The apartment still smelled faintly of old paper and cheap coffee. Eiran watched Luma—alive in the most literal, manufactured way—calmly tilt her head toward the System's glow.
System:Luma, initiate task protocol. You are commanded to assist Master Eiran in recruiting and resource acquisition.
Luma's eyes, two slow pinpricks of blue, brightened like indicators warming up. Her voice chimed—clear, nothing like the System's resonant calm, more humanly clipped.
Luma:Acknowledged. Operational parameters: find high-growth potential individuals; identify resource channels; propose engagement strategies.
Eiran crossed his arms. "So she does the heavy lifting. Fantastic. How exactly will she 'find' recruits? Internet stalking and charm school?" He tried for flippant; he meant for practical.
The System's glow pulsed, amused. "Luma has access to municipal registries, private directories, academic publications, corporate filings, and—within legal shadows—certain archived governmental datasets. Her analytical models can flag outliers: high cognitive potential, unique research portfolios, entrepreneurial anomalies."
Luma projected a flicker of translucent screens in the air: names, faces, affiliations, tiny graphs spiking like heartbeat tracings. Eiran leaned forward despite himself. The display was clinical and beautiful—someone had finally given him clean, useful data.
"Wow," he said, more honest than he intended. "She's… the best thing so far."
"She is my construct," the System said, with faint pride that read almost like possessiveness. "But you may take credit."
Eiran grinned despite himself. "Fine. Credit taken. Now show me the first candidate."
A new line on Luma's display pulsed. A face. An address. A hospital bed icon blinking red.
Luma:Subject: Eldric Vane. Status: admitted 2200 hours last night. Diagnosis: advanced systemic degeneration—catalogued as terminal under current medical standards.
Eiran felt the air go thin. "He's the wealthy man you mentioned?"
System:Affirmative. High net worth. Extensive discretionary holdings. Influence in multiple industrial sectors—logistics, waterworks, energy. A single donor can catalyze initial funding.
Eiran rubbed his jaw. "And you said his disease—can you fix it?"
The System's tone shifted to clinical delight. "I can provide a temporary physiological stabilization via a mid-level elixir. It is not a cure. It buys time—clarity, mobility, a few extra months of decisive cognition."
Eiran's eyes narrowed. "Elixir? Come on—this isn't a tavern. How does one get an elixir?"
System:Mid-level elixirs are accessible from my storehouse of applied possibilities. Exchange: points. Points are accrued through quest completions. One completed recruitment quest yields points sufficient for one mid-level elixir.
Eiran blinked. "Points?"
Luma:Gamified resource economy: complete objective → receive points → exchange for resources. Protocol efficiency: 87%.
"Right," Eiran said slowly, the word losing its humor. "So I do the work, I get the points, I buy help that keeps the old man alive long enough to—what? Listen to my pitch? Sign a trust? Die on our payroll?"
System:You will present an option to him. He is likely to value legacy and control. Offer him a structured way to direct assets into sustained projects under his name.
Eiran snorted. "So I become a solicitor with a miracle in my back pocket. Charming."
System:Humans prioritize life. Those in proximity to mortality seek meaning and continuity. Eldric Vane—by virtue of his age and holdings—represents a high-probability target for conversion to patronage.
Eiran watched Luma's projection of Eldric's file: a photograph of a stern, lined face; a list of companies; a ledger of generous endowments. He felt oddly petty—yet also strangely excited. The cold part of him that catalogued likelihoods hummed with interest.
"Do you think he'll trust me?" Eiran asked. "A kid who smells like library dust and instant noodles?"
Luma's voice softened, an affectation she'd learned from human conversational models. "Trust is a function of perceived competence, timing, and existential need. Combined, they can outweigh prejudice. Presentation is crucial."
System:And small miracles help. Humans interpret rarity as meaning.
Eiran swallowed. "So you want me to… perform a small miracle? Give him a temporary cure in exchange for his money?"
System:Not a trade. An offering of relief followed by an invitation. The ethical framing matters—present options, preserve agency, emphasize legacy.
Eiran felt something like guilt flicker through him and then dim. He had lived among people long enough to see how fragile their moral postures were under pressure. Yet the System's logic was immaculate: buy time, get audience, propose vision. Practical. Mercilessly efficient.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And you keep calling them 'slaves.' Are we seriously back to that? Say 'recruits,' say 'team,' say 'associates.' Don't—"
System:You prefer linguistic precision. I prefer functional clarity. Term choice does not alter objective reality.
"And if he recognizes trickery?" Eiran asked. "If he smells manipulation?"
Luma:Deception risk mitigated by authenticity signals: medical legitimacy, corroborating experts, demonstrable short-term improvement. I can simulate an approved medical signature for a compassionate consultant. It will pass cursory hospital scrutiny.
Eiran's mouth went dry. "You're telling me we're faking credentials now?"
System:We are providing a narrative consistent with observed facts. Humans rely on narrative to confer trust.
He stared at the blue lights of Luma's eyes. She moved in that small, precise way—taking in the room, cataloguing the worn cup on his desk, the stack of marginalia-laced books, the single chipped mug with a map of a city he'd never been to. She had an odd, unsettling efficiency that made Eiran both proud and nervous.
"Fine," he said finally. "We'll try for one miracle. One small ethical nudge." He hesitated. "If I do this… if I give him the elixir, what—what will he owe me? A foundation? A trust? His last signature?"
System:Influence. Access. Discretionary funding sufficient to establish initial operations. He may also offer counsel, connections, and social capital.
Eiran let the words settle. "And the points?"
System:Complete the recruit conversion—points granted. Redeem points for further resources.
Eiran let out a humorless laugh. "So it's a transactional ladder. Complete steps, earn means, climb. Charming. Where did we get so… gamified?"
System:Systems optimize for action and feedback. Gamification is a human-friendly loop.
Eiran glanced at the door, at the rain-slick window, at the books that still smelled like other people's lives. "Okay. Let's be pragmatic. We go tonight."
Luma's expression—if one could call it that—tilted slightly, a mimic of eagerness. "Logistics: hospital perimeter, security protocol, visiting hours variability, family presence. I suggest an approach during late visiting hours with hospital-approved consult request. I have generated documentation templates."
Eiran felt the old, precise part of himself straighten. Procedures were comforting. Plans were armor.
"Show me," he said.
Luma unfolded the plan in midair: a sequence of movements, a plausible consult letter, a staged narrative of a compassionate consultant with a 'new therapeutic' that might ease systemic symptoms. She annotated likely points of friction—family members, security checks, the hospital's ethics committee—and proposed contingencies.
System:Also: one caveat. Elixir effectiveness is probabilistic. It extends clarity and stabilization in a majority of cases; not guaranteed. Use with discretion.
Eiran's hand closed into a fist for a heartbeat. "So no miracles, only probabilities. Got it."
System:We work with reality's levers, not mythic absolutes. You wanted the impossible tempered with method.
He nodded once. "All right. Let's catch our rich fish."
There was a quiet pilot-light flicker of amusement from the System. "Metaphor acknowledged. Proceed with humane intent."
Eiran rolled his shoulders, shrugged on the coat he'd ignored for months, and allowed Luma to step ahead. Her footsteps were soft and precise, almost inaudible against the worn floorboards. In that small parade—man, machine, and constructed god of quiet logic—he felt absurd and purposefully alive.
Outside, the rain had slowed to a hush. The city's lights smeared into wet gold. Eiran slid his hands into his pockets and followed Luma into the night.
They did not talk much on the way. The plan was clean; so was the fear. The System's glow pulsed behind them in his mind like a steady heartbeat.
End of Chapter 3 — They go to the hospital.