Waking up in foreign locations after grievously injuring myself is becoming a bad habit of mine. Instead of white walls or being submerged in a strange liquid inside a glass cylinder, I'm staring up at the vast expanse of space. A wave of weariness washes over me. I'm so damn tired. My mind is foggy, I'm so warm and cozy that I drift back to sleep.

When I wake up the second time, I'm a lot less groggy. Using the small amount of energy I have, I muster the strength to take a look around the room. I'm obviously at Technologica's space base, but not somewhere I've seen before. Granted, that doesn't narrow it down any further. I doubt I've seen even a tenth of what she's built up here. The room follows the same aesthetic as the majority of her creations: cold futuristic technology with little design choices that speak to an attempt at warmth. Take the bed, every part from the sheets to the pillows to the mattress is snow white and sterile, but it's also somehow the most comfortable bed I've ever been in. It has a bit of give that lets you sink into it, but also firm enough for a good sleep. The light orbs floating above me adjust their brightness whenever I look at them. Besides the bed and lights, there is a small floating table. It's an upside-down cone shape with the point two feet from the ground. On top is my helmet, and it looks untouched. Maybe she didn't try to infiltrate it.

Kai's contingency plan for my helmet wasn't to block Technologica from accessing it. That was the first layer of protection. The second hidden layer was to brick it if any foreign programs or changes were detected, but not to stop the infiltrations from happening. Technologica is a genius, that isn't an opinion, it's a fact. Even if she is my personal Sword of Damocles, except replace the sword with an orbital laser. She's a wretched, rotten, controlling bitch, but she's among the smartest people in the world. But so is Kai, and he doesn't have the resources or time that she has had. He's yet to reach his true potential, but he will one day. And I'd bet on him any day of the week. Taking her head on was never going to be possible. She's not like the others I've beaten or will beat one day. She's a monolithic entity, and the only way to kill her is to do it slowly, bleeding her dry with paper cuts so shallow she doesn't bother bandaging them. I have to be a cancer, undetected as it wreaks havoc until it's too late to treat.

Throwing the sheets off of myself, I see I'm dressed in basic gray clothing. How did I not feel these on me? A long-sleeve, stretchy, straight-fit fit pants, socks, and briefs are all the exact same color. It doesn't feel like cotton or polyester, but something even more synthetic. Is she 3d printing textiles up here? If she's manufacturing clothing, why? What is the point? Whatever she's up to, it isn't an immediate concern, not like getting back to Quinstin and finding out how much time has passed. As soon as I step off the bed to grab my helmet, one of my walls swirls open, revealing one of her puppets.

"Good morning, Eryk. I trust your sleep was restful. Now that you're awake, we can finally have our debrief. I've already spoken to Forty-Four, but now it's time for you to tell me what happened in Nestor Falls," she said with that jester's smile on, mocking me.

Fuck.

Sitting down in a conference room that's designed to look like a law office is not what I expected from Technologica's debriefing room. There aren't any screens or any of her usual tech. The much too large for two people stained wood table only has two office chairs, one on each side. Bookshelves full of real books surround us, and there's a staleness in the air that isn't present anywhere else in the space station. The smell of dust, old papers, and the faintest whiff of cigarettes infuses the room. Even the light above us is a basic three-bulb ceiling fan. One of the three bulbs is dimmer than the others, and I don't understand why this room exists. What is the point of all of this?

"You may begin whenever you'd like," Technologica said, legs crossed as she leaned back in her chair.

There's something off about her mannerisms that I was too consumed by emotions to notice last time. The reason I keep comparing her to puppets isn't just because she's piloting all these bodies while she's nothing more than a brain in a jar. It's because she's pretending, just like me. She's abandoned her body, become more machine than person, and has lost touch with what it's like to be alive. She's a homunculus, a self-made golem masquerading as the person she once was. And she's out of practice, human mimicry is a skill she remembers the motions for, but not the minutiae, the little touches and ticks needed to blend in. She knows the how, but not the why. What still exists of the real Technologica?

"What would you like to know?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

I'm done playing these games with her. She sent me on that mission to jerk my collar. To let me know that no matter how long the chain gets, she'll always be able to pull on it. If she wants to interrogate me, then she'll have to ask the questions; I'm not going to incriminate myself. Our last two interactions have been on her terms, with me on the back foot, and without any initiative or leverage. But not this time, my plan worked down there. It had to have, otherwise I would've woken up in a cell, not a bed. I did it. I weakened Technologica, killed Nine and Eleven, and took their powers. I snagged a new emotion, helped Emma fake her death and escape, all while completing her mission. I also learned of a possible lead toward actually killing Technologica: the Umbral Lord. Once I'm back, I'm going to need to find out who the hell that actually is.

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"When you were captured by the rogue Neuvohuman, you gave her information on the mission and your teammates. What exactly did you tell her?"

That can't possibly be what she's after. Right? I can't have truly fooled her so completely that she has no other questions beyond a hypothetical information leak. This is a trick, a trap of some kind. Then all I need to do is root around a bit to uncover it. Controlling a narrative is what I excel at. All I have to do is tell just enough truth for her to verify it with Forty-Four's story.

"I told her that myself and the other three had been sent there by someone rich and powerful. We were there to investigate what happened in the town and also find out who was responsible. That, unlike the other three, I was sent there against my will. The woman, Maddison, seemed nice at first. But when I wouldn't reveal who you were, she became violent," I said, widening my eyes as I trace over what should be scars on my face.

"Yes, you don't have any scars besides what you already had. I'm not a monster, Eryk. My doctors took care of you, and you were lucky enough not to sustain any permanent damage due to the chemicals. A couple of skin grafts and some minor cosmetic surgery fixed you up. Don't worry, I won't be sending you a bill since it was sustained during a mission you undertook for me."

"Unwillingly," I corrected her. "A mission I undertook for you unwillingly. After you sent your pin-striped minion to abduct me from my home."

Feigning anger to reinforce the picture she's painted of me. Of the tantrum-throwing maniac who petulantly holds grudges and complains. Once I get back and get all these personality pieces safely stored away, I'll go back to making the correct and necessary decisions, instead of just self-sabotaging.

"I left you to your own devices, even after you went scorched earth and destroyed everything. You moved locations and even made your new base specifically tailored to keep me out," she countered.

"Let's not pretend you didn't know where I was and what I was up to. Wasn't that the point of all of this? Of sending Waters to unnerve me and mention my drinking? Of making me go on a bullshit mission I had no place being a part of, that had nothing to do with our arrangement? It was all your way of telling me that you know where I live, what I'm doing, and that nothing I can do can prevent that. You wanted to show me where we stand and remind me of my place. I'm touched you're devoting so much of your time and attention to what did you call me? Oh yeah, I remember: a teenage would-be despot," I said hatefully.

"Eryk, I have healed you for free, left you relatively alone, and even kept you here so you could recuperate away from your enemies and responsibilities. But do not speak as if I have wronged you. I said nothing about your helmet's hidden failsafes or the extensive measures you took to make sure I cannot access your base. You took Eleven's power; that's not a question. I know you did, and I let it slide. You stole from me. It is only Forty-Four's recount of you making every attempt to save their lives instead of immediately trying to take advantage of the situation that has granted you leniency. Know your place, you called Waters a minion; you are even less than that. You are a parasite, fighting for scraps and warring with petty thugs. Do not speak to me as if you are owed anything other than a bullet in the head."

"Cheer up, kiddo. Sure, you managed to fuck up the tiny bit of goodwill that you almost gained with her, but look on the bright side, you at least- Hmmm. I guess there isn't a bright side. You just fucked it all up," Special Agent Andrew Waters said, slapping me on the back hard as he dropped me off inside my apartment.

I don't respond to his attempts to get a rise out of me. He's right. I fucked up. But only slightly. Looking downtrodden and distraught works exactly how I wanted, and he scoffs at my silence before disappearing. I thought I had completely fooled her, but it's more like I only managed to hide fifty percent of what I did, which is still great odds. She knows I have Eleven's power, so I don't have to bother hiding it. She doesn't know about Emma's real name or that she survived, or that I gave her Nine's power. This is still a win in my book. Not a perfect victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The hidden safe containing my phones is in the exact place I left it. Never know if I had any other visitors while I was gone. Typing in the combination, I put my mask inside, and remove my phones. Both are dead, but I was gone a week after all. I'm going to have to use the Home AI again.

"What day is it?" I asked the Home AI.

"It is Tuesday, November 22nd, 2225. Would you like to hear the weather?"

"WHAT?"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," it said.

"I'm done, I don't need any more help," I said, keeping my voice even and clear.

The urge to drink is so strong that it's fortunate I dumped all of it before the mission. It's been almost two weeks. God fucking damnit. Emma is going to be pissed. Aubrey and the others are probably worried. Vivienne and the others are probably less worried because they knew where I was going, but being gone this long was not part of the plan. Technologica truly can't stop fucking me over. Every bit of joy and satisfaction I got from getting one over on her shrivels and dies inside me.

Thanksgiving is in two days. I have to reach out to Daniel to see if he wants us to do something, and if he does, then I'll need to make the trip back to New Farford. And Aubrey had said we're doing a Friendsgiving the Saturday after it. Which I stupidly agreed to cook for. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. I'm not going to be able to sleep this week at all. These personality pieces need to be gone before Saturday, no matter if I have to give them to strangers. I have to catch up on whatever school work I missed, give orders to Momentus and hear what I missed, go shopping, and get Emma situated. The worst part of all of this is that the only thing I can really do right now is charge my phones and then take stock of whatever the hell happened while I was gone.

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