Chapter 2: The Day I Lost Twice

I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.

Carl Gustav Jung

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The doors hiss open and I step into the night, the cool air a welcome reprieve from the sterile office environment. I inhale deeply, savoring the freshness.

Behind me looms the Seraphim Automata¹ building, a monolith of glass and steel, its logo gleaming near the summit. I hoist the duffel bag containing my corporate uniform higher on my shoulder and make for the parking lot, my oxfords clicking a staccato rhythm against the pavement. My mind drifts to the comfort of home, where I can finally shed these constrictive clothes.

"Hey Alex, I'll have that report on your desk first thing tomorrow," a voice calls out.

I turn to see Bert, one of the new hires, still crisp in his suit and tie despite the late hour. His briefcase swings slightly as he walks. I offer him a relaxed smile.

"No rush, Bert. It's only your second day. Get some rest."

He nods, relief evident in his posture as he heads off. I continue on, the parking lot materializing before me. My motorcycle waits, its black frame reflecting moonlight like a dark mirror. I secure the duffel bag and fish out a cigarette, lighting up with practiced ease. The smoke curls upward as I exhale, my gaze drawn to the moon hanging low in the sky.

My phone vibrates. Summer's face lights up the screen, and I answer.

"Burning the midnight oil again?" she asks, a hint of concern in her voice. "One of these days I'll ambush you with takeout so you actually eat a proper dinner."

I lean against the bike, chuckling. "I had a protein bar. That counts, right?"

"Not even close," Summer retorts. "I'm bringing extra dumplings tomorrow to compensate for your neglect."

"Looking forward to it," I say, a smile tugging at my lips. "How was your day?"

"Oh, you know, the usual heroics," she replies, her tone light. "Taught finger painting, prevented paint consumption. All in a day's work."

I laugh softly. Summer's optimism is infectious, a much-needed antidote to the cynicism that tends to creep in after a long day at Seraphim.

"So, any exciting developments in the world of mysterious robotics?" she probes. "Build anything cool today?"

"You know I can't discuss work," I mumble around my cigarette.

"I know, I know," she says, her voice playful. "Wouldn't want to risk death by corporate secret spillage."

I flick ash from the cigarette, watching it drift away on the breeze. "Enough about me. Tell me about your day."

Summer launches into a detailed account of her preschool adventures. I close my eyes, picturing her animated expressions as she speaks. By the time she finishes, I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease.

"Oh, have you called your parents?" she asks suddenly. "Your mom texted me yesterday, worried about your eating habits."

I freeze, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. Spoke to them earlier."

Summer's silence speaks volumes. I can picture her raised eyebrow, the slight frown of disapproval. I sigh, flicking away the spent cigarette.

"Okay, okay. I haven't called in a couple of weeks. But I've been texting them, at least."

"Alex," Summer says, her tone gently reproachful. "You know that's not enough. Your mom needs to hear your voice."

I run a hand through my hair, a twinge of guilt settling in my chest. "Yeah, I know. It's just... work's been crazy. Time gets away from me."

"I get it," Summer says, her voice softening. "But promise me you'll call her tonight when you're home. A real conversation, not just a text."

"Yes ma'am," I concede. "Wouldn't want you getting an earful from my mother, or you."

Summer laughs. "Exactly. Now get home safe. I'm cooking something special for you tonight."

"Will do. Talk soon." I end the call and tuck the phone away, the guilt still lingering.

I release the helmet from the bike and put it on, lowering the visor. The engine roars to life beneath me, the headlight cutting through the night. I give it a twist, savoring the growl. Then I roll the bike forward, gaining speed as I merge onto the main road, the city lights blurring past. I lean into the turn, and the bike responds perfectly. The road stretches out before me as I pass through light traffic, the city a kaleidoscope of neon. After being cooped up in the office, the open road is exhilarating.

The sprawling roads of Dallas stretch out before me, a stark contrast to the compact cities of my Latin American youth. Back then, everything I needed was just a stone's throw away. Here, the car is king. It used to irritate me, but now, astride this machine, I'm starting to appreciate the endless ribbons of asphalt. The wind whips at my jacket, the engine's purr vibrates through my body, and suddenly the distance doesn't seem so daunting.

At a red light, I watch a car on the cross street run the signal, tires screeching as it careens around the corner. I shake my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips. Some things are universal, it seems.

The light changes and I throttle forward, leaving the reckless driver in my wake. Soon, the cityscape gives way to an affluent suburb. Stately homes with manicured lawns line the streets, each one a testament to upper-middle-class success. Luxury cars gleam in circular driveways, and the occasional tennis court or swimming pool peeks out from behind privacy hedges. It's a world away from the favelas of my childhood, where survival was a daily challenge. Now I find myself surrounded by the trappings of six-figure salaries and corporate success stories.

I pull into my driveway, cutting the engine and dismounting with practiced ease. Even in this quiet neighborhood, I double-check the bike's security. Old habits die hard, especially when they've kept you alive.

Grabbing my duffel, I pause by the front door, just in time to make good on my promise to Summer. I pull out my phone and dial my mother's number, steeling myself for the inevitable barrage of questions. It only rings twice before I hear her voice.

"Alexander! It's about time you called," she says, a mix of relief and reproach in her tone.

I can't help but smile, despite myself. "Hey, ma," I respond in Spanish, the language of my childhood flowing easily. "It hasn't been that long."

As I speak, the front door swings open. Summer appears, a welcoming grin on her face. She takes the duffel from my shoulder, plants a quick kiss on my lips, and disappears inside.

"Who's that?" my mother asks, her voice rising with excitement. "Is that Summer? Let me say hello!"

"Calm down, ma," I chuckle, following Summer into the house. "Yes, it's Summer. I'll put you on speaker."

I kick off my shoes and activate the speakerphone. Summer's already in the kitchen, stirring a pot that's filling the air with an enticing aroma.

"Hello, ma'am!" Summer calls out cheerfully. "I tried your pasta sauce recipe. I hope I did it justice."

"Oh, that one's foolproof," my mother gushes, switching to English. "You must come visit us in Miami soon. I have so many more recipes to teach you."

I grab a soda from the fridge, shaking my head in amusement as they fall into easy conversation. It's strange to hear them chatting like old friends, when Summer's only been in my life for more than a couple of months. Yet watching her interact so effortlessly with my mom, I can't help but feel she's becoming more important to me than I'd anticipated.

Summer dishes up two plates of pasta, adding a sprinkle of parmesan as a finishing touch, and I find myself wondering if this is what it feels like when someone starts to really matter.

The first bite elicits an involuntary groan of satisfaction. "Christ, Summer," I say after swallowing. "This might be the best pasta I've had in years."

She beams at the compliment. "All thanks to your mom's recipe. I knew you'd like it."

My mother's laugh comes through the speaker. "Xander, she's a keeper. Don't you dare mess this one."¹

I wince at the jab. "Yes, ma'am. I know better than to argue with either of you on that point."

The conversation flows easily as we eat. Summer and my mom trade stories and swap recipes, their voices blending into a comforting melody. For a moment, I can almost pretend we're all together in my parents' Miami home, not separated by hundreds of miles.

"How's dad doing?" I ask during a lull. "His health improving at all?"

My mother's sigh crackles through the speaker. "Xander... he has his good days and bad. But don't you worry, we're managing just fine."

I stare at my plate, appetite vanishing. Guilt gnaws at me, sharp and insistent. I should have called more, should have visited. But work consumed me, and then Summer came into my life, and...

No. No excuses.

"Put him on," I say, my voice rough. "I'll talk to him."

"Oh, he's already asleep," my mother says gently. "But I'll tell him to expect your call tomorrow, yes?"

I swallow hard, fighting the tightness in my throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll call first thing."

We say our goodbyes, my mother extracting a promise to visit soon. After she hangs up, I pinch the bridge of my nose, a curse slipping out under my breath.

"I'm an idiot," I mutter. "I should've stayed in touch better."

Summer's hand finds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, it's okay. You've been swamped with the new job. But you can make it right, starting tomorrow."

I nod, still angry with myself. "It's just... dad's health, it's so unpredictable. Some days he's fine, others..."

"Is this because of what happened back in Argentina?" Summer asks softly, her eyes full of concern.

I tense, memories of that nightmarish evening in Rosario flooding back - the frantic phone call, the hospital waiting room, the doctors' grim faces. "Yeah," I manage, my voice rough. "He's never been the same since that night."

Summer's eyes soften with understanding. "That's when you left the country, right?"

My jaw clenches, a familiar anger rising in my chest. "Left? No," I spit out, each word laced with bitterness and venom. "We were driven out. Forced to abandon everything because of those..." I trail off, hands curling into fists.

"One moment of violence, and suddenly your home isn't yours anymore."

Summer notices my whitening knuckles and gently takes my hand in hers. She runs her thumb in soothing circles over my skin, the tender gesture slowly easing the tension from my grip. She scoots her chair closer, wrapping an arm around me and placing a soft kiss on my cheek.

"Listen," she says gently, "why don't you take a long weekend? Go visit them. I'm sure your dad would appreciate seeing you, especially on his rougher days."

I lean into her, the anger gradually subsiding, grateful for her calming presence. "Yeah... yeah, you're right. I'll book a flight for this weekend. The team can manage without me for a few days."

She hugs me tighter. "That's the spirit. Now finish your food. You need to keep your strength up."

I polish off the last few bites and carry my plate to the sink. Summer joins me, rinsing her own dish before submerging it in the soapy water.

"So," she says, nudging me with her elbow. "Any juicy tidbits from your top-secret job? Come on, throw me a bone here."

I chuckle as I start scrubbing. "You know I can't divulge anything. But let's just say we're working on some pretty groundbreaking AI and robotics projects."

"Ooh, fancy," Summer teases, passing me a glass to dry. "What, like robot butlers or something?"

"More industrial applications," I explain. "The goal is to integrate AI into manufacturing, streamline production across various sectors."

"Ah, so an army of robot minions to do the heavy lifting."

"Pretty much," I laugh. "If it pans out, it could revolutionize supply chains, slash costs. But we're still in the early stages."

Summer grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, how close are we to the 'robots taking over the world' phase?"

"Not quite there yet," I reply with a smirk. "Though some of the senior engineers have started calling one of the prototypes 'Hal'. Make of that what you will."

She gasps in mock horror. "You're building Skynet, aren't you?"

I flick some soap suds at her. "Please. If I designed an AI to take over the world, it'd be far more sophisticated than that. My bots would take one look at humanity and decide we're not worth the trouble."

We continue bantering as we clean, the conversation flowing easily. It's a relief to talk about work, even if I can't divulge specifics.

Summer dries the last plate and puts it away. "Any plans for the weekend before you jet off to Miami?"

I nod, leaning back against the counter. "Yeah, actually. Sebastian called earlier. Wants to hit the tennis courts by his dad's place tomorrow. Might take him up on it before my flight that evening."

Summer's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Tennis? You two? I'm having trouble picturing that."

I chuckle. "It's been a while, I'll admit. But Seb and I used to play all the time back in the day. Whenever I visited, we'd head to the courts near his dad's house. We were both terrible at first, but we improved... marginally."

"Huh." Summer cocks her head. "I've only ever seen you two at the climbing gym or buried in video games. Or, you know, trying to deadlift small cars."

"Well, it's been years since I picked up a racquet. But it might be fun to revive the tradition before I see my parents."

Summer smiles, leaning into me. "Now I'm trying to imagine you in tennis whites. Bet you were cute."

I laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Debatable. But I'm looking forward to seeing if my backhand is still halfway decent."

She nods, stifling a yawn. "Good idea. You boys should enjoy your time together."

I glance at my watch, surprised to see it's nearly midnight. "We should get some sleep," I say, taking Summer's hand.

She nods, following me towards the bedroom. As we walk, I'm hit by a mix of emotions – warmth at the prospect of seeing old friends, guilt about my family, and a gnawing anxiety about what awaits in Miami.

I flop onto the bed, letting out a long sigh as I stare at the ceiling. The mattress dips as Summer lies down beside me, and I feel her lips brush my cheek.

"You okay?" she asks softly.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and wake the screen. My parents' smiling faces look back at me from the wallpaper. After the call earlier, the sight makes my chest tighten.

"I'll be alright," I murmur, rolling over to face Summer. I take her hand, grateful for her presence. "Especially with you here."

She squeezes my hand, her touch comforting. "I'm glad I can help," she says, her voice warm. "That's what I'm here for."

Overwhelmed by a sudden surge of emotion, I lean in and kiss her deeply. We've only been together a couple of months, but at this moment, I feel like what we have might actually last, despite my usual inability to maintain relationships.

Summer returns the kiss with a passion that matches my own, her body melding against mine. Fatigue evaporates, replaced by a burning desire to express my gratitude for her unwavering support.

I trace a path of kisses down her neck, seeking out that spot just below her ear that never fails to elicit a response. When I find it, her gasp of pleasure sends a shiver through me. I linger there, savoring the way she breathes my name, her fingers weaving through my hair.

The sound of my name on her lips ignites something primal within me. I vow silently to draw it from her again and again before the night is through. My hands begin to wander, mapping the contours of her body as I venture lower with my kisses.

She arches into my touch, my name a whispered prayer on her lips. Her reactions fuel my passion, tempering it with a deep tenderness that threatens to overwhelm me.

I slip my hands beneath her shirt, marveling at the silken feel of her skin. In one fluid motion, I lift the garment away. The sight of her, clad now only in her bra and leggings, steals my breath. I tell her how beautiful she is, watching a blush bloom across her cheeks, her eyes alight with desire.

My lips find her collarbone, trailing kisses along its length. Her nails dig into my shoulders as she moans, spurring me onward. I take my time, savoring every moment, every touch, as anticipation builds between us.

"Alexander," she gasps, her back arching. "Please..."

Her plea shatters the last of my restraint. I claim her mouth in a searing kiss, my hands moving to divest her of her bra. We lose ourselves in a tangle of limbs and heated caresses, our passion climbing ever higher.

What we have... it's different. It feels right in a way I've never experienced before. Despite my checkered history with relationships, I find myself genuinely trying this time, motivated by something deeper than I've ever known.

The intensity of it all is almost overwhelming, a happiness so pure it's almost painful.

My past, my doubts, my myriad concerns and demons – they hover at the edges of my consciousness, a reminder of why I don't deserve this. But for once, I choose to ignore them.

Right now, all that matters is showing Summer exactly how much she means to me, how grateful I am for her presence in my life. I savor every touch, every kiss, committing it all to memory.

If only I knew then how precious these moments would become, how I'd yearn to relive them in the days to come.

——————————————————————

I take a long drag from my cigarette, pacing the parking lot with my phone pressed to my ear. The acrid smoke fills my lungs, a familiar comfort.

"We still on for tennis after I clock out?" Sebastian's voice crackles through the speaker.

"Yeah, I'm cutting out early today. I'll swing by your place en route to the airport."

Sebastian chuckles. "Look at you, playing hooky. What's the occasion?"

I flick my cigarette, watching ash drift to the pavement. "Heading to Miami for the weekend. Overdue visit to the folks."

"Ah, that explains the good mood. Here I thought you'd finally gotten some action—"

A coughing fit interrupts him as I choke on smoke. "Jesus, Seb!" I wheeze, laughing despite myself.

His laughter booms through the phone. "You dog! I knew it!"

Heat creeps up my neck. "Alright, alright. Let's change the subject before you start asking for details."

Our banter continues as I stub out my cigarette outside the deli. I drain the last of my iced coffee before steering the conversation away from my love life.

"Anyways, what about you? What's got you so chipper? Your girl drop some big news? Condom malfunction?"

This time it's Sebastian's turn to sputter and cough. I can't help but grin.

"Christ, Alex! You know kids aren't on my radar yet. Quit it with that shit."

"Fine, fine. So what's got you all worked up then?"

"Unlike some people," he says, smugness dripping from every word, "I've been blessed by the gacha gods. Lost the 50/50 on the banner yesterday, but get this - I got Bronya instead of the rate-up. And I'm not even mad about it. Now she's at Eidolon 1. It's basically the best outcome I could've hoped for, short of getting the banner character. Thank fuck I didn't get another Yanqing."

He pauses, then adds, "Oh right, I forgot who I'm talking to. Mr. All-Work-No-Play himself. Quick refresher: Bronya. Five-star support. Ring any bells?"

I ignore Sebastian's jab, sifting through my memories. "Refresh my memory. Give me the cliff notes."

"Seriously?" Sebastian scoffs. "Badass princess with a rifle? Buffs the whole squad and pushes allies forward for another turn? Pivotal in the early story? Belobog ring any bells?"

"Ah, right," I say as recognition dawns. "White hair, thigh-high boots. Cocolia's daughter, future Supreme Guardian. A stickler for rules and integrity. Bit uptight at first. Harmony type, wasn't she?"

The memories of our gaming sessions flood back, Bronya's character arc hooking me from the start.

"You should jump back in," Sebastian urges. "The story's gone to some wild places."

"As long as the recent patches haven't butchered the story like they did with the Xianzhou arc," I muse. "That whole segment was a slog, save for the High-Cloud Quintet plot."

Sebastian's voice brightens. "Oh man, but Penacony came after that. I thought you liked it!"

"Yeah, it was good," I admit. "I enjoyed it. Still a slog getting through those marathon cutscenes though."

"You always find something to bitch about, don't you?"

I can't help but chuckle. "Hey, I said it was good! Just because I enjoyed the story doesn't mean I can't criticize the pacing."

"Fair enough," Sebastian concedes. "So, you haven't at all kept up with the latest updates?"

I let out a weary sigh. "Lost track of the game, to be honest. Life's been a whirlwind lately."

"Work kicking your ass?"

"You have no idea," I groan. "We're onboarding new clients left and right, expanding the team. I'm bouncing between endless sales calls and overseeing the engineers. Then there's chipping away at my folks' mortgage..."

Sebastian whistles low. "Sounds intense. You finding any time for yourself?"

"Barely," I admit. "Trying to balance everything - the job, my relationship with Summer, MMA training, hitting the gym. Hell, I've even started going to church again. It's a lot, but I'm managing. Somehow."

"Damn, Alex. You're burning the candle at both ends."

"Yeah, well," I shrug, even though he can't see it. "Gotta keep moving forward, right?"

Sebastian's tone softens. "Speaking of which, how's your dad holding up? I know you'll see him very soon, but still..."

A knot forms in my throat. "It's, uh... been one of his rougher days."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Sebastian says. "Want some company for the Miami trip?"

"Nah, don't worry about it," I assure him. "You've got your own life to deal with. I can handle this."

"Just remember, I'm only a call away if you need me."

"Yeah, I know," I say, swallowing hard. "Actually talked to him before leaving the office and..."

The words catch in my throat. I clear it roughly, forcing composure. "Look, I'll fill you in later. Gotta run."

"Take care, brother," Sebastian says, concern evident in his voice.

"You too." I end the call, my mind already racing ahead to the impending visit home.

I hang up and swing a leg over my bike. The engine roars to life beneath me as I merge onto the main road. Traffic's light, lanes flowing smoothly. I lean forward, twisting the throttle. The bike surges ahead, weaving between cars with practiced ease.

Up ahead, an old sedan drifts into my lane without warning. I ease off the gas, watching the driver's eyes in the rearview. They're fixed ahead, oblivious to my approach. I brake hard and swerve right, the sedan's bumper missing me by inches.

"Jesus Christ!" I shout, heart pounding. I pull over at the next light, gesturing wildly at the driver. An elderly woman meets my gaze, mouthing "sorry" through the window.

"Unbelievable," I mutter, forcing myself to take a deep breath. If it had been a younger guy, I might've been tempted to take a swing at his mirror. But I'm not about to throw down with someone's grandma.

The light's been red for ages. I drum my fingers on the handlebars, debating running it. Finally, it turns green. I rev the engine and shoot across the intersection.

The roar of another engine fills my ears. A black blur in my periphery. Then—the sickening crunch of metal on metal.

The bike vanishes from under me. For a heartbeat, I'm airborne. Then white-hot agony as I hit the pavement.

I can't breathe. Can't move. Pain lances through every nerve. The sky above me swims in and out of focus. Muffled shouts and slamming car doors reach me as if from underwater.

Someone leans over me, pressing down on my chest. Broken ribs grind beneath their hands. Bile rises in my throat. Their lips move, but I can't make out the words.

Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. Cold seeps into my bones. Each breath comes shorter than the last. I'm fading fast.

I try to speak, to plead with Him.

Is this how it ends? I'm not ready. You know I'm not ready.

But there's no answer to my silent prayer. Only the void, rushing up to claim me.

Oblivion takes me, and I think no more.

——————————————————————

Darkness. Complete and utter. I can't see, hear, or feel anything. There's a sense of movement, but even that's nebulous, more intuition than sensation.

Where am I?

Gradually, awareness returns. Sensations trickle in, faint at first, then growing stronger.

A hard surface beneath me. A low, persistent buzz. Cold air against my skin. They're all muted, barely there, but undeniably present. Then, voices. At first indistinct, they slowly sharpen into clarity.

A male voice speaks, cold and clinical. "Weren't his coordinates transmitted from the space station...?"

A female voice responds, frustrated yet somehow bubbly. "Who cares? He's here and alive. Does he look like a dummy to you?"

The man sighs. "Weak heartbeat and pulse... March, you should perform CPR."

"Huh!?" The woman - March? - sounds panicked. "I—I've never done it before. Dan Heng, you do it!"

What the hell?

Strength surges through me. My eyes snap open to a blurry world, but I can make out a face hovering inches from mine, closing in fast.

Oh…

Oh, fuck no.

Pure instinct takes over. My left hand lashes out, connecting with a solid smack. I hear a grunt of pain as someone reels back.

A shocked gasp beside me, high and worried. "Dan! Sorry, sorry! We're so sorry!" The woman's voice again, full of regret. "We thought you needed help. Please, we mean you no harm!"

I turn my head slowly, focusing on the girl - March? She's young, early twenties maybe, with shocking pink hair and the most unusual eyes I've ever seen - aquamarine with hints of lilac. Her outfit is like some futuristic take on a sailor uniform, complete with a dangerously short skirt that shows off pale, slender legs. An Instax camera hangs at her waist.

She's completely unfamiliar, and yet...

I glance at the man - Dan Heng, I assume - who's rubbing his cheek where I struck him. Tall, lean, refined-looking. Jet-black hair, emerald eyes. He's wearing a long white coat with green accents, and is that a shoulder pauldron? He seems about March's age, but there's something... older about him. I don't know him either, but I can't shake the feeling that I should.

I push the thought aside and take in my surroundings. A sterile metal hallway, definitely not a hospital. The walls are too clean, the computer panels too advanced. And I'm sprawled on the cold floor, not a bed or chair in sight.

Pain lances through my skull and I groan. It feels like someone's driving a spike through my brain. Fragmented memories flash - screeching tires, the crunch of metal and bone.

The accident. But then...?

I squint through the pain at March, who's watching me with hands raised, ready to help.

"What... what happened to me?" My voice is a rasp. "What hospital is this?"

March shakes her head, pink hair swishing. "Um, this isn't a hospital. We're on the Herta Space Station. I'm March 7th, and this is Dan Heng." She gestures to the man still eyeing me warily.

I stare, dumbfounded. Space station?

My eyes dart around, searching for hidden cameras, but I see only sleek, unfamiliar tech and metallic walls. This has to be a prank, right? But if it is, it's one hell of an elaborate setup. The level of detail is staggering.

Unless…

"If this is actually a hospital," I mutter, more to myself than to them, "how come have I never heard about it?" I run my hand along a nearby panel, marveling at its sophistication. "I really need to look into health tech. This stuff is beyond state-of-the-art."

Shaking my head, I turn back to March and Dan. "No, but seriously, where am I?" I say bitterly. "I remember the crash, the pain, but it was just for a moment. Nothing hurts now..." I flex experimentally, surprised to find no injuries.

Suddenly, a more urgent thought hits me.

"Shit. The team. Sebastian. Summer. My parents!" Panic rises in my throat. "How long have I been out? I need to call them."

March's brow furrows with concern. She glances at Dan Heng. "Uh, um... Sheesh, this is a first. I think you hit your head really hard. Dan Heng, any help?" She smiles awkwardly at her companion.

Dan rises gracefully, still rubbing his cheek. His eyes hold a hint of worry as he regards me.

"Perhaps you were attacked and suffered a concussion? Please, try not to move too much. As March said, this isn't a hospital. You're aboard the Herta Space Station. We thought you were a researcher left unconscious during the attack. We received an SOS and came as quickly as we could."

I barely register the repeated mention of a space station, fixating instead on his last words. "Attack? SOS signal?"

Dan's eyebrows rise. "You must have been seriously out of it. The station is under attack by the Anti-Matter Legion. March and I are Nameless, members of the Astral Express. We were called in as reinforcements."

"Maybe you've heard of us?" March chimes in. "Kickass heroes traveling the stars, helping those in need? Ring any bells?"

I scoff, but she continues earnestly. "It's true! We were searching the station, helping any researchers we found."

I hesitate. March seems so sincere, and Dan... well, he could probably beat a lie detector. For a moment, I want to believe them. Then reality reasserts itself. This is insane - anti-matter, space battles, some kind of "attack"...

"Kuh—!" Pain explodes in my skull, worse than before. Light flashes behind my eyes as memories flood in - Sebastian's excited face, telling me about a game he couldn't stop playing. Us playing together, me actually getting invested, then having to stop...

"Hey, are you okay?" March's voice sounds distant, muffled.

The game. What was it called? It's important, I know it is. "Honkai something...!"

"Huh? Honkai?" March's voice fades in and out, like a badly tuned radio.

"You said... you rode an express...?"

Dan Heng's voice, clearer. "Yes, the Astral Express. Created by the Aeon Akivili the Trailblaze."

Trains. Tracks. Honkai Star Rail. That's it.

I leap to my feet, startling March. "What is it?" she asks, alarmed.

I stare at her, taking in those impossible eyes, that cotton-candy hair. My breath comes in short gasps. "This can't be happening. It was just a game. A stupid game to pass the time." I look wildly around at the alien walls and screens. "You can't be real. None of this can be!"

Dan's eyes narrow. March reaches out, her voice gentle. "Please, calm down. We understand you're scared, but—"

I slap her hand away and stumble back. "Don't touch me!" I snarl. I'm sweating despite the cold. My heart races. This has to be some kind of coma dream. It has to be.

But it feels real. Too real. The solid floor beneath my feet. The texture of the air. The cacophony of sensations assaulting me.

I can't breathe. Damn it, Xander. Breathe!

Dan steps forward, hand extended. "You're in shock. Just breathe, slowly, in and out—"

I don't wait to hear the rest. I spin and run, pelting down the corridor and into the darkness. I hear Dan curse, footsteps pounding after me.

The hallway seems endless, lit by eerie blue panels and lights like road studs. My heart thunders as I race past countless metal doors, lungs burning, up and down mechanical stairs. I have no destination - I just need to get away.

It'll wake me up. It has to!

I burst through a set of double doors and skid into an enormous chamber. The ceiling soars at least four stories above me. Bright, focused lights beam down in cones, creating pools of illumination on the floor. Darkness lurks between.

A deep, twisted roar echoes from ahead, freezing me in place. I slow, stopping just short of the light, and peer into the shadows.

Thuds in the distance. Heavy. Metallic. Something's coming. The sound of their steps tells me a lot.

They're big. And they're wearing metal.

Two massive figures lurch into view. Black, jagged armor covers them head to toe. Curved blades etched with stars encase their arms. They tower over six feet tall. At first glance, they could be knights, but something's off. The way they move... like predators stalking prey.

Dan Heng's voice rings out behind me. "Reavers! Watch out!" The monstrosities lumber closer, inhuman and terrifying. I should run, but I'm rooted to the spot, eyes locked on those star-marked blades. Time seems to slow as one raises its weapon high, ready to strike.

"Get away!"

The blade arcs down.