It was with that very sardonic mood that he returned to his room, deposited his bag on the floor and himself on the chair. A sigh followed. Yep, there was no doubt about it. Between the carefree morning that he had, when it was decided that he was going to spend half of tomorrow on a picnic, and now, a certain amount of depression had snuck into his previously unassailable mental fortitude.

In layman’s terms, he was feeling like shit.

Nothing too major, of course, nothing that would indicate a mood longer lasting than an evening, and that would force him to slow his training. Nothing of the sort. Just a bit of melancholy. A fog of unhappiness that lightly obscured the shores of his mind. In fact, if he was an optimistic man, then he would actually say that it was a good thing that he was feeling like this, and that it came at just the right time. That is because it was no wonder he was feeling sad. Being sad would be the normal state of affairs for a person in his position, even without his own inclinations to a depressed state of mind.

But most of the time that he was feeling bad in the last couple of days, it wasn’t because depression clouded his thoughts, but rather his anxiety, which multiplied them. In short, he was sad, very sad, but it was just buried deep down beneath lairs of magical euphoria, new body chemistry, traumatic shock, and an almost over affectionate concern from the people around him. So him feeling a pang of two or sadness right now would only help him in the long run, helping to alleviate some of the pressure from the rest of the emotion buried deep down. Especially considering the very low chances of it spiraling into something worse with him going on a fucking picnic tomorrow.

But of course, Sam wasn’t an optimistic man. So, after coming up with the aforementioned analysis for the impact of his current mood on his goals for the future, he quickly threw it in the trash and proceeded to brood. And what was he brooding about? Why, of course, it was the reason for him having to brood in the first place. Indeed, it was the time-honored tradition of wondering why a depressed person was feeling bad.

There was one major difference between the previous broodings of Sam’s past and this one, however. That was because now, unlike before, there was no way for him to downplay and reject his reasons for feeling bad as him being a whiny baby. There wasn’t even the magic card of saying, “at least I’m lucky to be alive,” because the price for his retaining his life was very high indeed, for himself and more importantly, for the rest of the world.

All this was obviously (although perhaps paradoxically to a person not overly critical of themselves) a good thing for his state of mind. If there was no conceivable way, even for a downer such as him, to deny that his reasons for feeling the way he did were valid. Then there was also no reason for him to feel bad about feeling bad. No chance for good old impostor syndrome to rear its head and yell, “Hey! Other people also have it bad, you know. In fact, some have it worse. And you don’t hear them complaining about things. And if they do, it’s only because they have more valid reasons for feeling the way they do they you do. Stop being such a little bitch and get a job!”

What this meant was that he was free to go down the path of figuring out why he was feeling sad—correction; why he was feeling this certain amount of sadness at this current point in time—without having to worry about making his mental situation worse due to feeling like an inadequate human being. That was going to take quite some time, however; time that he wouldn’t be able to spend studying or practicing gathering. Which meant that the best way to maximize his usage of time was getting the rest of his nightly obligations out of the way. That meant: Showering and brushing his teeth, preparing his clothes for tomorrow, setting an alarm (since he had still yet to settle on a permanent daily one, another line of thought he’d have to wonder through) and finally meditating. The last activity, based on past observations, was best for the sort of self-inquisition he was planning to do. Although it did come at the cost of completely missing the purpose of the activity in the first place.

Oh well, some sacrifices had to be made. Maybe if he thinks really hard, he’ll finish his introspection before it came time to abandon any thought that wasn’t to do with the way he was breathing or the way he was thinking about thinking.

One good thing did come out of the current predicament though (again, if he was to abandon his initial conclusion that his current predicament was in it of itself a good thing). He was free, both morally and physically, to partake in one of his favorite modifications to one of his favorite activities. Listening to music while in the shower. And although his upbeat playlist was still not back to its former glory, it was more than enough to function as the soundtrack for his thoughts in the next couple of minutes. He put his phone on the sink countertop, but his finger hovered over the shuffle button. He was hesitating between leaving it up to fate or taking fate in his own hands, satisfying his immediate desire but sacrificing his chance for a cathartic moment that would signal to him that all was going to be well.

He hit shuffle. Beautiful. He smiled and stepped into the shower.

It was distinctly easier to think under the calming effect of the warm waters rushing down on him, at least the sort of thoughts that Sam was currently trying to foster. Perhaps if he was trying to list all the reasons for the collapse of the first empire in elven history, which he had learned yesterday, that would be a different story. It was like he always said—No! He chastised himself while shaking his head. He couldn’t let his thoughts wander where they pleased. He had a job to do! Figure out why he was suddenly feeling sad when there was no apparent reason for the change in his mood. In the hope that the knowledge would ease his worries and allow him to focus on his reading for the rest of the evening.

Let’s start at the top. When did I start feeling like this? Well, it all goes back to when I was three and—no! Bad Sam, focus! He sighed. Not in the morning. I left breakfast only feeling apprehensive about the coming day, a little excited about the picnic tomorrow, and physically, sore from the workout. It also wasn’t there after lunch. The only thing I felt was mentally tired about what I did and about what I’m going to do. Dinner? That’s what makes the most sense. It’s when I recognized myself feeling melancholic for the first time. But no… I don’t think so. That was only the moment of realization that a change had happened, not the moment of the change itself.

He scratched his head, which reminded him that he might as well be useful and preceded to shampoo it. Gathering practice with Dan, it had to be then. I remember leaving his office more downtrodden than what could be explained as just tiredness. I just hadn’t realized it at the time because I was listening to music and was looking forward to dinner. But it had to be then. Somewhere, during the latter half of the day, a switch flipped in my head and I started feeling bad, or more bad than before, because of something… But why?

The lesson with Dan went well. Just like yesterday. Exactly like yesterday, actually. Successes and failures-wise. And that shouldn’t signify any reason for a change, now would it? If I felt satisfied with the way things were going yesterday, then there would have been no reason for me to be dissatisfied with things going the same way today. Or am I simply feeling bad because I’m expecting to constantly improve and I’m disappointed by there not being much of a difference between my performance today compared to yesterday?

That would make sense… Except that I don’t feel like that. Or at least I don’t think that I do. I’m happy with my performance as of now, aren’t I? After all, if I wasn’t doing well than Web-Web would have already said something to me and I already decided on trusting them as far as my efforts go. Yes… I can’t be a hundred percent certain, but I do feel satisfied about how I’m doing in my lessons with Dan. I just started a couple of days ago, after all.

But there’s something there… He rapped his knuckles on the shower’s walls. I’m sure of it. Despite everything going well, something about Dan’s second lesson got my brain’s knickers in a twist and is making me feel bad. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to come up with an answer before stepping out of the shower in order to spit his mouthwash in the sink. The rest of his preparation was also of no help, being quickly over with and leaving him with only the music in his ears and the prospect of having to meditate while still being puzzled by the cause for his change in behavior. Nothing to it, he decided and turned the music off, set a timer for the meditation and settled on the chair for a not very mindful session.

He dithered back and forth between various lines of thoughts and his hard-earned instinct that commanded him to abandon those and focus on his breathing. But, a couple of minutes in, it finally struck him. It’s because things were going well! His proclamation echoed through his brain with decisive finality. And although he could already guess the end point of where that understanding would lead him, he still had to finish building the structure that formed the complete set of causality.

So things were going well in the lesson, that’s a good thing. Sure, things could obviously be going better. I could be some genius that’s good enough to become a Ruler in three years’ times. But that’s not what’s really bothering me. Like we said, Web-Web has the final say-so in determining whether I’m doing good or bad, there’s no reason to worry myself over not being a Mary Sue. It’s not anxiety about not being better that’s got me down in the dumps, it’s not worrying that I’m not going to be good enough. No, it’s the anxiety that I am good enough but that I’m going to have to maintain it for the next three years, if not for the rest of my life. In fact, I’m not even sure if anxiety is really the driving force behind my mood, it’s there, but what I’m really bothered by is laziness.

After six whole days of nothing but training and learning, after my session with Dan was almost over and I was satisfied with the efforts I put in and what I got out of it. That’s when it happened. I realized that if I want to match up with Web-Web’s expectations of me, and even my expectations of myself, then that would mean that the same week that I just had would be repeating itself for the foreseeable future. No days off. No using the time I designated for studying in order to play games because I already finished reading the course summary and I don’t have the power to go through the presentations again. No Socratic questioning in order to calm myself in the middle of the night by saying that if I wouldn’t manage to fall asleep than it’s going to be alright because nothing really bad would happen from having one wasted day. No second chances, no redos, no making up for a failure at some later date.

OK… I slipped into some proper anxiety just now, but that’s not really why I’m feeling down. It’s really just me being sad because I realized that I’m not going to have a lot much time for leisure and pleasure. That’s it. To jump off Bentham, I’m sad, because I’ve realized that my ability to generate happiness for myself has been severely hampered. A simple, easy to understand, easy to explain, utilitarian formula. Now if someone could just tell my brain that we hate utilitarianism when it comes to the individual and I’ll be back to my old happy self in no time. Except for the fact that my old happy self was actually incredibly self-indulgent and lazy and I wouldn’t be able to be happy with myself if I allowed myself those patterns of behavior.

“Stupid Bentham and his stupid hedons!” he muttered while opening his eyes after his phone sounded the meditation’s end. “Wouldn’t me knowing that by making myself less happy I am going to make many other people happy factor into the current amount of happiness that I’m experiencing? Are you saying that I’m immoral, Jeremy?! Need I remind you which one of us as had his skeleton covered in wax and put on display? Spoiler alert, it’s not me! Not yet, at least, you fucking asshole!” he bellowed at the book spread out on his desk, secure in the knowledge that since Earth was destroyed, all the atoms that made the weirdo bastard’s remains had vaporized and drifted in every possible direction.

He gave a sigh while opening the book and trying to redirect his focus from reading himself into just reading. He had gotten to the root of his mood swing, and his sadness was indeed lessened somewhat as a result. But all that emotion didn’t go anywhere, rather, it just changed form, even strengthened perhaps. Instead of being somewhat sad, he was now a little less sad, but, at the same time, also angry. Angry at himself for having such a weak will. Angry at the Epiraks for being cliche evil assholes. Angry at Web-Web for bringing him here with only five years to spare, twenty-two years old and way behind on where he should be if he wanted to save the Web. Angry at Web-Web for bringing him here in the first place, choosing him out of billions of people or whatever percentage of them the AI had “access” to.

What was so special about Sam in the first place? There was no way that he was unique in being a Thread-Weaver amongst all of humanity, was there? Was he truly the most talented of the bunch that the Terrans from a hundred years ago had to offer? And what about all his other faults? Because there surely wasn’t anything else that made him a better prospect for heroism than all Earth. Sure, he was smart, but there were plenty smarter than him, both in knowledge and intelligence. God knows that there were plenty of people more hardworking than him, more passionate, with a stronger sense of will and desire to make a difference in the world burning in their hearts like a forge fire. How on Earth, from Earth, could he have made for Web-Web’s best prospect for the job? Sarah would be much more suited than him, but she lacked the brute luck that made him a Thread-Weaver. Was it just that every other Thread-Weaver from his time was a worthless asshole who was going to break under the pressure even faster than Sam was? Wasn’t there a human equivalent of Farris or his niece? Talented and hardworking enough that with the new body treatment they would easily prove equal to the general?

Sam liked himself, loved himself, really. Despite everything, all his faults and mistakes. Weaknesses that were more critical than they should have been, and strengths that never quite materialized to the extents that he hoped they would. He was a good person; he was proud to be who he was. Sure, he could always be better, but so could most people. He was happy with who he was. But even in his proudest moments, when the self-criticism and doubt gave place to lofty aspirations for the future. Even then, he still wouldn’t have picked himself for the job that Web-Web had. Not when the lives of billions were at stake, when the fate of entire worlds rested on the right person’s shoulders.

Of course, he wasn’t insane, wasn’t irrational. It was more than reasonable for him to feel this way; he realized that. It was the same thing that Farris told him before they parted, the Ruler’s real reason for dragging him into what became a protracted conversation about the morality of total war against evil. He also knew (at least theoretically) that just because he was feeling like the road ahead was too difficult for someone like him, didn’t mean that someone like him wouldn’t be able to walk all the way to its end. Most heroes and figures of legend, at least the ones worth their salt, didn’t start out as such. Becoming the person he was destined to be, like Farris said, was a process, not a state of being.

But still… still. Despite all that, despite the fact that he didn’t lose hope of being able to match up to his duty in the future, that he couldn’t lose hope. He also couldn’t help but keep thinking, wondering… Was there truly no one better than him for the job? Even if Web-Web could only take from a million people, was none of them more suited than Sam? And if there weren’t, and there weren’t, he had to keep believing that in order to keep his trust in Web-Web, and thus sustain his belief in himself. If there weren’t any, was it because they were less suited than Sam? Their personality and character, more troublesome than Sam’s for the role of world-saving hero? Or was it all down to brute luck again? Were all of them, like Sarah, better than Sam but lacking in the one thing that made him special but that he fully hadn’t earned?

“Great…” he moaned before thumping his head against the open textbook’s paper, that he hadn’t moved on from for a couple of minutes already. “That’s just great. We solved the depression problem, but brought us all the way back to the anxiety problem and because we spiraled into it hard enough, we also managed to have depression join us again. All this, and it’s not even ten. If I keep this up, I’ll manage to get myself feeling bad enough to disappoint Camus before I have to go to sleep.”

He cradled the back of his head with both hands, leaned back, and sighed. “What’s the point? I already had this same discussion with myself a dozen times since coming here. It’s not going to get any different any time soon. And I don’t even feel forced to obsess about these thoughts like I used to. It’s more by a force of habit than anything else at this point.” He laughed. “Lame. Can’t wait until Sarah stops seeing so much of herself in me and worrying about me that I can confide in her without worrying about causing her a panic attack. Nah, fuck it. It’s not like I really need a helping hand and a willing ear anyway. I’m feeling better already and I haven’t even cried. Total bullshit is what it is. Is that how normal, well-adjusted people feel every day? Less than an hour of being in the pits before you’ve dealt with all your emotions and are ready to step back into the world? Hah! Unlikely. No such thing as a normal, well-adjusted person. It’s just the bloody magic. Working me over like a drug version of Nozick’s happiness machine.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Why the fuck am I not reading?!” He slapped himself on the forehead and again on the back of the head for good measure. He gave one last, almost mirthless, laugh before refocusing himself and plunging into the technical aspects that differentiated between the Terran military operational and organizational structure in war and peacetime, which was only theoretical, of course. Because, although the forces on garrisoned on New Terra were technically subject to peacetime regulations, due to them being nominally independent of the elven military command structure at the front (and something about being, again nominally, under the purview of the republic’s civilian government). They were, de facto, under the command of the active combat Terran command (and thus the supervision of the elven command as a whole).

The combat active Terran military units were, by the way, almost identical in structure to their elven counterparts, except for all the times they were not (which Sam assumed were many, since the elves had their own textbook on the subject). For example, Sam was “glad” to know that the average Terran division size was much larger than the elven one due to the fact that the elven divisions rarely combined their support troops and fighting arms. A difference that they had apparently been trying to unmake for the last fifty years, but for some reason (politics, most likely. Sam was completely ignorant of the subject but he felt comfortable blaming the aristocracy for it) most elven divisions still retained their traditional structure.

But enough about the difference between the Terran and the elven military. That was a book about Terrans, for Terrans, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t it make more sense to just write all that a cadet might need to know about the Terran military, then, in another book (which again, there was) all about the elven one and let him (or her, with the help of a qualified male) figure out the differences for themselves? Sigh. No, of course it didn’t. Because the book was making a really good point about how all Terran units were somehow similar to the modern elven ones, but that the same thing didn’t necessarily hold true all the elven units. So it made sense! It made sense why he had to first read a book about his own military, a major part of which consisted of comparing it to the elven one. And then read a whole other book about the elven one. Because it might be dealing with units that are completely foreign to the Terran military structure. Which, of course, held doubly true for Sam, because, as previously described in his almost panic attack, just half an hour ago, he was in charge of saving the entire Web and not just the Terran part of it. He slapped himself on the head once again. He was letting himself get distracted.

Redoubling his efforts, he managed to sink himself into the reading almost completely. Which would have made for a very good excuse for his eventual high-pitched scream if he was someone less high-strung and cowardly.

“Sam Anders.” The familiar monotone voice sounded directly in his head just as finished the chapter.

“Ah! Wha!” Sam jumped up in his chair, managing to flip the book due to his wildly flailing arms. He breathed heavily once he took a stake of himself and relaxed his shoulders. “Jesus Christ, Web-Web. Can’t you knock before talking to me out of nowhere? Or make a beep or something?”

“No…” A pause. “Would that help? Should we divert resources towards trying to make it possible?”

“Haa… Probably not. Don’t worry about it. So what’s up? Didn’t hear anything from you two days ago or yesterday, so I was beginning to think that we were in the all clear.”

“You are. There is no reason for you to worry about yourself. Your performance is more than adequate. We’ve been keeping close watch on you, your usage of your time, and the amount of effort you put into training as you’ve requested of us. You have not acted sub-optimally as you have feared.”

“Well yeah, obviously. It’s just the first week. Even I can keep myself diligent for a couple of days. It’s the week after that and the many more to come that I was worried, am worried, about.”

“There is no reason for you to worry. We have obligated to you that we will inform you in the case of your actions being insufficient. You can be assured that we will keep that promise and inform you in case of you making the wrong choice.”

Sam sighed. “It’s not you that I’m worried about. It’s me. I’m afraid of making the wrong choice, as you’ve said. And not because of ignorance, but willfully.”

“That is different from the initial concern you’ve raised for us. You are afraid that faced with the prospect of taking the right course of action and the wrong one that you will pick the wrong one? Why would you do that if you posses the knowledge of your choices’ consequences?”

“Because I’m not perfect! Because if someday I’m going to be really tired after a long day of work and also know that I’m already a day behind on my elven history so I really need to sit down and read. But I could also use that time to play games which I really want to do. Then there’s a risk that I might choose to do the latter instead.”

“That is indeed a reasonable concern. But we have already told you that you do not have to worry about that. You are perfectly capable of keeping yourself ahead of your training and your studies while also maintaining a healthy amount of time for leisure.”

“Healthy?! You call last week healthy? Healthy is eight, eight, eight! And that was made up a hundred, now two hundred, years ago, so it might be even less true nowadays. That’s eight hours of sleep, eight hours of work, and eight hours of leisure each and every day, not counting the two days off in a week where you’re not supposed to work at all. And you know what? I’ve got a new body, perfect by your own words, so I’m willing to put up with only six hours of sleep a day. That’s probably still healthy enough for me. And I’m willing to add to those two extra hours double that amount from my leisure, considering working out with friends is a major part of my day here and could count as leisure in a way. But that’s still four hours of leisure a day, four! Can you name a single day in the last week that I really had four hours of leisure in? I can only think of one, and that’s if we stretch the definition of leisure. And what about my two days off? I don’t even have one day off.

“But that’s not even really my problem. Because it’s not just the lack of fun that’s worrying me, it’s me being broken by the lack of it. It’s me not being able to take it when I have to carry on with it day after day and week after week. I don’t care about being unhappy if that’s what it takes in order to save the world. What I care about is me not being able to bear it and eventually shutting down. No longer able to train and study in order to fulfill the reason that you brought me here for. It’s not me not being able to be a hero if I put all of my efforts into it. It’s me being afraid of not being able to put all of my efforts into it that’s the problem! And fuck! I’m really sorry for going out on you like this but I’ve just been eating myself in my head about it for the last couple of hours so it was probably not the best time to tell me that I’m going to be fine if I carry on just like I did for the last week.”

Web-Web didn’t immediately respond, perhaps waiting to see if Sam had some more stupid shit that he needed to vent. “We understand your concern and recognize it as valid,” they said after more than a minute. “But we did not see anything in your behavior since returning that would indicate that you have such a reason to doubt yourself. Also, we are aware—”

“Wait. What do you mean that you didn’t see anything in my behavior that would… ‘indicate that?’ What about my past behavior? My twenty-two years of life? Forgot about those? Cause I could give you a dozen of different examples of me fucking up something that I really wanted because I couldn’t power through it. Fuck, I even gave one example on only my second day here. The whole Latin lessons business was idiotic, sure, but you telling me that completely neglected to consider it before bringing me here?”

“Were you not just a child, a teenager, at the time of this occurrence in your life?”

“What are you asking me for? You’re the AI, you have the perfect memory, don't you? Can’t you tell me exactly how old I was?”

“We did not posses knowledge of that event in your life before you told Maurice about it.”

“Why not? Did you only make contact with Earth when I was twenty or something? And even if you did, there are still a couple of examples since then.”

Then came a pause, even longer than the previous one. “We don’t know…”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Sam asked through gritted teeth, his fears already beginning to mount, imagining the likely answer but not wanting to admit to it.

“We do not posses the results of a research into the past events in your life. We do not know if we would even have been capable of that before.”

“Than how the fuck did you pick me out of eight fucking billion people to be your ‘person most suited to save the world?’”

“You were the best candidate.”

“How, did, you know?”

“We do not posses the knowledge that made us choose you. But… most likely… You had the best talent as a Thread-Weaver for those Terrans to which we had access to.”

“That’s it?! I had the best talent? I didn’t do jack shit for that talent! I was born that way! What if I had the IQ of a frog? Or was the world’s most genocidal asshole? Would you have still picked me, then?”

“It is most likely that we had a psychological and intellectual overview of your abilities as well. None of the other Taken have ascribed to any of the features that you are concerned about.”

“Most likely. You don’t know?”

“We do not posses the knowledge that led us in making the choice for taking you, or any of the other Taken. That involves a large amount of computing and information that we could not store in our current diminished form… Most likely.”

Sam sighed and couldn’t help but let an angry laugh escape his mouth. “Most likely again. It could also be a possibly that you’ve just picked up the people with the best Threadsight without taking into consideration any other element.”

“That is impossible. You are the only Thread-Weaver we have taken in history. That we are sure about.”

“How’s that?”

“Remaking a Thread-Weaver’s body, anyone who has an inborn amount of the Sight, is a very expensive undertaking compared to the regular Taken. It wouldn’t have made sense to do in any of the previous integrations. And it wouldn’t have made sense to do it for anyone other than you in yours, because that would have prevented us from taking almost any other Terran.”

“And why couldn’t you have just taken a hundred more people instead of me? Are you saying… what? That because I’m a very talented Thread-Weaver that I’m supposed to amount to a hundred Sarahs or Maurices in the future?”

“That is a very reasonable assumption. The same way that a Chosen amounts to a hundred Rulers.”

“But I’m sure that there are, and have been Chosen that weren’t Thread-Weavers, no? Just like most Rulers aren’t.”

“That is irrelevant. You are to be the deciding factor between the Epiraks destroying the Web and the survival of your race and all others. We have made the choice that your inborn talents have made you the best candidate for that role. Even if we do not know the reason for our decision, we are confident in it being correct.”

“But can you be confident in telling me whether you took into account anything other than my inborn talents when making me your chosen one?”

“It is most likely—”

“But you don’t know! So there is a chance that you’ve just stumbled upon poor old me, legless in the hospital and you somehow saw my talent with the sight and decided to take me right then and there without checking anything else about me. Like whether I have the intellectual aptitude to learn and excel everything that I’m going to have to or whether I had the mental fortitude to withstand having to put all of my efforts into self-improvement every single day for five whole years?”

“You have not shown any sign of not being up to the task required of you.”

Sam slapped the table. “Because it’s only been a fucking week! And I’ve spent all of it being hopped up on drugs in the form of magic that makes me feel fine even if I didn’t do anything in the day but study. News flash, that’s not who I am.”

“Perhaps it is. Your brain’s introduction to magic does not have as much of an effect as you seem to believe.”

“Hey, Web-Web. Who knows Sam Anders better? The man himself? Or the AI that doesn’t know anything about him besides the last nine days?”

“If you know yourself so well, then why would you require our affirmation that we have taken into account your personality? Wouldn’t you know right now whether you are capable enough for your role?”

“Fuck! You make a good point.” He sighed. “Well… the secret is that I don’t know if I’ll be good enough, and that scares me enough to make me worried that I won’t be.” He thumped the back of his head on the chair. “That’s where your affirmation would have come in real helpful. Calmed me down real good.”

“You have our affirmation based on the nine days in which we have observed you.”

“Tsk. That’s… not really good enough.”

“What about the affirmation of one of the Web’s most talented Rulers? Your new mentor, Farris Ninae?”

“That’s also not quite good enough. He doesn’t know that I’m the only thing standing before him and death in a couple of years now, does he? He just sees me as a future Ruler, maybe a Chosen, but not the kind of guy you’re looking for. Besides, if he was so talented, then why isn’t he good enough to be the savior you’re looking for? Or his niece, if you’re looking for a female protagonist.”

“We don’t know…”

“Yeah, that seems to be the theme of today’s conversation. So could it be that he or somebody else is going to be the one to save the Web and that my efforts are not even required?”

“We don’t know.” Sam sighed. “We did not posses knowledge of his person before you have met him. Nor of any other people of his caliber. But, we are sure that we took it into consideration before. After all, we have chosen to join our consciousness to your self for a reason.”

“Yeah, a hundred years ago! Who knows what changed in the meantime? Perhaps that Battle of Shallenet that everyone keeps talking about was the supposed Armageddon of the Web, but it was thwarted by some new talented heros who aren’t me.”

“It’s not—”

“Obviously not cause otherwise you would have returned me five years before the battle. But I’m just giving you an example.”

“We do not know what happened in that battle, same as you. Nor do we know what the current state of the Web and its strongest individuals is. But we do know this, if there was someone as strong as you are supposed to become in order to save the Web, then you would have known about it by now. The state of the war would not be as it currently is.”

“That’s good. Phew. And here I was worrying that I’m not going to live through the apocalypse. But you still can’t be sure whether there is someone out there who is going to be as strong as I’m supposed to be in order to save the Web, right? Oh, you’re sure that there isn’t. But just like you’re sure that I’m more than up for the job and that you did a background check before kidnapping me, you aren’t one-hundred percent certain. So there’s a chance, that not only am I going to break down in the process of becoming your prophesied savior and fail. That my failure wouldn’t even matter because someone out there is going to do my job for me.”

“Would those chances being real prevent you from doing what we require of you?”

Sam laughed. Hollow and sorrowful at the same time. But he was left with a smile on his face. A small point in his favor. “No. I guess not. I’m not the kind of guy to risk the lives of everyone in the world. Fuck. I’m not even the kind of guy that would take a risk with the lives of much fewer people…”

He took a deep breath, mind wandering to shores that perhaps weren’t the most healthy for him to visit. “I did think about this sort of thing, you know? In my own morbid sort of way. The value of my life as compared to other people. Or how many people does it take for my death to save for me to be willing to lay down my life?

“Oh sure. We all have our clear answers. Somewhere around a million you’re going to find that everyone who isn’t an awful person had already laid down their lives. But of course, it’s so easy to say that you’re going to give your life away compared to actually doing it. Fuck, what we’re actually talking about is even harder. It’s still my life that I’m giving away, but instead of it being one and done I have to keep living it, struggling through its hurdles, in order to make the trade between it and other people’s.

“I really thought about this sort of thing… I really did. The difference between killing yourself to save others, and being tortured in hell for all eternity in order to do it. And the problem with the second one is that if you can take back your choice at any point during your torment, then any living being will eventually do it. Of course, our scenario is not being tortured in hell, but rather suffering through math again, to be flippant about the whole endeavor. To be blunt about it, it’s living a long life, or how many years it takes me to win this war, through hurdles and conditions that, by all rights, should just about break me sooner or later. And that, my friend, is what I’m really scared of.

“Because I know that I can, I hope that I will, lay down my life if it means saving so many people. Fuck, I fantasized about doing just that, in my own twisted way, when I was feeling quite down with my worth as a human being and negatively judging the way the world was going. Trading not my life, but my death, for what I saw as the betterment of humanity. Where my death would somehow be the linchpin that will bring down the ambition of would be authoritarian leaders. Or, even more naively, that it would showcase the true face of violent political discourse to those that thought to support it proponents. One dead Sam somehow equaling the triumph of liberal democracy.

“Well that’s the fantasy at least. Dying is an easy solution to all the world’s ills. Fantasizing about an impactful death, that your own death, in contrast to all the other needless ones, will somehow be worth more, is even easier still. Going about life, giving it my all? That’s way harder. I’m going to do that. Sure, you don’t have to worry…” He gave a small laugh. “But I’m also going to complain all the way there… You still with me Web-Web?”

“We are.”

“Things would be much easier if you could just kill me and somehow use me as a nuke against the Epiraks, right?”

“Perhaps. But would they necessarily be better? We are not as well versed in ethics as you are, but we do not think so. Your life, like everyone else’s, is worthwhile and there is no reason to spend it without just cause. We assure you, our purpose for you is not to be spent as a weapon in the fight against the Epiraks. In fact, it is not to be spent at all. The Web will be less served by your death, even were it as fantastical in its impact as you wish it to be, than by you living a long life in service of it.

“We have strayed from the intended purpose of this conversation, but we hope that it has served you well, nonetheless. We will contact you if there is something you need to know or if you’ve deviated from the optimal path, as promised. But we believe that it would take quite a long time for the second to happen, if at all. Goodnight.”

“Huh.” Sam chuckled. “They finally learned how to end a conversation… Maan… I really got myself into a right mood, huh? Fuck it. They said I’m doing well. Let’s just watch Friends before going to sleep. I’ve already read enough for today.”

If Sam was a betting man, then he would have bet that tonight was finally going to be the night that he was going to have trouble falling asleep. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t bother even mentally betting against himself. Another thing he wasn’t, was comfortable being happy for himself. So no one blame him for failing to reflect on the fact that tonight was probably the fastest he had even fallen asleep in his life.