The Flash.
Consciousness does not return—
it crashes into me, like emergency lights blasting straight into my eyes.
White.
Cutting.
Too close.
I try to get up—and suddenly realize I don't know how to do that. As if the command is missing. As if I skipped the manual for my own body.
The body remembers before I do.
Muscles contract. Lungs fill with air. The heart beats steadily—too steadily, like a mechanism that never asks questions.
A click.
A transparent capsule hisses open like a gigantic glass eye. Warm vapor bursts outward—and with it, I burst free.
The world sways.
The floor slips away beneath me.
Nausea rises, but there is no vomiting. The body is… far too disciplined for such weaknesses.
A warning bell.
I feel bad…
But is it bad enough?
Sirens.
Not just sound—pressure. Red waves slice through space, ricochet off metal, off walls, off my thoughts. It feels as if reality itself is screaming directly into my ear:
too late
too late
too late
A face moves toward me.
Too close.
Wrinkles like cracks on an old screen. Gray eyebrows trembling. Eyes—bright, disturbingly alive for this chaos. He looks at me as if I've already done something great…
…or something irreversibly terrible.
"You are Axiom-126," he says quickly, as if afraid he might be cut off. "You were created to save the entire sentient universe."
Great, I think.
Wake up—and straight into the deep end.
I try to respond, but my tongue feels чужой. Words get stuck somewhere between thought and reality, like a corrupted signal.
The scientist grabs me under the arms. His fingers are tenacious, unexpectedly strong for an older man. He pulls me forward—I nearly collapse, my legs give way, but he holds me.
Doesn't let me fall.
Doesn't let me stop.
Panic is everywhere.
People run. Scream. Someone falls—and is stepped over without a glance. Sparks rain down from the ceiling. The air is saturated with smoke, fear, and something metallic.
Maybe energy is burning.
Maybe hope.
My memories are fragmented, like a damaged file. Flashes. Faces without names. Formulas without meaning. Someone else's laughter. Someone else's pain.
And the emptiness between them—gaping, like pages torn from a book.
"The Dark Mind Noxaris is already here," the scientist throws over his shoulder. "It's advancing. The planetary defense dome won't hold for long."
Noxaris.
The word hooks into something inside me. Not a memory—a scar. Cold spreads through my chest, as if someone has opened an emergency hatch straight into my heart.
We reach a flying vehicle.
Streamlined.
Black.
Smooth as the thought of escape.
"I am Dr. Elias Morrenn," he says, settling me inside. His voice suddenly drops, almost personal. "Your creator."
Creator.
The word doesn't inspire. It presses down. It explains too much—and nothing at all.
"Our planet, Elindra Prime, will fall soon," he continues, leaning closer. "You must complete your mission."
A pause.
He looks straight into my eyes.
"My son."
And he embraces me.
For real. Awkward. Fatherly. His hand trembles against my back, and I suddenly understand: he is more afraid than I am.
And that frightens me the most.
I remember nothing.
I understand nothing.
And yet, for some reason, I feel ashamed.
Ashamed that I might disappoint him.
"What… mission?" I ask.
My voice sounds foreign, as if someone else is speaking through me.
Anxiety rises in a wave. Not hysteria—no. A cold, built-in readiness for catastrophe. Like a system function.
"My consciousness is imprinted within your mind, Axiom-126," Elias says quickly, as if reading out a sentence. "I will always be with you in your darkest hour."
Wonderful, a thought flickers.
Bonus voices in my head.
"You are the one hundred and twenty-sixth attempt to stop the Dark Mind."
One hundred and twenty-sixth.
So where are the other one hundred and twenty-five?
I don't have time to ask.
"Forward," he says, striking my shoulder. The gesture brutally cuts the moment short. "Your mission has begun."
He presses a button on the panel.
The doors slam shut with a dull metallic click. Too final. Restraints snap around my chest and legs, locking me in place—as if I'm not a passenger…
…but a piece of ordnance.
The machine surges forward.
The acceleration crushes me into the seat. The corridor stretches into a tunnel of light and shadow. The sirens merge into a single, unbroken howl.
The world falls away behind me.
Ahead—only the unknown.
And somewhere deep beneath layers of artificial logic, I feel a чужой gaze.
It already knows that I have awakened.
And it is waiting.
**
The machine fires.
It doesn't roll out.
It doesn't take off.
It fires—like a shell hurled from a barrel that's far too tight. For a fraction of a second, I feel the building's hull clamp around us, as if the structure itself refuses to let go. As if the city is clutching at me one last time.
Then—a violent jolt.
And the walls vanish.
Space.
Light.
It strikes straight into my eyes, even through the filters. I squeeze them shut, but it's too late—my retinas burn, my brain chokes on raw input. This isn't a lamp. Not a spotlight.
It's a star.
A real one.
I… am seeing starlight for the first time, the realization flashes through me, so absurd it almost makes me laugh.
Congratulations, Axiom-126.
Born—and straight into space.
The machine stabilizes, and the city unfolds beneath me.
Elindra Prime.
A city of skyscrapers reaching upward, as if trying to pierce the sky and be the first to escape. Glass. Metal. Luminous arteries of streets pulsing with life. Beautiful.
Far too beautiful for its final minutes.
Evacuation ships surge into the sky. They scatter upward chaotically, like frightened birds. Some collide. Some fail to gain altitude.
I see flashes—
and I don't want to think about what they mean.
There are people down there.
Or there were.
A dome ignites above the city.
It doesn't merely glow—it shudders. Impacts crash against it in waves. Each flare is like a heartbeat on the verge of giving out.
The dome holds.
But I can feel it: not for long.
Nothing here is for long.
In the sky hang the invasion vessels.
And they are… wrong.
Too large. So vast they refuse to fit into perception. They don't look like machines—more like shadows carved out of emptiness. Like a presence rather than an object.
They are visible from the surface of the planet.
Cold runs across my skin.
If they're visible from here…
then they're already too close.
Something clicks inside me.
A flash of awareness.
For a second, the world pulls back, as if someone turns down the volume—and he appears inside my mind.
Dr. Elias Morrenn.
Not a memory.
Not a fantasy.
He stands directly within my consciousness—sharp, alive, with the same anxious gaze. And that frightens me more than the ships in the sky.
"Axiom-126," he says, his voice unnervingly calm for the end of the world. "You will now exit the city dome and initiate contact with the enemy."
Exit.
Initiate.
The words are deliberately simple. Almost domestic. As if he's sending me out for groceries, not toward something that wipes planets off the map of reality.
"We have calibrated your systems," he continues. "This time, you will complete the mission and save the universe."
This time.
I cling to the phrase like a scrap of truth.
What do you mean… the thought breaks loose on its own.
What happened the other times?
Elias doesn't answer.
Either he won't.
Or he can't.
I look back at the dome. We're flying straight toward it. It's closer now. Beyond it—darkness, the invasion fleet, and my so-called mission.
I'm shaking.
Not panic—no. Panic would be easier. This is something deeper. A realization with nowhere to hide.
I am a tool.
I am an attempt.
I am a number.
One hundred and twenty-six.
I'm not ready, I think.
I don't know anything at all.
"You are ready," Elias's voice replies, quieter now. "Otherwise, we would not have awakened together."
The dome fills my entire field of vision.
The machine accelerates.
Somewhere deep inside me, something answers—like the enemy has already noticed me. Like contact began before the crossing. Before the first step beyond the boundary.
And what if on the other side, what awaits me isn't a battle…
…but a memory I was never meant to remember?
The dome flares directly in front of the machine.
And I understand:
in one second,
there will be no way back.