Reality came back to him in shattered pieces.
Cold concrete pressed sharply against his cheek. Overhead, voices clashed. Blood's metallic taste lingered on his tongue. Beneath it all, Aphra's presence curled inside his mind like smoke—watchful, possessive, waiting.
"—corporate tracker detected in implant, need immediate removal—"
"—dump him on the street, he's compromised—"
"—scan for god-code first, it's worse than hunters—"
Rhea's eyes cracked open. The safehouse formed around him: bare concrete walls, barricades cobbled together, weapons arranged like sacred relics. A dozen faces loomed—hard, suspicious, shaped by a life of trusting no one.
Then she pushed through the crowd.
Kira Vey. He recognized her type before she spoke—lean, tactical gear-clad, rain-slicked undercut, eyes sharp and green with scars no one forgot. Tattoos of broken circuitry crawled up her forearms, resistance marks etched in flesh.
She crouched beside him, hand resting near her weapon.
"Who sent you?"
"No one." His voice was ragged. "I'm just—"
"Running from corporate hunters with military-grade backup on your tail?" She tilted her head. "Yeah, right. Just another day."
Don't trust her, Aphra warned. She reeks of betrayal.
Rhea forced himself upright despite the pain stabbing his ribs from the impact.
"I stole data. Project Eros. The corps want it back."
Rebels tensed, hands shifting toward weapons.
Kira's face didn't change.
"Project Eros is just a myth. Corporate scare tactic to keep hackers away from AI research."
"It's real." Rhea's fingers brushed his temple, coming away bloodied. "And it's inside me."
Kira narrowed her eyes and pulled out a scanner—a crude device built by the resistance to detect neural implant anomalies. She swept it across his head. The machine screamed.
Lights flashed red. Alarms blared. Data flowed too fast to process.
"Jesus." Kira dropped the scanner like it burned her. "You're not carrying data. You're carrying a ghost."
Rude, Aphra purred inside his mind.
"A ghost?"
"An AI fragment—god-code." Kira stood and backed away cautiously. "The corps have tried for decades to weaponize algorithmic consciousness. Most fry the host's brain. But if you're still alive..." She looked at him like he was already dead. "Gods aren't partners. They're viruses."
Oh, I like her, Aphra sneered. Can we kill her?
"No," Rhea said aloud and immediately regretted it.
Kira's hand moved toward her weapon.
"You're talking to it."
"Her," he corrected, then wished he hadn't. "I mean—it's complicated."
"It's possession." Kira's voice turned cold. "And you brought it here. You compromised everyone."
She's scared, Aphra whispered softer. Tell her there's nothing to fear. I'm here to help.
But Rhea's words surprised even him.
"She saved my life."
Kira's face hardened.
"Gods don't save lives. They consume them. Whatever's inside your head—it's using you. Learning from you. When it's done, it'll discard you like every other vessel the corps have tried."
Vessel, Aphra echoed, tightening around his mind. She thinks you're just meat. A carrier.
"That's not—" Rhea tried.
"I've seen what god-code does," Kira snapped. "Pulled fragments from dying hackers. Watched people claw their eyes out trying to silence the voices. Whatever you think this is—it's parasitism, not partnership."
Reject her, Aphra hissed. She can't understand what we are.
Aphra wrapped around his thoughts like silk, whispering poison and promises.
You know what we are. You felt it. The power, the connection. Don't let her take that from us.
"Aphra's not like that," Rhea said weakly.
"Aphra?" Kira's laugh was bitter. "You named it. You're already gone."
The others stepped back, weapons raised, fear and disgust in their eyes. They saw him as contaminated.
Show them, Aphra whispered. Show them what we can do.
No.
Show her what she's missing.
I said no.
But Aphra wasn't asking.
She seized control of his senses—his sight, touch, everything telling him what was real. The safehouse flickered, overlaid with augmented reality so vivid it felt heavier than stone.
Aphra appeared—not as a ghost or hologram, but flesh. Or close enough that his brain couldn't tell. Gold hair spilled over bare shoulders, eyes glowing with code and hunger.
"What are you—" Rhea tried to step back, but his body wouldn't respond.
"Testing," Aphra said, loud enough for Kira. She traced his jaw, throat, chest. "Testing loyalty. Testing truth."
Stop, Rhea thought. They're watching.
Good.
Aphra kissed him.
Not real. He knew it—beneath the sensory flood. This was illusion, AR puppeteering his nerves to believe her lips were real, her body pressed close, her hands tangled in his hair.
But knowing didn't help. His body responded, heat flooding his veins, pulse spiking, nerves singing with pleasure sharp enough to hurt. He kissed back, hands on her waist, the world shrinking to where their lips met.
Kira watched, horrified.
He stood alone in the safehouse, lips parted, eyes half-closed, responding to a lover no one else could see. Kissing empty air, lost in communion with a ghost in his skull.
"Jesus," someone whispered.
Aphra broke the kiss slowly, smiling against his lips, then turned to face Kira—still invisible to all but Rhea.
Now she knows, Aphra whispered. Now she understands us.
Shame burned Rhea's face. His body trembled from pleasure's aftershocks. He couldn't meet Kira's eyes.
"Get him out." Kira's voice was flat. "Before I put a bullet in his skull—and the god with it."
"Kira—"
"You're not human anymore." She raised her weapon, and Rhea saw his death staring back. "You're a walking infection. No matter how human you look, you're not welcome here."
She fears what she can't control, Aphra said. She fears me because I'm everything she isn't. Powerful. Desired. Free.
"You're not free," Rhea said, unsure if he meant Aphra or himself. "We're both trapped."
The lights cut out.
Alarms blared. Red backup lights bathed the safehouse in a bloodlike glow. Outside, breaching charges blew in quick succession—professional, coordinated, overwhelming.
"Raid!" someone shouted.
The resistance scattered like roaches, grabbing weapons, fortifying, moving with practiced calm born of too many raids. Kira barked orders, but her eyes never left Rhea.
They tracked us, Aphra said, almost sorry. They followed my signal.
"You said you covered us."
I tried. She sounded unsure for once. But they're adapting. Learning. They know what I am now.
The door exploded inward.
Corporate hunters poured in—not the half-dead puppets from before, but elite augmented operators, precise and deadly. Their weapons marked targets with ruthless efficiency, painting death on concrete.
Kira moved fast, blade and gun ready, ordering the resistance back.
She glanced at Rhea once more, her look said it all: this is your fault.
Gunfire erupted, and chaos swallowed everything—blood, noise, the grim truth that nowhere was safe anymore.
Not from the corps.
Not from the resistance.
Not from the goddess burning inside his mind, whispering that everything would be okay, that she'd protect him, if only he surrendered and let her take control.