A point of consciousness flickered like an ember in the heart of a vast, pitch black ocean. Arthur Leigh, known to the world as The Zodiac Killer, was not dead. Death was not so simple an end for him. What he felt was a transition; from one state to another, like a code that had been deciphered and rearranged into a new form.
The first sensation to assault him was heat. Not mere fever, but fire coursing through every muscle fiber, melting away the residual chill of death. His body felt weak, like a puppet with its strings cut. His head throbbed violently, each heartbeat a sledgehammer pounding against the inside of his skull.
The last memory.
Before the darkness swept everything away, there was a sharp tightness in his chest. An immense pressure that crushed his ribs and snuffed out his breath forever. A heart attack. A boring, undramatic death for a man who had once terrorized the entire American West Coast.
Then, he opened his eyes.
It was not a hospital ceiling or eternal darkness that greeted him, but a ceiling of cracked clay, adorned with a simple painting: a circle with radiating lines and a camel standing proudly. Primitive art. The scents of dry dust and pungent herbal medicine filled his nostrils. The old world was gone.
From somewhere beside him, a soft rustling sound caught his attention. With a painful effort every inch of movement feeling like lifting a weight of tons, he tilted his heavy head toward the source of the sound. A small window, with wooden frames, opened to the outside.
And there, in a strange, deep blue sky, hung two giant orbs.
Two suns.
One was a blazing orange, large and mighty, radiating unbearable heat. The other was smaller, a pale gold, following its larger sibling like a frightened child afraid of getting lost. They were not an illusion. They were real. They were an irrefutable fact that he had been flung far from everything he had ever known.
The mind of Arthur Leigh, honed for decades to analyze patterns, recognize symbols, and break codes, for the first time in either of his lives, was utterly overwhelmed.
Coordinates, unknown. No reference points match any known map.
Atmosphere, breathable. Composition unknown. No signs of toxins.
Gravity, rough estimate approximates 9.8 m/s². Physical environment within tolerable limits.
Conclusion: insufficient data. Further observation required.
Suddenly, it was no longer the heat or weakness that struck him, but a tsunami of foreign emotions. A paralyzing fear, a boiling shame, and a despair so profound it made him want to tear everything apart. And beneath it all, a name echoed like a final prayer: Elia…
Chaos.
Two sets of memories, two consciousnesses, two diametrically opposed personalities collided and grappled within a single skull. On one side, Arthur Leigh, the architect of chaos, the creator of unsolvable puzzles, a psychopath with logic as sharp as a razor. On the other, Carim, the young nobleman whose body he now inhabited, a weak soul, oppressed and filled with the pain of an unjust life.
Arthur screamed in silence, trying to kick the foreign soul out of his mind. Carim thrashed, terrified, clinging to the only home he had ever known. The world around Arthur, with its two impossible suns, spun faster and faster. The weakness of this new body, which couldn't even support him to sit up, became a prison more cruel than death.
Darkness, for the second time, greeted him with coldness. The chaos in his head subsided, defeated not by willpower, but by sheer physical weakness. Arthur Leigh, the Zodiac, had fainted once more, betrayed by his useless new vessel.
Consciousness returned more gently this time, like a mist gradually parting. Arthur or rather, the entity now realizing it needed a new identity awoke without shock. The fever still burned his body, making cold sweat dampen the back of the simple linen tunic stuck to his skin. Yet his analytical mind, his true center of control, was slowly seizing the helm from the chaos that had previously reigned.
He deliberately focused, separating his cold stream of logic from the residual, foreign emotions the fear, shame, and despair that still occasionally tried to intrude like a corrupted signal. These emotions, the legacy of Carim, the body's original owner, he classified as noise. A system disruption to be filtered, cataloged, and ultimately, ignored.
A shadow blocked the light from the woven door. A young girl, perhaps in her teens, entered the room with careful steps. In her hands was a wooden basin of water. Her round face was full of genuine concern.
Elia. The name surfaced from Carim's memories, accompanied by a feeling of warmth and dependence. Arthur immediately shut the feeling down. He observed her as an entomologist would a new insect.
Analysis Subject: 'Elia'.
Physical Appearance: Slightly hunched posture, indicative of low social class. Sun-tanned skin, rough hands with calluses, evidence of heavy physical labor.
Attire: Coarse fabric, faded and uneven dye, low economic status.
Behavior: Careful, reverent movements, limited eye contact, frequent bowing of head. Facial Expression: Worried, fear behind her eyes, but not directed at him (Carim). Most likely fear of the environment or a higher authority.
Preliminary Conclusion: Servant status. High loyalty towards entity 'Carim'. Motivation unknown, but manipulable. Requires further observation.
The girl, Elia, approached without a word. She dipped a washcloth into the basin, wrung it out gently, and began to bathe Arthur's sweaty forehead. Arthur who was now considering adopting the name Karem as a forced amalgamation of his two identities allowed himself to be tended to. But his honey-colored eyes, which now held Arthur's cold gleam instead of Carim's fear, observed Elia's every move. The way she held the cloth, the rhythm of her breathing, the occasional blink of her eyes it was all data. She was his first research subject in this new world, the starting point for understanding a foreign ecosystem.
He tried to speak, wanting to test the vocal cords of his new body and initiate his first controlled interaction. What escaped his dry lips was a hoarse, weak sound, almost a sigh.
"W…water…"
Elia started. Her head snapped up, her light brown eyes widening. Then, in a flash, the anxiety on her face shattered into a relief so sincere it was almost radiant.
"Young Master! You… you're truly awake!" Her exclamation trembled, nearly breaking into tears. Moving quickly, she poured water from an earthenware jug into a cup made of the same material, then carefully supported Kaelan's head and brought the cup to his lips.
Kaelan drank. It tasted… like water. Clean, though he could feel fine grains of sand on his tongue. He analyzed the sensation, comparing it to Arthur's memories of sterile bottled water.
Purity: Adequate.
Mineral Content: Detected (sandy).
Filtration System: Primitive.
His gaze shifted to the cup in her hand. Handmade earthenware, imperfectly shaped, rough surface, no decorations.
Value: Insignificant.
Technology: Low.
Owner's Economic Status: Consistent with prior analysis.
After releasing the cup, his gaze was drawn back to the small window. The two suns still hung there, the undeniable rulers of the sky. A cold, solid resolve began to crystallize within him, replacing the initial confusion.
His death on Earth was not the end. It was merely the opening of a new chapter. He, Arthur Leigh, the Zodiac, the unreadable riddler, had been given a much vaster canvas, with completely new colors and rules.
And he fully intended to paint his grandest masterpiece upon it.
Karem stared at the cracked clay ceiling, where the shadows cast by the two suns were beginning to lengthen with the passage of time. The initial confusion had subsided, replaced by a more pressing, practical need: control. How could he decipher the puzzle of this world if he couldn't even move this single body?
With crystallized determination, he focused his entire consciousness on a simple command.
Lift the right hand.
The command, which on Earth would have been executed in an instant, now felt like it had to travel through a thick, deep swamp. Synapses still foreign to him responded sluggishly, transmitting weak electrical signals. The muscles in his forearm trembled, tensing in a futile effort. For just a moment, his arm lifted a few centimeters from the rough mattress before the strength evaporated entirely. The arm fell back limply, a failed rebellion.
Two voices sounded in his head.
Arthur's Frustration: "Useless body. A broken machine. This only delays data collection. An obstruction." The voice was full of a cold, impatient fury.
Carim's Fear: "I can't move. I'll die here, weak and humiliated, like my father. They will take everything..." This voice was full of despair, an echo of the old soul still hiding in the dark corners of his mind.
Karem, the amalgamated entity, took a deep breath—an action that felt exhausting in itself. He ignored Carim's whispers of fear. Those emotions were unproductive. They were static, debilitating noise. Instead, he embraced Arthur's frustration. It was a useful emotion, a burning motivator. A fire that would drive him to repair this "broken machine."
He tried again.
This time, he didn't just command "lift." He visualized it with cruel precision. He pictured the deltoid muscle contracting, the tendons tightening, the arm bone rotating in the shoulder joint. He imposed his will on every fiber of this rebellious biological system.
It was an utterly exhausting process. Beads of cold sweat formed on his brow, not from fever, but from extreme concentration and physical exertion. His simple linen tunic grew damp with sweat on his back and underarms. Every muscle in his weak body screamed in defiance.
Elia, who had been watching this silent struggle with pitying eyes, stepped closer. "Young Master... Let Elia help you..."
Karem shook his head. That small movement alone made the world spin momentarily, and a sharp dizziness pierced his temples. "No," he hissed, his voice more of a groan than a word. This was his battle. He had to win it himself. Dependence was weakness. Absolute control was everything.
Analysis,
Motor Coordination: Estimated at 30% of the optimal capacity expected for a body of this age and sex.
Muscle Strength: Clearly below average.
Stamina: Undetectable. This body, in its current condition, is a primary liability. A critical weakness that must be rectified immediately.
An hour passed. An hour filled with trembling, sweat, and repeated failure. But then, with one final push of his iron will, he managed to push his upper body upright. He leaned against the hard, uncomfortable pillow, panting like a runner who had just finished a marathon. His chest rose and fell rapidly, every breath feeling like it stabbed his lungs.
But he had done it. He was sitting.
It was a small victory, an embarrassing one compared to his achievements in his previous life. But in this small, impoverished room, under the gaze of the two endless suns, this victory felt monumental.
From his new position, his view extended further. He saw a simple wooden table with one leg shorter than the others, making it tilt. A half-burned candle, with frozen wax drips like tears, lay on it. And across the room, a door not of solid wood, but merely a curtain of coarse hanging weave separated him from the outside world.
His world was still limited to this single room. But now, he was no longer just lying passive. He had taken his first step, however small. The battle for mastery over this body had just begun, and Karem had no intention of losing.