I remember the sound of the world snapping.
I remember the cold of that iron spike, a frost so intense it felt like fire.
Is this what comes after? This heavy, pressurized silence. It felt like being submerged in deep water, where the weight of the ocean presses against your eardrums until you can hear your own soul humming. It was a white noise, a static that sounded like a radio tuned to a frequency that didn't exist.
Kenzo's eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above him was a seamless, polished white, glowing with a soft internal light that didn't flicker. He sat up with a violent jolt, his lungs burning as they pulled in air that tasted too clean, filtered, and heavy.
His hands flew to his chest, clutching the thin fabric of the grey tunic he was wearing. He expected to feel the jagged, wet edges of a wound. He expected the sticky warmth of blood.
There was nothing.
Through the fabric, he felt the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart. No pain. Not even a dull ache. He pulled the collar of the tunic aside, staring in disbelief at his pale skin. The hole that had been torn through his torso was gone. It wasn't just healed, it was as if it had never happened.
"It's a waste of energy," a voice cut through the silence.
In the far corner, he was leaning back in a chair of matte-black metal, his long legs crossed. He was staring at a small holographic interface hovering inches from his palm, the blue light reflecting off his steel-grey eyes.
It was the boy from the alley. Hans.
"You..." Kenzo's voice was hoarse, cracking as he spoke. "How am I... I saw that thing. It went through me."
Hans didn't look up from his display. His blonde hair caught the light as he tilted his head slightly. "By every law of biology and physics, you shouldn't be alive. Your heart stopped three minutes after the breach. The Remnant's energy should have decomposed your cellular structure until you were nothing but a stain on the pavement."
"But I'm not," Kenzo said, his eyes narrowing as he found his footing. The floor was warm, vibrating with a faint, low-frequency hum.
Hans finally deactivated the hologram. He stood up, and the atmosphere in the room changed instantly.
"You aren't," Hans agreed, stopping just a few feet away. He looked at Kenzo with a cold curiosity. "You survived because you're a glitch. You pulled from a source you weren't supposed to have access to. You synchronized with my weapon, an External-type conduit, and forced it to mimic your own frequency. It's the only reason your soul didn't shatter."
"I don't care about the science," Kenzo said, his jaw tightening. "Where is Mr. Grant? The man from the restaurant?"
"Stabilized and returned to his branch. He'll wake up believing a gas line ruptured," Hans said, his voice flat. He turned toward the door, which was a seamless slab of metal that looked like part of the wall. "Don't get used to the hospitality. I brought you here because I don't like leaving loose ends, not out of charity."
"Wait—"
Hans paused, his hand hovering near the door's sensor. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Consider this our last conversation. I've fulfilled my report. From here on, I won't be speaking to you again. I don't make a habit of associating with people who are supposed to be dead."
The door hissed open and shut. Hans was gone before Kenzo could even find a retort.
Did he forget that I was the one who saved his life?
Kenzo stood alone in the sterile room, his pulse beginning to race. The "static" he felt in his thoughts was manifesting in his limbs now a restless, buzzing energy. He walked to the window on the far wall and pulled back the heavy shutter.
He stopped breathing.
Below him was District 1 of Laniakea. It was a sprawling metropolis of white stone, floating gardens, and towers that pierced the silver-violet sky. Massive rings of light hovered around the central spires, and vehicles moved in silent, elegant streams along bridges made of shimmering energy. It was a world that made his District 8 look like a dusty relic of a forgotten age.
"Oh! You're upright! That's a fantastic sign. Usually, the first-time transition to The Core results in at least three hours of projectile vomiting and a very unpleasant conversation with the floor."
Kenzo spun around, his fists coming up instinctively. His boxing stance was wide, his eyes sharp, but he froze at the sight of the intruder.
The man standing in the doorway looked like a whirlwind held together by a lab coat. He wore a pristine white coat over a neon-orange vest that was far too bright for a hospital wing. His black hair was a chaotic mess of grey-streaked spikes, standing up in every direction as if he were perpetually being electrocuted. He was balancing a tray with a steaming cup and a piece of fruit that looked like an orange, except it was pulsating a soft glow.
The man didn't seem bothered by Kenzo's defensive stance. Instead, he walked right into the room, humming a tune that was slightly out of key.
"I must say, your recovery rate is absolutely offensive to my medical degree," the man chirped, setting the tray down on a floating table. He peered at Kenzo through thin, rectangular spectacles that sat crooked on his nose. "How does the soul feel? Any itching? Unexplained urges to dance? A sudden hatred for the color beige?"
Kenzo blinked, his guard dropping slightly out of sheer confusion. "Who are you? Where is this? Hans said-"
"Hans says a lot of things. Mostly in monotone," the man interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. He grabbed the glowing orange and held it up to Kenzo's face. "The boy has the personality of a frozen dinner. Ignore him. I'm much more interesting."
He leaned in closer, his eyes widening with a manic sort of curiosity.
"Fascinating... your energy signature is like a radio station playing three songs at once. It's messy. Loud. Utterly chaotic." He finally straightened up and flashed a wide, wonky grin. "I'm Dr. Faris. I'm the one who had to stitch your soul back into your body while you were busy trying to become a ghost."
Kenzo stared at him. "Dr. Faris? You... you healed me?"
"I provided the spark. You provided the fuel," Faris said, handing the steaming cup to Kenzo. "Drink. It tastes like copper and regret, but it'll stop your nerves from frying."
Behind the doctor, a girl stepped into the room. She was around Kenzo's age, with long, silver hair and eyes the color of lavender. She carried a small, handheld scanner, her expression soft and cautious, a sharp contrast to the doctor's frantic energy.
"Please don't scare the patient, Father," she said, her voice like a calm breeze in the middle of Faris's storm. "He's only been awake for ten minutes."
She turned to Kenzo, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I'm Sarina. I've been monitoring your vitals. Don't mind the doctor; he forgets that not everyone finds 'Distorted' energy signatures as exciting as he does."
Kenzo took the cup, the warmth of the liquid seeping into his palms. "Distorted energy? What does that mean?"
Dr. Faris hopped onto the edge of a nearby desk, his legs swinging like a child's. "It means, my boy, that you're a walking contradiction. You came from a branch with no energy, yet you're putting out enough output to light up a city block. In The Core, we call that a problem. But to me?"
Faris pointed a finger at Kenzo's chest. "To me, you're the most beautiful disaster I've ever seen."
Kenzo took a sip of the tea. It was bitter, stinging his throat with a metallic aftertaste, but as the liquid settled, the frantic buzzing under his skin began to dull into a low, manageable hum.
"I don't care about being a miracle or a disaster," Kenzo said, his voice hardening as he set the cup down. The warmth in the room felt artificial now, a thin veil over a reality he didn't recognize. "I did my job. Hans and that girl, Naomi, they were down. That thing was going to kill them. I held the line. That has to be worth enough to get me a ride home."
Dr. Faris stopped swinging his legs. The manic light in his eyes didn't dim, but it changed—becoming sharper, more clinical. He exchanged a brief, heavy look with Sarina.
"Value is a tricky thing," Faris said, his voice losing its chirpy edge. "In The Core, we measure everything by output. You didn't just 'protect' them. You rewrote your own biology to do it."
"Then rewrite it back," Kenzo demanded, stepping toward the doctor. "And explain something to me. How did I even do that? Back home, there's no 'energy.' No monsters. I was just a guy closing up a restaurant. How does someone like me suddenly start throwing around power like that?"
"You were born with the engine, but you didn't have the fuel to start it. Until that Remnant showed up. It brought a surge of high-density energy from a dying world, a spark. It dropped right into your nervous system, and for the first time in your life, you finally took a real breath."
Kenzo shook his head as the "static" in his veins flared. "I have a life. I have people who... I need to go back. Now."
"You can't," Faris said. The words were flat, devoid of his usual whimsy.
"What do you mean I can't? You have the technology—"
"It isn't about technology, it's about physics," Faris interrupted, his expression uncharacteristically grim. "Distorted energy is an infection to a stable Branch. If we put you back in your reality, your very presence would act like a localized black hole for the 'Path of the Dead.' You would pull every Remnant in the multiverse straight to your doorstep. You'd be the reason everyone you love ceases to exist."
Kenzo felt the floor beneath him tilt. The static in his veins flared up, a cold, prickly heat that made the lights in the room flicker. "So I'm just... stuck?"
"Once a Distorted signature reaches the level yours has, there is no exit," Sarina said softly, her lavender eyes full of pity." The Core is the only place strong enough to contain you. To leave is to destroy."
Kenzo fell back against the edge of the bed, the weight of the realization crushing the air from his lungs. He had fought to protect his boss, to protect two strangers, and the reward was a permanent exile. He thought of his little brother, of the quiet streets of District 8, now as unreachable as a dream.
"So that's it?" Kenzo whispered, looking at his shaking hands. "I'm a prisoner."
"A prisoner? No, no, no!" Faris exclaimed, trying to recapture the light tone, though his eyes remained serious. "You aren't a prisoner, Kenzo. You're a citizen of the only world that actually matters. But Sarina is right. The door behind you has dissolved. The only way left is forward."
Kenzo looked out the window at the shimmering, impossible spires of District 1. He felt the silver light of his eyes reflect off the glass, a stranger staring back at him from a world he never asked to see.