The grocery bags cut into his palms.
Adrian stepped into the parking lot. The automatic doors hissed shut behind him. The sun was out, but it felt thin—the tired light of a Tuesday with nothing left to give.
He checked his phone. Scrolling was a reflex. Pixels blurred: a cat, a fight, a beach. The screen glowed white.
The world stayed grey.
Should've taken that promotion.
He'd thought about it a hundred times. More money. More responsibility. He'd said no because he wanted an easier life. Less pressure. The logic had seemed sound.
And now I'm coasting.
He laughed. Small. Bitter. The kind of laugh you make when you realize you've been drifting so long you can't remember which direction you were supposed to be going.
Something drifted across his vision.
He looked up.
A balloon. Bright red. Heart-shaped. It yanked at its string in the wind.
Footsteps. Fast and light.
A girl ran past him. Five, maybe six. Her dress was faded pink, smudged with playground dirt. She wasn't looking at the street, or the cars, or him. Only the balloon. Her light-up shoes flashed against the concrete—blink, blink, blink—as she chased it toward the edge of the sidewalk.
Adrian smiled. A reflex.
_____________________
Then—
A roar. Deep. Heavy.
A semi-truck tore through the intersection.
It wasn't slowing down.
The light was green.
And the flashing shoes stepped off the curb.
The driver saw her. Brakes screamed—metal tearing against itself. The horn blared.
Adrian's mind split.
The girl—pigtails bouncing, arms reaching.
The truck—grille, windshield, a face twisted into something between a word and a prayer.
The groceries—slipping. Falling. Milk bursting. Apples scattering across asphalt.
And one part—the part that had said no to promotions, that had chosen the easy path, that had been coasting so long—that part was already moving.
His feet hit the pavement.
Too fast to think.
Too late to hesitate.
He hit her. Hard.
His shoulder drove into her small body, twisting, throwing them both out of the path. She flew through the air—arms flailing, mouth open—and landed on the sidewalk. Rolled. Stopped.
Alive.
He stood in the middle of the road.
Eyes shut.
Waiting.
This is it.
_____________________
The truck stopped.
Three meters away. Heat rolled off the engine. Burnt rubber filled the air. His hands shook.
The driver climbed out. "Hey! Are you okay?!"
Adrian didn't look at him.
Something warm spread down his leg.
Heavy.
Wrong.
The wind hit it.
Cold.
His stomach dropped.
Oh no.
The stain spread. Thigh to knee. Cloth clinging to skin.
Oh no no—
"Sir? Are you hurt? That was close—"
Adrian turned and walked away. Didn't run—running would make people look. Walked fast. Face hot. Left the groceries behind. The burst milk carton. Apples rolling like trash.
Why didn't I just let the truck hit me? Mean, bitter. At least that would have been clean.
He walked twenty meters. Thirty. The sidewalk ahead was empty.
His vision narrowed.
Edges going soft.
His steps didn't land right.
The ground tilted.
Too far.
Too fast.
His leg didn't catch him.
Then nothing did.
Cold concrete.
A distant scream.
I saved her.
A flicker.
Small.
I saved her, and I peed my pants, and now I'm going to die.
His heart gave one last, weak beat.
Then—nothing.
The balloon drifted higher.
Red against white sky.
Then gone.
_____________________
Darkness.
Then—
White.
_____________________
He opened his eyes.
Everything was white. Not like a wall—like absence. Like everything stripped away until nothing was left but light. Clouds drifted past. Soft music played in the distance.
Am I dead?
HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Laughter. Loud and wild. Someone wheezing, trying to catch their breath.
He turned.
An angel stood there. Beautiful in the way that made you understand cathedrals. Radiant. Glowing like a giant candle. But she was doubled over, clutching her stomach, tears streaming down her face. She pointed at him, acted out "wet pants" with her hands, and collapsed again.
Adrian stared. "Are you serious right now?"
"You—" she wheezed, pointing. "You died... like that. "
He crossed his arms. "This is mean. I saved a child."
"YOU PEED YOURSELF. "
"I WAS ABOUT TO BE HIT BY A TRUCK! "
"AND THEN YOU JUST WALKED AWAY. "
"IT WAS THE ONLY DIGNIFIED OPTION! "
She laughed harder. A device glowed in her hand. A smartphone. An angel with a smartphone, recording his shame.
Then, for a moment, her laughter stopped.
She lowered the phone. Looked at him with eyes that had watched ten thousand souls arrive.
"You're not the first," she said quietly. "To die like that. Wet and alone." She tilted her head. "You're the first who walked away after."
She held his gaze. Then her face cracked back into a grin.
"Still funny though."
He threw his hands up. "IS THERE A MANAGER HERE? "
_____________________
God appeared.
No fanfare. Just a tired figure in a bathrobe that had once been white and was now the grey of too many washes. His beard was long and tangled. His eyes had the distant look of someone who had been trying to understand a tax code for a civilization that no longer existed. He held a sandwich. Half was gone. The other half looked like it had given up.
He sighed. Beneath the exhaustion, something else vibrated. A frequency that made Adrian's bones hum.
"What now?"
Adrian pointed at the angel. "She's mocking me."
"You peed yourself," the angel wheezed.
"I SAVED A CHILD. "
God looked at the angel. Looked at Adrian. Looked at the sandwich. Took a slow bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
"Okay. You died. It happens." He gestured with the sandwich. "Two choices. Pick one."
Magic. Dragons. Castles.
Sci-fi. Ships. Cities. Stars.
Adrian stared. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"...no hidden boss fight?"
God blinked. "You want one?"
"No. I'm just... checking." Adrian squinted. "This feels too easy."
He looked at both worlds.
He wanted the dragons and the laser beams. The elves and the spaceships. The fireballs and the robots.
"Both."
God was silent. Then he pulled a tablet from his robe. Scrolled. Frowned.
"You know," he said, "most people just pick one."
"I'm not most people."
"No." God looked up. "You're the kind of person who clicks 'Accept All' without reading the terms."
He handed Adrian the tablet.
"Look, I know my angel was... unprofessional."
The angel snickered.
"Shut up. I'll make it up to you. A gift. You'll get it when you arrive."
Adrian studied him. "What kind of gift?"
God met his eyes. Something shifted behind the exhaustion. Something that had watched him run toward the truck.
"You coasted," God said. "Your whole life. Said no to promotions. Chose the easy path. You were so afraid of building something that might fail, you built nothing at all. "
Adrian's jaw tightened. "I ran toward the truck."
"You did." God nodded slowly. "When it mattered, you moved. Most people don't."
He reached into his robe.
"There's a station. Broken. Empty. Waiting. The system behind your eye will help you fill it. Avatars. Drones. Whatever you can imagine." A pause. "But there's a catch."
"There's always a catch."
God almost smiled. "The avatars aren't separate from you. They're you. Copies. Every time you make one, you lose something."
Adrian frowned. "What kind of something?"
God didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
"You wanted both worlds. You'll get them. But building something that big... it will cost you. "
Adrian's hand hovered over the tablet. "How much?"
God's voice dropped. Not tired now. Ancient.
"That depends on how much you want to build."
Adrian thought about the life he'd left. The grocery store. The balloon. The girl. The truck. The shame. The cold concrete.
Safe. Easy. Empty.
He took the tablet.
God's voice followed him into the dark:
"You asked for both. Don't complain when it breaks."
Falling.
_____________________
Not through air—through light. Through sound. Something between spaces.
Then—
Pain.
A spike behind his right eye. White. Sharp. Precise. Something pushing in where nothing should be.
There are two of us now.
The thought didn't come from him.
It came from somewhere adjacent.
For a second—
he didn't know which one he was.
_____________________
HMMMMMMM.
A hum. Low. Constant. Mechanical.
He woke up gasping.
White ceiling. Soft lights. Machinery hummed through the mattress beneath him. He sat up slowly, hands going to his face. The pain was gone, but something lingered behind his right eye—a warmth, a presence, like a second heartbeat tucked behind the first.
He patted himself down. Dry clothes. Someone had changed him while he was out.
The wet jeans. The walk. The cold concrete.
He pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.
I died in a parking lot with wet pants.
He let out a breath. Looked around.
A room. Small. Functional. A bed. A console. A door that slid rather than swung. The air smelled recycled—clean, but in the way that meant it had been cleaned, not that it had ever been anything but processed.
"Where am I?"
A voice answered. Warm. Feminine. Motherly.
"You are on a station, master."
He spun around.
A floating orb of light hovered beside him. Its glow was soft, its hum gentle. It drifted in a slow circle.
"A station?" He looked around. "I'm on a station?"
"Yes, master. Currently drifting in an asteroid belt. No known space lanes within range. No signs of intelligent life nearby." A pause. "Aside from you and me, of course."
"Master?"
"That is your designation. You are the only organic being here. The station's systems recognize you as the primary authority."
"Just Adrian is fine."
"Adrian." She tested the word. "I like it. It feels... human."
"I am human."
"Yes, I gathered." Another pause. "Though the circumstances of your arrival are... unusual. The energy signature didn't match any known FTL travel. It was almost like something reached through the void and placed you here."
He laughed. A little hysterical.
"You're telling me. I died. There was an angel. She laughed at me. I argued with God. And now I'm here." He looked at the orb. "Who are you?"
"I am the station's artificial intelligence. I don't have a name. The previous occupants didn't bother giving me one." The light dimmed. "I've been floating here watching you drool for six hours. You talk in your sleep, by the way. Something about a balloon."
He felt his face warm. "Did I say anything else?"
"You said 'not the jeans' three times. Then you cried for a minute. Then you went back to sleep." Her light brightened. "I was going to wake you, but you seemed like you needed it."
He rubbed his face. "Six hundred years?"
"Approximately. Give or take a century. Time gets strange when you're the only one talking." She drifted closer. "You could give me a name, if you want. I've always wanted a name."
"Evangel," he said.
The orb brightened.
"Evangel. It sounds important."
"You are. You're going to help me figure out what the hell is going on."
"That I can do." Her light pulsed warmly. "Though I should mention—you have a message."
"A message?"
"It appeared in the system about three minutes after you arrived."
His stomach tightened. "Show me."
A holographic display flickered. A letter symbol. He reached out and touched it.
_____________________
My gift.
This station. This system. All of it.
You asked for both. Don't complain when it breaks.
The system behind your eye will help you build.
It will also cost you.
— G
_____________________
He stared at the words. The warmth behind his right eye pulsed once.
"Fascinating," Evangel said. "The message has no identifiable source. No transmission logs. It simply appeared."
"Of course it did." He pressed his fingers against his eye. "What does he mean, 'it will also cost me'?"
"I don't know, Adrian. But whatever arrived with you... it's not part of the station's systems. I've scanned you three times. There's nothing in your biology that shouldn't be there."
"And yet."
"And yet you're holding your eye like it hurts."
He lowered his hand. "It doesn't hurt. It just feels... there. "
Evangel was silent. "That is concerning."
"Yeah." He stood up. The door slid open. "Come on. Show me what I'm working with."
_____________________
They walked through corridor after corridor.
Command Room. Your primary control center. The left console is decorative. The right console works sometimes.
Bedroom. For sleeping. Humans need that, I'm told.
Mess Hall. The food dispenser makes nutrient paste. It is nutritionally complete. It tastes like regret.
Meeting Room. For meeting. I assume you'll have people to meet eventually.
Research Bay. Currently empty. Lots of potential. Also, there is a dragon skeleton in the ventilation shaft.
He stopped. "A what?"
"A dragon skeleton. In the ventilation shaft. The previous occupants were trying to combine magic and technology. It did not go well. The skeleton has been there for four hundred years. Sometimes, when the station shifts, I hear its bones move."
He stared at her. She floated serenely.
"Moving on."
Garden Bay. Empty dirt beds. You'll need seeds.
Storage Bay. Fully stocked with basic materials. By 'basic,' I mean 'barely functional.'
Refinery Bay. Turns raw ore into usable alloys. Slowly. Loudly.
Furnace. Melts the ore first. Very hot. Don't touch. The last person who touched it is now part of the wall. That is not a joke.
Shipyard Bay. Empty. But ready when you are.
She stopped at a set of doors that groaned when they opened.
Hangar Bay. This one is actually useful.
_____________________
He stopped at the entrance. Inside, the hangar was a cavern of shadows.
Two sleek scout drones sat in their cradles. One missing an engine. The other upside down.
One combat drone twitched in its alcove, cycling through a diagnostic loop that would never complete.
Thirty mining drones lined up like sleeping workers. Three leaking fluid.
Thirty utility robots stood motionless. One smoking.
And in the corner—
One massive combat robot. Dark. Dormant. Its armor scored with claw marks. Its chest cavity open, exposing melted circuits. Something that had been put through a war and left to rust.
"Impressive," he said.
"That's not all." Evangel led him to a display panel. "Defenses: twelve turrets. Fully operational. And..." She pulled up another screen. "One AI. Me. And one core—the heart of the station. Keep it safe."
He nodded.
Then something flickered at the edge of his vision.
A small holographic icon. Floating beside him. A stylized letter A. Glowing faintly.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing.
Evangel turned. "What's what?"
"That." He gestured. "Right there."
Her light pulsed with confusion. "I don't see anything, Adrian. The station's sensors detect no holographic projection in this area."
He stared at her. "You don't see it."
"I don't see it."
The warmth behind his right eye pulsed. Stronger. Almost eager.
He reached out and touched the icon.
The world didn't stop. But something shifted.
_____________________
AVATAR SYSTEM
CURRENT CAPACITY: 0/1
CREATE AVATAR
_____________________
The warmth behind his eye flared. Not pain—pressure. Like something unfolding. He could feel it now: the system was not a menu. It was a presence. A second consciousness waiting.
"Adrian?" Evangel's voice sounded distant. "You're bleeding."
He touched his nose. Fingers came away red.
"Your vitals are spiking—"
"I'm fine." He wasn't sure. "Evangel, are you absolutely sure you can't see this?"
"I am certain. Whatever you're seeing, it's not part of the station's systems." A pause. "What does it look like?"
"A system. An avatar system. It says I can create an avatar."
"A what?"
"Like a copy. A clone. They have their own minds but follow my orders. Linked to me. If one learns something, they all learn it."
Evangel was silent. "Adrian, I have full access to this station's databases. There is no such system installed here. Nothing in the blueprints. Nothing in the records. Whatever is inside you... it's not from this station."
He looked at the floating interface. The pulsing button. The warmth behind his eye that was no longer just warmth—it was attention. Something waiting.
"The gift," he said quietly.
"You think this is it?"
He looked at his bloody fingers. It will also cost you.
He pressed the button.
_____________________
The Research Bay hummed to life.
Lights flickered. Energy crackled. A platform in the center began to glow—brighter and brighter until he had to shield his eyes.
Evangel's voice rose. "Adrian! The energy readings—I can't—this isn't—"
"It's okay."
His nose bled faster. Something pulled. A thread stretching, splitting, becoming two.
There are two of us now.
And for a second—
he didn't know which one he was.
_____________________
FLASH.
The light faded.
On the platform stood a figure. Human-shaped. Solid. Same height as him, same build, but different features—like a sibling he'd never met.
It stood perfectly still. Watching. Waiting.
Then it moved.
Its head turned toward him with a sound like unoiled hinges. Its left hand twitched—the middle finger extending and curling back. When it took its first step off the platform, its knee joint creaked. Its gait was slightly too smooth, like something that had learned to walk from a diagram.
Evangel floated closer, her light flickering.
"Adrian," she whispered. "What... what is that?"
"That's an avatar." He wiped blood from his nose. "Apparently."
He walked toward it. Its eyes tracked him, but the movement was wrong—one eye moving a fraction of a second behind the other.
"Hey," he said. "Can you talk?"
Its mouth opened. Jaw moving with the same unoiled hesitation.
"I am Arc," it said. The voice was his, but flattened. Stretched. Like a recording played at the wrong speed. "I am an avatar. Created to serve you. I can learn. I can grow."
"Anything you learn, the others will learn too?"
"If there are others. Yes."
"And if something happens to you?"
"Twenty-four hours. Then I can be recreated. Memories intact."
He pulled up the interface again.
_____________________
AVATAR SYSTEM — STATUS
Current Capacity: 1
Maximum Capacity: Unlimited (requires station upgrades)
UPGRADE REQUIREMENTS:
2 Avatars: 500 refined materials + Basic Power Upgrade
3 Avatars: 1,000 refined materials + Advanced Power Systems
4 Avatars: 2,000 units + Shipyard Construction
WARNING: Each avatar creation draws from the creator's cognitive baseline. Exceeding capacity without proper upgrades may result in permanent fragmentation.
_____________________
He stared at the warning. Fragmentation.
"Arc. Give me a thumbs up if you understand everything I've said."
Arc raised his right hand. His thumb extended—then twitched, extended again, held. The movement was mechanical.
Evangel floated beside him.
"Adrian," she said quietly. "The energy readings from that creation event... they're not possible. The station doesn't have the capacity. Whatever that thing is, it wasn't built from our resources."
He looked at Arc.
It will also cost you.
"What did it cost you?" Evangel asked.
He touched his nose. The bleeding had stopped. But the warmth behind his eye was still there—and now he could feel something else. A faint pressure at the back of his skull. A thread connecting him to Arc, thin as spider silk, humming with awareness.
There are two of us now.
The thought was his. But it also wasn't.
"I can feel him," Adrian said quietly. "Arc. At the edge of my thoughts. He's not a machine. He's me. Just less."
"Less what?"
He watched Arc's hand twitch. The too-smooth gait. The drifting eyes.
"Less finished. "
Evangel was silent. "That's terrifying."
"Yeah." He dismissed the interface. "Arc. First order: explore the station. Get familiar with everything. Come back and tell me what you found."
Arc nodded. Stiff. Neck creaking. But something in the gesture was already smoother than before. Learning.
He turned and walked into the corridor. His left hand still twitched. His head turned slightly too far, like something that didn't understand the limits of a human neck.
Adrian watched him go. Then, quieter: "Arc. When you're out of sight... give me a thumbs up."
A moment passed.
Then, from around the corner, a thumb appeared. It twitched twice, then held steady. Lowered.
He let out a breath.
_____________________
Evangel floated beside him. "This changes everything."
"Yeah." He pulled up the interface again. The warning glowed. Permanent fragmentation. "It really does."
Footsteps approached. Arc's voice echoed from down the corridor—still flattened, still stretched, but something in the cadence had shifted.
"Adrian. I have found something."
His stomach tightened. "What is it?"
A pause.
"Ships. On long-range sensors. Twelve of them. Estimated arrival: four days."
Evangel's light flickered. "Twelve ships? Adrian, that's not a trading convoy. That's a fleet. "
His expression didn't change. But something behind his eyes sharpened.
"Pirates?"
"Most likely. This sector has documented Ravager activity. They strip stations. They do not leave survivors."
Evangel's voice trembled. "Adrian, we have twelve turrets and one combat drone. If they're hostile—"
"Then we have four days to get ready."
He stood in the middle of the corridor. The warmth behind his eye pulsed. The thread connecting him to Arc hummed. The skeleton in the vents waited. The broken station creaked around him.
You asked for both. Don't complain when it breaks.
He looked at the interface again. The upgrade requirements. The warning. The avatar who was already learning, already changing.
Four days. Twelve ships. One avatar. One AI. A station held together with hope and bad decisions.
He smiled.
"Evangel. Get those mining drones online. Now. "
A pause. "Understood."
"Arc. Come back. We're changing priorities."
From down the hall, a single thumb appeared. It twitched once—then held.
Then footsteps. Approaching. Faster than before. The gait was still wrong, but it was learning. Everything was learning.
He looked at the numbers. At the empty corridor. At the station that was broken and waiting and all he had.
Not coasting anymore.
The warmth behind his eye pulsed once.
Like something inside him had already decided.
Before he did.