The world didn't come back all at once.
It trickled in—light first, then sound, muffled and distant. The beeping of monitors, the quiet hum of machines. The sterile scent of antiseptic drifted through the air.
Nathan opened his eyes to a ceiling he didn't recognize.
White. Fluorescent lights buzzed above a tile grid. He blinked once, then again, his vision taking a full minute to settle. Everything ached. His left side throbbed in sync with the monitor nearby.
He was in a hospital, that much was clear.
He tried to move, but only his right hand responded. His fingers moved slowly, like waking limbs after deep sleep. The rest of him felt heavy, like the weight came from inside and not the sheets.
His chest tightened as memory returned in jagged pieces.
The job. The van. The gunfire. Riley bleeding out beside him. Marco's body hitting the pavement. The fragment in his hand. Cold, dense, metallic. Then the light, bright enough to blind.
But none of that explained why he was still breathing.
A shuffle at the far side of the room pulled his attention.
He turned his head slowly. No one. Just a closed door, a glass panel showing a slice of corridor beyond. No nurses. No family. Claire wasn't there. Lily wasn't anywhere.
The irritation from the intubation still clung to his throat. He reached for the call button and froze.
There was something on the inside of his wrist. A pattern, etched like a faint scar. It wasn't ink like a tattoo, and it didn't feel out of place on his skin either. It shimmered faintly under the lights, like oil on water. He ran his thumb over it. Smooth and cold, would be the description that fit best.
His pulse jumped.
Then, without warning, a line of text blinked into existence across his field of vision. Extremely clear like he was looking through glass. It was hovering in the air in front of him.
[Cenovix OS: Reinitializing… 42%]
He jerked backward in the bed, his heart pounding. The monitor beside him beeped frantically at the movement.
What the hell?
The words stayed there, unwavering. A perfect overlay, neither on the ceiling nor in his eyes, just… there. As if the air itself had turned into a screen.
He blinked and looked away.
[Cenovix OS: Reinitializing… 68%]
Still there.
Cenovix.
The name tickled something in the back of his mind. It wasn't english to be exact, but it wasn't alien either. It sounded like something out of a defense contract or a classified prototype, something buried in the corners of internet forums and conspiracy theories.
He remembered a video once, late at night, rabbit-hole surfing. Cenovix Corp—some rumored joint research facility, maybe tied to NASA, maybe not. Urban legend stuff. He never took it seriously though. Just another story for insomniacs and paranoids.
And now it was blinking across his vision.
[System Core Activated]
[Biological Integration: Complete]
[Pending: Neuromotor calibration]
[Warning: Host mental state unstable. Adjusting thresholds…]
Nathan shut his eyes tight. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no."
The words followed him into the dark. He opened his eyes again.
Still there.
[Welcome, Host: Nathaniel Cole]
This time, it wasn't a hallucination.
The voice, if it could be called that, wasn't even a voice. Just a soft presence, the suggestion of words inside his thoughts, like remembering a sentence as it was being spoken.
He felt something… shift. A tightening in the back of his skull. A sensation of depth behind his own awareness.
Then more text appeared, this time smaller.
[Vitals: Stable]
[Blood Loss: 16% | Clotting Accelerated]
[Fractures: 2 ribs, left side | Stabilized]
[Foreign Object Integration: 100%]
[You should be dead.]
That last line hit hard.
Because it was true.
By all logic, he shouldn't be here. Not after taking a round to the side. Not after the SUV lit up like a target at a firing range.
"Is this... real?" His voice came out weak, barely audible.
No answer. The system didn't respond to questions. It just delivered facts, emotionless.
It wasn't a companion nor a voice in his head. It was an interface, an operating system.
Alien or human, he didn't know. But it was inside him now.
He let his head rest back on the pillow. Staring at the ceiling, his chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. What did this mean? What the hell had they stolen?
It hadn't been a bomb. It hadn't even been a weapon in the traditional sense. Whatever it was… it had bonded with him.
Permanently.
[Scanning Environment…]
[Hospital: Civilian Tier]
[Security: Low]
[No active threats detected.]
He couldn't tell if that was meant to calm him or not.
A knock came at the door. Nathan tensed.
A nurse stepped in. She was young, with short brown braids and a tablet clutched in her hand.
"Mr...," she said, not looking up from the chart. "You're awake. That's good."
He didn't answer. She was obviously asking for his name.
She glanced at the machines, frowned briefly, and then adjusted something on the IV drip. "You've been under for thirty-six hours. You took a hit to the side and lost a good amount of blood. Honestly, its a miracle you're still alive."
She paused. "The doctors said it's almost like your body kicked into overdrive. Your blood work is a mess though. Nothing lines up. They're still running tests."
Nathan swallowed. "Where's my stuff?"
The nurse blinked. "You were brought in without anything. No wallet. No phone. No ID. You were unconscious when they found you."
"Who found me?"
She looked hesitant. "I don't know. You were dropped off outside the ER entrance by an unmarked car. Then it was gone."
Nathan's stomach sank.
Nina.
It had to be.
The nurse gave a small, polite smile and slipped back out of the room.
There was silence again.
[New Objective: Pending Trigger]
[System Data Locked: Awaiting Neural Sync]
So this thing—Cenovix. Whatever it was, had goals, conditions and triggers.
He felt another sensation at the edge of his thoughts. Not pain to be exact, just a feeling. Like his brain was learning to make room for something else.
Something foreign.
[Notice: Initial calibration incomplete. Cognitive fluctuations expected.]
Nathan chuckled for a bit.
Cognitive fluctuations? That was one way to say "you're losing your mind."
But it didn't feel like madness. It felt… clear. Like he was more aware. Like something inside him had opened up and was slowly stretching awake.
He tried his fingers again. They moved easier this time, like the stiffness was retreating.
[Motor Function Sync: 18% → 19%]
His body wasn't just healing, it was adapting.
And if that was true, then whatever was inside him wasn't just alien. It was alive in some way. A code that changed. A system learning him as much as he was trying to understand it.
Nathan shifted again, pain flaring across his ribs. The hospital bed wasn't helping. He was still healing, and the ache in his body reminded him that rest was what he needed most. He'd barely closed his eyes when the door opened again. A familiar presence this time around.
Detective Nina Carver had arrived.