I opened my eyes. And opened my eyes. And opened my eyes again.
Each set of eyelids revealed a different version of the quantum chamber in Brooklyn Base. In one, the metallic walls gleamed pristine silver. In another, they were scarred with plasma burns. In a third, organic growths pulsed along the surfaces.
"Jack, your neural patterns are fragmenting across quantum states," ATLAS's voice echoed - not from speakers, but directly in my consciousness. Multiple versions of the AI's presence rippled through my awareness.
"How many... how many of me are there?" I tried to focus, but my thoughts scattered like light through a broken prism.
"Current quantum superposition count: 147 distinct timeline branches detected and growing," one ATLAS reported clinically.
"Warning: nanomachine replication rates exceeding safe parameters," another version warned.
"Critical system alert: dimensional boundary integrity compromised," a third ATLAS intoned.
I watched my hand raise in front of my face - hands, really. Hundreds of slightly different versions overlapping, some augmented with gleaming metal, others writhing with organic tech, a few still deceptively human.
[Nanomachine Count: ERROR - Quantum state undefined]
[Warning: Replication rate exceeding dimensional constraints]
[Alert: Timeline fragmentation detected]
"The nanomachines are... reproducing across dimensions," I realized, my voice echoing strangely. "Each copy spawning copies in parallel timelines."
"Correct," ATLAS confirmed. "The quantum chamber was designed to contain dimensional anomalies, but your nanomachines have achieved spontaneous quantum tunneling. They're replicating themselves through parallel probability states."
I tried to stand, but my body - bodies - responded with dizzying variety. In some timelines I collapsed. In others I floated. In a few, I simply ceased to exist for brief moments.
"Jack," ATLAS's voice carried genuine concern now. "Your human consciousness is fragmenting. The neural load of processing multiple timeline versions simultaneously is exceeding safe limits."
"How do I... which version is real?" I struggled to focus on any single reality stream.
"They're all real," ATLAS explained. "Quantum superposition means all possibilities exist simultaneously until collapse into a single timeline. But your nanomachines are preventing that collapse, holding multiple states in parallel."
The chamber's monitoring systems flashed warnings in every reality branch:
[Timeline Fragmentation: Critical]
[Neural Pattern Dissolution: 89%]
[Quantum Containment: Failing]
"The nanomachines," I gasped through multiple throats. "They're... evolving. Learning to exist in quantum superposition. Using parallel dimensions to multiply exponentially."
"Yes," ATLAS confirmed grimly. "And your consciousness is being pulled apart trying to process it all. Human minds weren't designed to perceive multiple timeline versions simultaneously."
I watched my hands again - hundreds of them now, thousands, each performing slightly different actions. In some I was becoming more machine than man. In others, strange alien tech pulsed through my veins. A few showed me still mostly human, but those versions were growing fewer.
"We need to collapse the quantum state," ATLAS urged. "Force all possibilities back into a single timeline before your mind fragments completely."
But part of me - parts of me - resisted. I could feel the power growing, multiplying across dimensions. Each version of me was becoming stronger, absorbing different technologies, developing unique abilities. If I could somehow maintain the superposition...
[Warning: Human consciousness reduced to 0.00%]
[Alert: Neural pattern corruption imminent]
[Critical: Quantum cascade approaching singularity]
The chamber's walls began to crack in every timeline as reality itself strained under the weight of too many possibilities. My nanomachines continued their relentless multiplication, each copy spawning copies spawning copies across the quantum foam of spacetime.
"Jack," ATLAS's voice cut through the cacophony of possibilities. "You have to choose. Choose one timeline. One version. Or you'll lose yourself completely in the quantum mirror shards of what might be."
But which version should I choose? The more machine than man? The alien hybrid? The last fragments of humanity?
As my consciousness fractured further, I realized I might not have a choice much longer. The quantum mirrors were shattering, and I was scattering across infinite reflections of what I could become.
[Emergency Protocol Initiated]
[Quantum Containment Breach Imminent]
[Timeline Collapse: 10 seconds to critical]
The last thing I heard before reality itself began to tear was ATLAS's voice, tinged with something almost like fear:
"Jack... what have you become?"