Chapter 9: "Fragments Between Worlds."
Alex was really looking forward to the weekends. But that got ruined when he first stepped foot into the virtual society. Now, he is back to the weekdays. The school days.
Soft drizzle tapped against the windows, threading reflections across the floors like digital rain. The kind of morning that should've felt normal. Comforting. But to Alex Steele, nothing had felt normal since the Genesis Console embedded itself into his life. Since he fused with something not entirely artificial—or entirely human.
He walked with his hood low, footsteps slow, the city's muted rhythm pressing against his skin. Each breath tasted of metal and memory. Beneath his calm exterior, his thoughts circled endlessly.
Maybe I'm not ready.
The idea had clawed into his mind sometime between collapsing on his bed and waking up with Genesis whispering code fragments into his dreams. He wasn't trained like Lena. Not seasoned like Mira or Taro. The console had chosen him, sure—but what if it had chosen wrong?
Genesis's voice buzzed gently in his neural link. "You're unusually introspective this morning. Might I suggest either coffee or cognitive recalibration?"
Alex exhaled through a half-smile. "Maybe both."
"You're more capable than you think, Alex. Core-link sync rates don't lie. And besides, you did survive Morrow. Techincally you've proven yourself."
Alex gave a low chuckle, eyes scanning the rainy outdoor. "Sometimes I wonder if that's survival… or luck."
"Statistical overlap suggests it might be both. But I'd wager on you again."
Inside his second-period classroom, the atmosphere was heavy with the usual hum of screens and soft murmurs. Lena sat near the window, her long black jacket draped across the back of her chair like armor. The blue glint of her VR-wristband flickered faintly. She didn't look at him when he entered, but her posture shifted—a subtle tension he couldn't miss.
He slid into the seat behind her.
During the group break, she finally turned, just slightly. "You left."
" I have a life you know," Alex replied. " I wasn't planning on staying there permanently."
Lena looked at him fully now. Her gaze was sharp, but not cold. "You didn't expect to have the console and live a normal life did you…?"
Alex leaned closer " No, but at least I should."
" This is what Kade tried to show you. You can't handle this responsibility and your personal life at the same time," Lena said.
" Of course I can," Alex replied.
" Yesterday I saw the diagnostics. You synced with Genesis past safe thresholds."
Alex leaned forward. " I saved your life, Lena."
" I saved your life twice," Lena replied.
A beat of silence.
"... Anyway, thanks" she said, her voice quieting. "But you need to understand. We're not just playing defense anymore. Every move matters. And if you burn out because you're trying to prove something—"
"I'm not trying to prove anything," Alex interrupted. "I just did what had to be done for the team."
Her brows drew together. "You think you're invincible. You're not. If you lose the console—you'll put us at risk. I've watched people lose everything in this line of work—friends. Family. There's no do-over in real loss."
Alex hesitated, caught between wanting to argue and understanding her grief.
Lena stood slowly, her jacket slung over one shoulder. "Don't make me watch another teammate fall."
Before he could find the words to answer, she walked off.
Genesis chimed in quietly, "That girl's heart is a fortified data vault. But there's a flicker in there."
Alex stared after her. "Yeah. I know."
Later that afternoon, in the underground HQ of the Virtual Society, Alex wandered the metallic corridors. The lights overhead pulsed with soft blue, casting shifting shadows across the steel floors.
He passed through the sim-hall and spotted Mira leaning against a wall, sipping from a hydration tube. Taro lounged nearby, bandaged nose, half-buried in diagnostic graphs.
"Well, if it isn't Monridge's newest glow-stick," Mira called, tossing him a nutrient bar. "You look like you crawled out of a data crash."
"Rough day," Alex said, catching the bar. He took a breath. "Hey… are you two okay? After Morrow, I mean."
Taro pushed up his goggles, eyes meeting Alex's. "We're fine. Minor sync distortion, nothing the med-lab couldn't clean up."
Mira nodded. "Yeah. We've seen worse. But thanks for asking. You okay?"
"I don't know," Alex admitted. "Lena's right. I rush in. I act like I've got control when I don't."
Mira stepped closer. "You've got instincts. That's not a flaw. Just… balance them with caution."
Taro grinned. "Also, Lena probably likes you. She just packages it in trauma and seriousness."
Alex flushed. "She doesn't—"
"Oh, she does," Taro said with a wink. "But hey, new kid—you did good back there. You saved our butts. Guess you're not just some random pick by the console. You've got something."
Alex smiled then turned to Mira when he remembered something " Is Kade okay?"
" Um, no. He is in coma, but he will wake soon hopefully," Mira replied.
" Oh," Alex voice lowered.
Mira looked at her wrist watch.
" Hey Taro come. We have a problem in the control room let's go," Mira said.
Taro stood " oh," and turned to Alex " I guess later then."
As they walked away, Alex waited until their footsteps faded down the corridor. Curiosity tugged at him like a thread. Instead of heading back, he slipped through the half-open door Taro had come from.
Inside, the space thrummed with quiet energy. Dim blue lights lined the walls, casting a glow over scattered tech—loose circuit boards, worn gloves, a wall-mounted holo-map still flickering with encrypted coordinates. It was cluttered but alive, like the mind of its owner. This was Taro's space—half workshop, half digital sanctuary.
Alex's eyes wandered across the mess until they landed on a compact terminal in the corner, its interface still active. He hesitated, then stepped closer. The screen pulsed faintly, displaying a list of archived surveillance feeds. Without thinking, he tapped the top file: 04.15 – Corridor C.
The screen blinked. Static. Then—
Voices.
"...He's not ready," said Commander Myles. His tone was hard, clipped. "He barely controls it. The console should've gone to someone with senior training."
"He's syncing faster than we predicted," came Kade's calm reply. "The console chose him and wouldn't choose anyone else. We can't change that."
Myles exhaled. His voice lowered. "Do you remember what the Genesis Console is? What it was used for before it went dark? This isn't just a tool—it's a weapon. If the wrong people find out it's online again…"
There was a pause, and Alex leaned in unconsciously.
"They'd come for him," Myles continued. "And for us. And not everyone in the Society has clean motives."
"I know the risks," Kade said. "But I've seen Alex in the field. He's rough, sure—but he's also real. He reacts with instinct and empathy. That's rare."
"You're gambling lives on this, Kade."
"I already have."
The footage ended in a hiss of static. Alex stood frozen, the screen's glow reflecting off his eyes.
Alex backed away from the footage , his breath caught in his chest.
Genesis whispered, "So… not everyone believes in you. Not yet."
Alex didn't answer. But the weight in his chest hardened into something sharper.
Later, during a cooldown break in the sim-garden, the pulse-light trees glowed soft lavender. Alex found a quiet spot to rest—but noticed someone sitting beneath the central tree.
A girl, around his age, cross-legged and humming quietly to herself. Her copper-blonde braid glinted under the lights. In her hands was a shifting holo-puzzle, flickering with fragmented algorithms.
She looked up and smiled. "Hey. You're Alex, right?"
He hesitated. "Yeah. And you are?"
"Sera. Just transferred from Central Branch." She tilted her head. "I heard about you. Sentient console bonding and all that. Pretty impressive."
Alex blinked. "People talk fast."
"They do. Especially when someone makes waves."
He offered a cautious smile. "You into simulations?"
"I build them," she said, her voice proud but kind. "Want to see one sometime?"
Something in Alex eased. Maybe it was her openness. Maybe it was the way her presence didn't press—just invited.
"Yeah," he said. "I'd like that."
Genesis hummed. "Romantic tension index: recalibrating. Lena may have competition."
Alex rolled his eyes. "Not everything is about tension."
But deep down, he felt it too.
Something had shifted. And it wasn't over.