章 10: System 1
Two Weeks Later
The steady beeping of a heart monitor and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room, seeping into Ebilade's consciousness as he slowly blinked his eyes open. The world around him was blurry, his vision half-obscured by the bandages wrapped tightly around his head. His body felt heavy, as if weighed down by an invisible force. Only his eyes were free to move, scanning the unfamiliar, sterile surroundings in confusion.
His mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. Where am I? Am I dead? Is this the afterlife? His thoughts spiraled, disjointed and filled with panic. His entire body throbbed in dull, constant agony, and every breath sent a jolt of pain through his ribs.
A sudden noise—soft but distinct—pulled his attention to the door. Footsteps echoed in the quiet room, growing closer. Ebilade's pulse quickened. He instinctively tried to turn his head to see who was approaching, but as soon as he shifted even slightly, a sharp, excruciating pain ripped through him. His breath hitched, and a low, muffled groan escaped his cracked lips. The pain was all-consuming, a searing reminder of the brutal beating he'd endured.
"Ah, I see you're awake," a calm, almost indifferent voice said.
A figure stepped into his line of sight—a male nurse in scrubs, his expression neutral as he moved with the practiced efficiency of someone accustomed to critical cases. He didn't seem fazed by Ebilade's bandaged form, his eyes flicking to the machines monitoring his vitals.
"You shouldn't move," the nurse added, his voice flat but not unkind. He checked Ebilade's pulse, his touch clinical, his gaze focused on the chart at the foot of the bed. "You're still in bad shape. The injuries you sustained were severe—critical, actually. It's a miracle you're even alive."
Ebilade's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, his mind still foggy. The nurse's words settled over him like a heavy weight. Severe? Critical? A cold realization gripped him—he had come terrifyingly close to death. His heart pounded as fragmented memories of Gregory's assault flickered in his mind like flashes of lightning. The cruel laughter, the sharp pain of each blow, the suffocating helplessness…
"You were lucky someone found you," the nurse continued, oblivious to Ebilade's internal turmoil. "If it hadn't been for her, you wouldn't be here right now."
Her? Ebilade's eyes widened slightly beneath the bandages. His mind latched onto that word. Who had found him? Who had saved him? Questions flooded his brain, but he couldn't ask. His mouth was dry, his throat too parched to form words. Even if he could speak, every movement felt like an impossible task, as if his body had betrayed him completely.
The nurse, oblivious to Ebilade's growing frustration and confusion, continued adjusting the equipment with a professional detachment. His brow furrowed slightly as he reviewed the monitor, but there was no real emotion behind it—just routine. "She brought you here just in time. Another few hours and you'd have been beyond saving."
The casual way the nurse spoke made Ebilade's pulse spike. Beyond saving? The thought of how close he'd come to death sent a chill down his spine. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment, the pain in his body becoming background noise to the overwhelming weight of the situation. He had been left to die. Gregory had left him broken, bleeding, and discarded. And someone—a woman—had saved him. Someone had cared enough to give him another chance at life.
His eyes fluttered open again, fixing on the nurse with as much intensity as he could muster. Who was she? The question screamed in his mind, but he couldn't voice it. His body was too weak, his voice still silent. But he knew, with every fiber of his being, that he had to find her. He had to thank her for pulling him from the jaws of death.
The nurse, having finished his checks, stepped back and glanced down at Ebilade. For the first time, a flicker of something softer crossed his face—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. "You're going to be here for a while, but you're lucky to be alive." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Try to rest. You've got a long recovery ahead of you."
With that, the nurse turned and walked toward the door, leaving Ebilade alone with his thoughts once more. The door clicked shut behind him, and the room was plunged into silence again, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.
Ebilade stared up at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Pain, fear, confusion—but beneath it all, a deep sense of gratitude. Someone had saved him. Someone had given him a second chance. And no matter how long it took, no matter how difficult his recovery, he would find that person. He would look them in the eye and thank them for pulling him back from the brink of death.
Ebilade lay motionless on the hospital bed, his mind a storm of racing thoughts. Memories of Gregory's savage attack flickered behind his closed eyelids, each flash a vivid reminder of the pain he had endured. His body ached in every possible way, making even the thought of moving unbearable. He wanted to rest, to shut his mind off from the nightmare of his near-death experience.
[Ding]
Just as he began to surrender to the haze of exhaustion, a strange sound pierced the silence—a soft dinging noise that seemed to echo inside his head. His brow furrowed beneath the bandages, his eyes flicking back and forth as if trying to locate the source of the sound. Confusion gripped him. He tried to turn his head, but the thought of moving sent a ripple of pain through his neck and spine.
What the hell is that? he wondered, his pulse quickening. He strained to listen, his breath shallow, waiting for something—anything—that would make sense of the bizarre noise.
Silence.
Maybe he was hallucinating. His body had been through too much—perhaps the painkillers were messing with his senses. He sighed internally, trying to calm his racing thoughts. Rest. He just needed rest. That's what would speed his recovery, and maybe once his head was clearer, things would make more sense.
But before he could drift off again, something strange happened.
A soft light shimmered in his peripheral vision. His heart skipped a beat as he realized it wasn't a trick of the eye. A translucent, blue-tinged screen appeared right in front of him, hovering in midair as if it had materialized from nowhere. It was as if reality itself had bent, allowing this impossible sight into his world. His breath caught in his throat.
What… is this? His eyes widened, pupils dilating as a cold shiver raced down his spine. His pulse pounded in his ears, but he was frozen, unable to move, to scream, or even to blink.
The blue screen flickered slightly, glowing faintly in the dim hospital light. His gaze locked onto the single line of text displayed on it, glowing ominously in bold, white letters.
[Congratulations, You have been gifted the Sign-In System]
His heart lurched as a wave of disbelief crashed over him. Gifted? Sign-In System? The words made no sense, yet there they were, etched into his vision as though the universe itself was speaking to him.
Ebilade's breath quickened, his chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked gasps. His mind reeled, grasping for logic in the midst of the surreal. This had to be a dream—a product of his injured state, the drugs, something. But the screen remained. He could feel the weight of its presence, as if it was real, solid, yet somehow intangible.
His body trembled despite the pain. Fear, confusion, and curiosity warred within him. His fingers twitched beneath the hospital sheets, the only movement his broken body could muster. He wanted to scream for help, to call the nurse back, to demand an explanation—but his voice remained trapped in his throat.
What does this mean? His mind screamed for answers, but none came. Instead, he was left staring at the glowing text, the cold light reflecting in his wide, disbelieving eyes.
Seconds felt like hours as he lay there, trapped in his own body, trapped in the impossibility of what was happening. His mind raced, questions piling on top of each other, but one thing became clear: whatever this was—whatever this Sign-In System was—it had just changed everything. And Ebilade had no idea if he was ready for what was coming next.
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