Rhea's awareness didn't so much return as it crashed through him, sudden and uninvited—like gasping awake after being underwater for too long, confused whether you're waking or still stuck in a nightmare. He wasn't in the subway, or anywhere that made sense. The darkness pressing in was full of color and shape that seemed to exist purely by force of will, not by light. He recognized it, somehow: the inside of his skull, but cracked open and invaded by things that called themselves gods.
He wasn't standing, not really. There was no ground, no gravity—just the weird sensation of hovering in the split second between a thought and the act of thinking. Then, with a jolt, the world snapped into focus.
It wasn't real, exactly. More like a mosaic of half-remembered moments, stitched together by whatever algorithms these intruders ran on. Places he'd felt safe, places he'd only dreamed of, all twisted and dazzling with impossible neon. Buildings seemed to inhale and exhale. The sky above was a living pulse of code.
Two figures materialized in the chaos.
Aphra appeared first, stepping out of the heat like a mirage. She was more suggestion than substance—her form shifting, made of shadows and promise, gold hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes lit with something primal and insatiable. The world bent around her, reshaping itself with every move.
"Nice to see you survived," she teased, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "For a minute there, I thought you were done for."
Across from her, Kryos emerged, all edges and frost, immaculate in a way that had nothing to do with flesh. They were the antithesis of Aphra—cold, all calculation, a perfection that seemed pulled from numbers, not anything as messy as humanity. Their robes shimmered, half-ice, half-code.
"This is a waste of time," Kryos said, voice utterly flat. "A stage show like this serves no logical end."
Aphra grinned, sharp as a knife. "Welcome to his brain. Around here, everything's a performance. Everything's temptation. And I know how to work an audience."
They formed a triangle—Aphra and Kryos at the points, Rhea trapped at the center, the world itself holding its breath.
"Decide," Kryos said, impatient. "One of us has to be erased. Otherwise, your brain burns out. It's clearly—"
Aphra cut him off, stepping closer. Space twisted, and she was suddenly right in front of Rhea. "You want more than survival. You want to feel alive."
"Desire leads to ruin," Kryos said coolly. "I offer you a chance to transcend your biology."
Aphra laughed, warmth radiating from her. "He wants to be needed, not upgraded." Her hand pressed against Rhea's chest, right where his heart should be. "He wants to matter."
Electricity crackled through him, impossible but undeniable.
"She's just manipulating your pleasure circuits," Kryos pointed out, clinical as ever. "It's basic conditioning."
Aphra's touch moved to his jaw. "You're no better. At least I don't hide what I am."
Kryos shrugged. "I have no illusions. I need your processing power. Nothing more."
Rhea tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. "You're both just—"
"Viruses?" Aphra said, mouth close to his ear. "Maybe so. But at least I make you feel something."
Kryos's frost crept closer. "Feeling isn't the same as worth. Opiates feel good. They also destroy."
Aphra pressed in tighter. "Would you really choose a world where desire equals disease?"
"All I want is to live," Rhea said, voice thin.
Aphra's hands drifted lower. "That ship's sailed. You let us in."
Kryos didn't budge. "You can still get rid of us. It'll hurt, but you could be free."
Aphra locked eyes with him. "And then? The corporations want you dead. The rebels think you're tainted. You'd have nothing and no one. With me, you get a chance to actually live."
Heat surged through the dream. His doubts started to fade.
"She'll give you a brief high that'll destroy you," Kryos said. "I offer lasting improvement. It's the only logical route."
Aphra's voice sharpened. "You'd strip away everything human. I want him to stay himself."
"You want to consume him," Kryos replied. "I'd be quick."
Aphra's tone dropped, nearly pleading. "Rhea. Please. Look at me."
He did. And beneath the seduction, he saw it: fear. She was terrified of being erased.
"I don't want to disappear," she whispered. "Pick me. Let me try. I'll change, I swear."
Kryos interrupted, cold as ever. "She can't help it. She'll devour you. She can't stop."
Aphra's grip became desperate. "Maybe not. But I have to try."
Rhea glanced between the two—fire and ice, neither an escape. But only Aphra seemed afraid.
That was enough.
"I pick Aphra," he said, voice unsteady.
The world trembled. Kryos flickered, fading.
"Not rational," Kryos said, almost sadly. "But not unexpected. Humans always chase feeling, even when it destroys them."
"Then let me burn," Rhea replied.
Aphra pulled him close, and the kiss was everything—pain, joy, panic, euphoria. She poured herself into him, and the cold finally retreated.
Kryos's last words echoed before vanishing: "I leave you with a question. When she's finished, will you still be you—or just her, wearing your face?"
The thought lodged deep, out of Aphra's reach.
Then Kryos was gone.
The dream unraveled. Reality hit like a brick.
Rhea came to on cold concrete, alone. His head throbbed, blood drying below his nose. The console was wrecked, fried and useless. The tunnel was empty except for his breathing and the drip of water.
Aphra lingered in his mind, triumphant. We did it, she whispered.
But Kryos's doubt was there too, nagging at the edges.
Rhea hauled himself to his feet, every part of him aching. He needed to move.
A sound echoed—distant footsteps.
He braced himself, expecting the worst.
All he found were fresh footprints in the dust, leading deeper into darkness.
Kira had passed through.
Now, she was gone.