As soon as the elevator doors dinged open, a song burst from the loudspeakers:

  “Nice touch,” Cedar said, nodding to the music.

  “It’s a great song,” Ari replied with a proud smile.

  The room hummed with vibrant, electric energy. Even the flora glowed with a bioluminescent radiance, casting a warm light in shifting hues across the space. Digital displays stretched from floor to ceiling, saturating every surface with some form of bio-, nano-, or eco-tech innovation.

  “All of this is inside your head?”

  “It my head,” Ari replied. “Word to the wise—don’t bring just anyone in here, especially if they’ve ascended. They could seriously mess things up.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind."

  "You're punny."

  Ari rolled across the room in a swivel chair, stopping at a desk that housed the smallest computer in the space. “Pull up a chair.”

  Cedar grabbed the nearest seat and gave herself a playful push forward, only to crash unceremoniously into the desk.

  “You, bull. This—” Ari gestured broadly to the room, “China shop.”

  “Duly noted,” Cedar replied, adjusting herself with mock dignity.

  “I brought you here so you could see who you’re up against—the man who single-handedly destroys your universe. I can access everything from this station,” Ari explained as he typed into a holographic keypad. The computer sprang to life.

  “Let’s see the bastard,” Cedar said, leaning in.

  The screen displayed a news bulletin.

  “Why are we watching this on such a small screen?” Cedar squinted.

  “Give me a sec.” Ari tapped another command, and the towering wall beside them lit up with a grid of images—each one a distinct news bulletin from different points in time.

  “You’ll hear the sound only for the image you’re focused on,” Ari instructed.

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Hot damn, girl, give it a second.”

  Cedar focused on the small monitor in front of her, straining to hear. At first, the sound was faint, but it grew clearer, like someone slowly turning up the volume.

  “Oh, so you chose one?” Ari said, throwing up his hands. “The same tiny screen you just complained about?”

  “Hey, there’s too many to choose from, and this one’s closest. Now hush.”

  The anchorman’s voice cut through:

  “Across the nation, we’re witnessing widespread looting, affecting homes and businesses alike. In this footage, you can see individuals clad in full combat gear, hurling stones at residents defending their properties. Tragically, an elderly woman standing guard outside her antique shop was brutally assaulted by a masked assailant wielding a two-by-four. Despite her courage, she later succumbed to her injuries. We must warn our viewers: the following footage is graphic and may be unsettling. Please, if you are sensitive to such content, look away now . . . ”

  The broadcast spiraled into a harrowing narrative of total anarchy, each word painting a bleaker picture of chaos. As the nightmarish scenes unfolded, Cedar recoiled in disgust. Society seemed to have abandoned not only its moral compass but also any traces of empathy and compassion. It was a frenzied free-for-all, where possession became a perilous liability. Anyone with something to call their own was a target in this lawless rampage. Safety, it seemed, was a luxury no one could afford.

  “How could this happen?”

  “They call it the Great Divide of 2260.”

  “But that’s next year. I don’t understand.”

  “The thing is, once technology reaches a tipping point, all hell breaks loose. It always happens after we reach the quantum age—even without Gaines.”

  “Gaines?”

  “Hugh Gaines. He’s the one responsible for all this. He gave just the right amount of nudge to cause the collapse of the U.S. government. Without him, people eventually learn to curb their conspiracy theories around technology. But because of Gaines, the US never recovers, and this . . .” Ari nodded at the monitor, “becomes the new norm.”

  “Hugh Gaines . . . I remember that name. Wasn’t he a televangelist from the ’30s? That wacky eyebrow guy?”

  “That’s him. He’s in the process of campaigning for president.”

  Cedar laughed. “There’s no way people would vote for . He’s nuts! His videos are all over the web—people think he’s a joke.”

  “In my universe, he a joke. He was laughed out of the running on his first day. But in universe, he had help.”

  “Who’d help him?”

  Ari hesitated, his tone growing serious. “This is the biggest reason why you shouldn’t remember your past lives. That guy,” he pointed at Gaines on the monitor, “was a literal saint. He lived his lives, paid his dues, and ascended. But when he remembered his past life as Hugh Gaines, he fell from grace. The memory corrupted him.”

  “Corrupted him how?”

  “He wanted vengeance or validation—they’re closely related. He came here the same way I did, via the Fringe, and met his former self from this world. I’m not sure how they communicate—maybe through a variation of the prison’s virtual rehab, I don’t know—but his ascended self coached him. That’s how he won the presidency.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible, even with help. The guy is clearly insane,” Cedar said, pausing in thought. “Unless there’s a brainwashing power strong enough to control an entire population. Is there? Is that why we have to fortify our minds?”

  “Technically, yes, there brainwashing magic. But you can’t zap someone into slavery without them eventually breaking free. Brainwashing magic pales in comparison to good old-fashioned coercive persuasion. That’s a technique anyone can use—it doesn’t take special powers.”

  “How?”

  “Shared beliefs backed by massive amounts of fear. If people share the same beliefs as a political leader—or any figure with authority and influence—they can be hooked. Especially when dealing with large groups. It’s a numbers game. The more people aligned with the same agenda, the easier it is to proclaim they’re right and everyone else is wrong.’

  ‘What these people do—the ones appointed to power—is instill fear in their followers. Maybe not at first. At first, they get chummy with everyone, persuading them to believe they’re fighting for the little guy. They might claim they were once poor themselves, working hard for every cent they earned. Some even go as far as hosting seminars and workshops to students.” Ari made air quotes with his fingers when he said the word “teach.”

  “But it’s all just a facade to gain power and influence. The point of instilling fear is to build trust. Fearful people want a leader they can trust. No matter what they think, feel, or do, they’re lost without one. They’re just regular people, scared and searching for someone to voice their concerns—someone who makes their anxieties feel more concrete, more reasonable. A leader gives them direction, and sometimes, an outlet. By following someone, it makes them feel powerful, less alone, and taken care of.’

  ‘Manipulation can happen to anyone,” Ari continued. “It can happen to the best of us.”

  “I don’t follow anyone or believe in anything. What does that make me?” Cedar asked.

  “You’re special,” Ari humored. “Another tactic power seekers use is fostering pride in their followers’ heritage—whether it’s race, religion, culture, or country. The prouder they are, the more likely they are to oppose anyone different, which only perpetuates fear.”

  “Ugh, people are idiots,” Cedar uttered as she watched a clip of the White House being ransacked. “What are they doing now?”

  “They’re attempting to overthrow the government. Gaines was impeached in his first year, which enraged his supporters. He urged them to protest at the Capitol, but it escalated. They vandalized it and eventually stormed the White House.”

  “How can so many people fall for a scumbag like that? I don’t get it.”

  “Sadly, it doesn’t take much. Gaines could’ve done this all on his own; that’s how easy it is. As long as someone knows how to manipulate fear, the rest falls into place. A master manipulator can convince people of anything—make them believe the Holocaust never happened, or that Hitler was commendable. And since news stations are for-profit, they’ll repeat the rhetoric that their listeners want to hear.”

  “How did his other half help him?”

  “Through a bit of guidance and conspiracy theories. He exploited fears about technology to draw followers. He claimed that the only safe water was his brand, Hugh Springs, insinuating that all other water had hidden microchips. Selling bottles for ten dollars a pop, he made a fortune.”

  “That’s insanity.”

  “Hugh Springs didn’t exist in my world,” Ari said thoughtfully. “It’s possible he put something in it—maybe a potion to heighten fear or, who knows, induce madness.”

  “If I go after his water company, do you think I can stop this from happening?”

  “Like I said before, scared people don’t need much persuasion to follow a leader. With or without the water, he’ll hook them. It’s the same science that keeps churches packed. Forget the water and go after Gaines himself as soon as you get back.”

  Cedar’s eyes began to well up. She knew it was her destiny to save the universe—every bit of her training had been leading up to this. But to hear it said out loud for the first time, to hear the first mention of a real plan, to visualize herself doing it—it was overwhelming.

  “?”

  “Yes, ”

  “What amsupposed to do? I mean, he’s got a powerful guy helping him. How am I supposed to go up against someone like that? That’s like going up against .”

  “The other Gaines won’t be there. It’ll just be you and crazy brows.”

  “What do I do? Kill him? I can’t kill anyone.”

  “You have to do whatever it takes. Killing someone is bad, yes, but if it’s your only option, you could save countless lives, preserve your existence, and even prevent the doomsday war from happening.”

  “There’s a war now? Isn’t destroying the universe bad enough?”

  Ari typed something into the holographic keypad, bringing up videos of mass destruction across every display. Mushroom clouds and mayhem filled the screens.

  “The president carries with him at all times a nuclear launch suitcase. Technically, his military aide carries it, but the president keeps the card—nicknamed ‘the biscuit’—with all the nuclear launch codes.”

  “I thought he got impeached?”

  “His people overthrew the government and reinstated him.”

  Cedar stared at the monitors, all showcasing war from different angles—before, during, and after. Streets ran red with blood, radioactive ash fell on fallen soldiers and civilians alike.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Why would anyone do this?”

  “He went mad with power. It could happen to anyone. He’s a young spirit, and that’s just what we do.”

  “We? No way I’ll be lumped in with someone like that.”

  “You don’t get it, Cedar. If you were born in someone else’s shoes, you would be that person—not who you are now. What makes everyone different is their genes, hormones, upbringing, physicality, and environment. Other than that, we’re all the same person, just on different paths and evolutionary journeys.”

  “But what about all the lives I’ve lived?” Cedar argued. “Doesn’t that make me my own person? I have my own soul, my own history.”

  “Good point. But once you helped create this universe—along with everyone else—you lost everything. Your soul is smeared together with all of existence, including other people. Including aliens from other planets. We’re all part of this hodgepodge . Just because you’re on a different path with your own soul now, doesn’t erase the fact that we all started as one.”

  Cedar shook her head. “No, it’s not true. I’m my own person.”

  “You’re a compendium of complex mathematics trying to make sense of itself. If you were to go back in time to when this all started, you’d see you were nothing more than a smear of possibilities, floating in the same gunk as everyone else.’

  ‘If you dig deep enough, the only real fundamental law of the universe is possibilities,” Ari said. “You, my friend, are a possibility brought to life with the help of everything in existence. Time itself was once a possibility, and we couldn’t bring time into the fold without a beginning. Because you were a possibility that required a beginning, time had to come into being—to create . Future events affect the past. It’s all connected—all retroactive. Don’t you see?”

  “I think you broke my brain.”

  “Everything is dependent on everything else. It a brain breaker,” Ari admitted. “But I want you to understand that when we create a new universe, we’re filling that empty space with a blueprint of possibilities—those possibilities were once us, all mixed together in the alluvium.”

  “What’s the point of it all?”

  “That’s the question,” Ari said, scratching his head. “And we don’t know. Have you ever heard of perennial philosophy?”

  “Nope. Does it have to do with flowers?”

  “Um, no. It’s a philosophy focused on finding absolute truth. It’s not hard to do—if you know where to look. Strong psychedelics can get you there, as long as you treat them as medicine, not drugs.”

  “Like we did in the flower ceremony?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Answers were streaming in—or, answers, I should say.”

  “And all those answers you received are universal,” Ari explained. “Everyone who has touched the void gets the same answers. Those answers form the bulk of perennial philosophy. People who documented their experiences—Siddhartha, the Prophet Muhammad, Jesus—they became the founders of religions. Very different religions that interpret the same truths in unique ways, shaped by their cultures and upbringing.’

  ‘Of course, religions start with truth,” Ari continued, “but over time, they get tarnished, especially when governments step in. People in power use religion as a scare tactic to keep others in line and afraid, so they can stay in control. Religion also groups people together, which makes it easier to condemn anyone who stands apart.”

  “Why can’t people think for themselves?” Cedar asked.

  “People are naturally fearful,” Ari said. “And, like I’ve said, they turn to leaders for support and guidance. Once your parents are gone and you have no one left who cares about you or supports you—that’s a scary place to be for most people, for everybody actually. Even for people who have a house full of loved ones, the thought of abandonment can send them into a spiral.”

  “We don’t feel that way,” Cedar said with a snort.

  “We’re no different, don’t kid yourself,” Ari countered. “The fear is definitely there.”

  “Huh.”

  “Anyway,” Ari said, refocusing, “you asked me about the point of it all?”

  Cedar nodded.

  “The void wants us to become one with God,” Ari said. “Our ultimate purpose, according to the void and perennial philosophy, is to evolve and get closer to God. We’re supposed to trust the process and believe in this elusive God. But we still don’t know who or what God actually is. When orthodox religions talk about God, they’re referring to something no one—living or dead—can truly grasp. It’s like a hidden dimension of thought, or a ground level that projects us into being. We just don’t have the capacity to understand it.”

  “Yeah, but we can’t trust what the void tells us,” Cedar reminded. “You said it yourself—we might be programmed.”

  “It’s good to question everything,” Ari agreed, “no matter how profound or insightful the answers from the void may seem. Some believe we’ll find God once every single soul takes part in the universe’s creation. We’re talking almost an infinite number of participants, from the beginning of life to the end—and not just on Earth, but on other planets too.”

  “How long will take?” Cedar asked.

  “Surprisingly, there isn’t a big enough calculator to figure that out.”

  “So, never, basically.”

  “Yeah, maybe. It seems to go on indefinitely.”

  Cedar turned her attention to the news broadcasts. One by one, the screens succumbed to a haze of static, each image flickering and eventually fading to black.

  “What’s wrong with your TVs?”

  “It’s not the TVs,” Ari corrected. “They’re running out of reporters and cameramen.”

  Cedar shifted gears. “Why can’t you do it? Why can’t be the one to stop Gaines?”

  “I can’t. I won’t be around when it happens.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Cedar frowned. She’d heard that before. “Talk about it later” was Ari’s way of brushing her off—a cue to never bring it up again.

  She huffed, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair with visible frustration. Meanwhile, every news channel in the room went dark except for the small monitor directly in front of them. On this solitary screen, the anchorman’s voice softened, harmonizing with serene images of sunsets, landscapes, and smiling faces. In the background, the timeless melody of “Auld Lang Syne” played, lending a bittersweet air to the broadcast.

  That monitor, too, fell dark.

  “I don’t get it,” Cedar said, breaking the silence. “Where are all the others like you? Why don’t they come here and talk to themselves too? Why me?”

  “There’s never been technology like this before,” Ari explained. “The virtual rehabilitation prison is the only way we can connect. And not many ascended folk take an interest in visiting—not after they’ve let go. Sometimes they appear in dreams or during transitions, but the way the system is set up, we can’t return to our birth planet in physical form once we’ve ascended. We can only do so briefly in a sub-verse that hasn’t been fully actualized. It’s because of the auto-correct codes I told you about. I don’t belong in your world.”

  Cedar sighed. “I think I need a drink.”

  “Tell it to the box,” Ari said, nodding toward a square container with a door.

  Cedar visualized an Irish cream coffee topped with whipped cream before opening the door of the box. Inside, her drink awaited her, steaming and perfect. She took a sip, savoring the warmth and sweetness.

  “Okay, so, what’s the plan? How do I kill this guy?”

  “For starters, don’t. Not if you can help it—and reasoning with him is out of the question, so I’m thinking humiliation might work.”

  “You want me to embarrass the guy? That’s it?”

  “I want you to do more than just humiliate him—I want you to him. It’ll only take a few deviously incriminating remarks said at the right time and place.”

  “He already humiliated himself in the ’30s. I don’t see how it could get any worse for him,” Cedar said, taking another sip of coffee. A smudge of whipped cream crested her lip.

  “Some people don’t see it that way,” Ari replied. “All they see in those old videos is a simple man trying to spread the word of God.”

  “Ugh, morons.”

  “No Cedar, they're not all morons,” Ari warned. “Don’t think of them as morons—think of them as dangerous, lost people willing to sacrifice anything.”

  “Got it,” Cedar said. “They’re loaded guns looking for a target. So, how do I embarrass him?”

  “Once you get my interface, you’ll have access to spells and abilities that no one on Earth has—or ever will have again. One of these abilities will allow you to possess Gaines for a short amount of time. It’s called Body Snatch.”

  Cedar burst out laughing, picturing herself as a crazed old Gaines, prancing around in a pink tutu and singing K-pop.

  “It’s important you level up this ability before using it on Gaines,” Ari continued. “At level one, you’ll only get a few seconds of possession. But with your aptitude, you’ll level it quickly.”

  “This actually sounds fun,” Cedar said, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, I’m going to have much fun with this.”

  Ari smiled. “Does that make you feel better?”

  “Um, yes! I can do this. This is something I can do.”

  She jumped out of her chair, unable to sit still. She felt like prancing, maybe even flying in the weightlessness program. Her exhilaration was almost too much to contain. It was as though a heavy burden had been lifted—a burden she hadn’t realized she was carrying until it was gone.

  “Oh my god, I’m so excited. This is like all the Christmases combined.”

  “Once you level Body Snatch to a certain point—I forget which level—you’ll be able to possess someone from a distance. At higher levels, you can do it from your own home and stay in Gaines’s body for days at a time.”

  “This is like a dream. A dream come true,” Cedar said, practically glowing.

  “If you think cool, wait until you see all the other spells and abilities.”

  “Is there time travel?” Cedar asked eagerly. “That would be my number-one superhero power—to travel through time.”

  “As a matter of fact . . .” Ari began, letting the implication hang.

  Cedar’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, oh my god, ”

  “But,” Ari cautioned, “there are certain laws we must follow while in the physical realm. For starters, nothing can travel faster than light speed.”

  “So, no time travel then?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Ari replied. “There are ways around it. You’ll need to level up your Portal ability simultaneously since time and space are synonymous.”

  “Why can’t we travel faster than light, anyway?”

  “Light speed is the fastest rate at which information can travel through space’s permeability and permittivity,” Ari explained. “Since those two factors are absolute, so is the speed of light.”

  “Ah yes, of course,” Cedar said, nodding as if she understood.

  “Time travel isn’t what you think it is. It’s layered.” Ari ran his fingers through his hair, trying to find the right words. “It’s hard to explain, but if you traveled back in time to kill your grandfather, would still be born—at least the version of you that went back in time would still be born.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, though.”

  “Nothing gets deleted,” Ari clarified. “Think of time as a photo. You can edit yourself out of the photo, but the original remains unchanged. You’re still there—just with a new layer covering you up. Does that make sense?”

  “Not really. What about people’s memories? Can those be erased or replaced?”

  “Not exactly. Two people can witness the same event but remember it differently, depending on whether they’ve formed an emotional connection to it. For some, their memory won’t get updated with the new time layer because that memory left an emotional imprint. Emotional imprints transcend everything. Even after living multiple lives, you’ll still retain a residual understanding from the first imprint, even if it happened thousands of years ago.”

  “Uh huh . . . weird.”

  “Do you want to know the science behind it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good, because I can’t explain emotional imprints without getting into how the universe works. We’ll save that for another day,” Ari said, turning back to the computer. He took a deep breath before continuing. “The ascended Gaines isn’t from this verse, so he has no benchmark in time. Outsiders like him are the only ones who can change the past without overlaying it. But it’s not really for us—it’s our present. Do you get it? To us, any moment an ascended soul pops into is the present because they have no point of reference.”

  “Interesting,” Cedar said, dazing off as she imagined traveling to medieval times.

  “Can I bring things back from the past? Artifacts?”

  “If your energy is high enough, yes,” Ari replied. “You’ll need enough energy for yourself and the object you’re bringing back. The more mass, the more energy you’ll need. But don’t steal, Seed.”

  “What about the future? Can I bring things back from there?”

  “You can. Same rules apply.”

  “This is so cool. So outstandingly cool,” Cedar gushed, practically bouncing in her seat.

  “Yes, very cool,” Ari said with a smirk.

  The brief pause in their conversation sent another thrill of excitement surging through Cedar, as if she’d just hit the lotto.

  “You think you can handle all this?” Ari asked, egging her on.

  “I can. I know I can.”

  “Good. I should show you how to operate the interface. It’s a lot at first, but once you get the hang of it, it’ll feel like second nature. Very intuitive,” Ari said, typing something into the keyboard.

  “This is what you’ll see once we’ve installed your interface,” he explained, gesturing to the monitor.

  The screen displayed a simple layout: icons for the date and time, a mini-map of their location, and three horizontal lines symbolizing a menu.

  “All this can be customized,” Ari explained. “You can turn it off just by wishing it off.”

  Over the next several minutes, he guided Cedar through the interface. Clicking on the menu button brought up more menus, which led to even more menus—a seemingly endless stream of options buried within options.

  “Ugh, I don’t wanna . . . “ Cedar grumbled, her mind wandering to fantasies of time travel. She wanted to skip over the boring parts and dive straight into the action.

  “You don’t ?” Ari’s eyebrows shot up. “Have I not taught you patience yet?”

  Cedar sighed, sensing a lecture incoming. “Uhhh . . . “

  “You can’t learn or do anything without patience. You know that, right?”

  “Okay?”

  “What’s everyone’s number one fear?”

  “The fear of death?”

  “That’s right. And what vehicle does fear travel in?”

  Cedar thought, puzzled.

  Without waiting for an answer, Ari said, “Time. Fear travels through time. Because death happens in the future, we’re all afraid of losing time.”

  “Right,” Cedar said, giving a quick nod.

  “The most fearful among us—the younger souls—they have no patience because of their fear of death. They want to master everything instantly without taking the time to learn. They can be angry, impatient people.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “But you’re not like that. You have patience. And with patience comes the ability to focus. It’s why you’re able to paint and draw so well, why you feel like you can do or be anything. Haven’t you ever wondered why you feel like the world is yours to explore, that you can have any career you want?”

  “I thought that’s how everyone felt,” Cedar shrugged.

  “It’s not. Not everyone can focus like you. It’s because not everyone is as close to ascending as you are.”

  Cedar smiled. His words made sense.

  “It has its drawbacks, though,” Ari added. “Not being able to decide on a career is one of them. I remember how long it took us,” he said with a wink.

  “That’s why I became a massage therapist,” Cedar admitted. “I couldn’t decide what to do, and I to do something. I didn’t want to wait tables my whole life.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Ari said.

  “No, nothing’s wrong with that,” Cedar agreed.

  “Patience is simply the ability to override your fear of death,” Ari explained. “That’s all it is. If you pretend you have all the time in the world to learn something, your ability to absorb information becomes proportionate to your lack of fear. You’re able to see and understand things others can’t. It’s a method to clarity.”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself smart, though,” Cedar said. “There are plenty of people smarter than me.”

  “Trust me, I know,” Ari teased. “But intelligence isn’t the point. Intelligence is the hardware; focus is the software. Whatever you choose to focus on, you can become just as capable as anyone else in that field.”

  “Okay then,” Cedar said, intrigued. “How do I do this focus-patience thing?”

  “You work best alone,” Ari replied. “You don’t like to infringe on other people’s time because it distracts you. You learn best without a teacher. You need to get comfortable and avoid getting bogged down by problems. Compartmentalizing helps with that. And, above all else, take your time. That’s the key. It’s a bit like meditation in a way.”

  “Should I be learning the interface on my own, then?” Cedar asked.

  “It’ll be faster if you do.”

  “Okay, outta my way, turkey,” Cedar playfully bumped his chair with her own to position herself in front of the computer.

  “I’ll let you rummage around, get a feel for things,” Ari said, standing up. “I need to run a quick errand. I’ll check on you later.”

  “An errand? What errand?”

  “It’s a surprise. Nothing big, so don’t get too excited. It’s something that’ll be waiting for you when you get home—your real home.”

  “Cool,” Cedar said flippantly, already engrossed in perusing the interface options.

  “We should head back to Nachi and Everly soon,” Ari proposed. “You’re more than ready. When do you think you’ll want to leave?”

  “Soon. Real soon.”