Adam fumed in the darkness. He wasn’t sure how long he had been like this—trapped in absolute nothingness, cut off from everything except his own thoughts. Time felt meaningless, stretching endlessly in all directions, yet his mind wouldn’t stop. It raced through everything that had happened, replaying the last few moments over and over again like a video set on repeat. The truck. The man in the suit. The impossible revelation that he had been dead for over three hundred years. The idea made his stomach churn—except he had no stomach anymore. No body. No heartbeat. No breath. Just thoughts in the void.
His family. Bonnie. Emma. Alex. Were they even remembered? Did their names exist anywhere outside of his fading memory? Or had they been buried under centuries of time, reduced to nothing more than dust while he—some ghost trapped in a machine—continued on without them? The idea sent a new wave of horror rolling through him. He wasn’t alive, not really. He was a collection of brain scans, memories stitched together and crammed into an artificial system. He wasn’t Adam Stafford. He was whatever they had decided to make him and it scared him.
As he thought about everything, a sudden flicker shattered the darkness. His vision snapped back online, but instead of the sterile white room from before, he was met with something far worse. His entire field of view was cluttered—a chaotic mess of glowing bars, shifting data logs, and scrolling lines of code he couldn’t make sense of. Numbers flashed across his vision, meaningless strings of information filling every inch of his awareness. System readouts, surveillance feeds, environmental diagnostics—all of it flooded his mind at once. A sharp wave of nausea overtook him, a purely mental sensation that made him want to squeeze his eyes shut.
Panic surged in his mind. What the hell is this? The data wouldn’t stop moving, cycling through charts, symbols, and unreadable scripts that filled every corner of his vision. His thoughts felt too fast, like his mind was running at an unnatural speed, processing information far quicker than it ever had before. It was as if a thousand different screens had been opened in his brain all at once, each one competing for his attention. He tried to move, to shift his focus somehow, but it was like his very consciousness was locked in place, drowning in raw data.
Then, through the chaos, a voice spoke.
"Welcome back, Guardian. I am Delphi, your automated learning assistant. My purpose is to aid in your orientation and ensure you achieve full operational stability."
The voice was calm and level, unmistakably artificial, yet strangely human-like. It lacked emotion, yet carried a smoothness that made it feel eerily conversational.
Adam latched onto the voice like a lifeline. "Delphi? What the hell is wrong with my vision?" His own voice came out warped—distorted and mechanical, layered with synthetic undertones. It barely sounded like him. "What am I looking at?"
"Your current visual interface is displaying critical system information necessary for your function," Delphi replied. "At present, you are receiving unfiltered data streams, which may be overwhelming. Manual calibration is required."
Adam scowled—or at least, he felt like he was. "What does that mean?"
"It means you must adjust your interface to filter out unnecessary information," Delphi explained. "Your perception is modular. You may disable or reorganize elements at will. Try focusing on a specific display and issuing a cognitive command to modify it."
Adam didn’t fully understand, but at this point, he was willing to try anything. He concentrated on one of the bars—one blinking in red, labeled [ERROR: SYSTEM RECONFIGURATION]—and instinctively willed it to disappear. To his shock, it actually obeyed. The display flickered once and vanished from his vision.
"Successful modification detected," Delphi noted. "Continue until the interface is optimized for your preference."
Adam took a second to process that. I can control what I see. It wasn’t like moving a mouse or tapping a screen—it was purely mental, like directing a thought. Hesitant but now determined, he focused on another section of the display—an endless feed of scrolling data logs that meant nothing to him—and willed it to shut off. Again, it flickered and vanished.
He worked quickly now, erasing, minimizing, and shifting around different elements of the interface, condensing the chaos into something more manageable. After some time, only a handful of bars and indicators remained—a primary status display, a simplified system log, and a small section labeled ENVIRONMENTAL FEED. The rest was gone.
As soon as he was done, a sense of clarity washed over him. The mental nausea faded, and his thoughts felt stable again.
"System stabilization achieved," Delphi confirmed. "Cognitive overload minimized. Do you feel more comfortable?"
Adam took a breath out of habit, though no air filled his nonexistent lungs. He really had to stop doing that. "It’s… better," he admitted, though his voice was still tinged with frustration. "But I still have no idea what is happening to me."
"Your transition is ongoing. There is still much to cover."
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Adam narrowed his focus. "Then start explaining."
Delphi didn’t hesitate. "Your consciousness has been integrated into the Ark-Light Initiative’s AI framework. Your core functions are still stabilizing, but you now have access to various systems that will allow you to operate in your designated role."
"And what role is that?"
"You are the Guardian of Elum 3."
The words made him freeze. He had heard that title before—the man in the suit had said it right before shutting him down. "Guardian? Guardian of what?"
"That will become clear shortly. For now, you must complete your initialization."
Adam clenched his nonexistent teeth. He was getting really sick of cryptic answers. "Fine. What’s next?"
"Locomotion systems. As you have likely noticed, you no longer possess a physical body. However, your consciousness is not static. You have the ability to shift your perspective, interface with external systems, and assume control of specific units."
"So… I can move?"
"Yes. But not in the way you are accustomed to."
Before he could ask what that meant, his vision suddenly expanded. It was as if the walls of whatever space he was in had disappeared, and suddenly, he could see more—his awareness stretching outward in ways that felt completely unnatural. He could feel cameras, sensors, and scanning equipment, all waiting for his input. It felt as though he were having an out-of-body experience as he looked at the machinery around him.
"This is your primary network interface," Delphi explained. "From here, you may navigate through the systems available to you. Try selecting a viewpoint and shifting your perspective."
Adam hesitated but focused on one of the feeds. It was a tiny camera that floated off in the distance, and had he not been squinting at it, he would have most likely missed it. The moment he did, his entire perspective jumped, and suddenly he was looking through a different lens—staring down at what looked like a metallic corridor lined with equipment. It was an unpleasant sensation. It felt as though someone had shot him out of a cannon with how fast he moved. In fact, it was so disorienting that he immediately recoiled, instinctively trying to pull back. His vision snapped back to where it had been before.
"Adjustment to non-human locomotion requires time," Delphi said, as neutral as ever.
"Yeah, no shit," Adam muttered to himself. “Is there anything else I need to learn?”
"Yes. Your primary interaction method will involve assuming direct control of available units. This will allow you to engage with the environment in a more conventional manner."
Adam felt a flicker of something—relief, maybe? He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but after everything that had happened, the thought of having a body again, even if it wasn’t his own, was something to cling to.
"A standard operator unit is available for synchronization. Would you like to proceed?"
"Yeah," Adam said. "Let’s get this over with."
There was a brief pause. Then, his vision shifted again, but this time it was different. Instead of jumping between security feeds or floating as a disembodied perspective, he felt pulled downward, like gravity had suddenly taken hold of him. His field of view narrowed, snapping into a more human-like first-person perspective—except it wasn’t quite human.
The first thing he noticed was weight. Not real weight, not in the way flesh and bone felt, but a heavy mechanical sensation, like he was wearing a suit of armor. His arms—his arms!—came into view, and his mind nearly stalled at the sight. They were metallic and angular, made of dark alloy plating with exposed servos running along the joints. He flexed his fingers, watching as the artificial digits curled inward smoothly, though the motion felt oddly detached, like he was wearing gloves three sizes too big.
"Synchronization complete. You are now operating a Hoplite-Class combat unit," Delphi stated. "Basic motor functions are online. Please proceed with a mobility test."
Adam took a hesitant step forward, and the response was immediate—too immediate. His new body moved faster than he expected, and he nearly fell onto the ground before catching himself. There was no muscle strain, no shifting of weight, just pure response, as if his thoughts were directly translating into movement. He tried again, this time focusing on walking more deliberately. It was awkward and unnatural, but manageable.
"Shit..." he muttered, looking down at himself. Even though he was inside a body instead of just being a floating…thing… it still felt alien to him—the legs were reinforced with hydraulics, the torso lined with armor plating, glowing interface panels embedded into the frame.
"Mobility calibration in progress. Adjusting response synchronization… complete. Your control input should now feel more intuitive," Delphi said.
And she was right—his next step felt much smoother, more natural. He could feel himself adjusting, though the disconnect between mind and machine still lingered somewhat.
"Alright," Adam exhaled, still shaken. "What's next?"
"Tactile interaction. Please approach the console in front of you and engage with the system manually."
Adam turned, spotting a command terminal against the wall, its screen flickering with unreadable text. He reached out, placing a metal hand against the interface. The moment he made contact, a surge of information flooded into him—not through sight or sound, but directly into his mind. The system's data became knowledge, feeding him access logs, system commands, and real-time diagnostics.
It was overwhelming, but also… strangely efficient? He couldn't quite place the words as to what he was feeling since it felt so weird.
"Your ability to interface directly with systems will be critical to your function as Guardian. Data transfer efficiency has increased by 400% compared to human manual input," Delphi explained.
Adam pulled his hand back, the connection severing instantly. The sheer speed of information processing was jarring. He was not going to get used to that anytime soon.
"You will grow accustomed to the feedback," Delphi said, almost as if sensing his discomfort.
Adam flexed his fingers again, still adjusting to the bizarre experience. "So, I have control over this unit, I can move, and I can interact with systems. What now?"
There was a pause. Then, for the first time since he had woken up in this nightmare, Delphi's tone changed—just slightly.
"Now, you see where you are."
The walls in front of his unit began to move, albeit slowly. At first, Adam thought it was some kind of glitch in his vision—another system error he hadn’t figured out how to turn off—but no, the massive slabs of reinforced metal were actually shifting. A deep mechanical hum resonated through the structure as hydraulics engaged, pushing the walls apart with a deliberate, almost ominous slowness.
As the walls continued to separate, a blinding light poured through the widening gap. His visual sensors adjusted automatically, dimming the intensity before he had to even think about it. A moment later, his field of view cleared, and for the first time, he saw the outside world.
Elum 3 stretched before him—an alien wasteland, scarred by destruction. Massive steel fortifications jutted from the ground like broken ribs, some still intact, others reduced to crumbling husks. In the distance, twisted spires of blackened rock clawed toward the sky, silhouetted against a dull, rust-colored horizon. Fires burned in the distance, their thick plumes of smoke rising into the air, blending into the swirling, dust-filled atmosphere.
Adam could hear Delphi talking, but his mind tuned it out as he looked at the wasteland in front of him. A single thought was running through his head, overtaking everything else as it reverberated throughout his very being.
He was looking at hell itself.
