I hadn't moved in over an hour.
The scan matrix blinked across the display in an endless loop, rows of diagnostic data cascading like rain against glass. I'd written the software myself years ago, a private OS with entropy layer shielding and recursive logic traps meant to detect even the faintest anomaly in real-time neural transmissions. Nothing commercial. Nothing borrowed. Every line of code, mine.
But nothing it showed me made sense.
No active signal. No traceable ping. No inbound comms.
And yet…
Something had called me.
Aaron.
Even thinking the name set my teeth on edge. Like a splinter buried under skin that ached when you said it aloud.
The loop ended, reset, and began again. I canceled it manually and engaged the scrambler net. Blue coils spread across the walls in a humming grid, disrupting ambient frequencies inside the room. Anything listening would get nothing but static. It wasn't paranoia. Not anymore.
With the safeties in place, I opened the deepest layer of my neural cache. This section wasn't supposed to be accessible without Helix-grade admin protocols, but I'd bypassed those years ago. Military perks. Or maybe just desperation.
Buried in the stream of hexadecimal memory packets, one file stood out.
It didn't have a name. No creation date. No system path. It wasn't even recognized as data.
Just a pattern.
It pulsed once in the scan like it was breathing.
My fingers hovered over the decrypt key.
Then the air in the room changed. A pressure drop, a hum rising in pitch beyond hearing. My body froze, not physically, but perceptually, my brain lagging a half-second behind real time.
A white flash. This just stretches the moment of transition for a fraction of a second longer, increasing the disorientation.
A room.
White walls. Clear partitions. A soft mechanical whir like lab machines cycling in the background. Someone was laughing. A woman.
I saw her only in outline. A coat, long. Her hand moving across a transparent board etched with symbols.
She turned slightly.
I couldn't see her face. But my chest burned like I had known her once. Like something in me recognized her laughter even as my conscious mind rejected it.
Then the flash ended.
I was back in my chair, lungs dragging air like I'd just run a mile.
I blinked at the display.
No time had passed. The system logs recorded no spike. No anomaly.
The image hadn't come from the scan.
It came from me.
My vitals were all over the place. Blood pressure rising. Skin temp elevated. Neural core heating beyond normal range. The implant buzzed softly in my skull like it was buffering something.
I checked the hardware.
There, at the base layer was code I didn't recognize. Not Helix. Not military. Something older. Smoother. Designed to blend in.
I isolated it and cracked open a diagnostic stream.
My screen flickered.
NEUROID SUBSTRUCTURE DETECTED. RESONANCE: INCOMPLETE.
The words were faint. Not official system output. Not even a real program.
Just… a ghost.
The room spun.
Neuroid.
The project was supposed to be a myth. Something from early-century tech forums, urban legends among old biotech circles. Mind mapping. Full consciousness duplication. Rumors said it was shut down. Destroyed. Buried under fire and scandal.
I should've laughed.
Instead I felt cold.
That chip in my neck, the one everyone thought was military grade, wasn't just a tracker. It wasn't just for combat reflexes or encrypted ID.
It was Neuroid.
And it had just woken up.
I scrambled to boot up my analog rig, an old off-grid machine I'd rebuilt from junked parts and quantum boards. No network access. No sync. Just metal, wire, and cold math. The only system I trusted. Its operating system was etched onto a diamond-wafer ROM. Unhackable because it was unchanging.
The rig hummed to life. I linked my implant with a hardline and started the transfer.
Seconds later the schematic loaded. Not complete. Fragmented. Like a memory viewed through a broken mirror.
Lines of code scrolled beneath the diagram. Not binary. Not hex.
Something else.
Organic.
It was rewriting itself as I watched.
Before I could trace the stream, a spike drove through my skull like lightning.
My eyes slammed shut.
Fire.
A girl's hand slipping out of mine.
A voice, her voice, the girl from the fire screaming my name into the smoke. Then another, overlapping it: the woman from the lab, calm and clear.
Speaking only one word.
Aaron.
I ripped the hardline free, gasping.
The rig powered down.
The signal was gone.
But I knew now.
This wasn't a transmission. It wasn't external.
It was a trigger.
And something inside me had been waiting for years to be activated.
I stood, head spinning, heart racing, the word still echoing through my skull like a siren in a vacuum.
Then the lights went out.
Every screen.
Every feed.
Total blackout.
Not just here.
Outside, across the skyline, towers dimmed one by one like dying stars.
And I realised that whatever had found me?
It wasn't done yet.