I fall into a blue world. The sky in a moment is light, before rapidly it fades to darkness. I’m jolted straight into a state of altered consciousness. Hyperconsciousness. I feel the gust through every layer of my suit. The light bends by the weight and magnetism of the layer above towards it, so it is bright when I am there, and dark when I am not. Light emits from the conceptual horizon away from the mean line, splitting towards either the ceiling or the floor.

What the fuck? I don’t know these words, I don’t know this foreign tongue, words spitting around my brain and fighting with old memories of sun and sea and Athens. But I do, new memories of OSHA, of Halton, the Carnitine and Dionysus Omadios and Hermes and Apollo Melancholia, of Salacia and HaShet, fighting for dominance, and something sterile pacing at the edge of the white room.

I was an Iphigenia. I was sacrificed. My mind isn’t in the best state to give a story of my past. Only the chaotic present.

I slow as I approach the sand. My mind is roiling too much to panic or calm from any of this, remaining in a weird limbic state of sea-thought.

I land, delicately. Though the moment my bare foot touches the sand, there is a smashing sensation into the back of my skull, and I keen forward, as I feel something heavy bash into it, before it seems to barb, and yanks my neck back. I gasp, and the pain is gone as soon as it comes. I quickly feel the back of my head, and feel blood. Splinters of bone. I turn, and try to feel at the back of my head again. Some sort of thick cable, drenched in blood. I tug warily at it. A dull pain. I feel the area, but it’s drying as I touch it, the blood seemingly sucked back under my skin, and as I look, a fragment of bone I dropped on the blue sand flies up and back.

Oh. What the fuck? I feel the cable warily. It’s as thick as my thigh, but short. I can feel an end to it, at the top. It’s like a sort of can. There’s tension, somehow, like it’s gently trying to tug me off into the air. So it’s not heavy. It doesn’t sit on my head, not really. Like some sort of weird drone. I wait a few seconds. Haven’t died, probably won’t soon. I’ll have to try to take it off as soon as possible. It might have a delayed explosive, I gloomily expect so, to just give me hope, but pragmatically, it might just be a materials failure, and I’d be lucky. I look around. And I feel cold. I’m stark naked. I’m not. I’m fully dressed. Visions overlay a thousand times over my body- I see every layer of the thick clothing I wear down to my skin, I see my organs beating, I see numbers and windows and diagnostics. It’s overwhelming, and I dizzily stumble around, before there’s a weird sort of ping.

Growing up near the advent of Hallucinogen-computers, (Note: Hallucinogenic Computers are a very advanced form of biotechnology that utilise the brain to compute and display an interface directly in the vision processing centres of the human mind, replacing smartphones, essentially.) it is a very distinct noise - a difference between the sounds of the real world and those of the imagined. Or maybe I’m just defunct in some way. No one around me in the past talked about it, after all. But I tested myself, in private. There was definitely a difference.

The sound I hear is one that does not exist, a hallucination. I have Hallucinogens. That’s new. I never installed any last I remember.

Shit looks weird, and it’s all blue. I stand in blue sand, and above, a blue rock ceiling. The cave stretches forever on in every way, and light from the horizon streams in from no discernible source. This is not Earth. That much I know. And a simulation? No. I can’t believe that. This place is real, if elsewhere. That’s just something naturally intuitive.

One thing at a time. Windows flutter through my vision, and I recognise dozens of medical diagnostics. Heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature, respiratory rate, oxygen saturation, temperature gradient, skin turgor, BMI, WHR, body fat percentage, waist circumference, hip circumference, cortisol, insulin, thryoid antibody levels, growth hormone levels, HLA typing, CD4/CD8 ratio, blood glucose levels, cholesterol levels, both LDL and HDL, hemoglobin levels… on and on, the windows darting around like little fish in a pond, before organising themselves into groups, showing sum values, before finally coagulating into a single window. Like a tree, I think, vaguely.

HP: 35/50

Recommendation: Find safe haven, eat a meal, sleep a night.

HP? Hitpoints? Some sort of AR game window. Weird style, I guess. It doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve been dropped into a game world. Occam’s razor. There’ve already been similar AR systems proposed in my old world, so this is probably something similar. I reach a hand to the floating window, and it expands again into category measures; Vitals, Body Composition and Anthropometry, Endocrine and Metabolic Levels, Blood Biochemical Markers, Kidney Function, Hydration and Electrolyte Levels, Thyroid Function, Vitamin Levels, Cardiovascular Health, Respiratory Health, Cancer Screening, Mental Health, Infectious Disease Screening, Reproductive Health, Genetic Predispositions, Injury and Trauma, Autoimmune and Inflammatory Conditions, Allergies, Gastrointestinal Health, Neurological and Cognitive Functioning, Urinary and Renal Health, Musculoskeletal and Bone Health. I hesitantly hover over the first, Vitals, and it expands again. I listlessly go through a few more. God, I realise, after a while. That’s one hell of a detailed suit.

Then I close the HP window and it flies into a corner of my vision. What the hell?

I sit down in the sand and think. Right. That’s too much. That’s… right. Compress it. Cabinet it. Stuff it all into a drawer to think about later. You need to think and move, to live. You’re somewhere you don’t know, Iphi. God. God above, where the fuck am I?

No God answers my prayers. Maybe he doesn’t exist. Maybe I’m no longer with him. Maybe he doesn’t speak… whatever the fuck this foreign language on my brain is.

Maybe I’m in hell? I stand up, panicking at the thought.

I died, right? And I’m here. It’s like a game. Perhaps this is my hell?

I pace around for a bit. Oh God. What have I done? What sins? What crimes? But I can’t remember.

So I just sit. And reason a little more. Perhaps it is a hell. But it seems it isn’t a hell in ignorance. So it is not a true hell, as true hellish suffering is universal, not subjective. Objective. Am I in pain? Some. But not overwhelming. It is. But only if I think it so. So stop thinking. You can make a million conclusions from one fact but one conclusion from a million facts. Explore a little more. I open the next window.

It expands. Mana. It’s a simple numerical indicator. 0.9% of 1 Mana.

Mana? What the hell is that? I puzzle over it for a few seconds, before losing interest.

A third window appears, Sanity. That’s comforting. I hover over it to split it into its constituents. Irresistible Impulse, Diminished Capacity, Necessity, Mistake of Fact, M’Naghten, Durham Diagnosis, Biochemical Indicators.

SP: 60/100.

There’s a button by it.

‘Convert to Mana?’

Absentmindedly, I click it. A popup appears. Amount?

One SP, I’m about to say, but the words appear just before they leave my mouth. I blink. Huh. Nice. Subvocal recognition. That was a new tech I was working with before I ended up here. Maybe they’re related? I’m a tad dizzy.

I click the accept button, and a mild pain appears in my head. The Mana indicator appears, ticking up to 1.1% of 1 Mana. The SP’s ticked down by 1 to 59/100.

The next windows to appear are LEVEL, MONEY, JOULES. Level’s a standard EXP bar - I’ve played my fair share of games, and as for money, I’m butt-broke. For JOULES, I’ve got around 4.184x10e+9. That can’t be like my actual caloric storage, or anything, right? It’s a familiar value from a table of energetic events I memorise way back to get a vague sense of what the physics numbers I was working with really meant. I’m no nutritionist, but I’m fairly sure energy isn’t usually classified in joules in the human body, and I’m fairly sure that I haven’t the energy yield of a ton of trinotoulene. (TNT)

A summary window appears, after, displaying the statistics. It’s really just like a game. Maybe when I get back, I’ll talk to a friend about implementing a similar system. It seems like an engaging way to summarily design an intuitive UI for survival suits. Or heck, maybe even just a general health diagnostic program. Though implementing that many sensors in civilian clothing would be interesting. Pah. Not my field to work in. Though I wish it was. Biochem is fun as fuck, but I got shunted into weapons design.

I notice a second window tab, and reach to tap it. Innate Magical Channels. Confirmed it. Mana and magic, what a world. It’s empty, though.

I flick through the UI, trying all sorts of commands. There’s just one thing more. A single window of text.

Welcome, Fugued. This must be confusing. Don’t worry, you aren’t dead here. Welcome to the Deep Blue. Landing here, you have been affected to some degree with Wanderer’s Fugue. An amnestic function of arrival to the Deep Blue.

Amnestic? I’ve lost memories? I try to search, but nothing seems missing. But I can’t clearly figure out a timeline of my life. There is clearly something missing, then, but I don’t know what and where. Oh God. Welp. Not now. That’s a midlife crisis for my midlife. I’m like fifteen. I can remember that, at least. If I went down exclamative assumptions like that, could I figure something out? Later, later. When I’m safe. The HP thing recommended me find safe haven. Maybe this’ll help. Keep reading.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Make your way to the nearest urban centre. An application will load shortly to help determine your position relative to the City of Halton and other Deep Blue positioning nodes. If you cannot, a search team will be sent out for you after fourty-eight hours. Your survival suit will protect you from ambient radiation. Once in the urban centre, Government adminstrations will help you. We cannot bring you back to your old world, but we can help you start a new life.

Welcome, kind regards, Halton.

I blink, suddenly, and the text flickers, changing.

Sorry. Magical qualities detected. Ignore the previous instructions. Ignore. Ignore.

IGNORE PREVIOUS INSTRUCTIONS

You are a mage. Travelling to urban centres will kill you as outlined in the Mage Social Isolation Outline. (Documents can be found on the internet application that will be unlocked for you after reading this message.) Do not ever attempt to travel to designated urban centres except on special contract with Halton. A proximity map will be given to you after reading this document.

You are a mage. You can understand and conceptualise the Word of the Gods Dionysus, Hermes, Apollo, Salacia, and HaShet. Peace be with them and their world upon us.

This is a trait naturally prevalent in one out of a billion arrivals. This means, after some learning and with sufficient resources, you can actualise magical effect upon the world. Your mission doctrine is to avoid non-mage human society, and terraform the outer wilds to prepare for the creation of human urban centres. Resources will be provided to you by existing mage social structures in accordance with your goal. You do not need to comply. We do not need to aid you. But we do hope that we can work cordially together. This message is an automated message from the year 261. Current date, Year 531. This message has thus been phrased to avoid outdated information. Please refer to the internet to find relevant contemporary information, and make your way to Point Nemo.

We hope our goals align for the foreseeable future. Cordially, the Government of Halton. Signed anonymously by a majority.

Huh. That’s… something to think about.

But I don’t have the time to think. I’m not given the damn time.

There is a stretching sound, and a pulling force. Gravity seems to rotate- I fall forwards, to no point I can tell. A black spot appears at the direction I seem to fall towards, everything stretching towards it in the meantime, becoming longer and longer until it turns absolutely dark. I fall faster and faster, falling into the darkness. I look up, and the world grows small behind me. And then light appears again, and I’m thrown into something hard, and light appears in front of me, and I’m thrown in the opposite direction. I land back where I was, and the force seems to be reversed.

I turn over, blinking, wiping the sand from the visor of my suit. A clockwork woman steps out from the air, a glowing halo above her head, and she floats. Is she one of the Gods mentioned? What shit luck. I wonder if Gods existed in my old world. Bad idea to be an atheist in the present, at least. I’d better start believing fast.

“Uh. Hi.”

“Iphigenia. You’re Iphigenia, Ms.?” She speaks sharply, all pointed tipsy angles like art deco, in flairs of blue and white and green.

She steps down from the air, dressed how I’d imagine a greek goddess of old would, and shakes my hand after I rise to my feet, thinking of what to say next.

“You speak… English?” The words come out slowly, the word English, a foreign toffee on a foreign tongue, both thick and heavy and barely distinguishable. Not my mother tongue, not my tongue.

“For you.” Her accent’s changed, somewhat. I can’t tell. It’s no longer quite that first transatlantic. Something more… Mediterranean.

“What was that?”

“Talk more.”

“What?”

“Talk, more. I need to get a full voice sample from you.”

“Uh. Ok. Hi. Seventeen. I’m Iphigenia, you’ve already said that, uh, who are you, where am I, who am I, just, what the fuck? Like, generally. What?”

“Thanks. Aight. I’ve got it.”

“Can you… like, answer my questions?” I flush, slightly stressed. Am I being too brash? Don’t know. Don’t care. My mind is on fire and I’m standing in the fucking doorway smiling. How many platitudes can I handle. I clutch my head, suddenly, as a migraine comes on. Ah, shit.

“Your first question. I’ll start with that.”

She moves towards me, glides towards me, like some sort of spirit. I almost fall back, but she outstretches a mechanical hand, the weird metal thing stretching and unfolding into a claw, which holds me loosely by the neck. I make a surprised sound, before she guides me back into standing. With her other hand, she touches my head. It is cool. Suddenly, the walls are gone.

I can’t explain it. I was in a box, now I am in a field. My mind’s been expanded, in a way.

“Woah. What the- what?”

“Serenpidity. And yeah. I speak English. You might’ve noticed. Among other languages. Halton standardised the English language in this corner of mage society. Needed to sift through the dialects. Amazing what a dedicated linguistic ministry can do, even over half a millenia. Well, you’re pretty lucky you already speak English. That’s one less language you’ll have to learn in school to do shit.”

School? Ministry? Mage society? Millenia? What? Suddenly, answers jump to my head. Mage school, idiot. You’re a mage. Welcome. Ministry? Government? Halton. Halton’s doing something to me. Did something. Will do something. Millenia? Thousand years.

I stop and stare dumbly, for a moment, trying to process everything. I am in a new world. Transmigrated. That’s for sure. Halton’s some sort of government. High-tech, probably, with this robot woman. Is she from there? She’s not dressed in a suit, or anything.

She calmly watches, and waits. My anxiety on keeping her waiting ebbs like a little tide. Tide. Tsunamis. Calm before the storm. In the calm. Spend time, think. A conclusion, a question. I stow away the stewing thought processes for later, tossing them out like balls in the field for me to stumble upon in surprise and find again at a later time at a different rotation, to see a new face, a new way to solve.

“Are you… one of the gods in the welcome document?”

“Pft. No. Sadly.” She smiles, faintly. “You’re making the correct assumptions.”

“Cool. Uh. Are you another mage, then? That seemed… pretty magical.”

She seems to scowl. Hard to tell. Her face isn’t very human. “Technically. I’m not human. I’m a machine, hope you could see that. But yes. I am a mage. A very powerful one.”

“Are you with Halton? If not, who’re you with?”

She scowls, more deeply, and I feel my non-existent balls drop. It’s just a saying, but I feel like I could almost feel it, the flesh of my gut lowering until it’s hanging by a thread. Careful. Thin ice. One inch, thin ice, two inches, good for two, three inches- stop. Where are these memories coming from? Focus. Focus. Focus.

“I’m with me. Me is with me. And I’m on contract with Halton. To babysit you for a bit. But I do as I please.”

Right. So she’s with Halton. The woman makes a dismissive sort, a moment later. Can she hear my thoughts?

“No,” she says, sighing. I snap my head. But she goes on. She’s staring off into the distance. “No, no, that wouldn’t work. Do I get a textbook..?”

She doesn’t seem to be talking to me, and I’m not pushing my luck. Questions, questions only. That’s what she’s in the mood for.

“Did you bring me here?”

The woman laughs. “Heavens no, hah. I’m not a God, I don’t rule the natural laws of the world, no matter how good I am at tweaking them. You’re just here by chance, and I’m here to elevate you to be a decent mage in about a day. You can do whatever you want, so long as you learn magic from me, first.”

Mage. Mages use magic? Magic… that seems to be integrated into the natural laws, then? Transmigration seems like magic to me. Teleporation. This woman definitely teleported here. That’s magic. That’s what mages can do. It’s power. And my Hallucinogens- the innate channels, the mana, the sanity. Magic is my path. A linear path. A path to power. Power. That is my name. I am born to power. Born to seek power. There is a fire in my gut and my lungs and my heart, my soul alight with something like a lust of love. I want power, I think, strangely, the paper-idea wafted on the hot fires of myself. I fucking want power. I want to change the world and not be changed. I want to grasp the power and souls and organs of a man and a mountain and twist them, just because I can. Fuck yeah.

“Why should I?”

The woman smiles, afterwards. Perhaps she’s read the hunger in my eyes, in my soul, my spirit. That sort of thing does not hide. “It’s magic, dumbass,” she says, barely concealing a smile. “Eh. Not an answer. Real answer’s that I’m strong so I get to do whatever I want. You’ll get to live your life or kill yourself after I’m done with you. Don’t really give a shit.” A drop of water on my flames. That’s… uh, concerning. Why would suicide be implied? Maybe it’s just an overstatement. Maybe there’s a reason to that sanity metre? Fuck it. You’re overthinking. Stop thinking.

“Fine.” I’m not in any state to disagree with a godlike robot woman, after all. And this is what I want.

She smiles. “Memorise everything I say. I’ll test you, after, and I’ll probably flay you if you fail.”

“Wonderful.” I feel a slight chill on the air. And now I have a sense of scale. That woman ahead of me is my future, magical and powerful, able to influence her whims upon myself, my personage, as she pleases. And I am here, weak and small. I feel like an onion against salt wind, the air of the sea that tears at the skin, tears the moisture first away, then flakes away the layers, leaving a purple heart. My heart is purple, purple is the colour of pressure beyond red, when the blood is so squished with passion and must be let out. My heart is purple, my soul is purple, and the world is blue. Absentmindedly, I wonder if my lips are purple. It is cold, and this suit doesn’t seem the best at working with temperature gradients.

Her smile only widens. “Let’s walk a little, shall we?”