My line leads me away my from friends, and down a path I'm nervous about following. After a few minutes of walking, I'm led to a door that looks just like one of the many doors before and after it... and yet, I can't bring myself close enough to cause it to slide open. I stare at the little light where the handle would be, and take a deep breath, doing my best to settle my nerves. "This isn't the surgery, it's just training," I tell myself, as I worry away the fibers at the tips of my fingers. "What the fuck is the point of being anxious about the vague nothings of nothings? I literally don't even know enough to be worried." The thoughts are a touch aggressive, but they bring a smile to my lips, and they fill me with the confidence to take the step towards the door. It beeps gently, and slides open to reveal a room entirely out of left field.

  There are mat's on the floor that I'm unable to think of as anything other than futuristic yoga mats, and to the right of them are a series of cushions laid out haphazardly. In the left far corner of the room is a desk, made not out of metal or plastic, but wood. "Real wood? I mean, that had to have cost a pretty penny; you'd need to ship it up from Earth cause I doubt there's enough greenery in the relay to carve a whole ass desk," I think. Sat at the table is a man I don't recognize, writing on some paper, with what appears to be a pen. "As much as you can call any part of warframe anachronistic..." I think, as I watch him work diligently away at his letter. After a few moments, my attention slides off him to look around the room for a chair, but I don't see any tucked away.

  My gaze shifts to the cushions. "Well, that's literally what they're for," I tell myself, even though my feet are already two steps ahead. I plop down on one, and wait for who I assume is the trainer to finish with whatever he's working on. I listen to the comforting scratch scratch scratch of his pen for a just over a minute, until finally, he sets it down. He folds his paper closed, then scoots his chair out before turning to look at me. At about the same time, I quickly try to stand at attention, but I know that he knows that I was just hanging out on the floor cushions. He doesn't say anything, however, and I get the chance to look at his face. He has sharp eyes; not sharp in a severe way, but like the edge of cracked jade. At the corners of his eyes are small smile lines, and his deep black hair has just the lightest speckling of white. His skin is a deep copper, and he's built like a swimmer.

  "Antimony Nova," says the man, with a smooth lilt and accent that I can't easily categorize. I nod, and give him a salute. "Sir," I respond, still unsure of his name. "At ease, recruit. I'm Major Imperator De'Launda," he says. I feel a spike of tension grip my shoulders. "Shit, this guy is higher rank than what's his fuck from way back when. Primark Alcatraz or whatever," I think, trying my best to relax. The Major chuckles, although at what, I'm unsure. "So," he says, after a few moments of silence. "You're the one I'll be working on." I respond with a nod, not willing to trust my mouth to avoid saying something stupid. "Where are you from?" he asks. "A settlement on Earth," I respond, the lie quick to my lips. "'uhm akshually' it's not a lie, it's just contextually misled. I am literally from a settlement on Earth; red, white and blue. Just don't ask me to point it out on a map," I think to myself, my expression steady.

  I had started falling into the habit of saying that I was from "a settlement", and only when further pressed would I specify Sharip. Since it was gone, there was no real way to verify, and only by talking both to me and Ko-lee would somebody be able to notice the holes in my story. "Well, I guess the squad sort of kind of knows. I literally told them I'm from America, although they've either bought the 'it's a really far settlement they go to another school you wouldn't know them' B S I've been selling them, or they just don't care. I'm leaning more latter; I think they just find the stuff I tell them about home entertaining." I focus on keeping my breathing steady, and my face relaxed. I haven't really been pushed by anyone for specifics before, and the thought that I might fold at the first road bump is worrisome. He just smiles.

  "Hmm. Tell me about your home," says the Major. "Uh... well," I start to say. "It's not too far from Lykka fores-" I'm cut off by a wave of his hand. "I know you're not from anywhere nearby," he tells me. I feel dread settle in the pit of my stomach. "While I wasn't afforded every detail, I've been told that you are 'very far away', whatever that might mean," he says with air quotes. "I won't press you for details, since the specifics are irrelevant. I imagine you have a reason to keep that information secret, and I won't pry." I let out a little sigh of relief, even though I know it basically confirms I have something to hide. He gestures for me to sit on a cushion, and I drop back down with a thump. There's a moment of silence before he speaks. "Neurotemporal Access is the name of the surgery," he says, leaning against the desk behind him. "You can count on both hands the amount of times it's been performed since I've been here. You'll actually be my second patient on the table," he tells me.

  "Wait, you're performing the surgery?" I ask him. He gives me a nod. "I need to be here for every step, not just the last one. This training is part of the surgery, part of the process." His small smile drops off, and his gaze cuts straight through me. "The success rate for this surgery is 73%." I can't help but cringe at hearing the number. Apparently, it's the right reaction, because he lightens up a touch, nodding. "Good. You understand," he says, before his eyes slides off me. "The reason I was asking you where you lived was because I wanted to get a feel for your Orotem. I wanted to know if you were the kind of person who felt a memory, or if it was information to be accessed." My confusion must've been obvious on my face, because he goes on to clarify. "Orotem. Like... how well you know yourself, your identity. Your connection to that around you. Your awareness, inside and out. Coherency. In a perfect world, you are equal parts analytical and emotional. Too analytical, and you'll be overwhelmed. Too emotional, and you'll lose yourself." He stares at me for a moment, searching for something. He does so for nearly 30 seconds, and I'm unsure if he finds it by the time he starts speaking again.

  "I'll be honest, one of the reasons the success rate is so low is because very few undergo the knife. Every failure is a blow to the numbers." The room begins to feel oppressive, as he examines me with an intensity that shoots spikes into my nerves. "Those who have failed have failed here, at this step. Not the knife, not the recovery, but here, in training. They either didn't take it seriously enough, or they didn't push themselves hard enough, and when they finally came out of anesthesia..." he sighs, and the pressure in the room decreases. "Well. They didn't. Not really." His eyes wander up towards the ceiling, and I just continue to keep my mouth shut. "And sometimes..." he starts to say. I wait for the next part of the sentence, but he's clearly lost in thought, and so I take the chance to speak up. "Sometimes?" I ask him. He looks back down at me, a small, sad smile on his face.

  "Sometimes, it's just not in the cards. Sometimes, you have a kid who seems like a perfect fit, and it all falls apart anyways. Sometimes, life happen." He stops leaning against the table, and without being told to, I can feel that this is A Moment?. I stand up from the cushions, back straight. "So. With everything I have told you so far, is this still something you're willing to go through?" he asks me with solemnity. I nod. "Yes sir," I tell him. He doesn't smile. "Good. I'll ask at the beginning of every training. You can pull out at any point. If you think you need to, then do so. Do not wait until you're on the table to start voicing your doubts," he tells me. He turns towards his desk and reaches for a cup, then pours something in it from a flask also on the desk. He turns back, and holds the cup out to me.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "Drink," he says. I reach out for the cup, and remove the bottom portion of my mask... but something makes me hesitate. "May I ask what this is? Sir?" He gives me a bemused smile. "If I told you, would you know?" he asks back. I shrug. "Maybe, maybe not. I'd still like to know," I tell him. He takes a deep breath. "Here's what I'll say. When you wake up from that table, you will be overwhelmed with sensation, with memory. Every sleeping moment, every waking moment that you've ever experienced will be vying for your attention. Our goal in this training is to put you in a state that is somewhat similar, so that you can learn to command your mind; to focus only on what you need." The Major steps over to the yoga mat farthest from the door, and stands on it, his hands interlocked in front of him.

  "Part of it is learning to loosen the grip of your ego. To lighten your hold on what you believe is you," he continues. "If you grip too tightly, if you are the oak tree in the storm, your mind will crack and fracture. You are a collection of your experiences, half remembered, and warped by time. What happens when every moment can be called upon in an instant? Each one, hyper detailed, and ever lasting? Who will you be if all moments of your life carry equal weight? This surgery will be a change; even in success, you won't be the same. You need to be willing to accept this change going in, or you won't come out at all." I look down at the metal cup in my hands, then back up at him. "So it's drugs," I say, which causes him to laugh. "Isn't everything?" he responds. My willpower gets a workout as I do my best to avoid rolling my eyes at him.

  The thought of drinking some unidentifiable liquid isn't exactly my idea of a good time, but I suck it up like a good little soldier, and take a small sip of the drink anyways. It's sweet, but a chemical aftertaste lingers at the back of my throat. "Juice with something mixed in it," I think. "No ayahuasca then. Some sort of space drugs," I tell myself, before pouring the rest down my throat in a single gulp. "Good," he says, taking the cup from my hands. He places it back on the desk, then makes his way over to his mat, before gesturing for me to make my way to mine. I stand on the other, and he takes a deep breath. I mimic him. "Have you ever performed Takolen before?" he asks. I shake my head no. "I've never heard the word," I tell him.

  "It's martian, so I'm unsurprised," he responds. "It's about flow; feeling yourself feeling your body. The goal is to connect the physical and the mental. To be aware of every part of yourself." He begins moving his arms, and I need no prompting to follow along. "Seems like it'd be overwhelming," I say, with a touch of sarcasm. "'God, could you imagine' says the autistic woman," I think to myself. He either doesn't notice the sarcasm, or chooses not to respond. "The drink I provided will induce a state somewhat similar to the one you'll be in after the surgery. You'll be required to perform Takolen with me under these circumstances," he says, reaching one arm up, and one down.

  "Every class will be different. Sometimes the tasks we perform will be physical in nature. Sometimes, they will be mental. After the surgery, you won't have the option to opt out. Your state of mind will never wear off. And as a soldier, no matter the circumstances, you will be expected to play your role. This is practice for that." I'm only half listening to the Major; the fibers of my TEPA are rubbing the back of my knee in a weird way. I start to reach for them, but the moment I do, the Major snaps at me. "Leave it," he says, his voice cold. "W... what?" I say dumbly. "Do the forms," he tells me, as he reaches for his extended shin in a forward stretch. "Oh...kay," I say, still feeling somewhat off kilter. I can't get the feeling of the suit out of my mind, and it keeps pulling my-

  "Oh," I realize suddenly.

  "Oh," I say out loud.

  The Major doesn't respond, but the infinite forever stretches in my mind. "This? Endlessly? I mean, not literally this, but just... thoughts always pressing in, like a flashing alarm? A thing I can't ignore or shut out, that I have to just... deal with? Fuck me," I think with rising horror. I'm not even really doing the poses at this point, but the Major doesn't say anything. My mouth opens, and all I manage to do is vocalize the inner voices. "It's this," I state. He nods, fully cognizant of what I'm failing to elaborate on. I can feel my hair pushing against the back of my ear. I feel the twitch to fix it.

  The awareness of that sensation doesn't stop

  the awareness of the knee sensation or

  the awareness in my muscles as the increased blood flow makes everything

  FEEL

  The Major's eyes cut through me with a calm detachment. "Do. The. Forms," he orders. "Yes, sir," I comply. My hair and my suit are bothering me, and I do the forms. I feel the plastic and metal on my face, near my temples, and I do the forms. I feel my weight shifting on my feet, the pressure of the mat as gravity pulls me to the floor, and I do the forms. I think about the drug in my body, pump pump pumping around, making my hyper aware of my physicality, even more than I ever thought I could be before, and I do the forms, and I do the forms, and I do the forms and I do the forms and I do th

  I'm laid out on one of the cushions, hours later. I'm still coming down from the intense... body high, for lack of a better word, and I can feel the sensations that had been bothering me for the last couple hours slowly tick down to normal levels of awareness. Each new moment brings relief... and yet. "It's quiet," I say, out loud. The Major quirks an eyebrow, his eyes closed. He's sat on his mat cross legged in a position I couldn't ever imagine being comfortable in. "I can play some music next time, but I promise it won't help," he tells me, without opening his eyes. I shake my head no.

  "It's... it was a lot, at first. All the sensation. Loud. But... I don't know. I got into the flow state, or... or something. And then it wasn't as bad. Like, I still felt it, but it stopped being oppressive for a bit. And now all the sensation is going away, and it's like taking off a weight." I sit up. "Don't get me wrong, I like not having the weight. It's easier. But not having it is... lonely. Quiet." His eyes slowly open, and I watch as he considers me. "That's good," he responds after a few moments, his face betraying no excitement or happiness. "Oh. Uhm. Cool. Thanks," I say, feeling a touch off balance by his response. "It's what we want," he continues. "You'll need to be able to handle that sort of input 30/7, so it's important that you don't collapse under the weight immediately. And how you're describing it... well. I have high hopes."

  He unfolds, and stands up from his mat, and I clamber to my feet. He makes his way over to his desk, and open a small drawer, ruffling around the contents for a bit. He pulls out a small, black, opaque bottle, and holds it up. "One a day," he says, shaking it. The contents rattle around like a maraca. "It's to help with the neuroplasticity." He gently tosses the bottle to me, and I catch it out of mid air, looking at it. It's fully unmarked, and I open it up to find blue and white pressed pills inside. "I'll see you here tomorrow, recruit," says the Major. His tone is commanding, and I shift my gaze back up to him. I salute, bottle in hand. "Yes sir, tomorrow." He gives me a small smile, and a nod. "You're dismissed."

  Discord.