He passed the rest of the workout in silence, both inwardly and outwardly. And while he couldn’t enjoy the music, it still proved to be a good enough distraction by allowing him to focus on something that wasn’t mental and thus avoid sliding back into inner contemplation. His friends kept sending him worried glances at sporadic intervals, but they didn’t attempt to draw him out back into the living world. Midway through his own workout, they started splitting off to theirs, although, by pure chance, one of them happened to always be nearby until he finished with the weights and moved on to the mat. Thankfully, none of them decided to end their own exercise early to accompany him there as well.

Once he was done, he signaled Sarah and headed straight to the showers, not wanting to get drawn into any further discussion. His earbuds were water resistant, so theoretically he could take them in with him. But… what was the point? Was he so reliant on them providing him with music in order to drown out his thoughts? No. Of course not. Thoughts or no thoughts, nothing was going to change how he was currently feeling. And what else could he even think of, anyway? That he wasn’t already busy with processing? His family? Earth? The rage? The sorrow? Those were all there already. All working themselves into an enormous Gordian Knot that kept stretching deeper and deeper into his heart and mind.

Besides, he had already thought about all the subjects floating in his mind as he turned on the water plenty of times before today. So why should he be afraid to think about them now? How could his thoughts possibly lead him anywhere different so that he’d want to avoid them? He was the same person. Undoubtedly so. He was just feeling different. That couldn’t give rise to different thoughts. That was ridiculous.

So his entire family was dead? So what? It was bound to happen to him eventually. He was the youngest in the whole extended family. And anyway, what did it matter that they were dead? After all, he wasn’t… they weren’t… what did it matter? It shouldn’t matter. Not right now, not anymore. He had two whole months to think about it, to process and digest that information and its consequences. He had already made peace with that knowledge. Didn’t he?

So why was he crying? Couldn’t be because of that, could it? No, of course not. It was just the fact that everything came at him together. His whole downtrodden mood come to attack him because he was once again alone, the hot water hiding his tears and cloaking his sobbing. It was the whole damn thing that made him sad. His family wasn’t a cause for crying all on its own. It was just the first thing that came to mind right now. The one image that kept popping up in his head.

That was complete bullshit. He realized that. He knew why he went from being “fine” with the death of his parents just yesterday to trembling at just the thought of their voice today. It was more than clear what was going through his head. Why he was suddenly regretting every negative interaction with them, no matter what caused it and who was “right” and who was “wrong”; why inconsequential memories started floating through his mind, bringing with them a brief sensation of warmth before being overwhelmed by the emptiness that followed in its wake. He knew what was happening to him; why he was feeling like that. It made sense. He just wished it didn’t. That it would all stop. Because the loss of his parents was just the first link in the great chain that was the causes for his sorrow. A chain that didn’t even end with the loss of his whole family, or of the whole concept, abstract or practical, of Earth. There were so many things for him to cry about, so many people to cry for. Even if he could come to grips with one loss, it would swiftly be replaced by another. A never-ending stream of death and despair. Enough sorrow to last a person for a lifetime.

The worst part was that he couldn’t let himself face the sorrow head-on. Because that risked him being consumed by it. And he couldn’t risk that. If he had the choice between rejection and dullness, but the steady progression in his training, or the slow road toward acceptance that carried the danger of breaking down, he would have to choose the former. His own mental state wasn’t worth a damn. Happiness or sorrow, pain or joy, emptiness or purpose, what did it matter which of those Sam Anders spent his life having felt? His own life was inconsequential; his utility from it, worthless. It was only the utility he could give to others—that he had to give to others—that made his life worth a damn. The problem was that it was worth a whole lot: worlds upon worlds of worth. A Sam that was lost to sorrow was a Sam that couldn’t fully utilize himself for his intended purpose. It was a Sam that risked the death of more than nine billion people.

He let out a mirthless laugh, tears mixing with water inside his mouth. And only a couple minutes ago, here I was thinking about how I would be able to keep going indefinitely. As though nothing mattered. My body and mind were in total disconnect, so I shouldn’t have any problem to keep going, right? After all, what did it matter whether my mind was breaking itself apart? It didn’t. Because it doesn’t matter how I feel, what I feel. All that matters is that it won’t prevent me from doing my job. And right now, doing my job means keeping to the same schedule I’ve kept up until today. I can’t give up. I… I can’t… I can’t do it.

He let out a choked sigh, butting his head against the wall. Thank God the stalls were private. Or maybe he shouldn’t be thankful for that. Maybe if there were still people around him, to see him and judge him, he would’ve been able to keep his composure. To keep from losing himself. But maybe this was good. A little outlet between all the rest of his obligations for the day. He didn’t feel like this ten minutes ago. Maybe he will stop feeling like this in ten minutes’ time. He knew how this all worked, after all. This fragile mental state. Never to this magnitude, maybe, but he knew. What he was currently feeling will pass, maybe even the moment he stepped out of the shower. But what about everything else? The reasons for what he was feeling right now? Will they ever pass? Will something somehow change if he left the safe comfort of the warm current?

He won’t know until he’ll try. So why not try now? He was already done by now. All cleaned up and ready to go. Just gotta turn off the water and step out. Just gotta stop thinking about his family. His cats. His friends. The people he liked and wished he met. Not to be confused with the people he admired, but didn’t care all that much about meeting. The pain and sorrow of the billions who lost their lives and sanity in a war that even the least sane amongst them expected. All that potential joy that will never see the light of day. The bright minds bounding with creativity; the focused minds bursting with genius, all silenced, dimmed for ever. And Sam Anders, apparently the only adult who deserved to avoid that hell on Earth. Who did he feel for the most? Who should he feel for the most? Fuck, he just wanted to stop feeling—

“Hey, Sam, mate, you in there?” he heard Felix asking through the stall door.

Sam jolted in surprise. “I am… You just went through every stall?”

“You’re the only one in right now. You OK? I didn’t see when you finished, but if you’re still here to meet me, then you must have been here longer than usual.”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. I’m just stepping out.” He swallowed the tightness in his throat and turned off the water.

“Cool.” Felix nodded at him. “See you later, then. Eh… don’t go anywhere.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Didn’t think you were. Just thought it best to make sure of that.”

Sam sighed, acutely aware of the fact that his annoyance was unjustified, and gave Felix his attempt at a thankful smile before walking off to dry himself and get dressed. Once outside, he headed to his usual bench, which was thankfully unoccupied, and settled in for the wait. Usually he would’ve been either practicing his gathering or his tracing right about now. Should he still do that? Could he? Did he have anything better to do? Was he planning to go back just thinking, getting wound up inside his own mind? He closed his eyes and turned his head upwards, letting the sun shine on him, providing warmth and a welcome distraction.

With that distraction in hand, he turned his magical awareness outward. The magical energy soon started making itself known. His seeking had advanced far enough by now for him to actually sense the existence of the surrounding magic before he grabbed hold of it. Although not far enough to be able to tell differentiate the magic into clusters, much less tell their density. Not consciously, at least. Intuitively, his senses still guided his gathering to seek with amazing efficiency. It seemed that was the sole facet of his mental faculties that remained unchanged between yesterday and today. The first stage of gathering was over just as quickly as it usually was, with him holding the maximum amount of energy he could keep track of in his mind’s hand. And since his core wasn’t full, all that remained before him was the menial task of guiding the magic into it, which felt reminiscent enough of how unresponsive working out did to make him think that he could keep at it indefinitely.

That might’ve been true if he could have kept his mental energies directed at the task. But he couldn’t. Without noticing it, his mind drifted aimlessly after completing the one cycle instead of starting another one. When he did finally notice it, and marshalled his focus, the seeking part of the first stage passed alright, but bringing the energy back towards his body felt laborious; slow and clumsy. It didn’t take him much longer than it usually did when he eventually managed it, but it left him more drained than it did in a long time. And for the first time in a long time, he also ended up losing his hold on the magic. He pushed the energy into his core absentmindedly, and didn’t realize that only two third of the energy had made it in by the time he stopped paying attention.

He let out a groan, more dejected than annoyed. Try again. Nothing to it. Nothing better to do. You don’t want to do anything. So might as well do this. Must he, though? He wasn’t cultivating after all; he was only practicing, and only his seeking. Was he even able to practice in this state? His skill with gathering wasn’t like a muscle, it wouldn’t improve by much if he did it offhanded. Maybe he shouldn’t have traced yesterday, that way he could’ve spent now cultivating, doing something with a purpose.

Oh God… He let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. Tracing. I fucking forgot about the tracing session from yesterday. Appropriate isn’t it? I ended yesterday on such a high note, so it’s only fair that I get today in recompense. Fuck it. I might as well just practice tracing Prior Skin Reinforcement. Chase that high. Attempt to improve at something that has a tangible result showing my improvement. “Ah…” Just gotta remember how to trace it. Let’s see… Obviously, since we’re far from good enough to do the shortened version, we need the one that builds straight from Basic Enhancement and Magical Coating. So we start with Prior modified for tracing to the thumb, then the tracing that allows us to combine the two, and since it doesn’t matter which one of them goes first, we’ll do Coating first, and we just need to finish with the tracing for the effect itself. What did it look like…? Oh, right. Yeah. So let’s do it. What have we got to lose?

Just the rest of the magic in his core, it turned out. For while all of his attempts ended in failure, he somehow didn’t feel bothered by it one whit. Yesterday was a lucky break. He had well until Monday or Tuesday to be able to trace Skin Reinforcement for the first time. And what if I won’t manage it by then? Am I just going to put a break on my studies and training? Everything that required a mental input? Or am I going to keep trying at it, only because of my shit mental state, I won’t learn and improve at all? Is it up to me? It should be, shouldn’t it? I’m the only one that should get a say whether I can keep going like I usually do. Unless I’ve totally lost it and I’m just not aware of that fact. What would that look like? Just bashing my head against the wall one day, mentally breaking down out of nowhere? What a great fucking image, Sam, fan-fucking-tastic.

“Here, my treat,” Yvessa said as she sat down to him and handed him one of two coke bottles in her hands.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Thanks.” Sam took the bottle.

“Cheers.” She clinked her plastic bottle to his and took a long sip out of it. After considering it for a few moments, Sam did the same. Consuming coke, or just sugar in general, was also a longstanding tradition of his in times like this. A comfort mechanism for dealing with depression, anxiety, or whatever other mental ill affected him drastically enough to force him to try and regulate his emotions through his stomach. He let out a satisfied sigh. If there was one thing to say in favor of the modern world, it was that the coke tasted better.

“I think this is the first time I see you drinking coke,” he said.

“The first? Really? I don’t frequently drink carbonated drinks, but it’s not like I actively avoid them. I suppose that it makes sense because I almost always drink water unless it is a special occasion. And the few of those that we’ve had together, I had other drinks that I like more on hand.”

“Is today a special occasion?”

“Could be. Could be I just wanted a coke.”

“Ah ah. Sure. Did you happen to glimpse Sarah before you left the gym?”

“Yeah. She was just about finished with her workout.”

“She’s rushing it, then?”

“Not by a whole lot.”

“Mhm…”

“So what were you doing?”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “I… ah… I started by practice gathering, and if my core was full, maybe I would’ve kept at it. But it’s not. So I decided to practice tracing instead. Skin Reinforcement again.”

“Again? Did you practice it yesterday evening as well?”

“I… eh… yes, I did…”

“What?” She peered at him quizzically, catching on that he perhaps had something more to say.

“I… well, I actually managed to trace it once yesterday. Last attempt before bed.”

“That’s pretty incredible.”

“It was just a lucky break. I failed every time today, after all.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Yesterday and today are very different days. And just the fact that you succeeded once so soon—Hey, Felix, hear this out?”

“What?” he asked as he joined them on the bench.

“Sam managed to successfully trace Skin Reinforcement yesterday.”

“No shit? I guess that’s the last nail in the coffin for any doubt I still held about the efficacy of your pre-bed tracing practice. Prior Skin Reinforcement after just a day.” He whistled. “That would’ve definitely gone on my application to the academy.”

“Do I need to bring up the difference between teenagers and adults once again?” Sam asked. “Besides, like I just told Yvessa, it was luck. I couldn’t manage to do it today.”

“Luck is only studying for half of the subjects in a course but getting asked about just them in the exam. Knowing how to answer those questions correctly, however, isn’t luck. It’s knowledge. It’s skills. You can’t luck your way into a successful tracing. If you’ve successfully traced it yesterday, then you’re just as likely to be able to trace it today. From an ability-only perspective.”

“I highly doubt it. I don’t even know what I’m going to be doing the rest of the day.”

“You’re not coming with us to breakfast?”

“Well, no. I meant after breakfast. Which reminds me, I need to message Maurice. He said he’ll meet me there. Protocols and whatever.”

“He’s already on his way,” Sarah said, coming to stand above them. “He’ll get there before us, so he’ll grab us a table.”

“That was a quick shower.”

“I barely broke a sweat. Ready to go?”

Sam sighed and got up. “Lead the way.”

“How was your workout?” she asked him after a few moments.

“Boring.”

“Is that good or bad?” Felix asked.

“I’m not sure. It didn’t make me feel better, though. And that’s definitely bad.”

Sarah squeezed his shoulder. “Give it time. It’s been less than three hours since you woke up, after all.”

“Mhm… you’re obviously right. Since I’m evidently thinking that I might go for a run tonight. Depending on how I’ll physically feel, of course.”

“You mean you’ll be coming with us after dinner?”

“No. I meant running running. In a big lap. Around the campus, so I guess as much of a lap as I can manage. But with passing scenery and the like.”

“We, I, can join you for that. I used to do that same run on some Saturdays last year. It’ll be fun to go back to it.”

“We’ll see. I’m not sure that I even want to run. And if I do end up wanting to, then I’ll most likely want to do it alone. That’s what worked in the past.” Not that I ever had someone to run with before. But I didn’t want to as well, so that’s fine, isn’t it?

“Alright…” Sarah said haltingly. “Let me know.”

“I’m fine to go for a run by myself if I want to. You know that, right?”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. Or that you shouldn’t.”

“My bad then.”

“Did you ever run the trail around campus?” Felix, seemingly nonchalantly, asked Yvessa.

She shook her head. “I don’t see the appeal. It’s not like there’s all that much of a view.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Like, I guess that it’s better if you want to the feeling of having run a long distance, compared to running in small laps. But I don’t know. I always preferred a treadmill.”

“Running on a treadmill isn’t as fun as running outside,” Sam said.

“You have fun running outside?”

“Sometimes. A little bit. But much of that little bit would be lost were I to run on a treadmill. Then again, I’ve never really tried, so who knows…”

“So when will you know if you do want to run tonight?” Sarah asked Sam.

“Knowing me, it’ll probably be a split-second decision. So most likely only after dinner. Maybe before. I don’t know. Depends.”

“Alright, just keep me updated.”

“I will.”

The rest of the walk passed in terse silence, a fact for which Sam was glad. But only because he managed to keep his mind aimed outwards and avoided collapsing back into thought. Mostly avoided. But since whatever thoughts did arise only dealt with him feeling self-conscious about causing the current change in their group dynamic, he still very much welcomed the silence.

Once inside the mess hall, Sam was struck by indecision. He wasn’t sure how hungry he was. Or more accurately, he didn’t feel hungry at all, but managed to make the mental connection and realize that it was probably not an objective statement about his physical body.

“You need to eat,” Sarah said once she saw him standing still.

“I know, I know. Just not sure how much or what.”

“Just try to eat what you usually do. Never mind, I’ll make you a tray, alright? I know what you like and how much and what you should be eating. That way, you only need to worry about the eating part.”

Sam shrugged and followed in her footsteps. Silently putting whatever she handed him onto his tray. “That’s not what I usually eat,” he said after most of their tray were filled, “or what you eat.”

“Today’s a cheat day.”

“We don’t have cheat days.”

“We do now. Enjoy the calories. I know I will. What? C’mon. You can allow yourself a couple of days of sinning and eating trash. And I can allow myself way more than just a couple. If I say that it’s fine, then it’s fine. Trust me.”

“Fine.”

They were the last to the table and Sarah went ahead of him to take a sit, leaving Sam squeezed between her and Maurice. The doctor gave him a nod once they made eye contact. “How are you feeling, Sam?” he asked.

“Not the same as when we talked. But I don’t know if for better or worse. Maybe both.”

“Believe it or not, but that’s a good thing. What you’re feeling is your waking mind readapting itself. In other words, your consciousness is playing catch up. It had a lot of information to reprocess when you woke up this morning and it’s slowly been working its way through it. That’s why you’re thinking that you might be feeling worse. You’re not actually feeling worse, you’re just more aware of your feelings.”

“If you say so. I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I’m definitely the kind of person who can make himself feel worse by just thinking about the same old piece of information.”

“Most people are, unfortunately, but you’re right. You’re the only one who can say, and who gets a say in determining how you are feeling. However, as your personal physician, I can, at the very least, attest that you are much more cognizant right now than when we talked this morning. And like I said, that is a positive development.”

“You’re the expert.”

“I’m really not. I just know the general facets of the mental process you’re going through—and more from my own personal experience than from any empirical observation—I would’ve vastly preferred it if I would’ve also known how to help you with what you’re going through. But we’ll have to leave that for the professionals.”

“Professionals? Plural? What you’re going to parade me before a bunch of Taken-specialized psychologist? Scrounge up the same few that Sarah dealt with?”

“None that dealt with Taken. But qualified therapists, highly acclaimed, nonetheless. After all, your personal experience and… troubles might be incredibly unique. But isn’t every person’s experience unique to him on some level?”

“True enough. So who are these professionals? When am I going to meet them?”

Maurice cleared his throat. “The plan isn’t actually for you to meet with more than the one therapist. Ideally, of course. I was just speaking of professionals in the general sense, of mental health experts who are more suited to helping you than someone like me.”

“I thought the protocol called for multiple evaluations or something. At least that’s what Sarah told me she went through.”

Sarah nodded. “Not really. I was under constant evaluation even before my mind got adapted, but none of that was strictly therapy. Another point in your favor, if you’ll allow me. That was when I had a lot of people looking after me. Afterwards, when I did start therapy, I only really met with the one therapist. I was still under the care of some of those other people, but for dynamic therapy or whatever it’s called, it was just her.”

“Indeed,” Maurice said, “our legal status as children mandated us being overseen by multiple responsible parties. That is, strictly, speaking, not part of the protocol that mandates the best approach on how to acclimate returning Taken. After all, I told you that the protocol suggests very limited psychological intervention before the Taken’s mind fully adapts to magic. In essence, you are the only Taken for whom we truly followed that suggestion.”

Sam tsked. “So the protocol suggests that I’ll have a one-on-one meeting with a therapist next?”

“It does. Even for someone who is as well adjusted as you are currently.”

“You call this well adjusted?”

“You can talk, can’t you?”

“I didn’t know that was such a high bar. But I could already talk to you this morning, so what were you so scared of then?”

“I hadn’t yet had a chance to ascertain just how well you were taking this change. Plus, I’ll admit to being panicked. I wasn’t acting to my usual standards, which are already not that high when it comes to helping a patient with a mental health problem. But never mind me, or what I was worried about. And leave the protocol alone for now. We do have mental health experts, yes, plural, who have been monitoring your case from afar and devising the best way to help you acclimate, protocols or no protocols. They suggested that your first step is to meet with a therapist, and together you and she will decide on what is the best course of action for you.”

“She? Is it the same therapist Sarah had?”

Maurice shook his head. “No. Sarah’s therapist is retired as far as I know. They suggested someone who is highly acclaimed and while she does not have any practical experience with Taken, she has studied them extensively. From what I understand, she is very good. She’s not a part of the military, but she did readily agree to meet with you.”

“What if I don’t like her?”

“That’s always a worry, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Expect that I can’t really allow myself to be treated by a therapist I don’t like. Even if she’s very good.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, then. If you two don’t jibe, then she’ll recluse herself. And, of course, you yourself can always decide you want to meet with someone else and be immediately accommodated. But there’s no way to know without meeting her.”

“Alright. When?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Not very smart, is it? Leave the resuscitator in the hands of the person having a heart attack.”

Maurice smiled. “They suggested Sunday, which will give you two days to think about and get used to your changes. But I was promised that you could also meet with her today or tomorrow if you wanted to. Preferably, though, no later than Sunday. Even if you come to the decision that you don’t need any psychological help, you should have an informed discussion about it beforehand.”

“Yeah, sure. What are the chances of that happening?” Sam let out a sigh. “Fine. Sunday it is. Morning I presume?”

“Whenever you prefer.”

“Morning then. Before breakfast. I don’t know what I’m going to be doing that day, by I know that I’ll have to have breakfast.”

“Speaking of having breakfast.” Sarah nudged him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. I can take the hint. I was focused on something else, wasn’t I?”

Maurice nodded. “I’ll let them know, then. I’ll contact you with exactly when and where, on Sunday. But remember that if you feel like it, you can always bring it forward. Just let me know. She promised to be on standby, and it’s not a long drive from Transit.”

“I don’t feel like I want anything, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Of course, if at anytime you start feeling particularity… in need of help. Call me immediately. We have plenty of people that could help you on hand.”

“Do you mean if I feel like killing myself?”

“It needn’t be something so drastic for you to deserve immediate treatment and help. If you feel that you must have aid, for any reason, that’s enough.”

“Good. Cause I’m not going to kill myself,” Sam said, surprising perhaps most of all himself. He knew that a part of him wanted that release. But he also knew that part of him was very far from being in control, that it wasn’t anything more than a nagging voice and a disruptive thought. But he didn’t know that he felt so certain about that being impossible. That whatever happened to him, he wasn’t going to be the one to end his story, to doom the Web. Or at least not doom the Web by that action. We don’t know about all the other actions I could take that will see nine billion people dead or assimilated.

But I won’t kill myself. It’s not just that I can’t. I don’t fucking want to.