Christopher awoke to the light stinging rhythm of someone gently slapping his face, just enough to stir consciousness.
His eyelids fluttered, heart hammering as unfamiliar ceiling lights greeted him. Disoriented, he jolted upright on the surgical bed—only to tumble off with a panicked gasp. He hit the cold ground hard, gasping for air, adrenaline roaring through a body that felt… foreign.
Standing before him was a man in a perfectly pressed charcoal suit, dark shades gleaming even under the surgical lights. Impossibly still. Impossibly calm.
"Wait for it," the man said, holding up a gloved hand coolly.
Christopher's stomach twisted violently, and a moment later, he doubled over, vomiting onto the floor.
The man didn't flinch. Only waited. Then he stepped forward.
"Don't ask me who I am," the man said. His voice was dry, composed, laced with a knowing authority. "Ask me why you're still alive."
Christopher looked up at him, eyes wide, pulse thrumming. Then he looked down—at his arms, his hands—only to find that they weren't his.
They were someone else's.
He staggered to his feet, pushing past the wave of nausea, and stumbled toward a broken mirror mounted crudely on the far wall. What stared back at him wasn't Christopher. It was Max Erbinger.
"What… what did you do to me?" Christopher croaked, backing away from the mirror in horror. He twisted his arms, slapped his chest, touched his face. Nothing felt right. Everything was wrong.
"Don't move around too much," the man warned calmly, stepping closer. "Sit and listen. You've got five minutes before Max's personal security system boots back online. And when that happens, you'll be forced to decide whether you want to live… or not."
Christopher's eyes darted wildly, catching sight of two bodies laid out on medical slabs. One was the hacker—slumped, pale, a bullet wound in his temple. The other… was him.
His original body. Lifeless.
He made a desperate step toward it, but the suited man moved to block him. There was no aggression—only certainty.
"This isn't your savior," something cold whispered inside him.
He sat.
The man crouched before him. "CoreTech will be here any moment. When Max's system went down, his masters must've gone into a panic. So you're going to listen to me. We've been waiting for Max to make a move like this for a long time—ever since he got your scans. I'll admit, we almost scrapped the plan. But then you came along. You… solidified everything."
Christopher swallowed hard. "Who are you?"
The man ignored the question and continued, voice unbroken. "When CoreTech arrives, they'll ask what happened. You'll tell them the operation failed. Say your hacker turned out to be a Bineth mole. He tried to kill you. You survived. That's the narrative."
"And if they run checks—?"
"They will," the man said. "If they find the slightest anomaly, they'll bag your body and burn it before anyone asks questions. But don't worry… I handled it. That's what I do."
Christopher's breathing was shallow now. "Handled it… how?"
"With expertise." He stood. "You're Max Erbinger now. You work for Bineth. And there's only one thing that matters to you—passing CoreTech's integrity test when they arrive. Don't try to find me. I'll find you… when it's time."
Christopher's voice cracked. "The campaign. Is this about it? You want me to give it up?"
The man stopped at the door, just before vanishing into shadow.
"On the contrary," he said, with a faint, almost amused smile. "We want you to win."
Then he turned back one last time.
"Oh. And don't tell anyone about our little secret. You're currently inhabiting an unactivated Bineth. I don't need to remind you what happens if it gets switched on. I'll be watching you… monkey."
And with that, Gilmor Crest shimmered, dissappeared.
Christopher was alone. Only the low hum of reactivating servers and the rising wail of sirens in the distance remained—like the signal of a world collapsing quietly around him.