Jaxon closed his eyes. Sleep came fast, but it never felt like rest.

Darkness. Then—light. Cold, pulsating light. It flickers erratically, like a broken signal, distorting the fabric of reality itself.

He was floating. Or falling. Or both.

Then—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, yet coming from every direction.

A figure emerged from the void.

Jaxon froze.

It was himself.

Not a reflection. Not a clone. Something else entirely. A self that should not exist.

“You’re late.” The voice was his, yet different—layered, detached, like an echo from across time.

Jaxon tried to speak, but his words disintegrated before reaching his tongue.

His other self took a step forward. The moment his foot touched the ground, the void shattered—

And suddenly, they were somewhere else.

A battlefield stretched before them, spanning planets, galaxies, dimensions. Ships the size of cities hovered above, unleashing annihilation upon entire civilizations. Soldiers—human, alien, something beyond classification—fought wars that had raged long before recorded time.

Jaxon’s breath caught in his throat.

His other self stared at the chaos, unbothered. Knowing.

“They fight over what was never theirs to begin with.”

The scene shifted.

A council of beings—not human, not machine, but something beyond comprehension—loomed over a colossal map of existence itself. They moved entire realities like pieces on a chessboard.

Jaxon’s head throbbed. Who are they?

His other self exhaled, the smallest hint of amusement in his voice.

“You already know the answer.”

The world shifted again.

A massive structure stood before them—a monolith, pulsing with an energy that seemed to breathe. At its core, a single eye watched, unblinking.

Jaxon’s vision blurred. His body trembled, his thoughts unraveling—

“You are not supposed to be here.”

Jaxon turned to his other self, desperate for clarity. “What the hell is this?”

His other self finally looked him in the eye. And smirked.

“You’ll figure it out.”

The world collapsed.

Jaxon woke up—drenched in sweat, gasping for air.

It was 3:00 AM. His Neuralink flickered, notifications waiting.

Without hesitation, he logged in.

***

Jaxon leaned back in his chair, staring at the glowing interface projected directly into his vision. The Neuralink Nexus hummed in his mind, seamlessly connecting him to the digital chatroom. Conversations scrolled past in rapid bursts—conspiracies, philosophy, underground tech leaks. But his fingers hesitated before typing.

"Y'all ever had a dream so vivid it felt like... more?"

There was a pause. Then the chat flared to life.

[User:Hades]: Lmao, Jaxon, you good?

[User:NullByte]: Damn bro, your subconscious has better world-building than Hollywood.

[User:Satori]: Elaborate.

Jaxon exhaled sharply and started typing.

"It wasn’t just a dream. It was structured, like something was showing me a history. Galactic wars, entities beyond human understanding, things that felt... ancient. And there was someone else there—me, but not me. He was speaking in riddles, like he was guiding me through it."

The chat went dead for a few seconds. Then, predictably, the rationalizers arrived.

[User:Satori]: Sounds like a classic case of hyper-pattern recognition. Your brain took scattered memories, abstract fears, and concepts you've encountered and stitched them into a compelling narrative.

[User:LucidOne]: Yeah, the subconscious does that. It's designed to detect patterns, even where none exist. You probably read or watched something similar before.

[User:Jaxon]: I don’t remember anything like this.

[User:NullByte]: That’s the point. The brain is a messy archive. It retrieves and recombines stuff in ways you don’t even recognize.

A new message popped up.

[User:DataPhantom]:Attaching article—‘The Neuroscience of Lucid Dreaming & Subconscious Scripting.’ Read it.

Jaxon opened the link. It explained how the brain processes information during REM sleep, creating elaborate dreamscapes from fragmented memories, suppressed emotions, and sensory impressions. The article even described cases where people "met" themselves in dreams—an effect of self-reflection loops in the subconscious.

His Neuralink flickered as he skimmed through the chat, thoughts guiding the scroll.

[User:Jaxon]: So you're saying this was just my subconscious playing a movie for me?

[User:Satori]: Exactly. And a damn good one, apparently.

[User:Hades]: Bro, drop the script in chat. Netflix might want that.

Jaxon smirked, but inside, doubt lingered. The explanation made sense—too much sense. Yet something about the vision felt too deliberate to be random. Too cohesive to be meaningless.

[User:Jaxon]: "What if it wasn't just my mind?"

The chat instantly reacted.

[User:NullByte]: Oh boy, here we go.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

[User:LucidOne]: Next, you’re gonna say your ‘other self’ was a message from beyond, huh?

[User:Satori]: Come on, Jaxon. We've been through this. Belief thrives in the absence of explanation. But you HAVE an explanation. No need to reach for mysticism.

Jaxon let out a slow breath. He didn’t believe in mysticism. But he wasn’t fully convinced by science either.

The debate raged on, but Jaxon’s responses slowed. He wasn’t going to win this argument—not here.

[User:Jaxon]: Alright, I hear y’all. Gonna crash. See you tomorrow.

He logged out, staring at the ceiling in silence.

Maybe they were right. Maybe they weren’t.

***

Jaxon groggily pushed himself out of bed, his muscles heavy with the weight of sleep. His room was a mess—books stacked haphazardly, clothes draped over his chair, and the faint glow of his neural implant’s interface still hovering in the corner of his vision. The same government-approved news scrolled across his display.

"Population Decline Crisis – Experts Urge Increased Birth Rates for Economic Stability."

He scoffed. More bodies, more implants, more profit. Same script, different day.

Dragging himself to the sink, he turned on the water, splashing his face before brushing his teeth. The mirror reflected tired eyes, dark circles deepening each night. He spat into the sink, wiping his mouth before pulling on his uniform—a dull, standardized outfit embedded with an ever-present tracker.

In the kitchen, the artificial scent of lab-grown bacon filled the air. His mother stood by the stove, flipping something on a pan, the only sound being the quiet sizzle of oil. The chair at the table sat empty.

His father was already gone.

Jaxon pulled out a chair and sat down, rubbing his eyes before muttering, "Morning, Mom."

His mother turned slightly, giving him a tired smile as she plated his breakfast. "Morning, Jax. You slept late again."

He shrugged, picking up his fork. "Had a lot on my mind."

She sat across from him, watching as he started eating. For a moment, there was only silence, but then she sighed.

"You know your father was almost late today?"

Jaxon didn’t look up. "Not surprising."

"Jaxon." Her tone sharpened. "Do you even realize how hard he works to keep this family going?"

He stabbed his food, pushing it around. "I never said he doesn’t work hard."

"Then act like it matters!" She leaned forward. "You sit here, questioning everything, doubting everything, but while you're busy doing that, your father is out there breaking his back in a job that barely cares if he lives or dies—just to make sure you have food to eat."

Jaxon exhaled through his nose. "And that’s exactly the problem, Mom. Why should he have to break himself just to survive? Why should anyone?"

She clenched her jaw. "Because that’s how the world is, Jaxon. Not everyone gets to sit around debating what’s fair and what isn’t."

He scoffed. "So what, I should just accept it? Accept that people like Dad are treated like disposable machines while the ones at the top live like gods?"

She shook her head. "I just want you to appreciate what he does. Not everything needs to be a debate, Jaxon. Sometimes, you just need to say 'thank you' and move on."

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed, pushing his plate away. "Tell him I said thanks, then."

His mother sighed again, softer this time. "You can tell him yourself when he gets home."

Jaxon didn't reply. Instead, he stood up, grabbing his bag. "I gotta go."

His mother watched him walk to the door, the tension still thick in the air.

"Jaxon."

He paused.

"Just... don't forget where you come from."

He didn't turn around. "I never do."

Then he walked out the door.

***

Jaxon walked down the rain-slicked pavement, hands buried in his pockets, his neural implant still flashing faint news headlines in his peripheral vision. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the argument with his mother, the weight of it lingering like an aftertaste.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"You always look like you're plotting world domination when you walk alone."

Jaxon glanced to his side, immediately recognizing the speaker. "Morning, Selene."

She fell into step beside him, smirking. "You sound thrilled to see me."

"Just tired."

Selene studied him for a moment, then nudged his shoulder. "Late-night existential crisis or just another deep dive into the void?"

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Both."

"Figured." She adjusted the strap of her bag. "So, what’s today’s topic of overthinking? The meaning of life? The illusion of free will? Or are we finally admitting that we’re all just highly advanced meat puppets?"

Jaxon chuckled dryly. "You joke, but you’re not far off."

She raised an eyebrow. "Alright, hit me with it."

He hesitated, debating whether to actually explain or just brush it off. But this was Selene—if anyone could keep up with his thoughts, it was her.

Jaxon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, but don’t psychoanalyze me to death."

Selene grinned. "No promises."

He exhaled. "I had a dream—or maybe it was something else. It wasn’t like a normal dream. It felt... real. Too real."

Selene’s smirk faded slightly. "Go on."

"I saw something—galactic war, beings beyond us, knowledge that felt ancient, forbidden. It wasn’t just images; it was like I was there. And someone else was there too… guiding me. But he spoke in riddles, like he was leading me somewhere, but never giving me a straight answer."

Selene tilted her head, intrigued. "So, you met your wise old mentor in the astral plane? Classic hero's journey setup."

Jaxon scoffed. "Yeah, except I’m not a hero, and this wasn’t some feel-good enlightenment trip. It felt... unsettling, like I was being shown something I wasn’t meant to see."

She hummed thoughtfully. "And what did your mysterious guide actually say?"

Jaxon hesitated, recalling the cryptic words. "‘You are only awake in the moments they are not watching.’"

Selene stopped walking. "That’s... creepy as hell."

"Tell me about it."

She crossed her arms. "So, let me guess. You woke up, jumped into the chatroom, and they told you it was just your subconscious throwing random nonsense at you?"

Jaxon nodded. "More or less. They even pulled up an article explaining how the subconscious processes information and creates ‘visions’ based on memory fragments. It Sounds convincing, but I don’t buy it."

Selene smirked again. "Of course you don’t. You wouldn’t be Jaxon if you did."

"Because it wasn’t just a dream." His voice was firm. "It felt like a warning. Like something out there doesn’t want me to know the truth."

Selene tapped her fingers against her chin. "Alright. Devil’s advocate time."

Jaxon groaned. "Here we go."

"What if it was just your subconscious? You consume a ton of conspiracy theories, hidden knowledge, all that jazz. Your brain could just be piecing things together in a weird, cinematic way."

"Maybe." Jaxon admitted. "But what if it wasn’t?"

Selene’s expression turned mischievous. "Then you’re in deep, my friend."

They continued walking in silence for a moment before she added, "But hey, just because you're paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not watching."

Jaxon chuckled. "That’s supposed to be comforting?"

"Not at all." She winked. "But if you are onto something, you better hope your dream guide knows what he's doing."

Jaxon scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not crazy, Selene.”

She smirked, unfazed. “Did I say you were?”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it. “You think I don’t notice? The way you entertain my words like a puzzle to be solved, but never actually consider them?”

Selene rolled her eyes. “Come on, Jaxon. You want me to just nod and say ‘Yeah, bro, sounds legit—definitely astral projection’? I’m giving you the courtesy of engagement. That’s more than most people would.”

Jaxon exhaled sharply, glancing ahead. “I don’t need courtesy. I need someone who actually thinks.”

“And you assume I don’t?” Selene shot back. “Maybe I do think—just not in the same direction as you.”

He didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between them as their steps fell into rhythm. Then, finally, he muttered, “It felt real.”

Selene sighed. “I’m not saying it didn’t. But you know how the brain works—sometimes, it convinces itself of things that aren’t there.”

Jaxon clenched his jaw. “Or maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe we’re conditioned to ignore what is there.”

Jaxon and Selene walked side by side, the city humming around them with the usual mechanical cadence—autonomous cars zipping by, holographic ads flashing, and the faint hum of overhead surveillance drones. Jaxon’s mind was elsewhere, still reeling from the dream that refused to fade.

"I had another one," he muttered, keeping his gaze forward.

Selene raised an eyebrow, pulling her bag strap higher on her shoulder. "Another what?"

"The dreams. The same kind. It felt too real to be just a dream. It’s like I was… pulled into something."

Selene sighed but let him continue. She had heard these rants before. "And what happened this time?"

Jaxon hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much to say—how much of it would sound like he was losing his mind. "A voice. Someone—no, something—was there with me. It wasn’t a dream; it was like an encounter. Like I was meant to be there."

Selene hummed, noncommittal.

Jaxon glanced at her. "You think I’m crazy."

"I think you should consider the possibility that your brain is just making connections where none exist," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Sleep paralysis, lucid dreaming, hyper-pattern recognition—you know, actual science."

"Hyper-pattern recognition?"

"You see patterns that might not actually mean anything. Like when people think the government is watching them just because their ads match their conversations."

"That’s a bad example," Jaxon scoffed. "That actually happens."

Selene smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, her attention flickered ahead. Jaxon followed her gaze, and his stomach turned.

Ryan.

He was leaning casually against a campus rail, laughing with a group of his friends. Selene’s posture shifted—subtle but immediate. Her eyes brightened just a little, her lips curved into an involuntary smile.

Jaxon felt the shift, and suddenly, his words felt useless.

"So, what do you think it means?" he asked, forcing himself to keep the conversation alive, knowing she was only half-listening now.

"Mm?" Selene barely responded, her gaze locked ahead.

Jaxon sighed. "Never mind."

As they got closer, Ryan looked up, catching Selene’s eye. His grin widened, and he gave her a nod.

"Hey, Selene," Ryan called.

Jaxon might as well have disappeared.

Selene’s entire mood lifted as she waved back. "Hey, Ryan!"

Jaxon clenched his jaw, stuffing his hands into his pockets. This was how it always was. Conversations cut short. Interest redirected. He didn’t hate Ryan, but he hated this.

Selene slowed her pace, as if debating whether to break off and join them. Jaxon didn’t wait for confirmation. "I’ll see you in class," he muttered and kept walking.

Selene barely registered his words before she veered toward Ryan’s group.

Jaxon exhaled through his nose, adjusting the strap of his bag.

This was why he didn’t bother getting too attached to people. They always had something more interesting to focus on.

Jaxon moved through the school hallway like a ghost, blending into the background noise of teenage chatter. Selene walked beside him, still energized from their earlier conversation. Then, like clockwork, he appeared.

Sam.

The school’s golden boy. Rich, well-connected, and blessed with the best NeuroWeave implant money could buy—a model far beyond what most students had. Jaxon didn't need to interact with him to know that. The way Sam carried himself, the confidence in his stride, the way teachers barely reprimanded him for anything—it all screamed privilege.

“Selene,” Sam greeted smoothly, flashing a manufactured perfect smile.

Jaxon noticed how her posture shifted—subtle, but clear. The slight tilt of her head, the way her shoulders relaxed. A silent acknowledgment of status.

“Hey, Sam!” Selene beamed.

Jaxon already knew where this was going. He was no longer part of the conversation.

Sam’s gaze barely flicked in his direction before locking back onto Selene. "Man, you wouldn’t believe how easy the test was. My dad hooked me up with an adaptive AI tutor last night. It basically downloaded the whole syllabus into my memory."

Selene’s eyes widened. “Wait, so you didn’t even study?”

Sam smirked. “Didn’t have to. The NeuroWeave does all the work. It predicts the test questions based on past patterns. I walked in, answered, and walked out. Easiest A+ of my life.”

Selene let out a low whistle. “That’s crazy. I was up all night trying to memorize that physics crap.”

Jaxon just watched. Analyzing.

Selene wasn’t just impressed—she was awed. Like she was hearing about some divine power beyond human reach.

Jaxon knew the truth. Sam wasn’t smart. He wasn’t hardworking. He was just born into the right family. His intelligence was artificial. Purchased. Installed. Not earned.

And yet, Selene soaked it up like scripture from a prophet.

"Yeah, the system updates overnight," Sam continued, stretching like he had done something exhausting. "So, while everyone else is struggling to keep up, I get a head start."

"That is so unfair," Selene laughed, but there was no bitterness—just admiration.

"Hey, life's unfair." Sam shrugged. "You just gotta be on the winning side."

Jaxon didn’t even blink.

Winning side?

This guy really thought he was above everyone else. And in a way, he wasn’t wrong. Society had made it so. The gap between the privileged and the ordinary had become a canyon.

Jaxon

had seen enough.

Without a word, he adjusted his bag strap and stepped past them, leaving them in their little bubble of manufactured superiority.

"Yo, Jaxon!" Sam called after him, as if finally acknowledging his presence. "Try not to stress too much about the test, man. Not everyone can be at the top."

Jaxon didn’t stop walking.

He just smiled to himself.