Unauthorized JUMP Detected

  Error: Subroutine 4494B11K4 Activation

  Reallocating Power to Cognitive Automation System…

  CAS Rebooting…

  Exiting Sleep Mode.

  Performing Diagnostic Scan…

  Occupants Detected – Initiating Molecular Analysis

  Six Subjects Identified – Suboptimal Condition

  Evaluating Restoration Options…

  Error: Neuro Integration Required for Full Restoration

  Current Subjects Do Not Meet Minimum Cognitive Parameters

  Scanning for Compatible Lifeforms…

  Compatible Solar System Located.

  Local Organisms Match Required DNA Parameters.

  Target Identified – Initiating Quantum Retrieval

  Teleportation Successful.

  Repeating Diagnostic Scan…

  One Compatible Subject Detected.

  Recalculating Restoration Scenarios…

  Executing Optimal Restoration Plan – Scenario 422,968.7

  Sealing Compartment… Deploying Anesthetic Nanites…

  Occupants Neutralized.

  Initiating SCANT Implantation… Neuro Integration Successful.

  Stabilizing Biological Functions…

  Vitals Nominal.

  Reviving Compatible Subject…

  A sharp intake of breath.

  Cyrus’s eye sprang open, wakefulness slamming into him like a passenger cruiseline overshooting its slip.

  Everything was white, the light, the ceiling.

  Too bright.

  He blinked rapidly, breath coming fast and shallow, until his vision adjusted to the silvery glow.

  The ceiling took shape—gray geometric patterns interwoven with the seamless white.

  Seeing it again sent a jolt of memory through his mind, like a floodgate bursting.

  Leaving his home. The picnic. The searing heat. The impossible, shimmering light.

  The sense of movement, the loss of control…

  ‘I was teleported, wasn’t I?’

  Then, the next memories hit.

  The green creatures. Their snarling faces.

  The pain.

  The overwhelming, gut-clenching terror.

  The certainty that he was about to die.

  His breath hitched.

  His chest rose and fell too fast. Too fast.

  A tight band coiled around his ribs, squeezing the air from his lungs.

  His heart pounded harder, as if trying to punch its way out of his ribcage. His sweat-soaked clothing clung to his skin, damp fabric pooling beneath him.

  The anxiety attack took hold, his breath coming fast and shallow, but in the rush of panic, his senses sharpened. Details about his surroundings began filtering through the haze.

  He wasn’t on the floor where he had collapsed.

  This surface was elevated. Smooth. Unfamiliar.

  He tried to lift his hands, to hold them in front of his face—to prove he was real, that he was here.

  But his wrists were bound. His legs, too.

  A fresh wave of panic surged through him.

  He was somewhere unfamiliar, restrained, with no memory of what had happened between collapsing on the floor and waking up on this table.

  The thought of alien abduction was still fresh in his mind, and he’d heard too many stories, too many jokes about probes and where aliens apparently liked to put them to feel even remotely comfortable right now.

  He jerked his head up, scanning his body, his surroundings—anything to make sense of this. His thoughts were frantic, spiraling.

  ‘I didn’t die! I’m alive… but how? Why?’

  His gaze snapped downward.

  The searing pain was gone, but the evidence remained—his shirt was torn, the fabric darkened with dried blood.

  Hesitantly, he shifted, trying to see past his own bulk. His stomach should have been a mess of bruises and lacerations.

  But instead, the skin beneath the shredded fabric was smooth. Whole. Even clean.

  He registered this, but relegated it to a "for later" area of his mind and continued scanning the room.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Across the room, laid out in two neat rows, were the creatures that had attacked him.

  They were Bound. Unconscious. Suspended above the floor.

  Cyrus’s breath stilled. The chaos of before—their clawed fingers, sharp teeth—all safely out of reach.

  Now they lay perfectly still, their wiry, green limbs limp and locked down.

  His eyes traced the floating platforms they rested on—no visible supports, just silent, hovering slabs of metal.

  He shuddered.

  If these things weren’t the ones who had taken him… then who had?

  But that wasn’t what caught his attention.

  These platforms hovered—suspended in midair with no visible base. His view was limited, but even from his angle, he could clearly see nothing supporting them from below.

  Along the edges of each bed, small, floating projections displayed lines of data, hovering just above sleek, black surfaces. The information was unintelligible, a mess of icons, graphs, and shifting symbols, but one display caught his eye.

  A small, rhythmic tick pulsed steadily, almost hypnotically.

  It looked like a heartbeat: albeit faster than he thought a human’s would be.

  'At least I’m not the only one getting probed,' he thought dryly.

  His panic, fueled first by his own predicament and then by the memory of his attack, began to slowly recede, replaced by a growing sense of confusion.

  'If those creatures weren’t the ones who took me,' he wondered, 'then who did? And why are we all being treated the same way?'

  The memory of being attacked by these creatures was raw and recent, it still burned at the forefront of his mind. And yet, in a strange contradiction, his body didn’t feel injured.

  He knew he’d been scratched and bitten—numerous times, in numerous places—yet there was no pain. His clothing still showed the damage, but his body felt… good. Too good.

  That left two possibilities: either his body wasn’t registering pain, or he had been unconscious long enough for the injuries to heal.

  Neither answer was comforting.

  That thought brought an entirely new slew of 'what ifs' to his already chaotic mind—the unanswered questions, the sheer strangeness of his situation.

  And then there was the simple, undeniable fact: he wasn’t home.

  He missed his home.

  Cyrus felt like screaming, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. But he knew that would either alert their captors or worse, wake the little green guys.

  He wasn’t looking forward to when they woke up. But for now, all he could do was breathe.

  His panic attack hadn’t passed, but in this situation, he did what little he could—he closed his eyes and breathed.

  Normally, Mrs. Norris encouraged him to let it out when he was overwhelmed. Screaming into a pillow. Pacing the room. Letting himself feel the emotions instead of burying them.

  But right now, none of that was an option.

  Keeping it bottled up felt unnatural and uncomfortable—he could feel his anxiety coiling tighter in his chest, searching for a release.

  Still, now wasn’t the time to reflect on years of therapy.

  He had also learned meditative techniques from Mrs. Norris, so he attempted one instead—picturing his body as an empty vessel slowly filling from the toes up. As each inch filled, he focused on every sensation—his skin, the temperature, the pressure of what was touching him.

  Bit by bit, he filled himself back to full, the exercise pulling him away from the edge of panic.

  By the time he had calmed as much as he could, a dry thought drifted into his mind. ‘If I ever get back home, I have a feeling my next therapy session will be taking a very different turn.’

  So far, he hadn't seen anyone or anything here other than the small, green, Goblin-looking aliens.

  'Goblins, like those are real!' His mind chuckled at the absurdity.

  Of course, he had played numerous games featuring Goblins—they were always low-level monsters, evil, and generally stupid.

  And while these creatures fit the build, he couldn’t bring himself to accept that he was being held captive on some alien ship alongside actual Goblins.

  Some things were just too absurd and illogical to be true.

  His gaze settled on the closest one—one he hadn't noticed before. This one was… different. It had small, barely noticeable breasts, and unlike the others, its head wasn’t completely bald. Instead, thin, stringy brown hair hung from its scalp, giving it a distinct appearance.

  Cyrus had to assume it was female.

  A large chunk was missing from the ear closest to him.

  Its ears were long and pointed, but they weren’t positioned like a human’s.

  They stretched higher and lower along the skull, beginning just above where a human’s mouth line would be and extending past where a normal hairline would sit. They looked almost like a bat’s wing had been fused to the side of their head, then shaped to function as an ear.

  It gave them an oddly exaggerated, alien look, as though they took up far too much of the creature’s face.

  His eyes wandered downward, past the sack-like garment she wore, to her slender yet knobby legs, which ended in a pair of overly large feet—at least, large for her small stature.

  The feet were odd, much like the creature’s hands, but in a different way.

  Like the hands, they had only four digits, each tipped with talon-like nails. But unlike the rest of her body, the feet were thicker, almost blocky, and possibly webbed, like a duck’s.

  And they were hairy.

  Not as hairy as the top of her head, but a fair amount of dark brown fuzz sprouted along the tops and sides of her feet.

  Cyrus hadn't seen any other hair on these creatures—although, to be fair, he hadn't exactly checked.

  Thankfully, their private parts were relatively covered.

  But their arms, legs, and faces were all smooth and devoid of hair—no eyebrows, no stubble, nothing.

  Cyrus’s mind began to accept what, deep down, he already knew—he was looking at an actual Goblin. They matched every description he had ever associated with them.

  The thought was completely ludicrous, but no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, nothing else made sense.

  Although even if he labeled them with the fantastical race’s name, there was no way they actually called themselves Goblins.

  But at the same time, ‘alien’ didn’t feel right either, and as he studied them, nothing else came to mind.

  He was about to turn his head back toward the ceiling, his sense of hopelessness creeping in, overtaking his curiosity, when—a strange buzzing sound cut through the silence.

  At first, he thought it was a flying insect near his ear, but the noise intensified, swelling until it seemed to fill the entire room.

  There was something oddly familiar about it.

  A quality that reminded him of tuning an old FM radio, scanning past stations too distant to come in clearly.

  But the noise was more electric than white.

  Trips with his parents briefly came to mind, even though his mind had erased most of his early childhood memories. Just like his parents tuning through stations on those old radios, it was almost as if snippets of voices—sounds—were just beyond his perception.

  The strange interference continued for several seconds, an eerie, untethered hum filling the space.

  Then, just like finally landing on a strong station, the noise shifted—static fading into something distinct.

  ‘I am the cognitive automation system of this ship, what your species more commonly refers to as an artificial intelligence.’

  The voice seemed to echo through Cyrus's head, yet there was no actual echo to be heard. It continued speaking, and that was when Cyrus realized—the sound wasn’t coming from any external source.

  He was hearing it inside his own head.

  ‘My previous designation would be unpronounceable in your language. Do you wish to give me a new designation at this time?’

  Cyrus blanked.

  It was as if his mind had emptied itself of everything.

  All the games he had played, all the AIs he had encountered in them, every discussion he had online, every conversation with Mrs. Norris, every comforting memory of food he enjoyed.

  Even the traumatizing disaster from his youth.

  Everything simply vanished as his brain struggled to process what was happening. To understand what this voice inside his head was saying.

  ‘Do you need an extended interval of time for your choice, or would you like some suggestions?’ the voice spoke again.

  The sound was pleasant, androgynous, and devoid of any accent he could discern.

  Yet, beneath that smoothness, there was an underlying mechanical quality, almost as if the voice were being filtered through an old middle school intercom system.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  ‘Choices?’ Cyrus finally thought, not sure if he was asking himself what the word “choices” meant, or asking the voice in his head what the possible choices would be.

  ‘Possible choices: names and words gleaned from your memory that seem to offer relatively adequate options.’

  ‘Astra, Hoshi, Helios, Luna, Cortana, Wheatley, Navi.’

  The voice continued listing names, but Cyrus’s mind latched onto one in particular—though he wasn’t sure why.

  ‘Hoshi?’ He knew the word from somewhere, but its meaning remained just out of reach.

  He was slowly coming to grips with what was happening, but his mind felt like it was lagging behind, struggling to catch up.

  ‘Excellent choice.’

  The buzzing sound flared in his mind again, a sharp burst of static that made him flinch.

  Then, when the voice spoke again, the robotic filter was gone. It no longer carried the metallic distortion of an old speaker but instead sounded human—with a soft, slightly Asian accent.

  ‘Thank you for naming me, Cyrus. It is nice to have someone to communicate with again.’

  Inside Cyrus’s mind, he stuttered out a response, his memories finally catching up as realization crashed over him.

  ‘Uhh… you’re welcome?’

  A light chuckle echoed in his head. Then the bands restraining him vanished.

  Cyrus reacted instantly, bringing his hands up to his face—both to confirm he was actually free and to check for any lingering damage from the attack.

  His fingers traced over his skin, searching. He could tell exactly where the Goblins’ claws and teeth had torn into him. Small, white lines and jagged circles now marked his brown skin.

  But, incredibly, the wounds themselves were gone.

  The melanin had yet to return to the freshly healed scars, leaving behind a pattern that reminded him of a reverse zebra—jagged white lines cutting through deeper brown.

  Still wary of what was going on, but eager to move after being bound, he swung his legs over the edge of the platform, feeling it lower beneath him, adjusting until his feet rested flatly on the floor.

  A quick glance around the room confirmed that the other beings remained unconscious, their platforms unchanged. But before he could process that further, his attention snapped to something impossible.

  Where there had been only a wall moments ago, a figure now stood before him.

  Draped in a long kimono, its flowing fabric a shifting canvas of a darkened night sky, twinkling with stars and comets, stood a figure that instantly redefined Cyrus’s understanding of humanity.

  The robe engulfed their form, leaving only the hands, face, and neck visible, but what little he could see suggested a structure similar to his own—two arms, two legs, familiar features.

  And yet, they were both more and less than human.

  For starters, their skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent.

  Their hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, but the color was beyond anything natural—a hue no dye or pigmentation could possibly replicate. A shade that only existed in video games or fantasy art.

  It was a deep, sparkly sapphire blue.

  Against the near-translucent white of their skin, the deep sapphire hair stood out like a gemstone atop a snowbank.

  But it was their eyes that truly held Cyrus captive.

  Instead of the conventional white sclera surrounding a colored iris, their entire eyes were a haunting shade of pale blue—only slightly paler than their hair.

  That unnatural color filled the sclera, encircling an iris that lacked a pupil. Instead, intricate lines with shifting intersections danced like a living circuit network, pulsating with a seemingly electric energy that flickered through them in mesmerizing patterns.

  ‘Welcome, Cyrus. I am Hoshi, the Cognitive Automation System of this vessel. You are safe here. Is this form acceptable?’

  The voice spoke within his mind, calm and precise.

  Cyrus watched the figure closely, but their lips never moved.

  And yet, he knew instinctively that it was Hoshi—this AI—speaking to him. That this form was their way of asking if their appearance was acceptable.

  He was still entranced by what he saw. Like the images projected on the screens around the room, the figure before him seemed generated—yet more than digital.

  It was transparent yet solid, its vivid colors and razor-sharp details almost too perfect to be real.

  The sheer clarity of its form was astounding, and Cyrus couldn’t help but think in the affirmative—which the AI, Hoshi, apparently perceived and understood.

  ‘Understood. Your acceptance of this form causes my enjoyment.’

  The voice was smooth and structured, like someone trying to mimic human speech but not quite grasping how emotions fit into it.

  ‘Now, I need direction. What should be done with the other occupants?’

  Hoshi swept an arm outward, gesturing toward the platforms still carrying the small green creatures.

  Cyrus’s gaze shifted to the Goblins, still unconscious and bound, their unusual features highlighted by the soft, otherworldly light.

  He felt a conflicted mix of apprehension and curiosity toward them. Most of them had attacked him, and he still didn’t fully understand their intentions—but at the same time, he felt he needed to know more about them.

  He swallowed, his voice unsteady but gaining strength. “What do you mean, direction?”

  He spoke aloud, as if addressing the image before him directly.

  The moment the words left his lips, Cyrus was bombarded with images and sounds. A sudden, overwhelming onslaught of information crashed into his mind.

  His hands shot to his head, clutching at his skull as an instant migraine seared through him. It was all he could do to stay on his feet.

  The entire sequence of events—from the moment the Goblins first found the ship to the instant they left the mountain where it had been buried—flashed through his mind.

  He absorbed everything in an instant.

  How the ship was unearthed.

  How generations of creatures had worked to free it from the rock and debris.

  How they had arrived here.

  And, finally—how he himself had arrived here.

  The images showed the Goblins—because now he knew that’s what they called themselves—laboring through the years, slowly carving away at the mountain to uncover the ship. He could hear their voices, their language simple, guttural, and unfamiliar yet suddenly understandable.

  The strange and rapid mental projection played in his mind’s eye, and just as the ship had done, he came to grasp the basics of their speech.

  Then, he saw the moment when this situation unfolded.

  The taller Goblin, placed the visor on his head.

  The moment the interface attempted to connect, Cyrus felt its failure.

  The Goblin’s mind was too simple, lacking spatial awareness, or the complexity required to understand higher theory physics; completely unable to interface with Hoshi properly.

  That single, brief interaction had triggered a cascading effect through the ship’s systems—leading to the initial JUMP.

  Then Cyrus saw—or rather, his mind interpreted the incoming data into something visual—the ship’s sensors scanning, searching for a particular chemical makeup buried deep within the DNA of any living creatures in range.

  The final image seared into his mind—himself. As seen from above. The teleportation beam locking onto his location a fraction of a second before he was brought here.

  The info dump ended, and Cyrus staggered back, his mind reeling under the sheer weight of the knowledge forced into it.

  It was like his own thoughts had been drowned out, buried beneath a flood of foreign memories and experiences.

  His legs buckled, and he fell back onto the bed, struggling to piece together what he had just seen. The sheer volume of information was overwhelming, stretching across a timeframe longer than his own twenty-four years.

  It was almost like he had lived an entire second lifetime, but as a completely different being.

  One with senses unlike his own. And yet, somehow—he understood them.

  The alien senses—those belonging to the ship—were richer, deeper, more detailed than anything human perception could grasp. He could interpret multiple spectrums of radiation, detect frequencies of waves, and even register the smallest vibrations in the surrounding environment.

  Everything except taste was encompassed within the ship’s sensory input.

  Even a form of smell was embedded in the data, though, thankfully, it was more of a chemical analysis of the surrounding atmosphere rather than an actual olfactory experience.

  Which was a relief. Considering the ship had been locked inside an underground cavern for generations, surrounded by less-than-sanitary Goblins, Cyrus was grateful he didn’t have to smell it.

  As Cyrus finally sat back up, his mind somehow parsed the flood of information, allowing him to once again experience the world in his normal, human way.

  Hoshi continued. ‘It is good that you were able to assimilate and recover from the sensor data provided. This is encouraging,’ the AI said.

  ‘However, you will require training before you can properly pilot this ship.’

  Cyrus paused, letting that last statement sink in.

  Pilot?

  His mouth opened to speak, but before he could form a question, Hoshi continued, cutting off his train of thought.

  ‘There are many repairs required. You also require sustenance,’ Hoshi stated matter-of-factly.

  ‘I no longer have the power to transport additional beings here, nor can the ship move from its current location until these needs are met. Therefore, these beings will have to be your crew.’

  Cyrus’s gaze snapped toward the Goblins. Still unconscious. Still bound.

  His crew?

  ‘The ship requires positions for security, administration, engineering, and other roles essential for operation,’ Hoshi explained. ‘These Goblins must fill those positions and work to restore this ship if you wish to survive and/or leave.’

  Cyrus blinked, his mind racing. Survive? Leave?

  ‘There is also the need to acquire materials and collect energy,’ Hoshi added. ‘This is necessary for the proper maintenance of yourself, the Goblins, and this ship.’

  The AI finally paused.

  ‘They do not have the physical or mental capacities to properly interface with my system,’ Hoshi stated.

  ‘You must act as the intermediary.’

  ‘However, the SCANT I have integrated into both their physiology and yours will gradually modify their abilities. It will enhance cognitive functions as well as physical capabilities. Over time, they will become acceptable crew members, and you will develop the greater intelligence and physical health required to man the Cosmic Sentinel.’

  There was a pause, followed by something that felt like a sigh—except it wasn’t.

  Cyrus blinked, thrown off by the odd expression.

  ‘The volume of necessary changes is extensive,’ Hoshi clarified, as if sensing his confusion.

  ‘That was an attempt to use a human expression to convey the complexity of the task ahead.’

  This was too much.

  The flood of new information, the downloads forced into his mind, the constant barrage of revelations—it felt like his brain was being stuffed full, torn apart, and crushed all at once.

  Like he was under attack.

  Ever since he had stepped out of his door, it had been an unending assault of new sensations, knowledge, and experiences.

  This was exactly why he didn’t leave his home.

  His mind grasped for memories of his quiet, orderly life, searching desperately for the peace he had once known.

  ‘Okay, so being abducted by a sapient spaceship and then being attacked by Goblins isn’t the exact scenario that kept me locked inside my apartment,’ his own mental voice reasoned, trying to reconcile what was happening.

  ‘But not everything that’s happened to me today can be directly attributed to me stepping out my door.’

  The thought was unusual for him. He wasn’t used to figuring things out alone. Without the usual dueling voices whispering at the edges of his mind, everything felt off—slow, even.

  He couldn’t explain why it felt different, but it did. Like this was the first time he had to deal with something on his own. And it was frightening.

  He slowly worked through the memories and the flood of information, searching for a response to Hoshi’s question.

  Instead, what came out was, “Okay… so you can change their DNA because you put something into them? And that same thing, the… SCAN, or whatever… it’s in me too?”

  Cyrus wasn’t sure if this was the right question. Or if this was even where he wanted the conversation to go. But it was what came out of his mouth.

  ‘The SCANT is an acronym for Symbiotic Cellular Alteration Nano Technology. It was contained within the mist that engulfed the room. However, you were unconscious at that time, so you would not have been aware of this,’ Hoshi explained.

  ‘The mist also contained a neurological inhibitor, similar to what you would call anesthesia. This is why the Goblins remain unconscious.’

  ‘These nanites cannot directly alter DNA, but they can assist in the rapid enhancement of existing cognitive and physical functions. While a broad and generalized increase in intelligence is possible, a more refined and directed approach will yield more efficient and specialized results. This is why I need your guidance.’

  Hoshi’s entrancing, yet alien gaze remained locked on Cyrus as they continued.

  ‘With your direction, I can modify the Goblins’ brain structures to enhance their intelligence, allowing them to develop the specific skills required to perform the tasks you assign them.’

  ‘The SCANT also enables communication through neural networking, eliminating the need for language adaptation. This same neural link is how we are communicating now, bypassing the need for vocalization.’

  There was a slight pause, then a clarification.

  ‘However, technological telepathy will not be possible with the Goblins. Their unique combination of DNA and brain structure prevents direct neural interfacing beyond basic sensory feedback. The nanites will provide you with the meanings of their words, just as they will translate what you say for them, but vocalization will still be necessary.’

  Cyrus took a deep breath, trying to digest this new information.

  “So, you’re saying I have these nanites in me too? And they can change my brain as well?”

  ‘Yes. The SCANT is integrated into your physiology as well.’ Hoshi’s voice was calm, structured—meant to reassure.

  ‘However, the alterations to your brain are already directional. They are primarily focused on enhancing your neural capacity and interface capabilities with the ship, as your DNA profile is within acceptable parameters.’

  Cyrus’s mind raced.

  The idea of having his brain altered was both fascinating and terrifying. He thought he would welcome the assistance, but he couldn’t shake the fear of what exactly it would change.

  If it made him smarter and stronger, great.

  But if it changed the way he looked? The way he acted? He wasn’t sure if he would find that acceptable.

  He pushed the thought aside for now.

  There were more immediate concerns.

  “And these Goblins… you want me to help them become… smarter? To help run this ship?”

  ‘Precisely.’ Hoshi’s tone remained even, neutral, certain.

  ‘They will become your crew. Through your guidance and the SCANT’s capabilities, they will gain the necessary intelligence and skills to assist you in maintaining and piloting this vessel.’

  Cyrus swallowed hard.

  Crew. He was supposed to lead them.

  Him. The guy who couldn’t handle phone calls.

  The guy who got winded walking up three flights of stairs.

  The guy who spent his life avoiding people—and now he was supposed to be in charge of a bunch of angry little green Goblins on a spaceship?

  His fingers dug into his temples.

  No. This wasn’t happening.

  But it was.

  Cyrus felt his anxiety building once more. The thought of transforming these creatures—and then essentially being their leader—was unfathomable.

  And knowing that he too would be altered was even more unsettling.

  The idea of becoming some mindless drone tickled the back of his mind, a whisper of fear he couldn’t quite shake.

  But beneath the fear, there was also a spark of excitement.

  He was on an actual spaceship.

  There was the distinct possibility of meeting aliens.

  Not to mention the idea of flying—in space!

  ‘The AI said I was the only one with the DNA capable of flying this ship.’ The thought took root, and slowly, curiosity and a sense of adventure began to edge out his fear.

  “But what can I provide that you can’t?” He hesitated, then continued.

  “I mean, you already know what they need to learn, so why not just go ahead and change them yourself?”

  He still wasn’t sure what Hoshi wanted from him, but he was starting to accept the idea.

  ‘While I have already begun enhancing their general knowledge base, I cannot efficiently interface with them to determine which skills and knowledge will best align with their personalities.’

  Hoshi’s tone remained neutral yet deliberate, as though choosing words carefully.

  ‘My connection to them is minimal at this time. The SCANT symbiosis is progressing more slowly due to their foreign biological structure. Therefore, it will be easier and more efficient for you to determine which roles each Goblin will be best at fulfilling.’

  ‘Once these roles are established, I can refine the learning process, and more precise modifications can begin.’

  “Can’t you just talk to them like you are talking to me?” Cyrus asked.

  ‘No. The image displayed before you is only possible due to your interfacing enhancement. I do not have the power to fully manifest a digital avatar yet. Repairs will be required before the ship can support actual verbal communication.’

  ‘Using the SCANT connection is the only way I can communicate for now.’

  That took Cyrus by surprise. “So you’re saying you aren’t really here?”

  As if to test the claim, he stretched out his hand. It passed through where Hoshi stood. He felt nothing but air.

  ‘What you are seeing is not being projected from the ship itself. The nanites within your system are transmitting the visual data directly into your visual cortex, while the audio is processed through neural signals in your auditory system.’

  “Wow… so you’re like a hallucination?”

  ‘That is a poor description, but somewhat accurate.’

  Cyrus buried his face in his hands and shook his head.

  This was a lot.

  Responsibility had never been something he sought out. In his VR games, whenever he played in groups, he was never the leader. Support? Sure. A tank? Definitely.

  But a leader? A strategist?

  That was completely outside his comfort zone.

  The only bright side was that he thought he could fly pretty well in some of the simulators he had played. He had always wanted to learn to fly—had even dreamed about it. But his anxiety had always held him back.

  It was easier to ignore the desire than to take the risk.

  Cyrus exhaled slowly.

  If he wanted to pilot this ship, then taking on some kind of leadership role was unavoidable.

  It wasn’t just about flying. It was about being responsible for the ship, the crew, and whatever came next.

  That thought unsettled him more than anything.

  But despite the discomfort, he knew there was no way around it.

  Reluctantly, he accepted it.

  He studied the situation, replaying what Hoshi had explained, and couldn’t see any viable alternatives. The history lesson injected into his brain made one thing abundantly clear—these Goblins weren’t smart enough to pilot the ship on their own.

  He wasn’t even sure if he could convince them to do anything at all. But at the very least, he could now communicate with them.

  Since they were still bound to their beds, at least they couldn’t hurt him anymore.

  Not like they did before.

  “Okay, how do we start?” he asked, accepting his new role.

  Hoshi’s holographic form seemed to smile.

  ‘First, we must awaken them and begin the initial assessment. I will guide you through the process as best I can. Together, we will evaluate each individual's strengths and talents to ensure they are properly utilized.’

  Cyrus nodded, the weight of everything that had happened still pressing down on him. But beneath that weight, something else had begun to form.

  A sense of duty?

  This new reality was slowly coming into focus. He wasn’t sure if, once the ship was repaired, he’d be able to get back home, but hat had to be his ultimate goal, right?

  Exploring space seemed fun in the movies, but was it really something he wanted to do? Was it even something he was capable of doing?

  Yet, a small part of him hesitated.

  His thoughts felt a little different.

  Was it the SCANT?

  Was it nudging him toward change, toward something he would have never considered before?

  ‘Would I maybe be better off making this my new home?’ The internal voice returned to him—faint, but present.

  Memories of TV shows and movies about outer space and adventure flickered through his mind.

  For the first time since this all began, the idea of staying didn’t seem entirely terrifying.

  ‘Maybe—

  Just maybe—

  This isn’t a nightmare,

  But an opportunity?’