Waking up is stressful. Waking up different is just unfair."
—Gareth Lancer
Gareth dreamed of static.
White noise washed over him like a tide of broken signals—sound and memory tangled in a fog of half-formed images. A laboratory with walls too white. Screaming alarms. A hand reaching through glass.
Everything fractured into digital snow before he could grab hold.
Then came silence.
And breath.
He woke with the sharp intake of someone whose systems had just finished rebooting. His body felt different—not painful, but recalibrated. His fingers twitched experimentally, and he felt the faint hum of energy coiled beneath his skin, quiet but insistent.
He sat up slowly, carefully, like someone learning to use new hardware.
And froze.
The reflection in the glass wall opposite him wasn't the same lanky kid who'd stumbled into the Arcadia entrance exam. The person staring back looked like someone had taken his base model and optimized every variable for maximum efficiency.
His frame had filled out—not bulky, but defined. Lean muscle traced his arms and torso with geometric precision. His shoulders had broadened just enough to change his silhouette entirely. He looked like someone who'd been designed for combat.
"Okay," he muttered, voice hoarse from disuse. "Either I hit a very late puberty, or I died and respawned with premium features."
No one laughed. The infirmary was empty except for the steady hum of life-support pods.
Then, a sound—clear and resonant, like glass struck by light:
[SYSTEM ONLINE]
Text appeared directly in his vision:
NAME: Gareth Lancer
ABILITY:COUNTER
STATUS:ACTIVE
CALIBRATION:42%
NOTE:Physiological optimization complete. Neural integration stable.
Gareth blinked. "Physiological optimization?"
He stood, and the motion felt different. Smoother. More controlled. When he flexed his hand, muscles rippled with coordinated precision he'd never possessed before.
A knock broke the moment, sharp and deliberate.
Lyra stepped in, carrying a tray of food—protein bars and what passed for coffee in Arcadia. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his new appearance.
"Wow," she said, eyeing him with undisguised assessment. "Either the medical bay has really upgraded their recovery programs, or near-death experiences are better than advertised."
Gareth's mind processed the compliment as data. "The systems appear to have initiated physical recalibration during recovery. It's... efficient."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Efficient? That's what you call whatever this is?" She set the tray beside him. "You've been unconscious for two days. Whatever happened in that simulation triggered something. The medics are calling it an 'advanced bonding event.'"
"Right." Gareth stared at his hands—these new, efficient hands that looked like they knew what they were doing. They didn't even tremble. "I feel different."
"You look different." She studied him clinically. "More... capable. Like someone finally finished the installation."
He looked up at her, and for the first time, he didn't analyze her expression—he simply saw it. The concern in her eyes wasn't data to be processed, but a fact to be acknowledged.
"I think they did," he said.
She smiled then, a genuine expression that made something in his chest shift—a sensation he couldn't immediately categorize. "Good. Now eat something before you pass out again. I'm not dragging your upgraded corpse back to medical."
Outside the glass walls, Arcadia's training domes pulsed with light—the next batch of recruits already running drills. Inside, Gareth flexed his fingers experimentally, watching faint digital glyphs flicker across his skin like living code.
[Calibration: 45%]
Whatever he was becoming, it wasn't finished yet.
And somewhere deep in his circuitry—buried in layers of code and compressed memory—something old stirred. A fragment of the experiment that had made him, watching, waiting, remembering things he'd forgotten.
Hours later, alone in his dorm room, Gareth sat by the window overlooking Arcadia's skyline. The city's neon veins pulsed against the darkness, data streams made visible.
He flexed his hand, watching his system activate—blue light tracing patterns beneath his skin like glowing tattoos that faded as quickly as they appeared.
The system was growing, learning faster than he'd expected. But beneath that quiet hum of progress, a question burned:
What exactly was he becoming?
His reflection in the window showed someone he barely recognized—stronger, sharper, more present. But behind his own eyes, he could see something else: fragments of code, ghosts of memories that didn't quite fit.
Outside, thunder rolled across the desert. Somewhere in the old ruins beyond Arcadia's walls, a Zombot shrieked—the sound carrying across kilometers like a promise or a threat.
The creature was engaged in a desperate battle with Aerian border agents. It fought and massacred most of the patrol, but one agent escaped, carrying footage that would raise questions nobody wanted to answer.
Gareth didn't know about any of that yet.
But somewhere in his system, something pulsed in recognition.
[System Notice: Latent protocols activating. Memory partitions accessible.]
He didn't feel fear or excitement. Only the cold, analytical certainty that things were about to change.
And for the first time, he was ready.