. Then he reached out hesitantly, running his palm across his chin. His frown deepened. He lifted his arm and rubbed under his armpit. Fiona noted a shift on his face. Shift from confusion to horror. Finally, with trembling hands, he tugged at the waistband of his pants and — very reluctantly — peeked inside.
Seconds later, he dropped to his knees. The tears returned stronger than before — no longer small raindrops but a river unfettered.
"Fiona..." his voice cracked. "My hair... it's gone."
Fiona blinked. "Pfftt — what?" She stifled a laugh at the absurd and random statement.
"My face, my armpits... even the pubics! All gone!"
"Okay, that is strange," she said, half amused, half perplexed.
"Fiona, lack of body hair can mean low testosterone..."
"Okay?"
"I think it's turned me gay! BY THE GODS, I LOOK FUCKING GAY!!" He grabbed at his cheeks as though they had betrayed him, screaming and screeching. "Now only sketchy dudes will talk to me now!...wha...What if it is permanent...What if this affects performance? It probably does, doesn't it? The heck — I know it does!"
Deon, now in a mad frenzy, sought salvation in the only sanctuary he knew would never fail him — the floor.
Every man, when at the end of his rope and wit, instinctively craves the sweet release of death — to return to the earth, to find in its soggy, silent nothingness a fleeting peace.
The same peace was sought by Deon as began bashing his head against the floor, driven by that most primal and desperate instinct for escape.
Fiona inhaled slowly, her patience tested but unbroken. "It's alright, Deon. You probably suck regardless."
She moved to sit across him, meeting him at his level. Placing both hands on his shoulders halting his frenzy, she looked into his tear-glossed eyes. "A wise man once said — in order to succeed, one must first suck."
Deon blinked through the sniffles. "Yes... yes, I did say that, didn't I? But I meant that, like — for the maid—".
*Slap!*
"In order to succeed, one must first suck," Fiona repeated firmly.
Deon went silent. Slowly, his expression softened into something resembling enlightenment. He had indeed once said those words. But now, kneeling...exhausted, he unveiled a deeper revelation to his wisdom. Today, he had come to a more profound and greater understanding.
To Be Continued==>