When Cog awoke, he found that he'd been rested against something cold and hard. His still healing arm was immobile at that point, but didn't feel as injured as it had when he blacked out. He noticed Xandir a few meters away, tending to the engine of the now-upright Clanker. The body of the vehicle had been slightly compressed on the right side - the side it had tilted over onto - and most of the windows had been shattered. Fortunately, he realized the engine was running due to the vehicle subtly shaking in place, so it was still operational. Cog slowly recalled the events that had taken place as his fuzzy memory smoothed itself out.

“Why the hell did you make me fight alone!?” Cog croaked loudly, then grunted in irritation. He cleared his throat, repeating the question far louder the second time. “My arm was still fucked then, and now both of them are almost assuredly unusable for the foreseeable future! I almost died!”

Xandir held up a hand for Cog to wait, which ignited a fire in the pech's mind. He felt his teeth grind and mind seal up with rage; he knew his arm was healing just fine due to the force of it clenching at his side. He stomped over to Xandir, fuming.

“You expect me to wait after what you just pulled!?” Cog bellowed. His eyes were, unbeknownst to him, beginning to swirl their blob-like malachite designs in a ferocious rotation, like the inside of a lava lamp on a spin cycle.

“Again, I almost died! You’re the biggest fucking asshole I’ve met! You leave me to a wild monster that nearly ripped my arms off of my body, and the damned demon didn't even die when I disemboweled it! Goddamn, it's like you still don't believe I'm from another world; I know absolutely nothing! I don't know how to fight, I don't know how to use this body, and I don't even know this world!”

Xandir stood, wiping his brow with his sleeve, oil and coolant speckling his suit jacket. He brushed his clothes off as he spoke.

“I’m truly sorry for leaving you like that, but-”

“But nothing!” Cog roared. “You and your cronies claimed your top priority was my survival, and you throw someone without magic who has a recovering, nearly amputated arm to fight something like that!? Let me tell you, Xandir; I’ve tried to be polite, but I cannot stand hypocrisy. I’m taking my beaten ass and finding someone who’ll either just try to kill me themselves or will actually help me without throwing me into a lion’s den. Go fuck off to that sore amoeba or whatever it was.”

“Wait,” Xandir said, normally light tone turning stone cold. “Our job isn’t done, and this was part of it. If you’d let me explain-”

“Like hell I will!” Cog snapped back. “You’ve already manipulated me once, so why should I believe anything you say at this point? Actions speak louder than words, and yours are singing a tune I don’t care for - not one bit.”

“Listen!” Xandir bellowed, and Cog froze. The tone of Xandir was already off-putting to him, but the confident authority in his voice at that point - alongside his abnormally loud volume - sent Cog into a frozen mental state. He blinked once, body not even twitching for a long moment.

“Having you defeat a monster is a part of how we deem individuals capable to train in the annex. I have no idea what monster you would have to face otherwise, and in this case, I was right there next to you. We can easily write it off as you on your own so you don't have to suffer through this later on, and I did tell you how you'd need to learn survival. This is survival - slaying behemoths like that. Besides that, you saw how many were on that mountain of bodies, I'm sure. I had to ensure you wouldn't get swarmed by them, or I would have been right next to you, talking you through your combat."

Xandir took a deep breath, then knelt down to meet Cog at eye level, the latter's eyes flaring with intense frustration.

"If you’d been even relatively close to critical injury, I would have intervened. I think you know that.”

Cog remained silent.

“Cog," Xandir said. "You witnessed how many individuals were within the waiting room at the medical center; they all needed to make snap decisions and combat risks that they shouldn’t have, for the sake of civilians. This is what it's like at the training annex, every day. This is what you'll be training for.”

Something about the tone of Xandir’s last words got under Cog’s skin, so he continued to stew in quiet rage. He had been asking for an explanation, after all - if he was getting one, he wouldn’t comment until it was fully out there.

“In the past, whenever we discover individuals around a magical event, we had a month to ensure their safety. Nowadays, we’re down to a mere seventy-two hours, and you only have about sixty left."

Cog, despite being severely enraged, nodded in acknowledgement. He was still livid, but it was more lingering emotion than directed hostility.

“I’m here to answer questions,” Xandir said. “We can return early, if you wish. I know it's unfair, but we’re selecting the better of two bad options. Nothing will be fantastic until we’re able to resolve your part in the magical event.”

“Why not go after the amoeba thing instead of helping me?” Cog muttered, causing Xandir to raise his eyebrows slightly.

“The Sioramoeba is a warning sign, not a goal,” the void-man explained. “Not for my group, at least. It’s akin to seeing markings on a tree, or ashes on the ground; it’s a sign, and claiming the sign is not the goal. For my team, the goal is the source. You - more specifically, your situation - was clearly the source in question, that Sioramoeba being the sign."

“So... what,” Cog asked. “You want to use me for research or something? Figure out what makes me tick? Can't see why you'd try to keep me alive otherwise. This Arnik business seems like far more of a hindrance than anything."

“No,” Xandir said, shaking his head. “We want to aid you. Our only objectives are to get you on your feet, then to ensure you don’t make another magical event. That’s all.”

Cog reluctantly nodded, silence taking over yet again; he suspected there had to be more to it, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The quiet permeated the duo for far longer than before.

“How’re the bandages treating you?” Xandir asked suddenly. Without realizing it, Cog had fallen asleep for a few seconds, the sudden noise making him jump slightly. After taking a few moments to ease himself, he considered Xandir's inquiry; he genuinely hadn’t thought about the wraps until that point, and took stock of his arms. The numb one was gradually regaining feeling while the once-severed one had shallow scars where he’d been bitten and shaken savagely. Its pain, too, had receded; in fact, the limb felt significantly stronger than before.

More ‘whole’, for lack of a better term, Cog thought to himself.

“They’re good,” he said, a small sliver of his amenability returning to his voice. “Get them from the hospital?”

“Yep,” Xandir said. "I restocked medical supplies just in case."

"Good idea," Cog said.

The pair sat in further silence, Xandir occasionally checking in on Cog's condition; while the pech appreciated the inquiries and responded truthfully, he never spoke aloud the thought eroding his meager positivity.

He was only found because he caused a magical event, which was only because he was an Arnik. He made several people's lives harder to become a species - not even since, as best he could tell, his body was simply that of another creature than his birth body - which was seemingly fully hated in this world. His appearance made a large splash on whatever radar the Exploration Gentry used to find him, which most likely made him a priority. He’d surely taken time away from several people who were far more deserving of help.

He was nothing but a stranger in a strange world, in desperate need of babysitting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xandir took a deep breath, once more pushing himself out from beneath the Clanker. He clapped his hands together in swiping motions, knocking loose rust and blobs of oil off of his gloves. He then pulled them off, revealing a thinner pair beneath before promptly replacing the second layer.

“The vehicle is repaired and prepared. What about…” Xandir said, trailing off upon seeing a familiar redness beneath Cog’s eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Cog said, voice severely choked up.

“Are you positive? I could offer-”

“Yes,” The pech replied again, louder and more affirmative. He paused, taking a shaky breath. “It isn’t… Let’s just go, okay?”

Xandir pursed his lips. He could tell that Cog had realized something, but what could be severe enough to warrant tears from the pech? Even knowing most of the planet would be against him for what he was, he hadn’t so much as shed a tear at any other information he'd received. When he had a strong reaction, he wore it on his sleeve, and he even took the fialtog event in stride after the fact.

Noting the delicate nature of the situation, Xandir nodded silently and helped Cog once more into the Clanker. Xandir started the engine, which shook and rattled with disturbing violence. Cog looked up at Xandir briefly, concern spread over his obvious distress. Xandir nervously laughed, restarting the Clanker; this time, the sound was normal, if not slightly louder than before.

The cabin was silent for a long time before Cog finally spoke up.

“Why me?” Cog muttered.

“What’s that?” Xandir asked. He turned to face the other occupant; Cog was struggling visibly with his words, hands gesturing half heartedly in a vain attempt to find them. Finally, he sighed and spoke up again, hands falling into his lap in defeat.

“Why did you go for me instead of someone important?” Cog asked, pinching his brow to hide his eyes. “I know a pity party isn’t something you’d look for, but… I dunno, I guess I’m just hoping I can find a reason why I’d be found over someone else who’s more deserving of it. Maybe someone more important who could save more lives or do more good than I could.” He looked Xandir in the eyes, his own seeming mildly bloodshot. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Xandir scratched his neck with the hand not on the controls, pausing to consider his answer.

“I think,” Xandir said thoughtfully, “that our universe doesn’t hold any answer, be that in me or anyone else. It creates laws and, so long as none violate those rules, lets events proceed in whatever manner they're naturally drawn to. You happened to appear on our radar, and I truly believe you could do just as much good as anyone - if you apply yourself, that is.”

“Yeah, well… I don't know what 'myself' really entails,” Cog said. "Besides, I've found my successes are based entirely in luck and coincidence."

“Really?” Xandir asked, glancing at the pech. “Because I see an individual who eliminated two monsters within twenty-four hours of entering an alien realm in an alien body, using nothing but his grit, intellect and surroundings. I assume that’s how you dealt with the fialtog, at least; still have no inkling of how you managed that.”

"Well," Cog said, "the hyena things with the big mouths were luck because I remembered my claws could cut stone like butter, and we were on large stones. Anywhere else and I'd be dead. The fialtog was lucky because I have metal hair and there was a thunderstorm; no thunderstorm and pretty much any other body would also mean death."

"Which shows your ingenuity in unfamiliar situations," Xandir said. "Cog, I haven't known you for more than a day and I can already tell you're capable. A survivor."

The words clung in the air around Cog's ears, causing his face to contort into a grim frown.

Silence permeated the Clanker for some time before Xandir spoke again.

“Hey, Cog,” Xandir said, causing the passenger to look up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Could you teach me that bizarre breathing technique you know? It’s to ease your mind, correct?”

Cog scoffed, but couldn’t stop the hint of a genuine smile from slipping onto his face.

“For someone with a lot of book smarts,” Cog said, “you’re really good at people.”

Xandir simply smiled as Cog began going through 4-7-8 breathing with him, the latter throwing glances at the pech, who was slowly but surely easing into his seat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Olga and Noelle were relaxing in lawn chairs outside the garage, enjoying the brief interim between their morning duties and lunch. While Noelle played with a single blue drop - the last one she had recovered from the garage floor - Olga was sipping on a smoothie. Her previous work attire was replaced with a lightweight, full-body robe that, realistically, was more of a cloak. It sported a soft hood that was over Olga's face, keeping the sun from her eyes as it also covered her blouse, shorts and leggings in a thin, fluffy blanket.

"What fruits did you say were in that, again?" Noelle asked, still playing with the spare straw Olga gave her. "It tastes like banana and sparkplum, but it's pink."

"It's banana and font-dew berry."

"Ahh, that makes sense. Should have recognized that tang."

"To be fair, it's not far from sparkplum - the kick, that is. You were otherwise incredibly off."

"Yeah, well... You got me there. At least I-"

The two paused their conversation at a familiar, yet atypically chaotic, rumbling. They looked around, scanning for the source of the noise; Noelle spotted it first, pointing out the dented and viscera-caked Clanker stuttering towards the garage. It was still around a mile out, but the straight path from them provided a complete view of the machine.

"Olga," Noelle said tentatively, "was their Clanker already that fucked up?"

"No," Olga said back, voice just as uncertain. "No, it was not. It also had far less blood and guts coating the chassis."

"Forget the chassis," Noelle said, "I'm pretty sure the roof didn't have that much animal detritus."

"Not to mention the mud flaps."

As the Clanker got closer, their eyes widened.

"How is it still driving like that?" Olga said, hand gesturing aggressively to the wobbling treads. "Those axles are about to snap in two!"

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"I don't think it even has uncracked glass on it anymore." Noelle pointed out. "Anywhere."

"Are those treads held together by some sort of weasel corpses?"

"No, I think that's... Actually, I have no clue what those are. Maybe stoles?"

"Where in the fuck would Xandir get ahold of stoles in the middle of the wilderness?"

"Fair point."

After a few moments, their earrings buzzed with Xandir's voice, connection horrible and microphone incredibly distorted.

"...Had to head back," Xandir said. "Big swarm. No good."

"Just get back here so we can get your communicator fixed up!" Olga said. "Gods, it's like nails on a chalkboard hearing you talk."

The connection was severed, and the two women once more faced each other, all of their speculations turned to concerns.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hate this new barbaric rule,” Olga spat. Cog could practically taste the viscera lining her voice. “Seventy two hours for someone to make a life-changing decision is utter bullshit. It's how these sorts of fuck-ups happen in the first place!”

“Our forces are very minimal compared to the population of the country,” Noelle said. Her distaste seeped through her words, as well. “It’s necessary, no matter how shitty it is or how many threats unexpectedly rear their ugly heads.”

“I still say we should instruct our scouts to triangulate the problem areas, then gather forces in the designated locations,” Xandir muttered. "Besides that, the monster concerns are growing; just look at what those cacklewreaths did to our Clanker."

"That's insanely out of character for their species. They don't do that unless their number wasn't properly culled, but I could have sworn we'd covered that route..." Noelle muttered, scratching the back of her neck. "Cog, I'd recommend-"

“No more throwing me blindly into stuff," Cog snapped, slamming a fist into his leg; this drew the attention of everyone present, and he had to pause to keep from yelling out loud. "Tell me what the hell is going on - and why - from the outset. I’m more than happy to do honest work, but the word ‘honest’ is there for a reason.”

“Why would we accept demands from-” Olga started.

“Also!” Cog said, loudly cutting her off, “I want an assurance that you’ll actually have that annex train me and you won't just dump me in some random town.”

“This is ridiculous,” Olga grumbled.

“Finally,” Cog continued, “I want free reign to ask any questions I have and get them answered.”

“Can’t do that last one,” Noelle said. “We know plenty of sensitive information.”

The venomous glare Olga shot at her told Noelle to drop that particular line of thought.

“Fine then.” Cog said. “I want free reign to ask any questions I have and get them answered, so long as no sensitive information is included that I am not meant to know.”

“That’s manageable.” Xandir said, nodding.

“Why do they always make demands?” Olga said, deflating. “It’s so bloody irritating.”

“Probably something to do with your sign-on process involving the cost of a literal arm and a leg.” Cog said.

“You only lost one arm. Temporarily, no less!” Olga said in exasperation.

“I shouldn’t have lost an arm at all.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect. Besides, it’s not like we sent that fialtog after you.”

Cog gave Olga a flat look.

“We didn’t!” She complained.

“Oh, don’t worry, little guy!” Cog said in a mocking Olga-esque tone, “We only want to send you in to fight a mutant dog that’s big enough to swallow you whole and can rip you limb from limb and shake you around like a chew toy! You handled the oversized man-eating wildcat with claws capable of ripping through metal like tissue paper, so you could easily handle that mutt! Don’t even worry about the mice that can deadlift a Clanker!”

"Come on," Noelle said, "that's ridiculous."

Cog stared at her blankly.

"Sure," Cog said. "So, question; there is one I forgot to ask before; how long will it take to fully unlock my Chroma?”

“Around thirty hours.” Olga and Xandir replied in unison.

Cog’s jaw dropped.

“Thirty hours?” he parroted, eyes bulging. “Like, in a row?”

“Not necessarily,” Noelle said. “You need to absorb each drop fully before you can take a break, but that’s something you’re able to do at up to six different times. A lot of people prefer to run the gauntlet, however; it’s sort of a rite of passage for anyone becoming a traveling Chroma user. That doesn’t mean you need to participate, but-”

“Nah, I’m going the full thirty,” Cog said abruptly, which caused a concerned look to flash across Xandir’s eyes.

“Cog, you don’t have to-”

“I’m well aware of what I do and don't have to do,” Cog said. “I just want two things before I start.”

“What would those be?” Noelle said, opening her own inventory to withdraw a quill, a bottle of ink and a pad of paper, setting them all up neatly on the hood of a Clanker next to her.

“Clothes, for one. Also, a place more comfortable to sit than a concrete floor.” Cog muttered, rubbing his back gingerly. “A lack of comfort is something I don’t want to deal with over the course of thirty straight hours, if it can be helped.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Out-of-date on purpose..?" Xandir said, eyes widening. "You don't mean..."

He put a hand over the mask he wore, lowering his voice.

"You mean this prejudice has exceeded civility to this level? Those cacklewreaths should have been culled. Even then, the fact so many red threshold individuals sacrificed themselves for the rest of their herd to feed... It's impossibly gruesome."

"Yes, unfortunately," Olga said. "I'm prone to bias, but fucks' sakes - he's no threat to anyone." She gestured to Cog, who was looking down and fiddling with the drop suite in his hands. He'd taken out the red ball and was rolling it around in his hand. When he nearly dropped the red orb, then the entire suite in an attempt to catch it, she held up a finger and pursed her lips.

"Not a threat to anyone but himself," she corrected.

"I know there are rules against anyone with such hostilities towards his people working alongside us," Xandir said. "It makes me curious - just how many statutes do our own people ignore for the sake of said biases?"

"Unfortunately, more than we can stop," Olga said. "I personally don't trust him-"

"You don't trust anyone," Xandir pointed out, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"As I was saying," Olga said, voice becoming irritated, "I don't trust him myself, but that's because I haven't known him long enough to make a personal connection. Those who refuse to trust Arniks are idiots."

"I'm not denying that," Xandir said. "I've heard their beliefs of them, and my word, it's impossibly dense! Purposely jumping from body to body, snatching and snuffing out all souls they encounter? Do they also believe that those who start forest fires due to accident or carelessness also carry around blowtorches and flamethrowers, looking for any flammable substance they can find?"

"I dunno," Olga said, sighing. "I just wish others would give them a fair shake so I don't have to."

There was a moment of silence.

"You do realize you weren't required to add the last portion, right?" Xandir said.

"Don't tell me how to live my life," Olga said, smirking.

The pair's attention was brought to a knocking on the garage door. After a few seconds, it opened, revealing Noelle and Braune navigating a relatively new sofa into the building. Its design was somehow both modern and Victorian in appearance, clearly meant to be a lounge sofa from the latter era but with metallic poles in place of a solid backing on the main half of it. The cushions were made from a thick, incredibly soft and tan fur that Cog would typically expect from a fancy rug, and when the pair sat it in the far corner by the tool chests, he was able to feel something akin to soft memory foam inside the seat. The arms were, ironically, made entirely out of a collection of gears cleanly welded together, and a single metal pole curved and welded along the top of all the gears, ensuring nothing would easily snag or scrape against them. They were made of various cheap metals; the stainless steel material, copper, iron and the like. There was enough space on the couch for everyone to sit, but the others left Cog to his own devices; he'd need to absorb the drop suite on his own.

“I’m surprised Joseph let us snag the sofa from the front office,” Olga said.

“I just told him a particularly important individual required it to absorb their drop suite,” Xandir said. "Besides, it's about time this garage gets some seats. A few nails and it won't be leaving here."

“And he went with that, no questions? This is our team's own garage, which had to raise some level of suspicion.”

“No questions he believes he could receive honest answers to.”

“You snake!” Olga shout-whispered with no small amount of mirth, whacking Xandir playfully on the arm with the back of her hand.

“I have my moments,” Xandir muttered. "Besides, I was able to requisition a second sofa for him - the model he preferred himself, in fact."

He tilted his head slightly as the pair watched Cog. The pech took a deep breath before taking the red drop to his lips. After an extensive, hesitant pause, he placed it into his mouth and muttered a few words beneath his breath.

Then, he began the breathing exercises he had timed perfectly mere hours before.

His body began to thrum with a red glow, nearly invisible under the fluorescent lights in the garage.

The red orb in his mouth rapidly dissolved into a colorful mist, and Xandir's eyes twinkled.

"Let's hope he becomes more of a danger to monsters than anything," he said. "With luck, he'll be a threat no creature facing him can ignore."

As Cog tried to climb onto the sofa, the drop suite spilled across the cushions, and the pech yelped as he tried to gather them up as though they were live grenades.

"'With luck' being the operative phrase," Olga muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cog was surprised at the process of taking Chroma in. The first drop was perhaps the most startling, as it left a feeling similar to coughing too hard and making your shoulders and back hurt, but throughout his entire body. The feeling grew worse the longer he took the drop, to the point his gums began to thrum, but still he kept breathing. Finally, once the drop had fully dissolved into a flavorless but heavy smoke, the pain in his body faded rapidly. He felt a subtle but definite shift in his physique, like he’d undergone several workouts at the same time and just finished fully recovering.

Popping the orange drop into his mouth, Cog’s eyes immediately widened as the pain came back worse than before, regretting the reprehensible idea that the red drop could be any worse - it felt like his entire body was being viciously ripped apart, then shunted back together. He was initially concerned that he was incompatible with the Chroma in the drops, but quickly realized his body was shifting into a state that could handle whatever this stuff was. He could swear that the orange drop had an aftertaste akin to powdered sugar, but he couldn’t be certain. The orange drop lasted far longer than the first; while the red had only lasted for about five minutes, the orange remained for well over an hour before finally fading, the pain growing consistently worse until the halfway point. When he was in tears, only semi-conscious and trembling with focus, the drop finally gave itself up to him fully, drifting into his body and beginning to relieve the horrible pain.

Cog looked at the third drop, this one yellow, with trepidation. He knew that if this trend kept going, he’d feel pain he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time - possibly ever. He stared at the wretched thing for several, long moments before forcing himself to pick it up and stick it in his mouth; as he did, he looked about and noticed Xandir and Olga. Xandir, for his part, had a reassuring gaze about him, like a father figure.

Olga, meanwhile, was grimacing like she remembered what it was like to put a hand in a wood chipper would.

He reluctantly pulled his attention back to the yellow drop in his mouth, desperately wanting to chew it and get the pain over with in one swift action. Fortunately, he knew for a fact that it would only end poorly, which let him gather his resolve to properly absorb it. The one thing that was better about the orange than the red was getting adjusted to the pain halfway through, which was possibly the only thing that let him last as long as he did. Despite knowing he may very well not make it through the yellow drop in one go despite needing to, Cog began the breathing exercise as the pair left him to his own devices, undoubtedly off to complete the tasks they'd been assigned to.

The moment the gas touched his throat, he nearly vomited. He wasn't sure why he didn't, but he did feel as though the prior two pukes had something to do with it.

This drop had such density that the gas felt overwhelming, like he’d shoved an air compressor hose down his throat and pulled the trigger. He fought the urge to cough or hurl, keeping the drop firmly in his mouth and using every ounce of willpower at his disposal to continue the breathing exercises as perfectly timed as possible. He felt tears stream down his cheeks, an involuntary reaction of the force being viciously applied to his spasming esophagus. He wanted to scream, to swallow the thing whole and let nature take its course. He barely staved off the urges that could very well have killed him, unable to do anything but bounce his leg in an old, subconscious habit that aided him in passing time. The flavor, when finally pushing through the initial sensory overload, was akin to the medicine for an infection his parents had forced him to take as a kid; it was a nasty, white fluid that had to be fed in by a syringe, and he nearly spat out the drop with a stream of vomit threatening to escape his throat.

Then, he thought about the opportunity he held in his grasp.

He’d thrown out every chance he’d ever gotten over the years; never trying to grow, never aiming higher, never traveling or making new friends. He never had a savings account, never moved out of his home, and never fully made up with his family.

He felt something inside him bubble up - a cavalcade of nonsensical emotion and indomitable willpower, fighting and compressing one another until both were massive pressures within; they flipped the switch on his adrenaline, pumping energy into him that he did not possess.

Cog felt a desperate need to keep going.

He gritted his teeth for just a moment after finishing a cycle of breathing, then began the next, feeling his esophagus spasm in an attempt to both vomit and keep the bile down. He shook then; not with power, but rage and defiance. He refused to let one more opportunity slip through his fingers. He had let plenty of them go for reasons he still either despised or didn’t understand, and now that he found himself in a new plane of existence, he wouldn’t become the same barely functioning man-child. He would make something of himself here, and grow like he never had before.

Then, the reverberations began.

They started off small, a slight trembling and a clammy feeling. It felt like a wave of mild nausea after standing up too fast, bordering on vertigo but far less severe. The feeling disjointed his senses of taste and smell from his situation. He felt his focus wane as he finished a third repetition of the breathing, and as soon as he had a half second of clarity, he steeled himself; he felt his will grip his mind and squeeze like it was a stress ball.

Then, he felt a headache come on. It was mild at first, a dull throbbing not unlike a heartbeat. He felt his body sway as the pain intensified to the point of feeling like he’d pinched every nerve in his head. He could feel every pulse, every throb and every twitch his brain underwent in excruciatingly overstimulating detail, inducing nausea when it met the previous vertigo-esque effects. He let out a silent scream, only to immediately force in a breath and continue the process.

By then, Cog’s sense of time was lost. After what could have been five seconds or five years, he felt something inside of him shift. It wasn’t a feeling he knew, let alone one that he'd been prepared for; the primal feeling inside of him stirred once more, and the him that was equally himself - and not - felt as though it... rolled over, for lack of a better term. He felt another presence in himself, though only for a moment. Both him and the not-him within began to stir. It felt like one of the emotional states he’d experienced back home, when everything blurred together to the point his soul wanted to shoot every cloistered feeling into a physical release, but doubled in size, strength and quantity. The emotions swirled past his migraine and soreness, filling his essence with a desire to power through unlike anything he’d experienced before.

A song entered his mind, then - one he’d listened to countless times to help him through tough physical jobs, chores and schoolwork.* It began to play with perfect clarity within his mind, his body beginning to consistently tighten and loosen his muscles to the rhythm. It was a tactic he’d used to get the aggression out of his body when he became too energetic or angry back on Earth, and it seemed to work in his new world, as well. The strain of focus on both breathing and rhythmic tensing threw him off just a bit, but he soon got the two exercises to properly line up.

A single word began to etch itself across his mind. It didn’t write itself in English; instead, it appeared in a language he couldn’t comprehend, yet paradoxically knew fluently. It was a word that, on a fundamental level, Cog understood better than any other phrase, concept or bit of slang in his lexicon.

Incessant

He was incessant.

It wasn’t a self-admonition of faults, nor was it gloating over a point of pride. It was phrased specifically and intentionally, and it summarized the driving force behind his very spirit. He mouthed the words constantly as he continued the breathing exercise, body still tensing and relaxing to the rhythm; he wasn’t sure why, but it felt right. He abruptly felt a warmth and a cold both permeate him at once, like active uranium and dry ice being shoved into his nervous system simultaneously. He jumped at the sudden feeling, but managed to barely hold the breathing rhythm steady. His brow furrowed as he grunted discontentedly.

Something felt wrong.

The pain was suddenly gone.

Cog felt it missing, like a hole in every fiber of his being. He didn’t realize how used to the fervent assault on his being he was until it finally left.

He did the only thing he felt was right, willing the pain back into himself.

In the attempt, he felt something yet to tear itself through the curtain of his raw essence - something that had not awoken. Cog had no intention of waiting for it to take center stage on its own; he poked and prodded at the metaphysical wall it hid behind before punching and kicking, then slamming his metaphysical body into it.

At first, nothing happened.

Cog felt the wall’s durability and resilience. While knowing he should be deterred from it, he merely smiled.

He gripped his seat, willing more focus into his efforts. He caught himself nearly skipping the breathing exercise, course correcting quickly thereafter.

He felt the strength his hold had in whatever metaphysical situation he was undergoing, and the opposing force that kept him from the potential waiting for him.

Cog was done being pushed. Now he would be the one to be the aggressor, and the first victim of his rage was the immaterial blockade standing before him.

The drop in his mouth finished dissolving, and with a final use of the breathing exercise he was taught, he was granted the focus it had required thus far.

So, using that mental fortitude, he pushed harder.

His seat began to creak.

His mindspace began to buckle.

He then promptly threw up, fell into a puddle of his own vomit, and blacked out.