Alex had been looking forward to the weekend. That hope disintegrated the moment he stepped into the Virtual Society. Now it was back to weekdays. Back to school.
Soft drizzle tapped against the windows, painting shifting reflections across the floor like digital static. It should've been a normal morning. Comforting, even. But for 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. Every breath tasted like metal and memory. Beneath his calm exterior, his thoughts churned.
Maybe I'm not ready.
That doubt had clawed its way in sometime between collapsing on his bed and waking up to Genesis whispering code fragments into his dreams. He wasn't trained like Lena. Not battle-tested like Mira or Taro. Sure, the console had chosen him—but what if it had made a mistake?
Genesis's voice buzzed in his neural link. "You're unusually introspective this morning. I suggest either coffee... or a cognitive recalibration."
Alex exhaled through a half-smile. "Maybe both."
"You're more capable than you think. Core-sync rates don't lie. Besides, you survived Morrow. Technically, you've already proven yourself."
Alex chuckled lowly, eyes scanning the rain-slicked streets. "Sometimes I wonder if that was survival… or just luck."
"Statistically, it was probably both. But I'd still bet on you."
Inside his second-period classroom, the air buzzed with the soft hum of screens and background murmurs. Lena sat by the window, her black jacket draped over her chair like armor. The blue glow of her VR-band pulsed faintly. She didn't look at him when he entered, but her posture shifted—a subtle tension he noticed immediately.
He slid into the seat behind her.
During the break, she finally turned slightly. "You left."
"I have a life, you know," Alex replied. "Didn't plan on living in that place forever."
She turned fully to face him now, gaze sharp but not cold. "You didn't expect to bond with a sentient console and still live a normal life, did you?"
Alex leaned forward, voice low. "No. But maybe I should be allowed to try."
"This is exactly what Kade warned you about. You can't handle both. Not at the same time."
"Sure I can."
Lena's voice dropped. "I saw your diagnostics. You synced with Genesis past safe thresholds."
"I saved your life, Lena."
She didn't flinch. "I saved your life. Twice."
Silence.
Then, softer, "…Thanks," she said. "But listen. We're not just playing defense anymore. Every decision matters. If you burn out trying to prove something—"
"I'm not trying to prove anything," Alex cut in. "I did what had to be done."
Her brow furrowed. "You think you're invincible. You're not. And if you lose control of the console, you don't just risk yourself—you risk us. I've watched people lose everything in this line. Friends. Family. There's no respawn in real life."
Alex stayed quiet, caught between defensiveness and guilt.
Lena stood, slipping her jacket on. "Don't make me watch another teammate fall."
Before he could respond, she walked away.
Genesis's voice stirred gently. "That girl's heart is a fortified data vault. But there's a flicker in there."
Alex stared after her. "Yeah. I know."
That afternoon, deep beneath the city in the Virtual Society's underground HQ, Alex wandered the metallic corridors. Overhead, the lights pulsed a dim blue, casting long 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, nose bandaged, buried in a cluster of diagnostic graphs.
"Well, if it isn't Monridge's newest glowstick," Mira called, tossing him a nutrient bar. "You look like you lost a fight with a data storm."
"Rough day," Alex muttered, catching the bar. He paused. "Hey… you two doing okay? After Morrow, I mean."
Taro adjusted his goggles, looking up. "We're good. Just some sync distortion. Nothing the med lab couldn't fix."
Mira nodded. "We've been through worse. But thanks for asking. What about you?"
Alex hesitated. "Honestly… I don't know. Lena's right. I rush in. I act like I've got control when I don't."
Mira stepped closer, her expression softening. "You've got instincts. That's not a weakness. Just… learn when to trust them—and when to wait."
Taro smirked. "Also, Lena probably likes you. She just hides it behind sarcasm and near-death lectures."
Alex flushed. "She doesn't—"
"Oh, she definitely does," Taro added with a wink. "But hey—new kid, you saved us back there. You're more than some random console glitch. You've got something."
Alex smiled, then turned to Mira, remembering something. "Is Kade… okay?"
Mira's face sobered. "He's still in a coma. But med says his vitals are steady. We're hoping he wakes up soon."
"Oh," Alex said quietly. "I didn't know it was that bad."
Mira glanced at her watch, then at Taro. "Come on, control room flagged something. Let's check it out."
Taro stretched, then turned to Alex. "We'll talk later."
As they walked off, Alex waited until their footsteps faded—then slipped into the room Taro had just left.
The space buzzed with quiet energy. Blue lights lined the walls, illuminating half-finished gadgets, old gloves, and a holo-map blinking with encrypted coordinates. Taro's personal space—a cross between a workshop and a hacker's meditation zone.
Alex's gaze landed on a compact terminal in the corner. Still active.
He hesitated, then tapped the top feed: 04.15 – Corridor C.
The screen flickered.
"…He's not ready," came Commander Myles' voice. Firm. Clipped. "He barely controls it. The console should've gone to someone with experience."
"He's syncing faster than predicted," replied Kade, calm as always. "The console chose him. It won't choose anyone else."
Myles sighed. "You remember what the Genesis Console is? What it was built for? If the wrong people learn it's active again…"
"They'll come for him," Myles said. "And for us. And not everyone in this organization has clean motives."
"I know the risks," Kade replied. "But I've seen him in action. He's raw—but real. He reacts with instinct and empathy. That matters."
"You're gambling lives."
"I already have."
The feed ended in a hiss of static.
Alex stared at the dark screen. Silent.
Genesis whispered, "So… not everyone believes in you. Not yet."
Alex didn't answer. But something shifted in his chest—uncertainty sharpening into resolve.
Later, in the sim-garden, the light-pulse trees glowed soft lavender. Alex found a quiet bench to rest, but spotted someone already sitting under the central tree.
A girl around his age, cross-legged, humming to herself. Copper-blonde braid catching the light. She twisted a flickering holo-puzzle in her hands—patterns of fractured code.
She looked up. Smiled. "Hey. You're Alex, right?"
He blinked. "Uh… yeah. And you are?"
"Sera. Just transferred from Central Branch." She tilted her head slightly. "I heard about you. Sentient console bonding and all that. Kinda impressive."
Alex gave a small, cautious smile. "People talk fast around here."
"They do. Especially when someone shakes the system."
"You into simulations?"
"I build them," she said proudly. "Want to see one sometime?"
Something in Alex relaxed. Maybe it was her calm. Maybe it was just the fact that she didn't push—just offered.
"Yeah," he said. "I'd like that."
Genesis buzzed gently. "Romantic tension index: rising. Lena may have competition."
Alex rolled his eyes. "Not everything's about tension."
But a small part of him wondered.
Something had shifted.
And whatever this was—it was just getting started.