Del opened his eyes, uncertain how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? It didn’t seem to matter, given the strange, time-warped reality he was apparently in. Menolly was still there, sitting silently, watching him, her gaze steady and inscrutable.
Then he noticed it—several things, in fact. The first, and most glaring, was the absence of pain. At first, it was just a vague awareness, a sense that something was off. But as he shifted slightly, it hit him fully.
The constant throbbing ache in his legs was gone.
He flexed his knees cautiously, expecting the usual sharp twinge to remind him of his limits, but there was nothing. He straightened his back—no stiffness, no resistance. For the first time in what felt like years, his joints moved without complaint. The dull throb behind his temples that had been threatening to burst into a migraine? Gone. He ran his tongue over his teeth, noticing that the persistent tenderness of the molar that had been bothering him for months had disappeared.
Tentatively, he pressed his palms against his thighs, his hands moving to his ribs, his shoulders, even his neck, as if trying to provoke the familiar reminders of age and wear. But no matter how he twisted or prodded, there was only smooth movement, no discomfort.
The absence of pain was almost unsettling. He had grown so accustomed to its presence, like an old, unwelcome companion, that its sudden departure left a void. It wasn’t just the physical relief—it was the silence it left behind. The constant hum of discomfort that had underscored every moment of his waking life had vanished, leaving him unsure how to react.
‘Bloody hell,’ he thought, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘What is this, a miracle cure or a hallucination?’
Rising quickly, Del headed to the bathroom, a growing sense of urgency pushing him forward. As he flicked on the light, the stark brightness flooded the small space, illuminating the familiar figure in the mirror.
At first glance, it was him—same grey hair, same weathered face etched with lines that told stories he rarely wanted to revisit. His reflection stared back, unremarkable and utterly ordinary. But as he leaned in closer, scrutinising every detail, unease crept in.
He looked the same, yet… didn’t.
The sag in his shoulders that he’d long since stopped trying to correct seemed less pronounced. The dark shadows that had claimed permanent residence under his eyes were softer, less menacing. His skin, though still marked by age, seemed to hold a faint, unfamiliar vitality.
‘Still the same ugly old bastard,’ he thought, the ghost of a wry smile tugging at his lips. Yet, even as he made the joke, a strange sense of detachment clung to him. How could he feel so different—so alive—when the face in the mirror insisted nothing had changed?
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers pausing at his temple as the thought hit him: ‘This isn’t just feeling better. This is… something else.’
The silence of the bathroom seemed oppressive, heavy with his unanswered questions. It wasn’t just the absence of pain or the sudden ease in his movements—it was the buzzing at the edge of his awareness, faint but constant, like the low hum of machinery you didn’t notice until it stopped.
Del tilted his head, straining to listen, though he knew the sound wasn’t external. It was inside him, deep and insistent, like a whisper he couldn’t quite catch. His pulse quickened, a sharp contrast to the calm his body seemed determined to maintain.
“What the hell is going on?” he muttered, his voice hoarse in the quiet. Without waiting for an answer—because who the hell would give him one?—he turned and strode back to the lounge, his unease bubbling into something close to panic.
As Del returned to the lounge, the faint buzzing persisted, teasing at the edge of his awareness. It wasn’t loud, not in the way an alarm or a siren might demand attention, but it was insistent, like a low hum that refused to be ignored. The more he focused on it, the more distinct it became, a rhythmic pulse just outside the reach of understanding.
He stopped in his tracks, rubbing his temples as though that might quiet it. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed to grow sharper, almost purposeful, as though it were reacting to his thoughts.
“What the hell is this?” he muttered, the words tinged with irritation and a creeping sense of dread. “Menolly!”
She turned her head slowly, her expression calm, even serene, as though she hadn’t noticed the growing storm in his voice.
“Menolly, whatever the Overmind—or you—did, I feel better than I have in years,” he said, his tone unsteady. “But there’s this weird buzzing in my head. Did something go wrong when you patched me up? I get fixed up, but now my brain’s fizzling?”
The words spilled out faster than he intended, his unease betraying him. The buzzing wasn’t just in his head anymore; it felt like it was crawling under his skin, alive and sentient.
‘Del,’ he thought bitterly, ‘master of always managing to fuck things up.’
“It’s alright, Del,” Menolly said, her voice steady and reassuring. “That’s the Overmind. You’ve been integrated into it, and that is its way of notifying you that information is available.”
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Her explanation should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. The buzzing still hummed, and the idea of being "integrated" into something he barely understood made his skin crawl. He sat down heavily, his frown deepening.
“Okay,” he said slowly, dragging the word out as though it might stretch his understanding with it. “So, what do you mean by ‘information’?”
Menolly offered a slight nod, as though she had been waiting for this question. “Let me give you a brief outline of how things work,” she said, her tone almost business-like. “The rest you’ll discover as you go along, depending on the choices you make.”
“Fair enough,” Del said, leaning back in his chair, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease. “Hit me.”
Menolly tilted her head slightly, her expression briefly puzzled. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Del. I am far stronger than you, and—”
“No,” he interrupted, waving a hand. “Not literally. ‘Hit me’ with the information. It’s just a saying.”
“Oh.” She nodded slightly. “I shall add that to our database.” For a moment, her posture shifted, her hands clasping neatly in her lap, and she assumed an air of patient authority, like a teacher preparing to lecture an unruly student. “I told you that the Overmind acts as both a tool and a database of knowledge.”
“As a tool,” she continued, “it can monitor your progress, help you analyse situations, and guide you in what you need to do to meet the criteria of your task.”
Del narrowed his eyes slightly. “And how exactly does it do that? Are we talking pop-up messages or... what?”
“It can provide information through mental commands. Simple ones. For instance, think ‘status,’ and it will display relevant data.”
Del gave her a sceptical look, his brow furrowing. “You’re telling me I’ve got some kind of HUD in my head? That’s ridiculous.”
“Try it,” Menolly said, her calm tone unfazed by his scepticism.
Rolling his eyes, Del decided to humour her. He focused and thought the word status.
The result was instantaneous. A semi-transparent screen materialised in front of him, floating just within his field of vision. His first instinct was to recoil, his chair scraping against the floor as he jumped back.
“Holy hells, what the actual—!” He waved his hands frantically in front of his face, as if trying to swat away an invisible fly, but the screen remained fixed in place, steady and unyielding no matter which way he turned his head.
“What the fuck is this?” he shouted, his voice climbing an octave.
“Take a breath, Del,” Menolly said, her tone firm but calm. “It’s not dangerous. What you’re seeing is a projection created in your mind’s eye. Your brain is interpreting data from the Overmind and presenting it in a way you can easily understand.”
Del blinked rapidly, the screen still stubbornly present. “Easily understand? It’s like having a bloody spreadsheet stapled to my face!”
“Focus,” she instructed. “Think the word ‘end,’ or whatever command feels natural to you for closing something. Try it.”
Grumbling under his breath, Del thought end. To his relief, the screen vanished. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping as the tension began to ebb. Experimenting, he opened and closed it a few more times, growing more confident with each attempt.
It wasn’t until the novelty began to wear off that he remembered he hadn’t actually read anything on the screen yet. ‘Probably just says “scared shitless” in big letters anyway,’ he thought dryly.
Satisfied with his control over the feature, he looked back at Menolly. “Alright, what else can it do?”
“There are several common commands,” she said, slipping back into her instructive tone. “For example, ‘log’ will update you on your recent actions and progress. ‘Status’ can also provide details on your physical condition, your possessions, and even equipment. It helps you monitor for wear and tear, ensuring nothing critical fails at an inconvenient time. There is also ‘identify’ to give you any available information on people and objects”
He raised an eyebrow. “Convenient. I can see ‘identify’ being useful. I think I get the gist, but walk me through it.”
“Identify allows you to analyse objects, creatures, or even individuals,” Menolly explained. “It pulls data from the Overmind’s vast database and presents what is known. However, it has limits. It won’t provide much information about anything significantly more powerful than you. That data will remain obscured.”
Del scratched his chin thoughtfully, his mind already racing with possibilities. “Alright, let’s give it a go.”
Glancing at Misty, now curled up in her box, Del thought, Identify.
Words appeared in front of him:
Cat: Misty, your companion.
Level: 1
Agile and stealthy.
Strengths: Dexterity, agility.
Weaknesses: Intelligence, wisdom.
Attacks: Pounce, bite, rake.
Skill: Charm person.
Satisfied, he turned his gaze to Menolly and tried again.
Systarni Bipedal Construct: Menolly 14711
Affiliation: Galactic Collective.
Level: ???
Strengths: Unknown.
Weaknesses: Unknown.
Attacks: Unknown.
Skills: Unknown.
“Well, that’s not very helpful,” Del muttered, eyeing the vague profile the system had provided for Menolly. “So, you’re a bit of a mystery woman, then?”
“As I said, Del,” Menolly replied with calm precision, “identify won’t reveal much about anything significantly stronger than you. The more powerful something is, the less you’ll know.”
“Convenient,” he said dryly, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, what else?”
Menolly’s posture straightened, her movements almost imperceptibly mechanical, as though gearing up for the final phase of a well-rehearsed presentation. “We are almost done.”
Del crossed his arms, his weariness leaking into a sardonic mutter. “I sure am.”
Her sharp gaze pinned him in place. “What was that?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Del said quickly, waving a hand dismissively. He felt like a schoolboy caught passing notes in class. “So, what now?”
Menolly’s expression shifted subtly, her features hardening as she spoke. “A straightforward decision,” she began, her tone steady and deliberate. Her piercing eyes seemed to look straight through him, as though assessing more than just his words.
“In order for a full assessment to be made regarding your species,” she continued, “you need to prove its merits in a number of ways—adaptability, initiative, morality, and so on.”
Del frowned, her words pressing against him like the weight of an invisible judgment. “And how do I do that?” he asked, his voice tinged with irritation.
Her expression didn’t waver, her eyes locking with his in a moment of unnerving stillness. Then, with almost clinical detachment, she delivered her answer:
“Simple, really, Del.”
The pause that followed felt deliberate, heavy with unspoken implications. It stretched between them, the silence amplifying the impact of what was to come.
“Survive.”