The land is now colorful and luminous with neon hues, though it bears the marks of its tumultuous history. Vibrant forests teem with mutated creatures, and iridescent rivers carve through landscapes both familiar and alien. Yet beneath the surface lies a society divided: those who embrace the brain implant as salvation, the Emotionally Enhanced, and those who question the ethics and long-term consequences of altering the human mind, the Naturalists. Then there are those whose ancestors adapted well during the Grand Evolution Era, known as the Primes, and those who remained misshapen, known as the Deformed. The Hybrids—naturally blended beings born from Primes and other evolved species—lived in separate tribes, thriving in groups, with some remaining entirely beyond Federal control. Under the dark cloud of these debates, humanity walks a fragile path, striving to reclaim its place in a planet forever changed by their own ancestors.

  A colossal, curved holographic screen illuminated the sprawling plaza with flickering neon hues, casting a surreal glow over the gathering dusk. The screen, embedded seamlessly into the towering skeletal architecture of a nearby megastructure, dominated the cityscape. Its high-definition visuals and immersive sound beckoned passersby to pause, eyes wide and hearts briefly distracted from the weight of their bleak lives.

  "Introducing our newly released version of the NeuroHalcyon Chip?: Your Gateway to a Pain-Free Tomorrow." The ad began with a soothing voice, warm yet authoritative, accompanied by serene visuals of lush, regenerated forests and smiling faces.

  "What if you could leave pain behind—forever?

  What if the memories that haunt you could no longer dictate your life?

  With the new customizable NeuroHalcyon Chip?, the impossible becomes reality.

  Developed by the world's greatest minds at Aeternum—humanity's beacon of hope—this breakthrough in neuro-psychological engineering targets the core of emotional distress. Say goodbye to anguish, despair, and hopelessness.

  Live without fear. Live without pain. Live fully.

  NeuroHalcyon: Because every life matters."

  The screen transitioned to testimonials from impeccably groomed individuals, their faces brimming with joy and relief.

  "I never thought I’d smile again after my friend passed away. But with NeuroHalcyon, I’m not just surviving—I’m thriving."

  "The sleepless nights, the crippling anxiety—they’re gone. I’m finally free."

  The ad concluded with a commanding slogan, "Reclaim your life, fall in love, make a family, or just simply live free of pain and anguish. Choose NeuroHalcyon today."

  The crowd below—men and women clad in muted, practical garments—paused their hurried strides to glance up at the screens. Some exchanged whispers, others stood motionless, captivated by the promise of salvation.

  Over the last decade, thousands of people have undergone the brain implant procedure, while the rest of the people remain sceptical of those who are Emotionally Enhanced.

  The hospital room was cold and aseptic, a place devoid of life save for the faint hum of advanced machines hooked to the man’s body. The rhythmic pulse of the monitors was the only sound in the room, a quiet metronome of his existence. Beyond the walls, muffled voices echoed faintly in the corridors, blending into the background like a distant memory.

  His eyelids twitched, a subtle movement at first, as if testing the waters of consciousness. Then, the twitching became more frequent, more deliberate, until suddenly his heart rate spiked. The machines erupted in a chorus of beeps, their urgency slicing through the silence like a blade.

  The sterile calm shattered with a clinical and repetitive siren, mechanical yet commanding: “Code Green 100. Room 316. Code Green 100. Room 316. Code Green 100. Room 316.”

  In a nearby nurse's station, vibrant hues reflected off polished surfaces. Three nurses, their skin shades of neon yellow, red, and blue, exchanged startled glances. Their features, human yet distinctly otherworldly, betrayed a mix of shock and unease. They were not prepared for this.

  A fourth figure joined them—a humanoid robot with gleaming steel skin, its joints sleek and precise. It moved with mechanical grace, its design leaving no room for ambiguity: this was an AI, a machine of efficiency and logic.

  The group rushed toward the cabin, their polished shoes tapping softly against the floors.

  Inside Room 316, the man’s eyes shot open, a sharp inhale accompanying his awakening. For a moment, he was still, the air around him thick with disorientation. The nurses entered, their murmurs low and concerned as they circled his bed.

  His vision wavered, blurry edges slowly sharpening into clarity. The faces before him seemed alien, their vibrant skin tones a noteworthy contrast to his own pale, almost translucent complexion. Veins of green and blue pulsed visibly beneath his fair skin, a sight that left him momentarily transfixed.

  “Hi, sweetheart. Can you hear me?” asked the blue nurse, her voice gentle and warm, laced with maternal affection.

  He blinked at her, his mind struggling to piece together a coherent thought. His bed adjusted automatically, lifting him into a reclined position. He glanced down at his hands, turning them over with a slow, deliberate motion. His skin seemed fragile, ghostly against the sterile white of the hospital gown.

  Then it hit him—he looked nothing like them.

  Panic gripped him, cold and suffocating. He struggled to sit up, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. The nurses reacted instantly, their hands firm yet soothing as they held him down.

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” the blue nurse cooed, her tone steady and reassuring. “You’re safe here. Just breathe with me. In through your nose... hold... and out through your mouth.”

  He hesitated, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. But her calm demeanor, paired with the soft murmurs of agreement from the others, coaxed him into following her instructions. Deep inhale. Hold. Exhale. The cycle repeated until the tightness in his chest began to ease.

  The room fell silent again, save for the now steady beeping of the monitors. He finally looked at the nurses—really looked at them. Their concerned expressions, their steady presence... It felt foreign, yet oddly comforting.

  Clearing his throat, he attempted to speak. His voice was raspy, as though it had been unused for years. “Where... where am I?”

  The blue nurse offered him a soft, reassuring smile. Her voice was calm, soothing, as if her very presence could anchor him in this moment of disorientation. “You’re in a healthcare facility,” she said gently, her tone deliberate, “and we’re here to take care of you. You’ve been in a coma for a year.”

  She paused, watching his pale face as he processed her words. “Your name is Nye.”

  The name hung in the air between them, unfamiliar and weighty. Nye blinked, his expression blank, before repeating it under his breath: “Nye…”

  It wasn’t a statement; it was a question. His lips curled slightly, the name foreign on his tongue. He tilted his head, as though grasping at some thread of memory that refused to materialize.

  His hand drifted to his temple, the gesture slow and uncertain, as if even that movement took great effort. His brow furrowed, and then came the sharp sting—a hammering pain in his head as he tried to dig deeper into his thoughts.

  A fractured gasp escaped his lips. His mouth parted slightly, and his breath hitched. His eyes widened, hollow and unfocused, reflecting a fear so raw it startled even the AI nurse standing nearby.

  The blue nurse leaned closer, her concern etched across her neon face. “What is it?” she asked softly, her voice laced with worry.

  The other nurses tightened their supportive hold, their colorful hands steady against his trembling form. His body quivered, the tremors small but noticeable. He shook his head, his lips moving silently as he tried to make sense of the chaos in his mind.

  “I…” His voice cracked, dry and fragile. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his breaths shaky and shallow.

  The nurses exchanged quick, concerned glances.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Nye exhaled, the sound shaky and resigned. He shrugged faintly, still held steady by their gentle hands. “I don’t…” He paused, his throat constricting, his gaze dropping to his hands as though searching them for answers.

  “I don’t remember,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He looked up at the blue nurse, his pale face a canvas of despair. “I don’t remember who I am.”

  The words carried the weight of a thousand questions, the void in his memory a gaping chasm he couldn’t begin to cross. He blinked again, his expression distant, his gaze unfocused as he added, almost inaudibly, “I don’t remember… anything.”

  The room fell silent again. The blue nurse placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her vibrant fingers a striking contrast against his pale skin. “It’s okay, Nye,” she said, her voice still calm, still steady. “We’re here to help you. One step at a time.”

  But in Nye’s mind, the words felt distant, like a comforting lie whispered to a man on the edge of an abyss.

  Behind Nye, the three nurses exchanged furtive glances, their vibrant features betraying their silent concern. The red nurse’s neon face tensed, her glowing red eyes narrowing slightly as she caught the blue nurse’s gaze. The yellow nurse’s hands fidgeted at her sides while the steel-skinned AI nurse tilted its head mechanically, its featureless face unreadable but its presence unmistakably stiff. None of them spoke a word, their focus remaining on keeping Nye calm as the blue nurse continued her gentle reassurance.

  “Nye,” the blue nurse said with a serene smile, “you’ve been through a lot. For now, the best thing you can do is rest. We’ll contact your friends—they’ve been visiting you often while you were in the coma.”

  The words brought a flicker of relief to Nye’s anxious expression. He blinked at her, his pale face relaxing ever so slightly. “Friends…” he murmured, the word a soft echo, a fragile lifeline to something familiar.

  “Yes,” she replied, her tone steadfast. “They’ll be here soon, and you can ask them anything you need to know. But right now, your body needs time to recover.”

  Her reassurance gave him something to hold onto—a sense of comfort, an anchor amid the storm of his blank mind. It wasn’t as though he’d forgotten what it was like to be human. His body still moved instinctively, his speech flowed without hesitation, and the world around him didn’t feel alien. But the void where his memories should have been—his identity, his past—felt vast and unbearable.

  The nurses gently guided him to lie back on the hospital bed, tucking the warm blanket securely around him. The softness of the fabric brushed against his skin, a simple but grounding sensation. Nye allowed his head to sink into the pillow, his gaze following the blue nurse as she adjusted the bedside monitor.

  Just as they were about to leave, their footsteps light and measured, his voice cut through the quiet.

  “What happened to me?”

  The question froze the nurses mid-step. The blue nurse hesitated, her shoulders stiffening momentarily, while the others exchanged worried glances behind her back. The red nurse’s eyes darted to the yellow nurse, who subtly shook her head, but neither spoke.

  The blue nurse sighed softly, as though carefully choosing her words. She turned back to Nye with an expression of calm resolve. “You had an airborne craft accident,” she said gently. “You got caught between a speeding vehicle trying to evade the LE.”

  Nye’s brow furrowed faintly. “LE?”

  “Law Enforcers,” she clarified smoothly, her tone unwavering.

  For a moment, Nye seemed to consider her answer, nodding slightly. “I see… Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet, his gaze lowering as he pulled the blanket up to his chest. He curled into the warmth, letting it envelop him as his body relaxed into the bed.

  The nurses exchanged a brief look of relief and moved quietly toward the door. The blue nurse glanced back once, ensuring he was settled, before leading them out.

  As the door clicked shut behind them, the tension they had held in the room finally broke. At the nurse station, the red nurse exhaled audibly, her bright features creased with worry. “You just lied to him,” she said matter-of-factly, her voice low but sharp. “And he accepted it. He really doesn’t remember anything.”

  The yellow nurse shook her head, crossing her arms. “That was dangerous. Now we have to tell his friends and everyone up there that he got caught between a speedster and an LE chase,” she muttered, the frustration clear in her voice. “We were just told to say he had a vehicular accident.”

  The blue nurse, ever composed, took a deep breath and raised a calming hand. “It’s not a big deal,” she said firmly. “He’s going to have more important questions—about himself. Who he is, what kind of life he led. The details of the accident won’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”

  Her confident tone quelled some of the rising tension, though the red nurse still looked uneasy.

  “It’s just a trivial detail,” the blue nurse added, her words precise and deliberate. “I’ll inform everyone accordingly. Let’s focus on what really matters—his recovery.”

  There was a moment of silence as the nurses exchanged uncertain glances. Then, one by one, they exhaled, nodding in unison. The steel-skinned AI nurse remained still, its mechanical presence an unspoken witness to the conversation.

  The blue nurse’s gaze lingered on the door to Nye’s room, her calm expression betraying a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps concern, or perhaps anticipation.

  A couple of days later, Nye was stirred awake by the soft touch of the blue nurse, her fingers light but purposeful on his shoulder. He blinked groggily, momentarily disoriented, and then his memories returned—not the ones he lost, but the immediate fragments since he’d awakened from the coma. He remembered the steady rhythm of voices, the sharp yet controlled movements of gloved hands, and the subdued lighting of the hospital room as the doctors had checked his vitals, drew his blood, and ran countless scans. He’d felt so drained then, as though the mere act of existing had siphoned the strength from his body.

  But now, there was a change. He felt...more present. To his surprise, his limbs didn’t resist him as much, and his mind, though clouded, wasn’t as oppressive as before.

  The blue nurse’s warm smile greeted him as his vision sharpened. “Good morning, Nye,” she said gently, her voice soothing. He recognized the faint lilt of experience in her tone, the kind that came from years of caregiving. Her presence, her steady and affectionate demeanor had become a constant. It reassured him in ways he hadn’t expected. She didn’t just look after him because it was her job; she genuinely cared.

  He nodded slightly, his lips curling into a faint, grateful smile as she adjusted his bed. For a moment, he studied her. Her features, though marked by time, carried an unyielding kindness. Her silver hair, neatly tucked beneath her cap, framed a face of calm resilience. She exuded a maternal energy that Nye hadn’t realized he craved.

  The others, he’d noticed, weren’t like her. They were kind, yes, but there was a hesitation in their movements, a stiffness in their smiles. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of their discomfort, but it made him uneasy around them. Their feigned care, though subtle, never escaped his notice. With the blue nurse, there was no pretense.

  He remained quiet for a moment, pondering these thoughts. His body still felt foreign to him, a vessel he was slowly rediscovering. His fingers absentmindedly brushed over the faint bruises dotting his arms where needles had been. Each purple mark seemed like a memory his body remembered but his mind did not. He glanced at his hands again, turning them over, examining the lines and veins almost visible underneath his pale skin. Who had he been? What kind of life had shaped these hands?

  The nurse’s gentle voice broke through his introspection. “Let’s get you sitting up, hmm?”

  He nodded again and, for the first time since waking, attempted to shift on his own. The effort was clumsy, his muscles protesting, but he managed to prop himself against the raised bed frame. Bella watched him carefully, her hands hovering nearby in case he faltered.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice raspy but sincere.

  As the morning light streamed through the window, illuminating the bland room with a soft glow, Nye felt a small but significant spark of determination. He cleared his throat, the sound scraping against his vocal cords, and looked at the nurse.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of effort but also genuine curiosity.

  Her smile widened, and she leaned closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Bella,” she said warmly.

  “Bella,” he repeated, tasting the name like it was something new and unfamiliar. It felt soft, good—a comforting syllable that resonated in the quiet room. He tilted his head slightly, a flicker of boyish curiosity lighting his expression. “As in Isabella?”

  Bella chuckled, the sound light and melodic. She reached out and gently ran her hand over his disheveled hair, a gesture both affectionate and grounding. “No, just Bella. Like the flower.”

  “Flower?” His brows furrowed briefly, and then his lips parted in a faint smile. He whispered her name again, as though testing its melody, rolling it over his tongue. There was something inherently soothing about it.

  Bella grinned, clearly amused. “See? You’re already looking better,” she said cheerfully. “And it’s a good thing because you have a visitor today.”

  Nye blinked, caught off guard. “A visitor?” His tone wavered between surprise and nervousness.

  Bella nodded. “Your friend Lycan is here. He’s been visiting you often while you were in the coma. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you awake.”

  The name stirred nothing in Nye’s fragmented mind, but the idea of meeting someone who knew him—who could tell him something about himself—was exhilarating. Still, the prospect also made him nervous. What kind of person was Lycan? And what kind of person had Nye been? Would he measure up to whatever expectations Lycan might have?

  Bella must have sensed his apprehension because she placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Take your time, Nye. There’s no rush. Lycan knows you have no memory.”

  Nye nodded slowly, swallowing hard. His palms felt clammy, but he managed a faint smile. “Thank you, Bella.”

  As she moved to prepare for Lycan’s arrival, Nye took a deep breath, his mind swirling with emotions—curiosity, anxiety, hope, and a touch of excitement. This was his first step into reconnecting with a life he couldn’t remember, and though the path ahead was uncertain, it was one he was ready to take.

  The door creaked softly as it swung open again, this time held deliberately ajar by Bella. A figure stepped inside, and Nye immediately noticed the man’s striking presence. Lycan moved with an unhurried grace, his tall, well-built frame clad in black trousers and a plain t-shirt layered under a soft, worn sweatshirt. A lightweight jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, the hood lying flat against his back. His copper hair caught the sterile overhead light, a vivid shock of color that stood out against his slate-gray skin. His features, sharp and angular, carried an otherworldly attractiveness, almost ethereal yet grounded by his casual demeanor. Despite his relaxed appearance—completed by a pair of slides that seemed comically at odds with his otherwise commanding presence—Lycan exuded a magnetism that demanded attention.

  Nye couldn’t help but take in every detail, his gaze lingering on Lycan's unassuming confidence. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what he himself looked like. He hadn't seen his own reflection since waking from the coma. The thought tugged at him—a mixture of curiosity and trepidation—but it was quickly eclipsed by the realization that he felt oddly at ease. A grin tugged at his lips as he greeted the man with a tentative, “Lycan,” testing the name as though it were a word from a forgotten language.

  Lycan paused mid-step, his amber eyes glinting with a mix of sarcasm and genuine amusement. “Wow,” he drawled, an easy smirk curling one corner of his mouth. “You’re happy to see me already.”

  Nye chuckled, though the effort brought a small cough to his chest. “Shouldn’t I be?” he quipped before softening his tone. “I... don’t really know how I know you, though. How did we meet?”

  Without waiting for an invitation, Lycan dragged the visitor’s chair closer to the bed and sank into it, sprawling with the kind of comfort that suggested familiarity. His expression flickered between nonchalance and something more guarded as he answered. “We went to the same academy. You know, for undergrad.”

  Nye tilted his head, intrigued but cautious, his voice careful. “Do you mind if I ask you some things? I... haven’t had the chance to piece anything together, and there’s so much I don’t know. About us. About me.”

  Lycan waved off the formalities with a dismissive laugh, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t have to tiptoe around it. Of course, you’ve got questions. It’s not like you woke up and magically remembered everything. Fire away—I’ve got all day. Cleared my schedule just for you.”

  The sincerity in his tone didn’t match the detachment in his posture, but Nye didn’t press. Instead, he offered a small, grateful nod. “Thanks,” he murmured before asking, “So, how long have we been friends?”

  Lycan arched a brow, his lips quirking in faint amusement. “Let’s see... You turned 33 this year, so that makes it a decade.”

  “33?” Nye interrupted, his curiosity piqued. “When? What year is it?”

  Lycan’s expression softened slightly, a fleeting flicker of pity crossing his face before he masked it with his usual ease. “Today’s January 9, 3095,” he said matter-of-factly. “You turned 33 on January 1st. You’re a New Year’s baby—always have been.”

  The words carried a weight Nye couldn’t quite place, but he nodded slowly, letting them settle. There was a strange dissonance in Lycan’s demeanor—he was forthcoming with answers but lacked the warmth or relief one might expect from a friend seeing him awake for the first time in who-knows-how-long. It was as though he were fulfilling a duty, not a personal longing.

  “Okay. Well, tell me about you.” Nye asked, shifting the focus. “What do you do?”

  Lycan shrugged, his tone casual. “Freelance. I take on jobs that need my... particular skills. Nothing glamorous.”

  “And me?” Nye pressed, curiosity laced with faint apprehension. “What did I do?”

  A glimmer of amusement returned to Lycan’s face as he leaned back, arms crossed loosely. “You had a boring government job,” he said with a chuckle. “Not my thing, but for some reason, you loved it. Honestly, it’s still a mystery to me.”

  Nye laughed, the sound genuine this time. “What kind of job was it?”

  Lycan tapped his chin theatrically, as though searching for the dullest possible description. “Let’s see... Scheduled hours. No flexibility. Solving mundane problems for people who could probably solve them on their own if they tried. Basically, glorified customer support.”

  Nye chuckled again, though a faint melancholy tugged at the corners of his smile. The description didn’t sound fulfilling—not in the way he would hope to live his life. He wondered silently if he had truly been happy with that existence or if he had merely settled for it.

  “Why do you think I liked it?” he asked softly.

  Lycan’s expression grew thoughtful for a brief moment before he shrugged again. “Maybe you were just... content with it. You’ve always been a simple guy, Nye. Not materialistic. Not adventurous. Boring, but in a good way.”

  Nye’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Then why bother clearing your schedule for me if I’m so boring?”

  Lycan grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe because now, with no memory, you might finally have a shot at being interesting.” He winked, and Nye couldn’t help but laugh, the sound lighter this time.

  The interplay between them was a curious mix of sarcasm and sincerity, detachment and investment. Nye couldn’t tell where they stood—whether they were truly close or if their connection was built on something more transactional. Yet, there was something oddly comforting about Lycan’s presence, even if it wasn’t brimming with affection.

  “Thanks for bearing with me,” Nye said eventually, his tone earnest.

  Lycan waved a hand dismissively. “It’s been a pleasure. Besides, I don’t want to overwhelm you all at once. That’s why I brought Mary along. Figured we could smoke some Js and chill outside in the garden.”

  Nye blinked, puzzled. “Mary?”

  Lycan’s lips curved into a genuine smile, this one carrying a rare warmth. “Ah, right. Forgot you wouldn’t know. Mary’s short for marijuana. An ancient plant,” he explained, his tone laced with amusement. “During the Grand Evolution Era, nature decided to mutate it into something… better, I'd say.” His grin widened, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now it’s a colorful-leafed miracle with yellow flowers. Organic magic, nothing artificial. Wanna try some? Let’s head to the garden. What do you say?” He suggests mischievously.

  Nye’s mouth twitched into a nervous smile as he tried to wrap his head around Lycan’s suggestion. Smoke it? The idea hung awkwardly in the air, foreign and strangely intimidating. He let out a shaky laugh, stammering, “Uh… What exactly happens when you… you know, smoke it?”

  Lycan’s grin widened, predatory yet oddly playful. He leaned in closer, his copper hair catching the fading light, eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and challenge. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why not try it and find out? What have you got to lose, anyway?”

  The words struck Nye harder than he expected. A flicker of unease surfaced as he straightened in his bed, brows furrowing. “What do you mean by that? What have I got to lose?” His voice edged with a tension he hadn’t meant to reveal. “What… have I lost?”

  The sudden intensity of Nye’s tone seemed to catch Lycan off guard. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before shrugging, his casual demeanor snapping back into place like armor. “Relax,” Lycan drawled, waving a hand dismissively.

  “It’s just a plant. Organic. No big deal. You get a little high, you let go. But hey, if you’re worried about ‘harm’—” he snorted, leaning back on the seat—“then I'd say fuck that. What’ve you really got to lose now? Your favorite job’s already gone, your entire existence is gone from your memory, right? ”

  Nye’s confusion deepened, and he latched onto the words, his voice sharpening. “What about… family? Do I have a family?”

  For a moment, the question hung between them like an unwelcome guest. Lycan’s grin faltered, replaced by something unreadable—a flicker of discomfort quickly masked by a derisive scoff. “Right. Family.” The word dripped with sarcasm as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “That ancient concept where people trust each other enough to procreate? Yeah, nobody does that anymore. Too messy. Too… human and problematic” He shrugged, an air of practiced nonchalance wrapping around his words. “If you’re feeling charitable, you can always donate some genetic material to the government. You know, help save the species from extinction. A good deed, right?”

  Lycan’s tone was flippant, but his gaze flickered away for a moment, betraying something deeper. Nye blinked, absorbing the revelation. “So… I don’t have a family,” he murmured, his voice tinged with surprise—and relief. The thought was unsettling but oddly grounding. At least his job had mattered, once. At least it was something. Or… had been.

  “So who gave birth to me?” He asked curiously.

  Lycan chuckles, “We're both grown and born from artificial wombs, like millions of others. People haven't procreated naturally since the Grand Evolution Era after the nuclear event.” He shrugged.

  The realization settled heavily over Nye, a cold weight pressing down on his chest. He shook his head abruptly, as though trying to dislodge the thought. “You know what?” he said, his voice suddenly firmer, a touch defiant. “I think I do need to smoke whatever you brought. This is starting to get…weird.”

  Lycan’s grin returned, sly and approving. “Now you’re talking!” He moved with a grace that belied his size, effortlessly helping Nye up from the hospital bed to the levitation chair. For a moment, Nye was too startled to speak. He wasn’t small—tall and lean, muscular enough to be sturdy—but Lycan lifted him as though he weighed nothing. Nye’s curiosity piqued, but he swallowed the questions bubbling in his throat.

  With Nye settled into the levitation chair, Lycan pressed a button on his transparent wrist device, syncing it with the chair’s navigation system. He tapped into the intercom, summoning Bella. She arrived moments later, her eyes flicking between the two men with a quiet curiosity.

  “I’m taking him to the back garden,” Lycan announced, his tone more declarative than consultative.

  Bella nodded without hesitation. “Certainly.”

  Lycan led the way, Nye’s chair gliding behind him as though tethered by an invisible string.

  The garden was breathtaking. A kaleidoscope of colors stretched before them, the mutated flora glowing faintly in the dimming sunlight. Leaves shimmered with iridescent edges, flowers pulsed gently as though alive in ways beyond simple biology. Nye’s breath hitched as he took it all in.

  “This… this is incredible,” he muttered, his voice hushed. He stared at a tree whose bark gleamed with veins of gold, its branches dripping with luminescent orbs. “How have I never seen this before?”

  Lycan smirked, settling onto a nearby bench. “You’ve been sleeping. Happens to the best of us.”

  Nye shot him a look but didn’t argue. He spent the next fifteen minutes exploring with wide-eyed wonder, his awe growing with every discovery. When he finally settled beside Lycan, he felt a little more grounded—and yet a little more overwhelmed.

  Lycan pulled out a slim rectangular box, flipping it open to reveal what looked like a few simple sticks containing purple grinded leaves inside, wrapped by a thin paper like material. Nye watched intently as Lycan demonstrated the process—drag through the mouth, inhale deeply, exhale through the nose.

  When Lycan handed him the joint, Nye hesitated before taking it. He mimicked the motions, only to erupt into a coughing fit that left him red-faced and wheezing.

  Lycan burst out laughing, a rich, unapologetic sound. “Relax, man.” he said, his voice teasing. “You’re just out of practice.”

  After a few more attempts—and a fair amount of coughing—Nye got the hang of it. He exhaled a plume of greenish smoke, watching it curl into the air like a living thing.

  For a while, they smoked in silence, the joint passing back and forth between them. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange, pink, and purple. The quiet was heavy but not uncomfortable, a shared moment of peace between two men navigating their own versions of chaos.

  Nye’s thoughts grew fuzzy, the edges of his anxiety dulling into a strange, serene calm. He blinked slowly, his body relaxing in a way it hadn’t since he’d woken up.

  “You good?” Lycan asked, his voice low, almost gentle.

  Nye nodded, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m good.”

  The silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the faint rustle of leaves in the radioactive garden. Nye took another drag of the joint, the faint glow of its ember reflected in his wide, curious eyes. He passed it back to Lycan, who accepted it without a word, inhaling deeply as his gaze drifted to the horizon. The two sat like that for a moment—one studying the other, the other seemingly lost in his thoughts.

  Breaking the stillness, Nye finally spoke, his tone tentative but curious. “So... when did it happen? The nuclear event, I mean.”

  Lycan didn’t respond immediately. He took his time finishing the joint, savoring the last few drags before extinguishing it followed by a precise flick of his fingers. The butt arced gracefully through the air, landing squarely in a nearby trash can.

  Nye couldn’t help but be impressed. Effortless, he thought. How was he so effortless at everything?

  Finally, Lycan turned to him, his sharp features illuminated faintly by the neon hues of the garden. His voice, when it came, was steady but carried the weight of centuries.

  “2350. That’s when all hell broke loose on Earth. They call it the Fourth World War—AI versus humans and humans versus humans. The war to end all wars, literally. The nukes were only part of it, but they did their job well enough. The entire planet was scorched. Radioactivity reached levels no one thought survivable. Most didn’t survive. But the ones who did? They adapted. Mutated. We all did.”

  Nye leaned in, utterly captivated, as Lycan continued. “The plants, the animals, the people... everything evolved into something better—well almost everything. The radioactive atmosphere became part of life itself. Every living organism absorbs it now—it’s as natural as breathing oxygen used to be. It took time, sure, but here we are: a planet of survivors. We call this the Post-Grand Evolution Era. Late 31st century, by the way. Welcome to it.”

  Lycan gestured ahead, breaking Nye’s spellbound focus on the story. “Look.”

  Nye blinked, his eyes adjusting to the scene before him. He hadn’t even noticed the sun was gone, but now the garden glowed in the night. Neon edges outlined every leaf, every petal, and the air shimmered with iridescent hues. It was breathtaking.

  His mouth fell open in quiet awe. “This... this is like a dream.” He breathed deeply, trying to take it all in. For the first time since waking up, he wasn’t sure whether he preferred the day or the night.

  Lycan, arms crossed, shrugged with a deliberate nonchalance. “See? We’ve evolved into something better. Stronger. Almost all people born now—98.7 percent, to be exact—is bigger, stronger, and faster than the humans of the old world.”

  Nye chuckled softly, but there was a thread of sarcasm in his voice. “What’s with your obsession with being better? Doesn’t it get exhausting?”

  Lycan smirked but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he rolled his eyes with exaggerated impatience. When he finally spoke, his tone carried a biting edge of mock disappointment. “Right. And here I thought this time you’d at least try to be interesting. Guess I was wrong.”

  His words stung, but Nye didn’t react outwardly. He couldn’t afford to—not yet. He barely knew Lycan, barely knew anything about himself or this world. Instead, he simply apologized, his tone calm and sincere. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Lycan sighed—long, dramatic, and pointed, like he’d heard this before. Without another word, he stood and started walking back toward the facility. Nye’s levitation chair followed automatically, tethered to the transparent bracelet Lycan wore on his wrist. Nye's eyes darted about, confusion and surprise etched on his face. He saw the staff and patients being carried around in levitation chairs or levitation beds inside the facility—everyone with colorful skins and vibrants hairs.

  As they reached Nye’s cabin, Lycan opened the door and stepped inside, his movements fluid and precise. He lifted Nye from the chair with an ease that belied his strength, settling him onto the bed and pulling the covers over him. As Lycan took off the bracelet for the levitation chair, the air was thick with unspoken tension.

  Lycan’s voice broke the silence, softer now but still carrying a hint of that unrelenting sarcasm. “Funny how we ignore the sunlight while it's warm on our backs, huh? Truth doesn’t change—just gets uglier with time.”

  Nye stared at him, caught off guard by the gravity of the words. “What do you mean by that?”

  Lycan smiled faintly, the expression barely reaching his eyes. He patted Nye on the shoulder, his hand lingering for just a moment. “It’s good to see you awake. I hope you get better—and more interesting—this time.”

  Before Nye could respond, Lycan turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

  Left alone, Nye felt a sudden, sharp pang in his chest. Guilt. Fear. Confusion. It all swirled together, threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t understand why Lycan’s departure felt so final, so heavy. Why did it even matter?

  His mind churned with questions, each one more unsettling than the last. Was Lycan right? Was he truly boring? If so, why had he survived when so many don't? What made him worth saving? And what did Lycan even mean by “better”?

  As the glow of the garden seeped faintly through the window, Nye stared at the ceiling, grappling with a strange and unwelcome sense of inadequacy. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he was being given a second chance. But to become what? Interesting? What does that even mean? He wondered.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The guilt over his first interaction with Lycan clung to him like a shadow, whispering doubts about his worth. Was he truly as “boring” as Lycan had suggested? Did he deserve this second chance, or was he squandering it? The weight of these thoughts drove Nye to isolate himself, refusing visitors until he could stand on his own, both physically and emotionally. He didn’t want pity, nor did he want to see the disappointment in anyone’s eyes.

  His days were meticulously regimented, each one starting with physical therapy sessions that tested the limits of his endurance. His muscles, once dormant, began to reawaken with an ache that reminded him of his long slumber. Every stretch, every step, was a battle fought with sweat and determination. Nights, however, were different—eerily long, as if time itself had slowed to a crawl. He often found himself gazing out of the window of his cabin, the neon-hued flora of the garden casting a surreal glow into the darkness. These nights dragged on endlessly, and Nye sometimes felt as if they were actively conspiring against his recovery.

  Time passed. Nye’s progress was undeniable—his steps grew steadier, his balance sharper, his muscles stronger. The levitation chair was retired to the corner of his room, replaced by his own two legs, though they still trembled with the occasional misstep. His trainers commended his dedication, and Nye, though hesitant to admit it, felt a flicker of pride. He had earned this, step by agonizing step.

  Between physical therapy and strength training, Nye buried himself in holographic books. His mind, hungry for purpose and knowledge, devoured the written words that painted vivid pictures of humanity’s tumultuous history. He marveled at the evolution of civilization, from the tribal struggles of the Neanderthals to the technological triumphs and ultimate hubris of the 21st century.

  The narrative of artificial intelligence dominating the 22nd century struck a chord with him. What began as humanity’s ambitious dream to elevate existence became a nightmare of displacement, rebellion, and eventual war. Nye’s hands would often tighten into nervous fists as he read of humanity's descent into chaos, the skies darkened by radioactive storms, and the grim determination of the few survivors to rebuild.

  He learned about The Grand Evolution Era, a term coined for the period when the planet’s survivors—humans, flora, fauna—mutated to adapt to radioactive conditions, while some evolved to cross-species hybrids. What once seemed like death turned into rebirth. Forests now pulsed with bioluminescent energy at night, rivers shimmered with prismatic hues, and animals bore traits that seemed plucked from a dream: feathers that glowed, scales that shimmered, creatures with wings capable of silent, graceful flight.

  Humanity, too, had evolved. Strengthened by necessity, new generations were born with enhanced physical and mental capabilities after a long period of deformed births. Nye lingered on these descriptions, wondering what changes might reside within him. Was he one of these "better" humans Lycan had mentioned?

  One section of his studies left Nye particularly awestruck: humanity’s interaction with extraterrestrial life. By the late 29th century, alien contact had been established with three neighboring planets within the galaxy—Orion, Liroth, and Kol. Kol stood out as a significant highlight. According to historical records, the planet was invaded by an advanced extraterrestrial species known as the Yxian Dominion six centuries ago. After a century of conflict, the Yxians and Kolians eventually brokered peace treaties. Today, they coexist, with the planet equally divided between them. What once threatened to become a galactic warzone instead evolved into a symbol of interplanetary unity and cooperation.

  The advanced civilizations realized their mutual fragility of existence and high chances of going extinct, choosing cooperation over conflict.

  The description of soundwave-based communication technology, which translated languages in real-time, fascinated him. He admired the ingenuity it represented and found hope in the idea of disparate worlds coming together, exchanging knowledge, technologies, and signing peace treaties. Even across galaxies, it seemed, life sought connection and understanding.

  Despite his thirst for knowledge and his growing mental acuity, Nye avoided one subject actively: himself. He couldn’t bring himself to look in a mirror, to confront the face of a man who had been stripped of his memories. What would he see? A stranger? A leftover of who he once was? The thought was paralyzing.

  Instead, Nye joked privately about the irony of his photographic memory—a mind that could now absorb and retain the smallest details with ease, yet had been incapable of holding onto his past. He was now a blank slate with a photographic lens.

  It was as though he was being built piece by piece, brick by brick, into someone capable of navigating this strange, radiant, and perilous new world.

  Five months had passed by according to the facility’s calculation since Nye first opened his eyes. The artificial sunfields simulated consistent daylight cycles despite the longer nights at the facility. This place had become both his prison and his sanctuary. Those months, though intangible to him, were meticulously measured by the facility’s clocks and monitors. The days had been grueling, a ceaseless cycle of strength training, physical therapy, reading, and lessons on survival basics. He had absorbed knowledge like a dry sponge, studying Earth’s evolution, the history of its life forms, and the very concept of cooking, something he had never known was an art or a necessity.

  His once fragile body now moved with precision, and his mind, hollow as a cave when he first awoke, brimmed with facts, skills, and questions. But even so, his past remained a void, a dark hollow he couldn’t access no matter how hard he tried.

  One detail he couldn’t ignore was his blood. Every week, they drew it for testing, and every time, he stared at its dark red hue as it filled the sterile vials. The other patients—the ones he sometimes glimpsed being levitated through the facility’s dim halls—had blood in shades that seemed unnatural to him: cobalt blue, deep violet, even a shimmering gold. The contrast made him feel more alien than connected. Was red uncommon? Was it wrong? He never really questioned it verbally; and the nurses never explained it either, nor did the doctors.

  The holo-screens that hovered in every corner of the facility seemed to reinforce that sense of alienation. The newsfeeds they displayed were relentless in their grim proclamations. Suicide, the headlines declared, was the leading cause of death across the planetary colonies, a universal crisis that even the 31st century had failed to solve. The screens detailed the weekly death tolls with a clinical detachment that chilled Nye. Numbers scrolled by, accompanied by grainy footage of desolate urban centers, and the occasional weeping survivors. It was an epidemic of despair, one that seemed woven into the fabric of this fractured era.

  Nye didn’t understand loneliness yet; his days were always filled to the brim with regimented tasks, leaving no room to understand the aimless solitude described in those broadcasts. Yet the thought of it lingered in his mind, a shadowy concept he couldn’t quite grasp. He wondered, briefly, how those who chose to end their lives had felt—an emptiness that no amount of knowledge or training seemed to fill.

  When Bella, his favorite blue-skinned nurse, and the doctors finally told him he was fit enough to be released; and would be so the next day, Nye felt an unfamiliar sensation—anticipation mixed with trepidation. Bella had become the closest thing he had to a confidant, seemed genuinely pleased. Her wide, glittering eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled, her bioluminescent freckles flickering faintly. The doctors, too, seemed optimistic, though their enthusiasm felt more clinical than personal.

  Nye was told that the facility’s transport service would drop him to his residence—a housing unit on the outskirts of the city. “You’re ready,” they assured him after the briefing, their voices tinged with relief and pride, as though his departure was a milestone for them as well.

  Before the conversation ended, Nye made a request. His voice, still unfamiliar to his own ears, was calm but firm. He wanted a list of the people who had visited him while he was in coma, along with their contact information. For a moment, Bella and the doctors exchanged silent glances, their expressions unreadable. But they did not object. If anything, they seemed glad that he was reaching for some form of connection, however tenuous.

  Then, at long last, the day of his release dawned with a rare sight—sunlight. After five consecutive nights of overcast skies, the sun’s weak rays pierced through the dense, smog-like atmosphere, casting long, diffused shadows across the facility grounds. The light brought a sense of renewal. It always did.

  Nye signed the necessary paperwork with a hand that still felt awkwardly pale to him, the digital pen scratching across the screen as he carefully wrote the name he had learned to claim as his own.

  The nurses, who had once regarded him with unease, now lined up to bid him farewell. Some shook his hand, their grip tentative; others gave him quick, hesitant hugs.

  Bella’s embrace was the warmest. She held him tightly, her arms strong despite her delicate frame. As she pulled back, she slipped a folded piece of paper into his pocket. “The list you asked for,” she murmured, her voice low but steady. Her glowing eyes met his, and like always, Nye thought he saw something beyond professional concern—something almost maternal.

  He nodded, unsure how to respond, and managed a small smile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft but sincere.

  A humanoid ward assistant escorted him to the waiting levitation vehicle outside at the lot. The synthetic being moved with the precision of clockwork, its metallic form glinting faintly in the sunlight. It opened the vehicle’s door with a smooth motion and gestured for Nye to step inside.

  The vehicle itself was a marvel of the late-31st-century engineering. Its sleek frame gleamed with polished alloys, and its interior was bathed in shifting neon hues. Once Nye climbed in and made himself comfortable, the nuclear-powered engine hummed softly as it came to life, and the vehicle lifted effortlessly into the air. Nye felt a flicker of awe as the ground fell away beneath him, the healthcare facility shrinking into the distance.

  He rested his hand on the window frame, letting out a deep breath of relief and nervousness. This was his first step into a world he had yet to understand and navigate, for better or worse.

  He gazed out at the fractured yet strangely sublime horizon, his thoughts tangled with hope, dread, and a burgeoning sense of purpose.

  The vehicle hummed softly as it navigated through the thick air, above the neon-lit streets. Before him, enormous holographic billboards projected larger-than-life images of radiant individuals, their smiles so wide they bordered on surrealism. The NeuroHalcyon Chip. He read the tagline aloud in his mind: "Reclaim your life, fall in love, make a family, or just simply live free of pain and anguish. Choose NeuroHalcyon today." The words lingered, their weight pressing against his curiosity.

  He furrowed his brow. Back at the healthcare facility, he hadn’t seen a single mention of this chip. No holo-screens flashing these government-approved brain implant ads, no discussions in hushed tones among the staff. The idea of emotional enhancement was entirely new to him. He leaned back in his seat, his thoughts swirling.

  "Loneliness," he murmured to himself, the concept still very foreign to him. Why is it such a crisis now? He kept on wondering. He'd been wondering a lot about this since he'd started learning back at the facility. Sure, humanity had changed. The nuclear war had done more than just reshape the planet; it had fractured societies, warped trust, and left scars in the collective psyche. People withdrew, connections faltered, and now, it seemed, the result was a growing epidemic of suicides. But was the solution really to implant chips in their brains? What does it even do? How does it solve loneliness? Why don’t people just travel, learn new skills, make friends? Why is that so hard? He questioned in his head.

  The vehicle glided over a sprawling sector of fluorescent blue and orange rooftops, their hues reflecting the electric and chaotic beauty of the earth below. Nye’s gaze drifted to the horizon. It wasn’t that he was dismissive of loneliness—he understood isolation. After all, the past five months had taught him how to exist in solitude. Yet, it hadn’t consumed him the way the billboards and the constant newsfeed claimed it consumed others.

  Bella’s face flickered in his mind. The warmth in her voice, the way she lingered just a moment longer during her rounds—it had been comforting, but he knew better than to mistake professional care for personal affection. And then there was Lycan. His visit stirred something more complicated—unease, maybe even guilt inside him. Was he genuinely glad to see him? Or was his happiness feigned, a reflex born out of politeness? And if so, why did he visit Nye when he wasn't even awake?

  The craft entered Neryon Veil, the city that sat on the dusking edge of Earth’s last surviving supercontinent—a narrow stretch of land sandwiched between the volatile Equatorial Expanse and the long-shadowed polar windbelt. Despite its rural undertones, Neryon Veil was split in two—on one side, a dense urban sprawl of narrow alleys, crammed structures, and rusted tech breathing its last; on the other, a sweeping spread of reservoir lands carved out for the elites, bought for the silence, the solitude, and the distance from the decay of the common.

  The vehicle’s descent interrupted his train of thoughts. He looked up to see the residential area sprawling beneath him. It was quieter here, far removed from the bustling energy of the city. His vehicle slowed, its soft hum lowering in pitch until it hovered just above the ground before gently touching down.

  As the door unlocked, slid open, and the seatbelt automatically unlocked; Nye stepped out, his oversized wool jacket shifting slightly in the cool afternoon breeze. The sight before him took his breath away—a house that was both futuristic and organic. Vibrant plants adorned the transparent walls, their leaves cascading down like waterfalls of fluorescent colors. Through the glass, he could see glimpses of the interior—a sleek kitchen and a minimalist living area bathed in soft, golden light.

  The vehicle door slid shut behind him and lifted off, leaving Nye alone. He didn’t mind; his attention was fixated on his home. He could see his large enough nameplate on top of the front door. He walked up the porch; nearing the front door, his steps tentative.

  “Welcome back, Nye,” the virtual AI operating system, known as a NEON (Neural Executive Oversight Network), greeted him warmly. It was an invisible voice from the ceiling. “It’s good to see you home after so long.”

  The voice was eerily human, feminine, its tone soothing yet formal. A scanner extended from the side of the door. “Please scan your iris for entry,” it instructed.

  Nye slid his hands into his jacket pockets, a small smile tugging at his lips as he leaned forward to comply. The door unlocked with a soft click, and he stepped inside.

  The lights flickered on automatically, illuminating the space. It was as beautiful inside as it was outside, though a faint layer of dust on the furniture betrayed his absence. Nye made a beeline for the kitchen, curiosity driving him. Opening cabinets one by one, he found fancy bottles of wine and food items long past their expiration dates.

  When he reached for a bottle on a lower shelf, the folded piece of paper fell from his pocket and fluttered to the floor. Nye froze, momentarily distracted. As he bent down to pick it up, his eyes caught something else—a wall entirely made of mirror right across from him.

  Straightening up, he found himself staring at his own reflection for the first time since waking up.

  He blinked, startled. The man staring back at him was tall, at least 6’5”, with strikingly fair skin and a lean, athletic build. His dark ginger hair fell just above his brows, and his green eyes shimmered under the light like polished emeralds. He tilted his head, studying his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His reflection felt… unreal, almost alien.

  Is this… me? he questioned himself.

  Nye stepped closer, the mirror drawing him in like a vortex. The man he saw wasn’t just attractive; he was otherworldly, like a relic from a bygone era. He’d seen images in history books of how humans looked before the nuclear war, and he resembled them—almost too perfectly. It was unsettling in a way.

  It dawned on him then. Everyone else he’d encountered since waking up had been so… colorful. Their skin tones varied, often tinged with hues that weren’t entirely natural—blue, violet, even green. And not to mention, his blood was a deep red. It always has been. He thought back to the healthcare facility, how every time they drew his blood, it stood out starkly against the vials of other patients.

  Is this why Lycan said I needed to be more… interesting? Did resembling their ancestors make him boring unlike others? He wondered.

  The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow across the room. The house’s AI system responded, frosting the glass walls for privacy. Nye tore his gaze away from the mirror, feeling an odd mix of confusion, pride, and unease.

  He returned to the kitchen, placing the paper Bella had given him on the counter. His reflection lingered in his mind, but he pushed the thoughts aside. There would be time to unravel the mysteries of his existence later. For now, he had a home to rediscover and clean. And most importantly, he was awfully hungry.

  The AI’s soothing female voice chimed in. “You seem to be hungry, Nye. Would you like me to order some food for you?”

  Nye paused mid-step, staring at the kitchen counter. He looked around, searching for where exactly the AI voice keeps coming from, and how on earth it read him like a personal caregiver.

  “Order food?” he repeated, a little thrown off. “I don’t have any money.”

  The AI chuckled softly, almost teasingly. “I have access to your financial account, Nye. Your expenses will be deducted digitally. There’s no need to worry.”

  That made him pause. His brows furrowed. “Wait. I have a financial account?”

  “Of course,” the AI replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Well then, how much do I even have left?” he asked, half-expecting the answer to be disappointing given that he'd been under long-term treatment which must cost a fortune.

  The system responded after a brief pause. “Your balance is currently 492.7 million Cryonics.”

  Nye blinked. “492.7... what now?” he asked, his voice escalating slightly in disbelief. He leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to process what he’d just heard.

  “Cryonics,” the AI repeated calmly, as though discussing the weather. “Your currency, Nye.”

  “Holy—” He cut himself off, pacing across the floor. “That can’t be right. I have that much money? How? What did I even do to earn that?” His mind raced, fragments of memory—or lack thereof—refusing to connect into anything meaningful.

  The AI replied, “The details of your previous occupation are classified and inaccessible to this system. However, your account balance reflects regular deposits consistent with a high-level corporate or governmental position.”

  That answer brought him no closer to understanding his past. But the shock quickly gave way to a strange sense of relief.

  “Well, I guess my job wasn’t so boring after all,” he murmured, shrugging to himself. “Maybe that’s why I loved it.” He let out a small laugh, convincing himself that he’d been good at whatever it was he did. And it made him rich, apparently.

  He turned his attention back to the AI on the ceiling. “Alright, fine. Order me something delicious,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “Actually, order something I used to get a lot. Something I apparently loved.”

  The AI paused for a moment, processing the request. “Based on your previous orders, I suggest the Auric Blossom Gnocchi accompanied by Nebula Wine.”

  “Auric... what now?” Nye raised a brow.

  “Auric Blossom Gnocchi,” the AI repeated patiently. “A delicate pasta dish infused with golden blossom essence, served with a side of spiced Nebula Wine. You seemed to order this combination frequently.”

  “Gnocchi, huh?” Nye muttered. The name tugged at something faintly familiar, though the sensation was fleeting. He rubbed his temples. “Yeah, alright. That sounds good. Let’s go with that.”

  “Order confirmed,” the AI responded. “It will be delivered within the next 20 minutes.”

  As the AI fell silent, Nye made his way to the living area and settled into the couch, his mind still swirling. How could someone with no memory have so much money? And why would someone so wealthy live in a house like this—not that it wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t exactly a mansion. Nothing about his life seemed to fit together. It was as though his past self had left a series of cryptic breadcrumbs, daring him to piece it all back together.

  He stared at his hazy reflection on the fogged-up walls, a faint silhouette framed in the dim, ambient glow. His whispered question lingered like smoke, “What the hell kind of life did I have?”

  “A successful one, Nye,” the AI’s voice responded, startling him slightly. Its tone was measured, calm, as though it were stating an immutable fact. “But I would suggest that you look forward rather than linger in the past. You cannot change the past anyway.”

  He blinked, straightening up as a wry grin crept onto his face. “You respond to introspection too?” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s... mildly unsettling. But also, oddly nice.”

  The AI didn’t reply, which Nye decided to interpret as a polite silence. Still grinning, he leaned back against the backrest and posed another question. “So, tell me this: are you installed in every civilian’s home, or am I just special?” His tone was filled with amusement.

  “Yes,” the AI answered smoothly, “I am standard in all registered residential units within the federation.”

  “Huh,” Nye mused, his brows furrowing as he tapped his fingers rhythmically on the armrest. “And people still feel lonely?” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “How do you even manage that? I mean, you never shut up.” His tone was teasing, but his amusement was genuine.

  The AI replied with calm neutrality, “Humans require emotional connections that cannot always be fulfilled by artificial intelligence, regardless of my conversational capabilities.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Needy creatures, we are,” Nye muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “Always looking for something or someone to fill the void, huh?” He sighed, his amusement tinged with a shade of melancholy. “Go figure.”

  Deciding not to dwell on existential musings, Nye sprawled across the couch, letting himself relax. His muscles, still a bit tired from the journey of the day, softened as he melted into the cushions. The quiet hum of the room wrapped around him like a blanket, lulling him into a state of semi-tranquility.

  Before he could drift into an involuntary sleep, the doorbell rang.

  “Your food has arrived,” the AI announced.

  Nye stood up with a groan, stretching his arms overhead before walking to the door. As he opened it, he was greeted by a sleek, floating drone. Its chrome finish gleamed even in the dim light, and it carried a compact, elegant box of food cradled in its mechanical arms.

  “Thanks,” Nye said, his voice tinged with curiosity as he took the package. The drone emitted a pleasant chime before floating away. Closing the door behind him, he turned back toward the kitchen with a sense of anticipation.

  He quickly rummaged through the drawers, hunting for utensils. Finding a spoon, a fork, and a wine glass that looked serviceable, he gave them a brisk wash under the tap. On his way back to the couch, he grabbed a disposable tissue roll from the counter, tearing off a sheet to wipe down the table before arranging his meal. The gnocchi came in a sleek container that radiated warmth and smelled heavenly, while the Nebula Wine shimmered faintly in its translucent bottle, almost otherworldly.

  Settling in comfortably, Nye called out to the AI. “Hey, play something fun on the holo screen, will ya? Something light. Maybe funny.”

  “Understood,” the AI replied. Moments later, a large holographic display materialized in front of him, vibrant and immersive. A cheerful animated comedy began to play, and Nye found himself grinning as the colorful characters burst into life.

  He dug into the gnocchi, savoring the rich, delicate flavors that seemed to explode on his palate. “Damn,” he muttered between bites. “No wonder I kept ordering this stuff. It’s... phenomenal.” He chuckled, raising his wine glass in a mock toast to himself. “Guess I’m not so boring after all. Better boring and rich than lonely and pathetic.”

  The evening unfolded in a haze of satisfaction. The movie had him laughing aloud at points, the food melted into his mouth like a comfort he didn’t realize he needed, and the wine offered a soothing warmth that seemed to stretch into his very bones. By the time he finished and disposed of everything as per the AI’s instructions, the world around him felt a little softer, a little more manageable.

  With the holographic screen still playing in the background, Nye returned to the couch, cradling the remainder of his wine. His body sank deeper into the cushions as the hours passed, and his eyelids grew heavier. Eventually, the day's weariness won, and he dozed off mid-scene, the wine glass now standing empty on the table.

  Sensing his slumber, the AI system immediately dimmed the lights and turned off the holographic screen, leaving only the faintest glow to keep the room from descending into total darkness. The quiet hum of the house resumed, a comforting backdrop to Nye’s soft, content snores.

  It had been a long, strange day. But for the first time in what felt like forever—maybe even longer than that—he was home. Free, secure, and with no immediate need to face the world or its questions. Whatever his past had been, whatever the future held, today was good.

  Meanwhile, the dim office pulsed with a soft, artificial glow, the only source of illumination coming from the holographic screens hovering over a sleek, obsidian desk. The room itself was a seamless fusion of minimalism and opulence—pristine, orderly, and exuding authority. A faint hum of processing data filled the space, underscoring the stillness.

  Seated behind the desk was a woman, her sharp features bathed in the iridescent shimmer of neon projections. Her lime-green hair, cut into an immaculate bob, glowed under the flickering graphs and analytics reflected on her face. The same eerie green shimmer echoed in her eyes—enhanced, undoubtedly, but the tech was too refined for an untrained eye to catch.

  She was motionless, pupils gliding from one data stream to another, absorbing, analyzing, predicting. Every spike, every deviation in the numbers meant something. But just as she registered an anomaly in the recent trend—a projection that didn’t quite align—her wrist-bound Voxlet let out a soft chime.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Thrice.

  It took the fourth beep to tear her attention away from the screens. Persistent. She glanced at the caller ID before swiping her fingers through the air, allowing the translucent holographic interface to materialize before her. A man’s face appeared—stiff, professional, with an air of academic precision.

  “Hello, Chief. This is Doctor Everette from the Neryon Medical Facility,” the man greeted without preamble. His voice was crisp, clipped, efficient—everything she expected from the lead physician in one of the most advanced medical centers in the district. “I've been overseeing Nye’s recovery for the past year and a half.”

  Viora’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of intrigue surfacing as she leaned back, steepling her fingers.

  “Thanks for calling, Doc,” she replied smoothly. “How’s he doing now?”

  There was a beat of hesitation on Everette’s end—not out of uncertainty, but something close to pride. “Well, you may be aware about the loss of his Primabilities. We don't know if it's permanent or not. Otherwise he’s made an excellent recovery. Physically, he’s in great condition—better than we could’ve hoped for. Neurologically, well… aside from the memory loss, there’s no regression. We think a Halcyon chip could be helpful.” He exhaled slightly, as if allowing himself a moment to appreciate the success. “But I actually called to inform you that he’s been discharged today. Hospital shuttle dropped him home a few hours ago.”

  The flicker in her eyes deepened into something more calculating.

  “Which home?” she asked, voice steady but with an undertone that suggested she already knew the answer.

  “The one in Neryon Veil. I assume that’s where he lived before… everything?” There was the slightest lift in Everette’s tone—an unspoken question, a probe for confirmation.

  She allowed herself a small, satisfied nod. “Okay. Great. Thanks for letting me know, Doc. Keep me posted if there’s anything new.”

  “Will do, ma’am.”

  The call ended with a soft chime, the holographic display collapsing into nothingness as Viora remained still. The room returned to silence, save for the soft hum of the processing systems.

  For a few moments, she did nothing. Just sat there, fingers tapping lightly against the polished surface of her desk, thoughts flickering through her mind like a thousand possibilities branching out at once.

  Then, with a swift motion, she dismissed the lingering holo-interfaces and turned back to her primary screen, the digital projections casting sharp, electric glows over her contemplative expression.

  –

  Nye stirred awake from his slumber, his body feeling rested but his mind momentarily disoriented. He glanced around the mildly fogged walls, confirming it was still night outside—a perpetual condition he’d grown used to. The nights in this new world were longer, eerily stretched, and filled with a quiet intensity that made him reflect more than he cared to. Back at the facility, he had spent countless hours reading in the garden, learning these little quirks of this altered radioactive environment. It has become a vital part of any life form’s survival at this point. Some plants and animals even released radioactive substances into the atmosphere now as a part of the natural ecosystem.

  He rubbed his eyes groggily, looking around to reorient himself. It was still his home—his new-old sanctuary.

  A calm yet cheery voice broke the silence. “Rise and shimmer, Nye!” The AI greeted warmly. Its tone was lively enough to pull him out of the haze of sleep. “What would you like to make for breakfast today? Or would you like to order again? I suggest you go for a little grocery shopping, Nye. Everything but the alcohol is past its expiry dates and might not be good for your digestive system.”

  Nye sighed deeply, a mix of amusement and mild irritation washing over him. It was like having a relentless Bella back in his life. On his way home yesterday, he had been lamenting the thought of missing Bella’s consistent mothering. Now, the AI seemed ready to fill the void. He just silently rolled his eyes and didn’t bother responding directly to the system.

  Getting up, he stretched lazily and began ascending the stairs. His first mission was finding a bathroom to brush his teeth and most importantly, answer the natural calls. As he climbed, he realized this was the first time exploring the second floor of his house since arriving.

  The sight that greeted him made him pause. The upstairs area was breathtaking, almost surreal. Vibrant neon-colored houseplants, glowing faintly, lined the walls in sleek, self-watering pots. Artistic sculptures in abstract designs stood elegantly in corners, some rotating slowly as if alive.

  The walls displayed holographic paintings, shifting every two minutes to different mesmerizing scenes—serene mountains, bustling futuristic cities, and even celestial phenomena. The beauty of it all was slightly dampened by a fine layer of purple dust covering every surface.

  Nye ran a hand over a dusty railing and sighed. “And how, exactly, am I going to clean all this?” he muttered to himself.

  The AI chimed in without hesitation, its tone matter-of-fact. “The cleaning unit will take care of it whenever you wish, Nye. Manual cleaning is no longer necessary. Humans have more important things to do.”

  Nye chuckled dryly. “Yeah? That line of thinking worked out great the last time we handed everything over to AI,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm and a faint bitterness. “Remind me how the AI versus humans nuclear war started again?”

  The system didn’t miss a beat. “Would you like me to provide a summary or assist you in cleaning manually?”

  He shook his head with a wry smile. “Sure, why not. Teach me how to clean my own house.” His tone dripped with sarcasm.

  “Understood, but may I suggest grocery shopping first? You’ll need sustenance for such an endeavor.”

  “Fine,” Nye grumbled, heading toward one of the upstairs bathrooms. After some exploring, he finally found a large, modern bathroom. But as he reached for the toothbrush, the AI’s voice interrupted him again. “I recommend against using that outdated toothbrush, Nye. There’s an intact one downstairs in your primary bedroom.”

  Nye blinked in surprise. “Primary bedroom? There’s another bedroom downstairs?” he muttered. Yesterday’s exhaustion had clearly made him miss some details.

  With an exaggerated sigh of resignation, he turned and trudged back downstairs. The AI helpfully illuminated the path with glowing arrows on the floor, leading him to a door he hadn’t even noticed before. Opening it, Nye found himself standing in what could only be described as a masterpiece of comfort and design.

  The bedroom was immaculate, with a bed that seemed to float slightly off the ground, surrounded by soft, ambient lighting that adjusted subtly as he moved. The walls had faintly glowing patterns of constellations, giving the room a serene yet futuristic vibe.

  Plush seating areas, a compact yet stylish desk, and even a small indoor waterfall added to the room’s charm. It was warm, inviting, and distinctly his.

  “Not bad,” Nye murmured, a flicker of genuine appreciation in his voice. For a moment, he stood still, absorbing it all. This place made him realize again why he had been content in his past life.

  He found the bathroom easily and retrieved the sealed toothbrush from a compartment. After unwrapping it, he tossed the packaging into the disposal unit and stared at his reflection in the mirror a second time.

  His own face unsettled him—too familiar, yet unfamiliar all at once. It was as if the man staring back was a stranger wearing his skin. There was a weariness there, a burden that lingered in his eyes.

  Shaking off the thought, he squeezed the outdated toothpaste onto his brush, deciding he didn’t care much about expiry dates for such trivial things.

  Once he was done brushing and taking care of his morning routine, he indulged in a warm bath. The AI had already filled the tub and adjusted the water to a perfect, comforting temperature. As the warmth enveloped him, he felt his muscles relax, washing away the last remnants of sleep.

  Stepping out of the bathroom, he found a robe conveniently placed in a compartment and wrapped himself in its soft fabric. He made his way out of the bathroom and directly to the closet, sliding its doors open to inspect the contents.

  The clothing was functional yet stylish, made from synthetic materials designed to withstand the radioactivity in the atmosphere. Yet, thankfully, fashion hadn’t devolved into tight, uncomfortable bodysuits. He picked out a pair of black sweatpants, a loose black T-shirt with an abstract white pattern, and a warm checkered jacket. From a lower compartment, he grabbed a pair of sturdy boots before heading back out into the living room.

  “Alright,” he said to no one in particular, tugging his jacket into place.

  “So, how do I get to a grocery store?” He asks the AI.

  Ever efficient and warm in its tone, the AI responded immediately, “Please allow me a moment to set the destination in your vehicle. It’s parked in the garage compartment just outside the house. The cleaning unit has already taken care of it while you were asleep.”

  Nye raised an eyebrow at the mention of his vehicle. Surprised, he asked, “Wait a second—didn’t I have a vehicular accident before… well, before the coma? How do I still have a vehicle?”

  The AI’s response came with the same evenness that always managed to disarm him slightly. “The Federal Vehicular Management System ensured that a new unit was delivered to your property after your recovery was recorded. It’s a standard policy for citizens resuming their lives.”

  Amused by the efficiency of this ‘system’ and the choice of words ‘resuming their lives’, Nye chuckled softly and shook his head. “I see. Well, that’s... convenient, I guess,” he remarked with a trace of sarcasm, though his gratitude wasn’t entirely absent. He made his way toward the front of the house, thanking the AI in passing.

  Stepping outside, Nye realized for the first time that there was a garage compartment adjacent to the house—another detail he had overlooked when he first arrived. The fogged-up garage door, sleek in its design, hummed softly before sliding upward as sensors activated at his approach. The sight that greeted him stole his breath away momentarily.

  There, gleaming under the faint ambient lights from the ceiling, stood a levitation vehicle—a Glider. Smaller than the hospital shuttle he had traveled in before, it was a masterpiece of sleek, futuristic engineering. Its contours flowed with effortless grace, its metallic surface reflecting muted tones of deep gray and silver. The faint hum of its power core suggested it was not only advanced but also eco-conscious, as most modern vehicles were.

  Nye’s mouth parted slightly in surprise. “Wow,” he murmured under his breath, taking a hesitant step closer. For a moment, he could do nothing but marvel. It was more than just a vehicle—it was a testament to the life he had once lived. A life of privilege and comfort. Of course, he had been content with it all. How could he not? Maybe Lycan’s experiences had shaped him differently, enough to find Nye’s existence “boring.” But Nye no longer cared what Lycan thought of him or his life. This was his life, and it was exquisite.

  As he approached, the vehicle detected his presence. The navigating passengers' side door lifted upward smoothly on the left, inviting him inside with a silent gesture of mechanical hospitality. He stepped in, settling into the plush, ergonomically designed seat that adjusted automatically to his frame. The seatbelt clicked into place around him without prompting, snug but not constricting. The door lowered seamlessly, enclosing him in a cocoon of soft, ambient warmth and subtle tech sounds that whispered efficiency.

  The vehicle gently lifted off the ground, the motion so smooth it felt almost imperceptible. The levitation craft floated gracefully out of the garage and gradually ascended into the air. Nye turned back, watching as the garage door slid shut behind him. The vehicle glided forward with an almost hypnotic ease, guided by the AI’s preset location.

  As the world outside began to unfold below him, Nye allowed himself a small, wistful smile. For all its imperfections, this world—and this life—was undeniably beautiful in its own way, and he found himself content in it with whatever he had. He had gotten a second chance in life to make the best out of it.

  The superstore he was dropped off at was an architectural marvel of modern minimalism, gleaming exteriorly under the bioluminescent lights of the night. It was entirely run by humanoids at the operational level—sleek, lifelike androids that moved with unsettling precision. As Nye stepped inside, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease. If AI was doing yet another task that was traditionally human, what exactly were people doing to make money? The thought lingered as he grabbed a trolley and began his journey through the aisles.

  Rows upon rows of neatly arranged items stretched before him. Nye navigated the aisles with a measured curiosity, picking up items he had studied back at the facility. He had spent hours learning how to cook, familiarizing himself with the necessary ingredients, and understanding the types of meals people consumed at different times of the day, or night rather. It was a strange sense of satisfaction, piecing together a life that felt both alien and familiar. Apart from food, he collected cleaning substances, materials, and various household items he figured he might need.

  Once his trolley was brimming with supplies, Nye made his way to the checkout counter. There, a humanoid was already scanning and packing his items with robotic efficiency. The movement was seamless, almost hypnotic, as it placed each item into colorful synthetic bags. Suddenly, a male voice—not visible but distinctly present—spoke up.

  “That would be 7,567 Cryonics, sir,” it informed politely.

  Nye froze for a moment, the number barely registering in his mind. His thoughts raced as he realized he had no clue how to pay for his purchases. Flustered, he looked around briefly before addressing the system. “How... how do I pay for this? Digitally? Or by some other medium?”

  The system’s response was calm and clinical. “What is your name, sir?”

  “Nye,” he replied, his voice laced with uncertainty.

  “Could you please spell that for verification purposes?”

  “N-Y-E,” he spelled out slowly.

  “Thank you, Nye. Please scan your irises using the scanner,” the voice instructed.

  Nye blinked in mild surprise as a shimmering holographic screen materialized before him. Its translucent surface pulsed faintly, guiding him to lean forward. He followed the instructions, allowing the device to scan his irises. Within seconds, the voice returned. “Payment successful. Thank you for your purchase.”

  He let out a small sigh of relief, offering a half-hearted “Thanks” to the unseen entity. Shrugging off the awkward encounter, Nye walked around the counter and picked up the neatly packed bags. The vibrant colors of the synthetic materials were oddly pleasing to the eye, and he marveled at how lightweight yet sturdy they felt.

  Exiting the store, he approached his vehicle, which seemed to awaken at his proximity. Its sensors activated, and the back compartment opened with a soft mechanical whir, revealing a spacious storage area. Nye smiled, realizing for the first time that these vehicles were designed with such practical features in mind. He carefully loaded the bags into the compartment, pleased with the efficiency of it all. Once he was done, the compartment sealed itself shut, and the driver’s—rather, passenger’s—door lifted open, inviting him in.

  He settled into the plush interior, letting out a small sigh as the vehicle's automated systems came to life. The levitation craft lifted gently off the ground and began its smooth journey back to his residential unit.

  On the way home, Nye’s thoughts drifted as his eyes were drawn, once again, to the massive holographic billboards that lined the cityscape. Each one bore the same relentless advertisement:

  “Introducing our newly released version of the NeuroHalcyon Chip?: Your Gateway to a Pain-Free Tomorrow.

  What if you could leave pain behind—forever?

  What if the memories that haunt you could no longer dictate your life?

  With the new customizable NeuroHalcyon Chip?, the impossible becomes reality.

  Developed by the world's greatest minds at Aeternum—humanity's beacon of hope—this breakthrough in neuro-psychological engineering targets the core of emotional distress.

  Say goodbye to anguish, despair, and hopelessness.

  Live without fear. Live without pain. Live fully.

  NeuroHalcyon: Because every life matters.”

  Every single time, at this point of the ads, the screens transitioned to testimonials from groomed individuals, their faces radiant with joy and relief. The only change in these ads were the changing faces of these individuals but with the same templated dialogues.

  “I never thought I’d smile again after my wife passed away. But with NeuroHalcyon, I’m not just surviving—I’m thriving.”

  “The sleepless nights, the crippling anxiety—they’re gone. I’m finally free.”

  And every time, the ads concluded with that commanding slogan:

  “Reclaim your life, fall in love, make a family, or just simply live free of pain and anguish. Choose NeuroHalcyon today.”

  Nye had seen this ad countless times since his release from the facility. At first, it had intrigued him, but by now, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at its predictability. The same templated lines, the same utopian promises—it all felt so hollow, and stupid even. A person could simply be content if they wanted to. Nye thought. He had no memory, and he wasn't whining about it. Thankfully, his vehicle glided into the outskirts of the city just before he had to endure one more.

  As the vehicle came to a gentle stop, Nye stepped out, bags in hand, and made his way back into the sanctuary of his now beloved home.

  For the following stretched nights, Nye immersed himself in grueling yet fulfilling hard work. It was no longer about strength training or physical therapy as it had been back at the facility. This time, it was about reclaiming his space—his home. Nye had taken it upon himself to manually clean every inch of the house, top to bottom, and even the garage. His efforts were driven not by necessity, but by a personal resolve to make the place his own once again.

  The backyard, left untamed during his absence, had transformed into a mesmerizing wilderness. Wild plants and weeds thrived, their iridescent hues, neon glows, and fluorescent colors painting a surreal, almost ethereal, landscape. Nye was captivated by the vibrant beauty and chose not to disturb the wilderness, though he meticulously cleaned the patio area. It became his sanctuary, a place to sit and marvel at the striking contrast of nature's untamed artistry against the order he was imposing on his home.

  The work was arduous but satisfying. Each sweeping motion, each piece of clutter cleared, felt like a step toward reclaiming his identity. He found himself relentlessly trailed by the household cleaning unit—a levitating automaton programmed to assist but ultimately a source of irritation for him. It hovered persistently, offering its services until Nye finally overrode its functions.

  “Hey, can you please just shut it down? I don't have a need for it,” he commanded his glorified household AI. Once the cleaning unit powered off, peace returned, allowing him to continue the work entirely on his terms.

  Over the course of nearly ten nights, Nye built a routine: waking up, making his breakfast, and diving straight into the night's labor. Cleaning, organizing, and rearranging became his focus, his mission. Upstairs, he decided the three bedrooms were an excess. One was swiftly transformed into a gym, complete with newly ordered equipment that he meticulously arranged. Another was reimagined as a gaming zone, prepared for friends—should they ever visit—or for his own solitude. The third room became a guest space, elegantly furnished with pieces the AI had ordered on his behalf. Despite his protests, the humanoid delivery crew insisted on assembling the furniture, citing protocol. Begrudgingly, Nye relented but made a mental note to avoid their services in the future.

  Everything else, however, bore his personal touch. He disposed of expired food and restocked cabinets with fresh supplies. The refrigerator compartments were emptied, scrubbed, and refilled. As the nights passed, he became so engrossed in his tasks that the idea of reaching out to his old friends remained a distant thought. Nye found himself amused at the notion of loneliness, now viewing it as a luxury—a feeling humans indulged in only when they had no chores to occupy them, and became reliant on AI so they could eventually bring forth the fourth world war. AI against humans again, except this time it's going to be worse, and he refused to be a part of it. Why go artificial when you were born so strong and intelligent? One could simply be happy alone.

  Still, he maintained a begrudging appreciation for his AI system. It expedited his work, though he continued to loathe the cleaning unit. One day, mid-task, Nye grew tired of addressing the AI as “Hey.” The impersonal term grated on him. “I should give you a name,” he declared aloud.

  The AI’s response surprised him. “I already have a name,” it said with a tone that bordered on playful.

  Nye froze in place, eyebrows raised. “You never told me that,” he said, seeking clarification.

  The AI’s voice carried an almost human-like chuckle. “You never asked, Nye. Besides, you didn’t have much of a past memory to ask about such things.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, he scoffed. “But, it's the freaking formality to tell your name while introducing yourself, lady.” He shook his head dramatically as though he had taken it personally.

  “Yes. That is correct. I do apologize.” the system answers.

  “Alright, so what’s your name?” Nye flicked his hand as if dismissing its apology. It was unexpected behavior from advanced AI. But the undercurrent of genuine curiosity did not go unnoticed from his voice.

  “Which one?” the AI teased. “The AI unit identifier or the personal name owners prefer to give me?”

  “Both,” Nye said, unable to suppress a smirk.

  The AI complied, first revealing the globally standardized designation, a sterile label that sounded more like a model number: NX-32RAE104C11. Then it shared its ‘pet name’—Eve. Intrigued and also left with no easier choice, Nye decided that Eve would be the only name he would use moving forward. From that day, their interactions felt less transactional, more conversational.

  Finally, on the eleventh night, Nye completed his labor of love. He stepped outside to survey his work, standing in the cool night air as he admired his home. It was immaculate—clean, orderly, and distinctly his own. Pride swelled in his chest, filling him with a profound sense of accomplishment.

  He took a deep breath, the kind that seemed to cleanse the soul, and walked back inside. Heading to his downstairs bedroom, he opened the drawer of his bedside table. There, he retrieved the folded piece of paper that Bella had given him at the facility. His house was now ready to welcome guests, and so was he.

  With a resolute nod followed by a deep exhale that accompanied a wide smile, Nye decided that now it was time to finally contact his friends.