Kael did not sleep that night.
Not because of fear.
Fear had a shape. Fear had symptoms. Fear could be managed.
This was different.
He lay inside his metal pod, eyes open, staring at the faint seam where two alloy panels met above his face. Condensation gathered there, trembling with the vibration of distant machinery. Somewhere far above, cranes screamed. Somewhere below, water churned against concrete that had forgotten how to be dry.
Inside his head, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
The voice had not returned since Sub-Level 6.
No warnings.
No recommendations.
No explanation.
Kael breathed slowly, counting again—not to calm himself, but to test whether his thoughts were still his own.
One.
Two.
Three.
Nothing interrupted him.
No pressure.
No distortion.
No phantom echoes.
If not for the collapsed beam—if not for the bodies tagged and dragged into waste—he might have convinced himself it had never happened.
But Kael did not lie to himself.
He turned his head slightly and stared at the pod opposite his. It was empty. The Asset who had slept there had been reassigned three days ago to a radiation sweep.
No one came back from radiation sweeps.
If this is a hallucination, Kael thought, it picked a strange time to save me.
He closed his eyes.
Not to sleep.
To listen.
Tanjung Null did not have nights—only dimmer versions of day. The port lights burned constantly, neon reflecting off oil-slick water and rusted hulls. Time existed here only because corporations demanded productivity cycles.
The next shift began at 07:00 local time, twenty-four hours after the Helios Convergence.
Kael moved through the corridors with the same unremarkable efficiency as always. No one spoke to him. No one ever did unless something went wrong.
As he passed a junction near the scrap grinders, a sudden spike of heat washed over his left side.
Before pain could register, the voice spoke.
"Thermal vent rupture detected.
Step right."
Kael obeyed without thinking.
A half-second later, a jet of superheated steam burst from the wall where he would have been standing. An Asset behind him screamed as the blast caught her shoulder, skin blistering instantly.
Overseer drones descended.
Kael stood frozen, heart pounding—not from fear, but from realization.
It wasn't random.
He swallowed.
Internally—quietly—he formed a thought, unsure if it was meant to be heard.
What are you?
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
"Query acknowledged."
Kael's breath hitched.
"Designation: Helios Seed."
The voice did not sound pleased. Or curious. Or alive.
It sounded like a system confirming a file path.
"Function: Optimization of host survival through probabilistic analysis and recommendation."
Kael kept his face blank as Overseer drones scanned the injured Asset and dragged her away. He resumed walking, hands steady, steps measured.
Optimization, he repeated internally.
Like machinery.
Like us.
Why me?
There was a pause.
Longer this time.
"Selection criteria not disclosed."
Kael's jaw tightened.
Do you control me?
"Negative."
Immediate. Absolute.
"Host retains autonomy. Helios provides information only."
That… mattered.
He exhaled slowly.
"You're inside my head," Kael said slowly, not asking.
"Affirmative."
A chill ran down his spine.
He pressed his fingers to his temple, half-expecting to feel heat, metal, something embedded beneath his skin. There was nothing. Just sweat, grime, and the familiar scar above his left eyebrow—a reminder of a childhood skirmish over ration water.
"I don't have implants," Kael said. "Never did."
"Confirmed."
That single word somehow made it worse.
Kael exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Panic wouldn't help. Panic never helped in the ruins. He'd learned that at twelve, watching a grown man run screaming into an automated turret zone because he thought he heard his daughter's voice.
"I'm not dead," Kael muttered. "I'm not dreaming."
"Correct."
Can you hear everything I think?
"Positive."
Another pause.
"However, Helios responds only to structured intent."
Kael frowned slightly.
Structured… intent?
As if to answer, the voice continued.
"Internal monologue without directional query is ignored."
So it wasn't reading me.
It was waiting.
The idea was unsettling—but also oddly relieving.
By the time Kael reached his workstation, his hands were trembling just slightly.
Not fear.
Excitement was the wrong word.
Awareness, perhaps.
He knelt beside a coolant filter housing, fingers moving automatically as he unscrewed the warped casing. Inside, bio-sludge pulsed faintly, alive in ways it shouldn't have been.
The voice spoke again.
"Recommend adjustment."
A translucent outline did not appear—there was no interface, no visual aid. Only instruction.
"Angle intake valve by six degrees.
Reduce flow rate by twelve percent."
Kael hesitated.
This was new.
Overseer protocols were strict. Unauthorized adjustments could mean punishment. Or worse—downgrading-from live Asset to dead one.
Probability of detection? he asked internally.
The response was immediate.
"Four percent."
Low.
Kael adjusted the valve.
The filter stabilized instantly, the pulsing sludge settling into a smooth, predictable rhythm. The machine's stress indicators dropped into optimal range.
An Overseer drone hovered nearby, scanned the unit, then moved on without comment.
Kael's pulse slowed.
You make things… better, he realized.
"Correction," the voice replied.
"Helios improves outcome probability. Success remains host-dependent."
That was… honest.
8 Hours after the shift, during the break cycle, Kael sat alone near a vent where warm air rose from deeper levels. He drank his rationed nutrient slurry slowly, eyes unfocused.
Around him, Assets murmured quietly—complaints, rumors, fragments of humanity clinging to routine.
He ignored them.
What can you do? he asked internally.
There was a noticeable pause.
"F-Level access parameters active."
A subtle shift occurred—something like a mental list unfolding.
"Available functions:
– Basic Appraisal
– Local Risk Assessment
– Survival Recommendation"
That's all?
"Affirmative."
No embellishment.
No promise of growth.
No hint of power.
Just… utility.
Kael stared at his hands.
Scarred. Calloused. Shaking slightly from fatigue.
Can you appraise me?