[ Congratulations! ]
[ You have completed the synchronization and received 30 experience points. ]
Vincent understood the familiarity of this from the games he played in his previous life.
"Reincarnation, right, but now gamification elements?" He amused himself as he adopted a skeptical demeanor.
He observed an experience bar containing thirty points out of a hundred. His avatar icon displayed the number 1 beside it, indicating the current level.
This fusion of life and a role-playing system was something other than what he thought he would see here.
"Are the others like me?"
"Is this world more than it seems?"
It was as if the gaming experiences of his past existence had prepared him for this bizarre transition, his familiarity with these systems acting as a life vest in the technologically bewildering world he now inhabited.
Sensing his curiosity, his implanted interface sprang into action, and a simplified representation emerged, presenting six parameters - Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Attention, and Charisma, each with 0 initial points and fifteen additional points that he could distribute at will.
This familiar structure provided incredible comfort amidst the strange landscape of his consciousness.
A tab remained unexplored, labeled as 'Enhancements.'
Curiosity gave way to cold fear when he noticed the absence of Aiden's memories to guide his understanding of the possible representation of that.
He postponed this investigation, fearing more disturbing revelations so soon.
After removing the neural helmet and the disappearance of the holographic spectacle, the boundaries of Aiden's apartment resurfaced.
His gaze swept the environment once again.
The room vibrated with a life he didn't remember having lived; each disordered fragment was a tangible testament to Sinclair's existence.
Empty packets of instant noodles, a pile of synthetic fabric clothes scattered at random, and an empty bottle of cheap synthesized alcohol, with the lingering smell of its acidic content mixed with the dirty smell of neglect.
However, amidst the mess, he could see glimpses of a life lived with sincere effort and dreams of escaping the neon cage of his existence.
The mess spoke volumes about the man Aiden had been and filled Vincent with a new sense of empathy for the soul whose life he had involuntarily inherited.
His earlier fear was receding, replaced by a rational and calculating calm.
It was a world as chaotic as it was fascinating, and, setting aside his initial apprehension, he decided that his first step to adapt would be to restore some order to this disordered chaos and focus on a single task: cleaning.
It was the first step towards acceptance and an attempt to exert control over his chaotic environment.
Vincent had barely started his task and found a discarded electronic cloth in one of the corners—a simple tool that used small electric charges to attract dust particles—and began to scrub the dirt accumulated over the years.
As he cleaned, Vincent's curiosity grew.
He discovered fragments of Aiden's existence - faded photos of a woman, mechanical parts of unknown origin, an archaic music player.
The room reflected Aiden's life, a juxtaposition of potential and despair.
But in the face of this possibly gloomy picture, Vincent refused to waver, his conviction to thrive shining brighter than the lights outside.
As he cleaned the surface of a faded poster of a long-retired pop idol, the actions of his previous life found resonance; after all, cleaning was cleaning, in a dystopian world or not.
His movements were mechanical but therapeutic, the room's silence punctuated only by the occasional hum of passing cars outside or the panting of his breath.
Methodically, he cleaned the surfaces, organized the leftover junk, and rearranged the holographic data files into coherent groups.
Each device reorganized, each surface cleaned, a small victory, a personal triumph that brought him closer to accepting his new reality.
In this way, the room began transforming, reflecting Vincent's resolution to blend into this new life.
The digital interfaces scattered around the room – a holo-display, an old terminal with blinking keys, and a wall of electronic tomes – were meticulously reorganized.
At some point, Vincent realized he had begun to inhabit that space, making it his own.
There was surprising comfort in these mundane tasks, offering a stark contrast to the strangeness of the world outside.
Despite the whirlwind of the past few hours, he found himself enjoying these moments of normality, feeling more connected to his new identity, amalgamating Vincent's memories further with Aiden's residual marks.
His practical side saw this as a chance for survival, a necessity in this strange high-tech world where he was a foreign entity.
He also recognized the strangeness of the situation, almost laughing at the idea that reincarnation would entail household chores. But amidst the absurdity, there was something incredibly human about this act.
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The night brought revelations and terror in equal measure, but as he put away the last of Aiden's notes on the shelf, he felt strangely at peace.
As soon as the mundane task was completed, he took a moment to observe the clean and organized space.
The room that initially seemed a whirlwind of despair transformed into a space that breathed familiarity and comfort.
The cubicle, once a disordered screen of Aiden's life, now reflected his resolution to blend into this new life.
His circumstances were far from ideal, but they were his. He had made the best of his new reality.
[…]
Water trickled down Vincent's curly, messy hair.
Emerging from the comfort of the heated shower, he couldn't help but wonder about the nature of his reincarnated form.
"Am I a mere simulation?"
"A recreation of my consciousness?"
"Or did I truly reincarnate into another body?"
The synthetic and smooth voice of Claire echoed in his head. "I assure you that you are not a simulation, Aiden."
Vincent smiled at his assistant's response and sank into the worn-out bed, his limbs bearing the weight of the existential conflict within him.
In this way, he decided to continue rummaging through the labyrinth of Aiden's memories.
He donned the neural helmet and navigated the holographic interface, moving his fingers, and files upon files opened and closed at his discretion.
It was like rummaging through a digital river, each stream containing a separate story, and he was the silent observer.
He dove into the meticulously organized files, rummaging through an eclectic mix of memories and records.
Aiden, it seemed, was someone who dared to look beyond the neon horizon of Neo-Eden, to see a future that others could only dream of.
In the face of Aiden's most intimate moments, his deepest secrets, and struggles, Vincent noted that this was a strangely close case to delve into the digital diary of another person's life experiences.
"Forgive me, Aiden, but I need these insights to navigate your new reality."
Nestled amidst the monotonous digital sub-routines, he came across a fragment of raw human emotion — a poignant snapshot of Aiden's final moments before Vincent's arrival.
It hit him like an electric wave.
A sensory overload.
The body is ravaged by fever, disorienting vertigo, and the abrupt collapse of vital functions. The anguishing sensation of imminent death and helpless resignation.
In the strange silence of the night, he could hear the echoes of Aiden's palpitations, the irregular breathing growing weaker with each passing moment.
The sensation was painfully human.
A tragic end.
Yet, what struck him was not the fear but the resilience. Aiden fought tooth and nail, refusing to go gently into the eternal void.
Suddenly, the world of Neo-Eden seemed a little less strange, a little less intimidating.
He realized that the body he inhabited was that of a survivor, shaped by adversity.
"Just like me." Vincent reflected before an icon in the top right corner took his attention.
The phone icon pulsed urgently.
It was marked with a single letter - C.
Curious, he raised his hand, cautiously extending the tips of his fingers toward the icon.
Even though he pressed the air, there was a tactile response, like touching a physical key.
"I wonder when I'll get used to this." Vincent lifted the corner of his lips before the holographic interface was reshaped.
A human construct shaped by sharp and angular lines of digital light overlaying a stern face emerged.
It had the stoic demeanor of an ancient Roman statue, digital but seemingly tangible. The heart skipped a beat. This was a unique program. It was a Superior Artificial Intelligence.
"Hello, Mr. Sinclair," it began.
The voice echoed through the room, a low and resonant baritone.
It sounded human, but the timbre had a mysterious, uncanny valley effect that gave him chills down his spine.
The letters above its head flashed in and out of existence: Caretaker.
There was a pause as he organized his thoughts. Talking to a sentient program seemed strange but fascinating. "Hello, Mr. Caretaker?"
After a digital nod, it said. "Your rent is overdue, Mr. Sinclair." The words were said with a current of finality that left Vincent reeling.
Despite its digital nature, the AI possessed a formidable presence. It was not a familiar manager.
Navigating this unexpected interaction, Vincent quickly remembered his borrowed role. "I am aware of my debts," he managed to say, his tone mixed with a new edge of determination.
He was not Aiden, but he would do his part for now.
"Do you need anything else?" He dared to ask a question, the tone firm, demonstrating his determination to maintain the charade.
The caretaker paused, contemplating. "You must perform your role diligently, Mr. Sinclair."
"You must perform your role diligently…" Vincent repeated internally. "Is there more to this statement?" A hint of a sinister warning resonated in his thoughts.
The sudden shift in the conversation's tone left him feeling like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, the abyss below promising a dark secret.
In silence, he acknowledged the warning.
He had no intention of compromising his newly discovered life.
"Good night, Mr. Caretaker," Vincent finally said, his voice filled with a firm resolution.
"Good night, Mr. Sinclair." The last words echoed around the room as the hologram disappeared, leaving Vincent alone with his thoughts once again.
Vincent sighed deeply before setting aside his anxieties and returning to exploration.
Now, more than ever, he needed answers.
Vincent's fingers danced across the interface, coursing through streams of code and dissecting algorithms.
It was a haunting experience to walk through the digital ghost of another person's final moments.
The more Vincent investigated, the more the tragic narrative unfolded.
Aiden had been a creator who seemed to take more pleasure in pursuing knowledge than in his survival.
As he strolled among the most vibrant memories, Vincent noticed a shadowy silhouette, a data fragment as dark and threatening as a forgotten nightmare. A corroded data fragment.
Vincent let his consciousness penetrate the damaged core.
The disorder was like walking through a city ravaged by war, navigating the ruins of once magnificent structures now reduced to rubble.
In the maze of corrupted code and malformed syntax, there were scars of attempts to combat an intrusive entity. And there, amid the carnage, were found - references to a 'terminal anomaly.'
The code vibrated with malignant energy, like static on an old television screen.
A kind of insidious virus which had left a corrosive trail in the data fragment.
It seemed like an invisible leviathan moving through a city, leaving only devastation.
The deeper he dove into the complex structure of the fragment, the more he felt a strange bond with Aiden.
Aiden may have lost his battle, but Vincent was determined not to lose his.
"You fought well, Aiden." A sigh of empathy echoed.
Aiden's desperate behavior to combat the invisible adversary became evident, and his battle against the rapid deterioration of his health was even more apparent.
It was not a hardware failure but a calculated attack, a digital predator hiding within the nervous system.
The implications sent chills down his spine, the pieces fitting together to form a frightening revelation.
"It wasn't just Aiden's memories or apartment that I inherited."
He thought of the anomaly, the odds against him. His heart pounded in his chest.
The danger he faced was not a specter of flesh and bone but a creature of raw data, a beast born in the matrix of artificial synapses and algorithmic labyrinths.
Aiden's fate was a terrible warning, a dark testament to the danger lurking within his flesh.
Unfazed by the daunting prospect of the digital threat, Vincent's focus revolved around his health status.
Pulsating colors on his interface revealed a subtle decline in his physical condition, which he quickly attributed to the malignant virus.
"Claire," Vincent said, "What has been the percentage of my health deterioration since I woke up?"
"About three percent, Aiden." The voice sounded less comforting and more serious this time. "You should seek a medichanic as soon as possible or use a retroviral inhaler to contain the virus's advance."
"Three percent in a few hours..." he contemplated. "Now I understand why you suffered so much, Aiden."
His mind spun with possible countermeasures, his eyes drawn to the icon in the corner of his interface, shaped like a multifaceted die.
O polegar de Vincent pairava sobre o ícone do dado holográfico quando sua respiração se chocava.