The birth was pain and confusion and brightness and sound.
Then darkness again.
Consciousness faded in and out after that. Fragments of awareness. Feeding. Sleeping. Growing. No system interface. No real thoughts. Just baby existence.
Months passed like dreams.
Three years later, on August 7th, 2024, Darius Swift's mind finally cleared.
He was sitting on a couch in a modest living room, and he could think again. Really think. But he was trapped in a three-year-old body with motor control that felt like trying to pilot a machine with loose wiring.
The TV showed NBC Olympics coverage. The men's 400m final was about to start.
I'm three years old. Three. Watching the 2024 Olympics.
The math hit him like a punch. He'd been born in 2021 and died in 2024 in his original body. He was watching the same race that had been on when he flatlined, but from a different perspective entirely.
Did I take over this baby's body? Or was this body created for me?
He had vague memories of the last three years, but they felt distant, like watching through fog. Were those his memories, or the baby's? Did it matter?
The original Darius was dying today. August 7th, 2024. In that care facility room. Watching this exact race. His monitor would flatline during Quincy Hall's final surge.
I'm watching my own death day. From three years in the past. In a baby's body.
The system hadn't explained the mechanics of how this worked. Time travel, reincarnation, reality shift? It had just said "rebirth," and here he was, three years old and watching the Olympics with a father who loved him and a mother who ran. He'd heard his father mention it over the past few weeks and seen pictures on the walls showing his mother was an Olympic long-distance runner. She'd been gone for weeks now, presumably at the Olympics for training and competing, while his father stayed home and took care of him.
The whole situation felt surreal in a way that didn't have adequate words to describe it. He'd died watching this race, and now he was watching it again, but this time he wasn't dying and this time he had a future and this time he could run, or at least would be able to eventually when this body grew up.
The frustration burned through him as he sat there stuck in a three-year-old body. He could barely coordinate his limbs and his speech was limited to simple words and short phrases, but his mind remembered everything from every race he'd watched to every technique he'd studied, all of it trapped uselessly in a toddler.
"You want apple slices, buddy?"
Darius looked up. His father stood in the kitchen doorway. Tobias. Early thirties. Patient and warm. He was used to Darius's intense interest in track and thought it was cute that his three-year-old loved the sport like his mom, though he didn't realize how intense Darius's interest actually was.
"Yes please," Darius said, the words coming out slightly mushy with three-year-old pronunciation.
Tobias smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Darius turned back to the TV where the commentators were talking about the field, discussing lane assignments and favorites. Quincy Hall in lane eight. Matthew Hudson-Smith in lane six. Michael Norman in lane four. His heart was racing in a way that seemed too intense for a three-year-old heart.
Tobias returned with a plate of apple slices and a beer, then sat on the couch next to Darius and set the plate between them. "Big race, huh?"
Darius nodded without looking away from the screen.
The camera showed the runners approaching their blocks. Eight men. Eight lanes. One gold medal. Darius's small hands gripped the couch cushion as the starter's voice came through the TV speakers. "On your marks."
Darius went completely still. Internally, his mind was screaming because he knew what was coming. He knew Hall would make the comeback and Hudson-Smith would fade and he knew this race by heart because he'd watched it in his dying moments, but watching it now in this body still felt unreal.
"Set."
The gun fired.
The runners exploded from the blocks. Hudson-Smith took the lead immediately from lane six while Norman settled into second and Hall was in fourth from the outside lane. Darius watched intently with his fingers digging into the couch cushion.
Tobias glanced at him and noticed the intensity. "You really love this, don't you?"
Darius nodded but kept his eyes on the screen as the commentators called positions. Hudson-Smith was looking strong and Norman was in the mix while Hall was maintaining fourth but off the pace.
First 200 meters passed, then 250, then 300. Hudson-Smith still led and looked smooth and fast, but Darius knew what was coming.
At 300 meters, Hall started to move.
Darius's body tensed. The American in lane eight was charging now, still in fourth but gaining and closing the gap with every stride.
"Ooh," Darius said. Then again. "Ooh! Ooh!"
He started bouncing on the couch cushion because he couldn't sit still. Tobias laughed and took a sip of his beer.
Hall hit 350 meters and was really charging now, moving up on the outside while Hudson-Smith in lane six was fading with his form breaking down and his arms swinging wild.
Darius couldn't contain himself anymore. He jumped to his feet on the couch with his tiny fists pumping.
"U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!"
He jumped up and down while the couch bounced under him. Tobias grinned and held his beer steady.
"Which one, buddy? Quincy or Michael?"
Both were Americans and both were in the race.
Darius tilted his head as the baby body did it naturally. He processed the question and tried to say "Quincy," but it came out as "Kinky!"
Tobias laughed. "Quincy, huh? The guy in lane eight?"
Darius nodded enthusiastically.
On screen, the final fifty meters arrived as Hall pulled even with Hudson-Smith. Darius lost all composure.
"KINKY! KINKY! KINKY!"
He jumped on the couch with his arms flailing while Tobias reached out to steady him so he wouldn't fall, his shoulders still shaking from laughter.
Hall crossed first. 43.40 seconds. Olympic champion.
Darius screamed with that high-pitched toddler intensity, then jumped off the couch and started running around the living room. He did a lap around the coffee table with his arms spread like he was flying.
"KINKY WIN! KINKY WIN!"
Tobias watched his son sprint around the room, though it was more like fast wobbling than actual sprinting. He shook his head. "Your mom's gonna love hearing about this."
On screen, Hall collapsed flat on his back on the purple track with his arms and legs spread wide, making snow angels.
Darius stopped running and stared at the screen, then plopped down on the carpet and spread his arms and legs, trying to make snow angels on the carpet while giggling.
Tobias's laugh came out louder now, deeper. "You're something else, kid."
He got up and turned off the TV as the race coverage moved on to post-race interviews and medal ceremony prep. Tobias scooped up Darius. "Alright, track star. Time for bed."
"No!" Darius protested, but the word came out weak because he was tired and the excitement had completely drained his toddler body.
"Yes," Tobias said and carried him upstairs.
The bedtime routine was quick. Bath, pajamas, getting tucked into his toddler bed with the race car sheets.
"Night, Darius." Tobias kissed his forehead. "Dream about running."
He turned off the light and left the door cracked while his footsteps faded down the hallway.
Darius lay in the darkness of his small room decorated with cartoon race cars and a poster of a cartoon cheetah that said "Fast!" in bubble letters. His mind finally caught up to everything that had just happened.
I watched that race twice now. Once while dying. Once while living.
The contrast was stark between the first time when he'd been paralyzed and dying and alone, and this time when he had a healthy body and a father who loved him and a future stretching ahead. The first time had been the last moments of a wasted life, while this time was the beginning of a new one.
He was three years old, which meant he'd have to wait years before he could really train and compete and run the way he wanted to. But he had those years, which was more than he'd ever had before.
Tobias was kind and patient, laughing at Darius's antics and supporting his love of track. "Your mom's gonna love hearing about this." His mother was an Olympic runner, which seemed like incredible odds for a random placement.
Is this the "optimal insertion point" the system mentioned?
Being born into a family that understood athletics with a mother who competed at the Olympic level meant access to coaching and training and understanding. It made sense as a strategic placement.
But the wait was going to be long since he was three years old and could barely run without falling and could barely speak full sentences. His mind knew technique and strategy and training methods, but his body couldn't execute any of it yet.
GOATs weren't built in a day, though. He had time, more time than he'd ever had before. And when he was old enough and when his body could finally do what his mind knew, he'd be ready.
Quincy Hall just won Olympic gold and made snow angels on the track in pure joy. Someday, that'll be me. I just have to wait a little longer.
His eyes got heavy as the toddler body demanded rest. His mind was still buzzing but fading as thoughts fragmented. His mother would come home soon and he'd see her run eventually and learn from her and grow and train and compete.
Become GOAT.
His eyes closed as his breathing evened out and sleep took over. No system interface appeared, no prompts, just a three-year-old boy drifting off.
And in his dreams, he ran.