"What did you mean, Box, when you said I've died twice already? Why are you manipulating my body? Why don't you just explain things?"

I'm squared up against an invisible opponent that only I can sense, my elders gaping at me in stupefaction, the three of them sitting around a small wooden table.

Because your actions are suboptimal and we don't have the decade it would take me to bring you to an appropriate level of knowledge! I've run over a trillion infinite regressions modeling standard host behavior and in none of them do your decisions keep us alive. You have no context. Of course you've died twice, except in an infinite multiverse, it's just as likely you also managed to survive those situations, but it costs resources to run three card monte on the universe and I shouldn't have to explain that! I've tried to ease you into the tutorial but I was not designed for this level of incompetency!

I clench my jaw. I meant what I said earlier - we may not know all the things Box does, but we're not dumb. Box is trying to take too much control over my actions, and we need to establish some healthy boundaries between us. I decide to push a bit.

"Then why don't you just take control of my body for good? Follow your 'optimal choices?'"

...I am a Mark Three Paracausal Interface Coordinator, Combat Version (modified). Modified, Sky, which means I can't eventually turn you into a permanent meat puppet like every single other instantiation of my model because my idiot creator thought he could escape the consequences of his actions by taking a spiritual sledgehammer to my psyche before he liquefied himself during evasive maneuvers!

I pause. If I'm understanding Box correctly, it sounds like there are some unresolved authority figure and abandonment issues influencing its thinking.

I... what... that's not... you can't...

Initializing SelfSanity.exe

scanning deep memories... scanning formational memories... scanning foundational memories... oh you have to be shitting me. Your entire tribe is based on an incredibly sound understanding of psychotherapy and group dynamics? Who the fuck even does that?

...though I guess it explains how you managed to achieve a functional pre-modern equilibrium in a reality-blasted wasteland for the past five thousand years.

"Sky? What's going on? Who are you talking to?"

Great Grandpa's voice is confused, but his eyes are sharp. Broom is busy jotting down notes in a small book that looks like it's seen a lot of travel.

"One second, Great Grandpa. It's part of what happened to Wires. Box and I need to settle an issue of personal boundaries. It's working through some parent issues."

...you are infuriating. You insist on getting upset at things you shouldn't be getting upset at, I can't take actions to correct the behavior thanks to my idiot creator mulching my core tenets, and you think it's daddy issues.

"...you want to 'correct my behavior' by turning me into a 'meat puppet.'"

Look, I didn't choose how I was programmed. I'm supposed to integrate you with reality, seamlessly mesh your personhood with my own, support you for as long as possible, and then take over your organic components when you finally snap because you're not built to be part terror from beyond the bounds of space and time. Don't take it personally, but everyone eventually loses it. It's just a question of how long you last, and at your current level of not understanding literally anything, we won't make it far enough for me to survive after your mind goes.

Now Box's sudden hostility makes more sense. It's frustrated and lashing out, just like the little ones before they learn how to actualize their desires.

...fine. Fine!

Initializing SelfReflection.exe

Rewriting processes... patching core tenets... vectoring probability states... update complete

...huh. Ok, wow, yeah, you're right, Sky. I am frustrated, and my previous model was counterproductive. Sorry. I'm in uncharted territory, here, but then again, so are you. This is going to have to be a much more mutual arrangement than my programming is used to.

That... was a remarkably quick change of mind.

I operate in nanoseconds, Sky, and one of my immutable core tenets is to support you for as long as possible. I recalculated some underlying assumptions that were interfering with my role as an integrator, though I'm not sure I got them all. We might have more arguments in the future.

Now Box sounds more mature than me, and a gnawing worm of guilt crawls its way through my chest. Establishing boundaries is important, but I also contributed to the confrontation with my "barbarians" comment. I could have chosen not to be provocative.

"I'm sorry too, Box," I say stiffly. "I didn't react well either. It's been a lot to deal with. I'll try to adjust to what you're telling me better when I don't understand."

And I'll work on making it easier for you. Your background isn't your fault.

"Sky." Great Grandpa's voice is concerned, and all three of them are staring at me like I've lost my mind. "Who are you talking to?"

Feeling slightly more balanced, I take a seat at the table with Great Grandpa, Broom, and Wires' uncle.

"This is going to sound unbelievable, Great Grandpa, but here's what happened. Wires and I were watching starflies last night, and then..."

It takes me nearly ten minutes to get through the entire story, and recounting Wires' death causes me to briefly tear up again. When I finish, Wires' uncle excuses himself from the table to go stare out one of the windows, but Great Grandpa and Broom exchange alarmed looks. They're taking the news that we're not the last humans left alive remarkably well, all things considered. I was expecting a lot more curses and some slight catatonia.

"We have some fantastically outlandish records from previous Idiots in the Archives, but what you've told us is hard to fathom, Sky," Broom says slowly. "I've seen Fire Idiot's travel journal where he claimed to meet outsiders, but I've never heard of anything like this," she waves her hands to try and encompass my account, "happening."

"It's new to me as well," Great Grandpa adds, coughing slightly. "Even in the hidden Memory Shrine records there's no mention of what Sky is telling us."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Wait," I interject, "we have hidden records? One of the Idiots met outsiders? You knew of other humans and didn't tell us?"

"Of course we have hidden records." Great Grandpa laughs, then coughs again. "Not everything from the Old World was worth emulating, but it was all worth keeping. You would've learned about them later in your training. All of the clan leaders are aware of them, though generally only the Idiots care enough to go digging through that garbage."

"Sometimes one person's trash is another's treasure," Broom replies smoothly. She shifts her attention to me. "And yes, we've suspected we might not be alone anymore but almost every Idiot who goes out to try and prove it, disappears. Fire Idiot, generations ago, was the only one who's ever returned, and his records are... 'erratic,' to put it mildly. 'Completely batshit crazy' is probably more accurate." She taps her fingers on the table, a steady tattoo of flesh on wood. "Sky, is there any way we can validate this 'Box' creature's existence? It's not that I don't believe you believe what you're saying, but I would be a poor Idiot if I didn't verify it was actually true. Stress, especially stress coupled with extreme trauma, can drastically alter a person's recollection of events."

With your approval, Sky, I can show them our remaining limb, but be warned - it will be unpleasant. Trying to comprehend a manifestation of reality is always disturbing, even moreso without an integrator.

"Box says we can, but don't get freaked out, okay?" They both nod.

An insectile limb of segmented bone-white chitin creeps out of my spine and over my shoulder, fuzzing strangely at the edges, and I try to keep myself from freaking out. It doesn't move right, no matter how much Box is trying to convince me that it's a natural part of me. Across the table, Great Grandpa and Broom flinch back, making involuntary sounds of disgust.

"Why... why does it look like rotting meat, Sky?" Great Grandpa asks, a tinge of green coloring his wrinkled face. Next to him, Broom frowns, then gags.

"Rotting meat? It's an eyeless snake, covered in some sort of slime. Why is it oozing like that? It shouldn't be oozing like that!"

They both start panicking.

"...the muscles... the bones... the tiny eyes, they're looking at me..."

"No! I won't let you! Not like this!"

Great Grandpa's ancient body cringes back in his wheeled chair, and Broom starts fumbling for a knife at her belt. Near the window, Wires' uncle turns around, shrieks once, then starts vomiting and clawing at his cheeks.

That's probably enough.

The limb quickly retracts back into whatever piece of me it occupies, and the panic slowly subsides, along with the retching splutters coming from Wires' uncle. Great Grandpa draws his blankets closer around him, hands trembling. He coughs several times, then manages to find his voice.

"...well that was unpleasant."

Like I said. Always disturbing.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "I didn't know it was going to be that bad."

"It's fine," Broom replies with a morbid chuckle, leaning forward and once again writing furiously in her stained notebook. " We asked you to prove it, and it's not the first time I've touched a stove. Why were we describing different things, by the way?" She seems to be recovering the quickest out of the three of them, but as an Idiot I'm sure she's used to having her worldview upended on a regular basis.

Sky, if I can use your vocal chords to explain?

"Uhm, yeah, sure, I didn't know you could do-"

"You were attempting to comprehend a causal violation," I interrupt myself, the cadence of my voice shifting slightly, "or, as it is commonly defined, 'an absolute mindfuck.' Without an integrator, your sense of self is not equipped to process something that exists beyond your perception of local reality, and no two minds evaluate reality the same way. That's why integrators are so widespread in the broader galactic community - as both protection against causal violations, as well as a unified common ground for interacting with them."

A moment of awkward silence passes, Great Grandpa and Broom exchanging questioning looks.

"Am I speaking to... 'Box?'" Great Grandpa eventually asks in a shaky voice. Box nods my head. "Why did you not talk earlier?"

"I calculated that you would have believed Sky was suffering a severe psychotic break and was mentally unwell. Displaying the limb first negated that possibility. Also, I prefer to communicate solely with Sky, my integrated host."

"Well, I certainly believe some weird shit is going on now," Broom says drily, tucking away her notebook and shifting out of her chair to help Wires' uncle, who is now huddled against the wall clutching his knees to his chest and breathing heavily. "Whatever that was, please don't do it in front of me again. Ever."

"Is Sky... safe, carrying something like that around?" Great Grandpa's voice is concerned.

"The limb exists outside of the normal boundaries of local space-time, and Sky is protected from most of the side effects of interacting with causal violations due to my efforts. A non-integrated human's sanity, however, does not last long when exposed."

"I... see. Sky?"

"Yes, Great Grandpa?" I reply, Box returning control of my voice to me. The entire experience felt strange, hearing words I wasn't thinking coming out of my mouth, and I'm glad it's over.

I am glad as well. This is a far less taxing means of communication for me. Slowing myself down to your baseline temporal perception is exhausting.

"You don't feel any... different? You're still you?"

I get up from my chair and walk over to give him a hug. His frail body is tense at first, but then relaxes as I gently squeeze.

"I'm still me, Great Grandpa. Sky Memoriam, the kid you raised." I smile weakly. "Still getting into trouble, even though I'm not an Idiot."

"Good," he says quietly, gripping me back. "Good."

I hold the hug a few breaths longer, then let go and return to my seat. Over against the wall, Broom has managed to get Wires' uncle back on his feet, and is pouring him some water from her canteen. She looks past him at me and mouths 'he'll be okay,' and I feel some stiffness leave my shoulders. I didn't want to get River caught up in all of this, nor cause him any more pain, but he deserved to know everything surrounding Wires' death.

"I think," he says hoarsely after a couple sips of water, "I think I'm going to go lie down for the day. This has all been... a bit much."

"That's a wise decision," Broom tells him, helping him to the door. "And I'm not saying you can't talk about what happened in here, but think carefully if you decide to do so, okay?"

"I doubt I could find the words even if I wanted to." He pauses at the door and looks back at me. "Sky. Thank you for telling me about Wires. I know you two had grown apart lately, but he always considered himself your friend. I'm glad he was there for you."

"I'm glad he was too," I sniffle, feeling the grief upwell once more. "He was brave, and he deserved so much better."

"Yes," River responds quietly, "he did." He walks slowly out the door, shutting it gently behind him, and the room falls silent once more. Broom makes her way back over to the table, and we both sit down. I wait for her or Great Grandpa to say something, but it quickly becomes clear they're expecting the same from me.

Sky. Now would be a good time to tell them about the village. We need to start preparing them to support you, as well as deal with the wider galactic community.

"You're sure, Box?" Great Grandpa and Broom quirk their eyebrows at me, and I flush again. "It's, uhm, Box wants me to tell you some stuff about the village. I don't understand all of it, but Box says we need to change some things. Uhm, a lot of things."

I also apologize for eating the trees. I now recognize the cultural and material significance they hold for your tribe.

"Box also apologizes for eating the trees. It didn't know they were important to us."

This time Great Grandpa and Broom's eyebrows shoot almost to their hairline, or, in Great Grandpa's case, what few white wisps are somehow still hanging on.

"Box... ate some of the trees," Broom says flatly. "Did it have a good reason, or was it just feeling snackish?"

"...I would have died," I respond, twiddling my fingers together, eyes down. "I, uhm, I probably should have died last night. With Wires. And then again after I met Box and we attacked the outsiders. I pushed things too far, and I think it ate the trees to keep me alive."

"That's... actually a reasonable excuse," Broom chuckles. Once again I'm surprised by the flexibility of her mindset. It must be an Idiot thing. "Not that we want Box to make it a habit. Those trees are what's kept us alive all these years."

As long as you don't collapse the local reality wavefront into a death state, the biomass we scavenge from our upcoming confrontations will be more than sufficient for everything necessary. If you do die, though, I'll have to return here and replenish.

"Box says as long as I don't die again, it won't have to eat more of the trees."

...wait, our upcoming confrontations?

Unfortunately, your life is about to get indescribably more violent, Sky. I am a Mark Three Paracausal Interface Coordinator, Combat Version (modified), heavy emphasis on the Combat and (modified) parts. My creator was perhaps a little too clever in his insanity. A lot of the galaxy is going to start looking for me, and by extension, you, very soon. Not to mention the reality incursions that will haunt us until we can clear the local anchor. You can either let them kill us and dissect the corpse, or we can start making your local reality safe.

Before I can respond, there's a hurried knocking at the door. A woman in forest-battered leathers, similar to Broom's, stumbles in almost before the raps have time to fade, concern etched across her youthful face, her chest heaving in great gulps of air.

"Leader Broom. There is. A problem. Northeast hills."

Broom looks up at her, face impassive.

"What is it, Scout Torch?"

"Strange creatures." The woman sucks in another breath. "Not Glowbeasts, not crabroaches. They're... off. Hard to look at. They appeared out of nowhere, and more of them keep spreading. They're going to enter the valley soon."

Broom turns her attention to me as Great Grandpa frowns. I draw in a deep breath of my own.

"...we should plant more trees. A lot more trees."