What is a soul?
Where does it rest within the body?
If all parts were replaced, where would it reside?
In the material, or the form?
-
Laughter rang through the room, sharp enough to make the glassware tremble.
Tristan gripped the edge of the desk, trying to steady the microscope as he fought to keep a straight face.
"...and she couldn't even stand!" the cheerful figure beside him bellowed to their audience of one. "Couldn't even climb. And you suggested ropes?! Tristan! Ropes?!"
"You asked for a practical solution," Tristan retorted, stifling his laughter to try to maintain a professional demeanor.
The figure slapped him hard on the back, as he threw his head back in laughter.
For a moment, the whole room felt alive, papers scattered across the benches, half-finished theories pinned to the walls, two young scientists certain they had all the time in the world.
The man's hand struck Tristan's back again. This time harder.
-
Tristan jolted awake, a bead of sweat slipping down his temple as the dream dissolved and reality came back into focus.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the stained ceiling, before forcing himself upright. The movement sent a sharp pain through his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. He waited for it to pass, jaw clenched, then slowly pushed himself into an upright sitting position.
He looked around as he waited for his breath to return. The apartment was dim and cramped, lit only by the weak glow of a flickering bulb above the sink. Rain, hammering outside the window, while an old refrigerator hummed in the corner.
The room was a complete mess and smelled of rot, yet it was only worthy of note now after waking up dreaming of an orderly, clean laboratory.
For most people, it would have been unbearable. But Tristan's senses barely worked anymore, and what little strength he had left was spent enduring the constant, grinding pain of simply being alive.
His eyes drifted to the small table beside the bed.
A dozen medicine bottles decorated the surface, beside a stack of letters marked with hospital logos, most of them unopened.
Tristan rubbed a hand over his face, fingers brushing against the rough stubble he no longer had the energy to shave. His hand trembled before dropping back to his lap.
He picked up a fresh set of bottles and swallowed one tablet after another, fifteen in total, though they seemed to do nothing at all.
-
With a heavy sigh, he found the will to push past the constant dull pain, and stood up, and shuffled to his workstation, a small desk with two stacked computers. He plopped into the worn chair and stared at his reflection in the dark screen.
The man in the glass hardly resembled the vibrant young scientist from his dream. Skinny, tired, messy dark hair refusing to stay tied back, thick scratched glasses barely hiding his exhausted eyes.
He sighed again, flicked the power button, and watched the computer hum to life. The monitor flickered to life and displayed proudly, "TN-v0.9.98".
The computer, like much of his desk, was littered with parts, blueprints and unfinished side projects of his own design, mirroring the mess that was his life. The only thing anywhere near completion was a small plastic toy that rested in the corner.
"Cutie Ranger Blossom."
A toy he'd been paid to repair. Nothing special. The job didn't pay well, and it felt like a waste of time, but it kept him busy. He picked up the toy and carefully attached a tiny chip to its back.
"Almost… done…"
He whispered to himself. His voice sounded scratchy and weak, but as he finished clicking everything back into its rightful place, he let out a small, satisfied sigh.
-
Suddenly, a loud beep came from his main computer. A call was coming in. The caller ID just said: UNKNOWN. He ignored it. Clicking a button on the keyboard to mute the program.
He turned back to the toy and picked up a tiny screwdriver.
"Let's see..."
Tristan adjusted his glasses and looked closely at the tiny wires he had reattached to inspect his work. He just needed to…
-
THRRRUMMM.
-
A deep rumble shook the floor. The tools on his workbench rattled, some scattering to the floor. This wasn't just the sound of trucks flying overhead or loud music from next door. This felt deeper, like it was coming from inside, from his very bones.
"The hell…?"
He flicked up a news feed that reported seismic activity. Nothing. No earthquakes, no construction accidents nearby.
Then the lights flickered, faded, and died as if they were running out of power. His computers made unhappy whining noises before the building's backup generators kicked in. Warning messages flashed on his screen: massive power outages happening all over the city.
"What's going on?"
He leaned closer to the screen as he pulled up a view from outside his door. The rain seemed heavier, and through the noise of the downpour, the city's neon lights blinked, jolted and popped like crazy, and strangely, the entire city seemed to be bathed in a sick-looking green light.
Another quake hit, harder this time, and this time the very building violently shook. He heard distant screams from outside, but they were quickly drowned out by the chaos. His logical brain couldn't explain this. Glitches didn't drain power from the whole city or shake buildings.
He turned to a rough thing cobbled together from old army parts, just another side project that had sat idle for years, but now it had a purpose. The analogue screen flickered, scrambled by a weird energy, but gradually, a vague shape emerged. Something dark, and it seemed to originate from high in the sky, and from what Tristan had observed, it seemed to suck in energy around it, like a black hole for energy.
-
ROOOOAAARR!
-
A sound like rage incarnate tore through the building. Metal screamed, walls buckled, and the building shuddered under the onslaught. Glass shattered, anything not nailed down crashed to the floor, and the Cutie Ranger Blossom toy toppled out of Tristan's hands and quietly into a nest of wires.
Tristan jerked away from the computer screen as the walls bowed inward, spiderwebbing beneath a pressure he couldn't see. Sickly green light pulsed through the mess of his apartment, painting everything with a feverish glow. Outside, the world dissolved, energy engulfing, skyscrapers collapsing, the rising roar pressing down on him, suffocating. None of this fit any known technology he understood.
The floor bucked. Tristan flew backwards, slamming into his workbench as the world lurched. Jagged metal bit into his side; his mouth filled with the taste of blood and grit. Tears blurred his vision as the ceiling above tore apart, and unnatural green fire spilt through the cracks.
o -
The world Tristan knew ended in an eruption of chaos. The apartment collapsed—walls folding in, computers bursting, his careful projects and meagre possessions lost to a maelstrom of debris. Every familiar detail of his home was torn apart, the fabric of his daily life shredded in seconds. The sense of loss was immediate and total; everything he'd clung to was ripped away and buried in destruction.
Then gravity kicked in. Tristan was flung into a jagged maw of crumbling homes and once modern architecture, tumbling through choking smoke and blistering heat, battered on all sides by broken concrete and twisted metal. He fell, spinning and half-blind, the world dissolving into a blur of pain, noise, and motion. Each impact with flying wreckage sent fresh agony through his body, every breath raw with grit and smoke.
In the chaos, for a single heart-stopping instant, Tristan caught a glimpse through the shattered concrete; a glimpse of the new city skyline. The streets had become a vast, spiralling void, devouring buildings and debris alike. Skyscrapers toppled, and all the faces he'd ever known were swallowed along with his life's work, disappearing into the hungry dark.
-
Terror seized him. He braced for the end, squeezing his eyes shut as he plummeted. The plunge seemed endless, the world a blur of pain and impact, his breath stolen by every collision.
-
SPLAT
-
Tristan jolted awake, gulping down a ragged breath, not the peaceful silence he'd expected. As reality flooded back, he almost wished it had been the end. Pain surged through him, every nerve screaming as he took stock. Wedged between slabs of concrete and twisted steel, he found himself in a makeshift cave. Overhead, an emerald sky raged, spilling fire and ruin, but this pocket of wreckage improbably held. Beyond it, screams echoed, the city's collapse groaned, and the monstrous roar that started it all thundered on.
Every breath was a fresh wave of agony, his side slashed open, head throbbing, limbs bent at unnatural angles. He couldn't move, pinned by pain as rain seeped through the cracks, icy even as everything else burned.
Yet he was alive.
By some absurd, accidental grace, the ruin had formed a cage around him, sparing him.
And for the first time in a long time, he couldn't help but smile.