PLEASE ENTER NAME : LEVEL 3

DAY 12 : D-DAY, SECONDWEEK, AGNI, YEAR 1

CENTRAL 1 : TOWER 1 : BLUE PILL

I feel like it hasn’t been a great day. Again, a definition. But it’s hard to know what a ‘day’ actually is when one’s passage through them amounts to a subjective eternity of pain followed by a scant moment of blissful silence before a second, longer eternity of pain. Albeit slightly more… Stagnant? At least there’s no countdown this time. And the innumerable, indescribable shapes and colors and sounds are, at least compared to before, minimal.

Nor do they change either significantly or often. Every now and then, the sound of a particular shape will make one color after another before vanishing once more. Although, sandwiched between eternities, the shape itself is as fleeting as the silence. Memorable only thanks to its novelty. Its variety. A modicum of relief, if only by way of distraction. But whether truly gone or just distracted from, the pain inevitably returns all the same.

My eyes hurt. So do my ears. And skin. My nose hurts too. Not to mention my tongue. I don’t actually know what any of those things are. I just seem to inherently know the words. And their locations across my… It feels so wrong calling what I have now a ‘body’. But I know that’s what it is. The same way I know the parts of it that hurt. Or is it closer to an itch by now? Whatever that means…

Whatever the sensation is called, there’s never a true release. But it does lessen. Or maybe I’m just getting used to it? But whether it’s the pain or me that’s changing, it gradually gets better. And as it does, patterns begin to emerge. Slowly but surely, a painfully shrill shriek becomes an unpleasantly loud screech. A mind-bending, existentially maddening shape becomes a mind-bothering, existentially disturbing cabinet. An unsettling otherworldly color becomes… A slightly less agitating version of the same color.

Even the nature of how it all grows easier to take, is hard for me to grasp. At times, I was unsure of whether anything had actually changed at all. But by now, the pain receded enough for me to remember how it was before. There’s no question. It did get better. Every time I think about it, the difference is only more stark. Eventually, I’m unsure of whether what I feel is pain, or merely the memory of it. The ‘sense’ memory… Another definition. One I understand a bit better than the others. But it’s still a hopelessly impossible translation. Not that I’d care for that. Why would I want to remember specific types of pain? The ones I can’t forget are already too many. I pointedly leave it out of the queue.

Eventually, a shape makes a color to break the silence. “How’re you doing, PEN?”

A question. That, at least, is a concept I understand. Unfortunately, I am unaware of any such writing implement. Or its current status. Or what ‘writing’ even is beyond the unsolicited definition that I somehow now know, but still lack the context to understand. So I maintain my silence.

“Do you know who I am?”

Another question. This one is obviously directed at the pen. But I have no concept of subtlety. Or implication. Although the definitions do come. I even know what they mean. I just don’t understand how such things can be communicated in any way other than mind-to-mind. So, after an extended silence, I think up a question of my own. One I refine through innumerable iterations before finally drumming up the courage to interrupt the nearby conversation between shape and pen. Having finally grasped the use of such things as words, I utter my first three. “What is ‘who’?”

What follows isn’t so much an answer, as a feverish escalation of the scale and frequency of all audiovisual stimulation to the point where my senses revert back to an incomprehensible mess. One of no nuance, substance, or even meaning. Nothing but the all-too-familiar pain. This continues for a while. I have no idea how long, it being yet another extended moment inside of what feels like an eternity of torture. Whatever that means…

Soon, the shapes change. As they make more colors, the pain lessens. It’s hard to say if those things are actually related. Perhaps due to the longer interim, this eternity seems shorter than the last. During it, a lot of the shapes change. Once I discern their texture, I feel like that marks the point where I can actually comprehend their noises once more. Finally doubling the number of words I’ve ever spoken, I amend my previous question. “Why is ‘who’?”

The single remaining shape seems excited. It makes a texture and a noise. The texture is hard to interpret. But the noise is not. “Can you hear me?”

Another new feeling. A rush of excitement. Of anticipation. Of joy at finally being addressed. Of being asked a question. And a clear one at that. I even know the answer. “Yes.”

The shape sounds more apologetic than anything. “That’s good. I can hear you as well. Do you understand the number ‘3’?”

An easier concept to grasp by far than ‘1’. Or especially ‘0’. “Yes.”

“Wonderful. Do you grasp the concept of ‘choice’?”

A definition springs to mind. The finer points are lost to me. But the concept, at least, I mostly understand. I’m not sure how a ‘choice’ can be ‘grasped’. But as aware of that definition as I am of the others, I know that in this context, it’s the same as ‘understand’. And even ‘get’. So many words for so few things… With that in mind, I repeat my last one. “Yes.”

The shape vibrates. “Excellent.” Then the tone and cadence of its sound changes as it makes all sorts of different colors with its multi-pronged appendages that seem to fit under the heading of ‘arms’. “Unfortunately, your original body was incompatible with this iteration of Heaven. Therefore, you were automatically transitioned into your closest genetic match. This has never happened before. Not to anything like a human, at any rate. As such, we had no procedure in place for you. To that end, I apologize that our workaround was so rough.”

That’s a lot of definitions with not a lot of context. What is an ‘apology’? I’d ask, but I get the distinct impression that it would be ‘off-topic’. Whatever that means… I know it’s bad though. The same way I know any of the rest of what is facilitating my ability to communicate.

The shape waits for a few beats before continuing in a markedly different tone. “To that end, you have a choice to make. There are three options before you. Whichever you choose, we will not only honor. but also assist in any our own rules and strictures allow.”

It holds up one of its little tubes that seems to be called a ‘finger’. “First… You can stay as you are. At least insofar as you’ll keep your current body. We’ll teach you how to function as best you can amongst humanity. As you clearly know by now, this path won’t be easy. There are Settings and Skills we can point you toward to smooth out the rougher edges of your experience. But neither will I, nor can I, promise that it will be in any way ‘easy’.”

The shape holds up another finger. “Second… You can continue here in Heaven, but transfer to another race. While technically more different from your original genetic makeup than a human, there are many with a more similar relationship to yours with sensory input. Such as sight, sound, and similar sensations that I’m so sad to see since-” It freezes in place. “AAAH, I bit my tongue!” After a few moments, the shape regains its composure. ”you’ve been tragically overwhelmed by worse than that up to this point, I know. We will help smooth your experience here as well, but I highly suspect there will be much less smoothing to do than with Option One.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

It holds up one more finger. “Third… You can leave Heaven entirely. You will be put back into the cycle of reincarnation. All memories of your previous life, as well as your time here, will be lost. Instead, you will have the same fresh start as all newborns. Now, we have no influence over where you end up on this path. But with what little knowledge survives of your previous life, I can all but guarantee that your next will be far, far happier.”

All options having been given, I’m overcome with an unease that feels like it’s coming from countless directions at once until I say something. “I wish to choose the first option.”

The shape stagnates. “You don’t… Have any questions?”

From the front of the queue then. “What is meant by ‘previous life’?”

“I… Well, I mean… How do you explain… Ok, let’s try this way. Do you remember when you saw your first System prompt?”

How could I not? It accompanied the greatest sense of accomplishment and satisfaction I’ve ever felt before or since. “I do.”

“Well, everything prior to that was your previous life. And that moment, or one adjacent to it, was the start of this one.”

So the blue square wasn’t death, but rather birth… “I understand.”

“Sooo… Did you change your mind on where you want to go from here?”

“I wish to choose the first option.”

“You’re sure? I promise the pain and confusion you feel now can be completely alleviated with a simple change in-”

“Yes.”

“Yes… To what? Are you sure, or-”

“I am sure.”

“I… But you…” The shape ungulates in a way that’s apparently called a ‘sigh’. “Very well. Option One it is. Now let’s see what we can do to help you cope with…” It waves its arms off to the side in a sweeping shrug. “This.” It chuckles. “Gotta be honest, we were about to choose Option Three for you.”

“Please do not.”

“Don’t worry, that’s fully off the table now.”

“What is a ‘table’?”

“It’s… Well, in the way I meant it, the table was entirely metaphorical. In that case, it was just an expression.”

“What is an ‘expression’?”

The shape slowly vibrates its topmost appendage. “Don’t worry about that for now. As long as you can make the choice yourself, we will abide by it. But please understand… You were the next best thing to catatonic. I don’t know if you know what that means, but if not for our ability to scan for sentient consciousness, we would’ve thought you were a vegetable. In spite of our best efforts, that does sometimes happen.”

“What is a vegetable?”

It pointedly exhales, not seeming to otherwise acknowledge my question. “And outside of correcting physical damage to your literal brain, there isn’t much to be done for such Heroes besides sending them on their way. But again, this is a worst-case scenario. Not something we do if we have an alternative. And for what it’s worth, we’re all exceedingly happy not to have to make that decision for you. Especially seeing that from the choice you did make, it would’ve been the wrong one.”

But I’m having a hard time putting something together. “Then is that the True first Option?”

Its top bit wobbles faster than before. “Not at all. It’s the last resort, in fact. Believe it or not, even amongst racial compatibility issues, which are already exceedingly rare, yours is somewhat unique. Not in Heaven’s history, mind you. But it’s rare enough that we don’t have a standardized response.”

That appendage rotates off to one side now. “That was the primary reason your experience ended up so… let’s call it ‘analogue’.” It rotates back to me. “With that in mind, I do apologize on behalf of The Admin Order for the pain caused by our lack of foresight in this. I understand that the ordeal was quite…” At that, the shape abruptly resets to an earlier posture. “That’s all behind us now, anyway. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Another, far more apologetic voice comes from off to the side. “I mean honestly, we really should have some automation in place for whenever someone registers as ‘Please Enter Name’, right? Now that we’ve seen the kind of trauma that it… Can…”

The first shape twists to the direction of the interruption. “Why thank you for making yourself known, Civetta. Saves me the introduction. Come over here, would you?”

A new shape meekly transposes over and raises its appendage. “Hi, PEN.”

I’m just confused now. This is the second time. The question must take top priority, then. “To what pen are you referring?”

Both shapes lean away. The one called ‘Civetta’ is the first to lean forward. “That’s you, silly.”

I’ve clearly made a mistake with my query. Questions of self only result in more questions, and none to the one I asked.

Finally recovering, the original shape clears whatever a throat is. “I’m just so thrilled that you two already have a rapport. Because speaking of things that either should or shouldn’t have happened, Civetta here will be your personal service worker until such a time as you are deemed fit to govern yourself here in Heaven. Please understand, you are in a new body. One to which you are completely unfamiliar. And now you find yourself in a world clearly unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. All that is to say… Don’t worry. This isn’t a prison sentence. This is rehabilitation.”

Even as definitions abound, I have no working concept of anything that shape just said. So, nothing for it but to ask until all is answered. “What is ‘prison’?”

The original shape turns towards the new one. “Whelp, Looks like you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, Civetta. I’ll Just go ahead and let you get to it, then.” A moment later, the first shape is gone.

I wonder about that. But there are 7,352 other questions in the queue, and this one isn’t even about the ‘basic human understanding’ thing they keep emphasizing. So I instead set my eight additional questions about the disappearing shape around the middle, behind general understanding, but in front of food.

The Civetta shape looks around the room as though searching for where the other one went. A few seconds later, she starts making noises faster than I can even parse. “So we actually do know when someone names themselves that. It raises a flag in our system that something went very, very wrong. But we don’t always have to kill them, only to pick them out of a respawn queue. I am so, so, so sorry. It was honestly all we could do to work around our own policies. We can not, will not, force anyone to come with us who hasn’t committed one of the few, exceedingly specific things we recognize as a crime. But what we can do is pick someone out of our respawn system, and redirect them. Again, we have strict policies in place for when we can do that, to who, and where they can be redirected. But your situation fell right in that purview.”

The shape apparently tries to keep talking. But there’s something wrong. One rush of air later, her torrent of words begins again, only faster than before. “It’s also kinda my fault you got put through that. It was a scheduling issue that caused you to be in the center of an incident that involved more than a few, um, you know what? Nevermind. That’s not your problem. And this must be so confusing already. Normally, the system would implant at least enough knowledge for you to coexist with the local population while leaving you as close to your living self as possible.”

The shape takes another gasp of air. “But that clearly didn’t work. So we turned it up. And up and up. And now, you have so much implanted knowledge that any more would set you squarely in the danger zone of an incurable dissociative mental disorder. Once we implant the knowledge, it can’t be unimplanted. We’d need top-level authorization for that, and I’ve never even seen that get granted for anything or anyone since I started working here. So I wouldn’t exactly count on that. Anyway, that’s where I come in. I’m here to help you integrate with society and answer all your questions about everything.” At that, the shape practically collapses into whatever a chair is.

Does it need questions, then? I have so many of those. I resolve to ask them all, as requested. So, I start with the first in the queue, only just added as I determined the context necessary to understand most of the rest of what she said. “What is ‘society’?”

Civetta inhales long and hard. “A society…” She blows out a puff of air. “Is a gathering of people-”