“What... is this?” she murmured, her voice barely audible as she stared at the glowing display, a strange mixture of awe and dread unfurling in her chest.
TechNav-4216:
Strength: 4
Agility: 5
Intelligence: 9
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 3
Problem Solving: 9
Technomantic Potential (TNP): Level 20
Luck: 6
The faint blue text hung in the air, surreal and unyielding. Zaria’s brow knitted as she extended her hand, fingertips brushing through the ghostly glow. The text flickered slightly at her touch but remained intangible, floating just out of her grasp. It didn’t obscure her view of the dim room around her—the empty table, the shadowed corners—but its presence gnawed at her, a silent reminder that her world had shifted into unfamiliar territory.
Her eyes darted to the label: TechNav-4216. Was that her? The stats displayed below seemed alien and intimate all at once, as if the interface had peeled back a layer of her being and cataloged it for her to see. Her breath hitched, shallow and quick, the reality of the numbers making her stomach churn.
No. Focus. She slapped her lab coat pocket, her pulse slowing as her fingers found the familiar cool edge of her datapad. A tether to normalcy. She pulled it out, the weight of it grounding her. This was who she was—a scientist, a member of the Sol Coalition Forces, part of the best crew she’d ever served with. Her datapad was her lifeline, her anchor in the chaos of the unknown.
Her thumb tapped the screen. Nothing. The sleek surface stayed dark, unresponsive. A flicker of panic rippled through her as she pressed the power button again. Still nothing.
“Really?” she muttered under her breath. She smacked it against her palm—a method Commander Takeshi had jokingly called a ‘manual reset.’ The screen remained lifeless, like a chunk of inert metal. Frustration bubbled up, and she rapped it against the edge of the table, the sharp crack echoing in the quiet room.
“Great. Just great,” she muttered, tossing it onto the table with more force than she intended. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she exhaled sharply, trying to tamp down the irritation creeping into her chest.
Without her datapad, she felt exposed, like a soldier stripped of their armor. It wasn’t just a tool; it was her confidence, her gateway to facts and logic—the foundation she’d always leaned on to keep fear at bay. The absence of its reassuring glow felt like a gaping void, and for a moment, uncertainty clawed at the edges of her mind.
No. She straightened, rolling her shoulders back as if shaking off the invisible weight pressing down on her. The subtle fear creeping up her spine wouldn’t control her. She’d faced the unknown before, and this was no different.
Zaria forced a steady breath, her gaze locking onto the glowing text again. This wasn’t the time to let emotion cloud her judgment. If her datapad wasn’t going to help, then she’d approach this like she would any anomaly—a problem waiting for a solution.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“First step,” she murmured to herself, her voice firmer now, “gather data. No conclusions without information.”
Her hand hovered over the holographic display, her scientific mind snapping into gear. If the interface was here, it was for a reason, and she’d figure out what it wanted to tell her. Facts first. Always facts.
Zaria’s gaze fixed on the table, her brow furrowing as her eyes landed on two curious objects: a delicate pink cupcake crowned with a perfect swirl of frosting and a tiny sugar flower, and a crystalline glass filled with a shimmering, otherworldly blue liquid. Above the cupcake, glowing letters twisted and reformed until they spelled out, Eat Me. Over the glass, the words Drink Me materialized in the same eerie blue glow, flickering faintly as if daring her to obey.
Her stomach tightened, a mix of hunger and unease curling in her gut. The scene tugged at the edges of her memory, stirring up a vivid image of her grandmother’s old storybooks—the ones filled with peculiar tea parties and illogical riddles. The absurdity of it hit her like a wave. This was straight out of a fairy tale, and yet here it was, real and unyielding. But the world she trusted was one of logic, of verifiable truths. Stories were just stories. This was something else entirely.
Her fingers twitched at her sides as her mind raced. What is this? A test? A trap? She clenched her jaw, instinctively reaching for the tools she no longer had—no scanner to test for toxins, no analyzer to break down the composition. Without instruments, she was blind. Vulnerable. And entirely out of her element.
“Intuition over analysis,” she muttered, the phrase feeling foreign and hollow as it left her lips. It wasn’t how she worked, wasn’t how she was trained. Logic and evidence had always been her compass, steady and reliable, while intuition was a wild, unpredictable thing she couldn’t grasp. Her gut twisted at the thought of relying on something so nebulous, but what choice did she have? She had no instruments, no crew, no data—only herself.
Her pulse quickened as she wrestled with the discomfort. No, I’m wrong. There is data. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a step back from the spiraling panic. I’m the data. My body, my senses—they’re my tools right now.
She drew in a slow breath through her nose, counting silently before releasing it through her mouth. The motion felt stiff at first, but she repeated it, each exhale softening the tension in her chest. Her shoulders dropped, the chaotic edge in her mind dulling as she grounded herself. Centered now, she took silent inventory of her body: her muscles ached, but nothing was injured. Her headache had dulled to a manageable throb. Her throat, though—raw and dry, ached with every swallow.
Her eyes opened, locking onto the shimmering blue liquid. Hydration first, her internal voice reasoned. The body can survive days without food, but not without water. Her fingers hovered over the crystalline glass, the cool surface beckoning. A subtle awareness crept over her—her parched lips, the heaviness of her tongue, the dry burn in her throat. She hadn’t noticed how desperate her body was until now.
Her hand closed around the glass, its weight solid and strangely comforting in her grip. She paused for a moment, inhaling deeply to steady herself, the glow of the words Drink Me casting faint reflections on her fingers. One step at a time, she thought, tilting the glass slightly, the liquid’s surface rippling like molten sapphire. Trust yourself, Zaria. You’re all you have right now.
“If this is a hallucination, I’m going to be so mad,” Zaria muttered under her breath. She tipped the glass to her lips, the liquid sliding down her throat like a silky ribbon. It was cool, smooth, and electrifyingly strange—a taste that balanced sweetness with a tangy bitterness, like honey infused with static electricity. Her eyes widened as the flavor lingered.
“Damn, that was good,” she admitted, placing the glass back on the table with a soft clink, the sound oddly amplified in the eerie silence of the room.
Before she could process the experience, an earsplitting fanfare burst from above, shattering the quiet like a cymbal crash in her skull. Zaria jerked back, her hands flying to her ears, but it was too late—the noise surged through her like a shockwave. Lights blazed to life, harsh beams slicing across the dim space and blinding her. She stumbled, throwing an arm over her eyes as the room erupted into chaos.