Mocking of Gods
For a long moment, he remained still, allowing the new sensation of warmth to settle within him. It was a strange, unfamiliar presence, unlike anything he had known before—if he had ever known anything before at all. There was a quiet hum in the depths of his being, an energy that had not been there before, spreading through him in slow, deliberate waves.
He lingered in that moment, trying to grasp the enormity of it.
"So," he said at last, speaking with careful deliberation, as if testing the weight of his own words, "ATP is generated because I ate, and that's what makes me… live?"
There was a brief pause before she answered, though not one of hesitation. Taltos never hesitated. Rather, it was the kind of pause that suggested some form of assessment, as though she were evaluating the significance of his statement before deigning to respond.
"You are adapting faster than anticipated."
Her voice, as ever, remained devoid of warmth, carrying only the precise, measured detachment of something that understood the mechanics of existence but cared nothing for them.
Despite himself, he felt a flicker of satisfaction. He had done something correctly—a rare occurrence in this strange, uncertain existence.
"I try," he muttered, perhaps a little too pleased with himself.
If she noticed his pride, she had no inclination to let it remain.
"It is reassuring," she continued, her tone as perfectly even as ever, "that despite your staggering incompetence in all other fields, you are at least capable of grasping the most rudimentary biochemical processes. I'm proud of you."
Whatever satisfaction he had gained withered immediately.
"You know," he said, forcing himself to sound composed, "it is really, really tiresome hearing you insult me in the most lifeless way imaginable."
"Acknowledged."
Nothing else. No explanation, no defense. Just acceptance.
He thought for a moment about arguing further, but what was the point? He had learned by now that Taltos was an immovable force, unwavering in her function, immune to all attempts at reasoning, mockery, or irritation. He would exhaust himself before he ever got so much as a flicker of regret out of her.
And so, with a weary acceptance of his fate, he turned his attention to something far more pressing.
"That plasmid," he said, carefully pushing past his discomfort, "the one that was forced into me. What exactly is inside it? You told me it contains something that changes me."
A silence followed.
Not an ordinary silence, not the kind that marked simple processing or the natural pauses in conversation. No, this was different.
This was hesitation.
It was a concept that should not have applied to Taltos.
And yet, it was there, unmistakable.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"I do not know."
The weight of those words struck him harder than he had anticipated.
"What?"
"I do not currently possess the necessary data to determine the full genetic contents of the transferred plasmid."
He could not believe what he was hearing. Since his first moment of awareness, she had always known everything. Every question, every curiosity, no matter how complex or meaningless, had been met with a precise, immediate answer.
But now—now, she did not know.
It was a strange, alien concept to him, and far too good of an opportunity to waste.
"You don't know?" he repeated, stretching the words, drawing them out with deliberate amusement.
"That is correct."
"But you always know everything, don't you?"
"Your statement is incorrect," she said, as cool and measured as ever. "I have only ever provided information that exists within my accessible knowledge base. The absence of data is not a failure, but a limitation."
"So just to clarify," he pressed, now thoroughly enjoying himself, "you don't have the data to confirm what's actually inside me?"
"That is correct."
"Hah."
No reaction.
Of course not.
It was infuriating.
"So what you're telling me is," he continued, "you don't know what's in me. You can't even tell me what I am, can you?"
"Correction,"she replied,"I can determine certain characteristics based on observable traits. However, without a full genetic analysis, I cannot provide a precise taxonomic classification."
"Right, so that means you don't know."
"It means the available data is insufficient to reach a conclusive identification."
"Which means…?"
"It means I do not know."
"Hah."
Again—nothing.
Not even the smallest flicker of irritation.
Taltos was a void, an abyss of unwavering detachment, and his words vanished into her without effect.
Still, he took some pleasure in hearing her say it.
"So if you can't read it, then how do you even know if it does anything?"
"Genetic material is only meaningful upon transcription and translation. Until the acquired sequences are all expressed, their purpose remains unknown."
"Let me guess," he mused, "you don't have a database of every genetic information in existence?"
"Correct. Even if I did, sequence variability and environmental factors influence protein function. The presence of a known gene does not always guarantee identical expression."
"So, again—just to make sure I'm hearing this right—you don't know what's inside me."
"That is correct."
He let that settle for a long moment.
And then—he grinned.
Metaphorically.
"You are not as all knowing as you make yourself to be! This must be eating you up inside, I'm sure of it!"
"Incorrect. I lack a digestive system."
It was a good response.
A very good response.
And he hated how much it made him respect her.
"Alright," he said at last, "but you must have noticed something. There has to be something about me that stands out."
"Indeed."
"Oh? Do tell."
"The fact that the flagella was freshly sequenced after gaining the plasmid highly indicates that motility genes were included in the plasmid. This is anomalous."
"Anomalous how?"
"Horizontal gene transfer via conjugation typically facilitates the exchange of antibiotic resistance genes, metabolic pathways, or virulence factors. In short if you don't understand abilities that improves your survivability. The presence of structural motility genes within the transferred plasmid is statistically improbable."
"I see... So you're saying this isn't normal."
"Correct. It is highly unusual."
That wasn't comforting.
"So, what does that make me, then?" he asked, a strange unease curling at the edges of his thoughts.
A pause.
And then, in measured, deliberate precision, she spoke.
"Based on observable characteristics, you exhibit traits of a motile, heterotrophic, prokaryotic organism. Your metabolic pathways suggest chemoheterotrophy, relying on organic molecule uptake for energy. Your adaptability indicates facultative environmental response mechanisms. However, your precise classification remains undetermined."
"In simpler terms please, I'm still learning your wierd language?"
"You consume organic matter, you move, and you adapt. However, I do not yet know what you are."
A silence stretched between them.
"Hah," he murmured, though this time, he was not amused.
Even now, as he drifted in the unseen waters of this alien world, he was something unknown. A creature without a name, an anomaly among things that should have followed the order of nature.
But despite his unease, another thought stirred beneath the surface of his mind—a question.
And so, at last, he asked.
"So," he said at last, voice measured, testing the waters of his own thoughts, "if I have these genes now, does that mean I can build... whatever they encode? If I wanted to, I mean?"
"Clarify," Taltos responded, unwavering as ever, though he could feel the slight shift in her tone—the smallest flicker of interest, as though she had already anticipated where this conversation would lead.
"You said that flagella thing was in the plasmid, right?"
"Correct."
"And that means my body somehow built them after the genes got in."
"Also correct."
"So, in theory, could I make more?"
There was a brief pause.
"Your phrasing is imprecise," she replied, methodical, dismissive, as if the question itself were inherently flawed. "You do not 'make' proteins in the manner you imply. Cellular function is dictated by transcriptional regulation and metabolic demand, not conscious intent. You do not will molecular machinery into existence. At least, according to the existing database."
He would have scowled, had he the anatomy for it.
"Right, but you get what I mean," he pressed. "If I have the genes for something, can I use them? Can you, I don't know, tell me what's in them?"
"I cannot report unknown genetic sequences prior to their expression," she stated with the kind of dispassionate certainty that crushed all hope before it could even form. "I lack the necessary reference data to identify protein functions purely from raw nucleotide arrangements. Only through transcription and subsequent synthesis can the presence of a novel structure be confirmed."
"So," he muttered, "I have to make it first to find out what it is."
"That is an accurate summary."
He did not like that answer.
Not because it wasn't logical, not because it didn't make sense—but because it meant he was carrying something within him that he did not understand.
A latent, silent potential, waiting to be triggered.
"You also implied that I have no control over this," he said.
"Correct. Gene expression is regulated by cellular conditions and external stimuli, not conscious decision-making. You cannot simply—"
"Well, I've done a lot of things I wasn't supposed to be able to do," he muttered, cutting her off cruelly. "Might as well try this too."
He directed his attention inward to this small, insignificant, pitiful being—a thing barely acquainted with its own existence. Only hours had passed since it first grasped the notion of self, since the impossible had become possible, since cognition had stirred where only the blind mechanics of chemistry had once ruled. And not merely that—it had awakened here, in this pitiless, inhospitable abyss, a place where no mind should have ever found purchase.
As if… as if something greater had willed it so.
And oh, you, little vain one—if this superior being could see what would follow, if it could witness this wretched, insignificant creature daring, it would recoil in horror. Its divine eyes would melt from their sockets at the sheer blasphemy of it. This little, meaningless thing—this nothing—was about to mock the very order of the cosmos. Playing God. Imitating God. Mocking God. With its crude, fumbling ambition, it would stumble forward blindly, and yet, in doing so, become greater than the God whom fools, the vain, and the hopeless had deified for millennia.
And it would do so by accident.
▀▀▀▀▀▀█ GENOME INTERFACE v.7.42.16 █ SECURE █▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
The void shattered.
A screen—not a screen, not truly, but something that felt like a screen—exploded into his perception, a wall of burning, cascading symbols that twisted in and out of meaning, too fast, too intricate. A million tiny instructions, shifting, rearranging—writing him, defining him, controlling him.
The sight of it made him dizzy, which was a deeply confusing sensation for something that had no head, no body, no nerves with which to process vertigo.
"What the actual hell is this?" he thought, as the interface seemingly responded to his confusion. "Taltos? Do you see this?"
No answering whisper, no cold presence pressing against his thoughts, no wry remark dripping with ancient knowledge. There was no amused condescension, no omniscient entity lurking in the recesses of his mind, waiting to guide or scorn.
There was only silence.
A silence so deep, so complete, that it was not mere absence of sound but a tangible void, one that wrapped around his question like an iron shroud and filled him with the same emptiness that had birthed it.
"Shit..." The word slipped out, barely more than a breath, swallowed instantly by the vast, indifferent silence pressing against him. A silence that was not simply lack but weight—not the quiet of an empty room, but the abyssal hush of a universe that had never known sound.
Alone.
Him and the machine. Him and the cold, alien interface that pulsed with knowledge he could barely comprehend.
Him and the weight of a world too vast, too intricate, too impossibly alive to belong to something as small and insignificant as he had once believed himself to be.
"...Isn't she inside my conscience or something?" he murmured, though no one remained to answer.
INITIALIZING GENOMIC INTERFACE...
QUANTUM PROCESSOR ENGAGED ESTABLISHING AETER-DIGITAL LINK...
CONNECTION ESTABLISHED
[MAPPING BACTERIAL CHROMOSOME TOPOLOGY]:
████████████████████████████████████ - 100% COMPLETE
PRIMARY CHROMOSOME SCAN
"So, this is it, huh? This is what Taltos was blabbing all about." His mind raced. Nothing could have prepared him for this.
A box appeared, filled with numbers and scientific jargon:
╔══════════════════════════╗
║ CIRCULAR GENOME: 4,639,221 bp ║
║ GC CONTENT: 51.8% ║
║ ORIGIN OF REPLICATION (oriC): POSITION 0 ║
║ TERMINUS REGION (ter): POSITION 2,319,610 ║
║ CODING SEQUENCES: 4,285 ║
║ rRNA OPERONS: 7 ║
║ tRNA GENES: 86 ║
╚══════════════════════════╝
VISUAL REPRESENTATION PROCESSING...
RENDERING 3D NUCLEOTIDE STRUCTURE COLOR CODING ACTIVATED:
A=GOLD | T=CRIMSON | G=EMERALD | C=CERULEAN
Before his mind's eye, a massive ring structure materialized—golden, red, green, and blue segments twisting together in a perfect circle. He remembered those letters from biology class. A, T, G, C. The building blocks of DNA.
"Whoa..." he breathed. "It's beautiful."
[CHROMOSOME VISUALIZATION COMPLETE]
TOROIDAL PROJECTION ACTIVE SUPERCOILED STRUCTURE RENDERED AT QUANTUM RESOLUTION
"I don't know what half those words mean," he admitted to the empty air. "Toroidal? Super-what?" But the visualization was mesmerizing—a glowing, spinning ring of... stuff."
Another technical readout appeared:
REPLICATION MACHINERY STATUS
╔══════════════════════════╗
║DNA POLYMERASE III HOLOENZYME: ACTIVE ║
║ α CATALYTIC SUBUNIT: FUNCTIONAL (1000 nt/sec) ║
║ ε PROOFREADING SUBUNIT: 99.97% ACCURACY ║
║ DnaA PROTEINS: BOUND TO RECOGNITION SEQUENCES ║
║ REPLICATION BUBBLES: EXPANDING BIDIRECTIONALLY ║
║ LEADING STRAND SYNTHESIS: CONTINUOUS ║
║ LAGGING STRAND SYNTHESIS: OKAZAKI FRAGMENTS DETECTED ║ ╚══════════════════════════╝
"Jesus..." he said, half-laughing despite the bizarre situation. "Maybe I should have listened to Taltos more heartfully..."
The display changed again:
DETECTING ANOMALOUS GENETIC ELEMENT...
SCANNING...
FOREIGN DNA IDENTIFIED.
"Foreign DNA? That sounds bad. Like, really bad."
A red-tinged display box appeared:
F-PLASMID DETECTED
"Oh, yeah, this supposed to be foreign as it was... violated into me... Damn."
╔══════════════════════════╗
║ CIRCULAR ELEMENT: 99,159 bp ║
║ LOCATION: CYTOPLASMIC ║
║ COPY NUMBER: 1-2 PER CHROMOSOME ║
║ ORIGIN OF TRANSFER (oriT): POSITION 66,243 ║
║ CONJUGATION MACHINERY: COMPLETE ║
║ tra OPERON: INTACT (33,300 bp) ║
║ !!! SYNTHETIC CONSTRUCT DETECTED: F-7 OPERON !!! ║
║ LOCATION: POSITIONS 524-1987 ║
║ FUNCTION: BACTERIAL MOTILITY (FLAGELLAR SYNTHESIS) ║
║ INTEGRATION STATUS: DORMANT ║
╚══════════════════════════╝
"And flagellar synthesis—that's what happened some time ago, right? Oh, yeah, who am I even asking for validation."
The word "DORMANT" caught his eye.
"Dormant means sleeping," he muttered. "So this thing can make me move, but it's not turned on yet? Or rather it was turned off after it was build." A wild idea formed in his mind. "Could I... could I actually turn this back on? Maybe I can make myself faster."
As if responding to his thoughts, the interface zoomed in:
USER FOCUSES ON F-7 OPERON MAGNIFYING...
MOLECULAR RESOLUTION ACHIEVED
F-7 OPERON ARCHITECTURE
╔══════════════════════════╗
║ GENE CLUSTER COMPOSITION: ║
║ ├── flgB, flgC, flgD: FLAGELLAR BASAL BODY RODS ║
║ ├── fliC: FLAGELLIN FILAMENT PROTEIN ║
║ ├── motA/motB: PROTON-DRIVEN MOTOR COMPLEXES ║
║ └── cheY/cheZ: CHEMOTAXIS RESPONSE REGULATORS ║
║ PROMOTER SEQUENCE (flgB): ║
║ -35 BOX: 5'-TTGACA-3' (σ^54 BINDING SITE) ║
║ -10 BOX: 5'-TATAAT-3' (RNA POLYMERASE DOCKING) ║ ╚══════════════════════════╝
"OK, so I'm looking at the actual genes for building flagella," he said, trying to make sense of it all. "Basal body rods... filament protein... motor complexes..." He grinned despite himself. "Damn. That's sounds fucking cool."
[!] ALERT: σ^54 SIGMA FACTOR REQUIRED FOR TRANSCRIPTION
[!] HOST GENOME ANALYSIS: σ^54 (rpoN) ABSENT
"Shit, something's missing." He stared at the alert. "Sigma factor? No idea what that is, but I'm guessing it's important." He thought for a moment. "Is it like a key to turn the engine on to build this?
"Wait, what the fuck is an 'engine'?"
"Eh, whatever, let's just somehow start—"
The interface seemed to respond to his train of thoughts:
INTERACTIVE COMMAND INITIATED...
COMMAND CONSOLE
╔══════════════════════════╗
║ > SEARCH σ^54 HOMOLOGS ║
║ SEARCHING GENOMIC DATABASE... ║
║ ├── HOST CHROMOSOME: NO MATCH FOUND ║
║ └── PLASMID SCAN: POTENTIAL HOMOLOG IDENTIFIED ║
║ MATCH: traJ GENE (PLASMID POSITION 12,478-13,956) ║
║ HOMOLOGY: 68% STRUCTURAL SIMILARITY TO σ^54 ║
║ FUNCTION: TRANSCRIPTIONAL REGULATOR ║
╚══════════════════════════╝
"Okay, so we don't have the exact key it seems, but we've got something close," he murmured, excitement building. "Like using a copy of a key that's not a perfect match, but might still work if I fiddle with it enough."
A DNA sequence scrolled by:
DISPLAYING traJ SEQUENCE...
traJ GENE SEQUENCE
5'-ATGGCGCTAACGCAGTCAGGCACCGTGTATGAAATCTAACAATGCGCTCATCGTC ATCCTCGGCACCGTCACCCTGGATGCTGTAGGCATAGGCTTGGTTATGCCGGTACTGC CGGGCCTCTTGCGGGATATCGTCCATTCCGACAGCATCGCCAGTCACTATGGCGTGCT GCTAGCGCTATATGCGTTGATGCAATTTCTATGCGCACCCGTTCTCGGAGCACTGTCC GACCGCTTTGGCCGCCGCCCAGTCCTGCTCGCTTCGCTACTTGGAGCCACTATCGACT...
"Yeah, that's just a bunch of gibberish to me," he shrugged. "But I guess that's the 'almost right' key that is needed. Let's start this shit!"
SEQUENCE TRUNCATED (FULL LENGTH: 1,479 bp)
METABOLIC SYSTEMS STATUS
╔══════════════════════════╗
║ ATP SYNTHASE OUTPUT: 42 mM/s ║
║ PROTON MOTIVE FORCE: -180 mV ║
║ RIBOSOME DENSITY: 18,000 units (70S) ║
║ PROTEIN SYNTHESIS RATE: 15 amino acids/second ║
║ GLUCOSE UPTAKE: 3.6 picomoles/second ║
║ RESPIRATION RATE: 2.1 nanomoles O₂/minute ║
╚══════════════════════════╝
"I DON'T CARE! LET'S START THIS SHIT ALREADY!"
PROTEIN ENGINEERING MODULE ACTIVATED INITIATING VIRTUAL MUTAGENESIS...
PROTEIN MODIFICATION INTERFACE
╔══════════════════════════╗
║ TARGET: traJ GENE PRODUCT ║
║ OBJECTIVE: MODIFY FOR σ^54-LIKE ACTIVITY ║
║ PROPOSED MUTATIONS: ║
║ ├── POSITION 45: ARG → LYS (MAINTAIN POSITIVE CHARGE) ║
║ ├── POSITION 102: GLY → ALA (INCREASE HELICAL STABILITY) ║
║ └── POSITION 127: GLU → ASP (PRESERVE CHARGE, REDUCE SIZE) ║
║ PROTEIN FOLDING SIMULATION IN PROGRESS... ║
╚══════════════════════════╝
[!!!] ERROR: SEQUENCE INTEGRITY COMPROMISED
[!!!] WARNING: CATASTROPHIC MEMBRANE POTENTIAL COLLAPSE PREDICTED
[!!!] SIMULATION EXCEEDS SAFETY PARAMETERS
[!!!] ABORT RECOMMENDED
"Oh shit!" His non-existent pulse spiked. "That doesn't sound good at all." He hesitated, momentarily scared. "Catastrophic collapse? Abort recommended?"
But something drove him forward—curiosity, recklessness, or perhaps the simple desire to see what would happen.
"Fuck this," he muttered. "I've come this far."
OVERRIDE COMMAND ENTERED AUTHORIZATION REQUESTED... SECURITY PROTOCOLS BYPASSED CONTINUE WITH UNSAFE MODIFICATIONS? [Y/N]
His mental finger hovered over the imaginary "Y" key. Was he really going to do this? The consequences were unknown, potentially dangerous. But the allure of discovery was too strong.
"HELL YEAH!" he said firmly, and felt the command register.
[!!!] OVERRIDE ACCEPTED
[!!!] PROCEEDING WITH POTENTIALLY LETHAL MODIFICATIONS
[!!!] SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR NOTIFIED
"System administrator? What system administrator?" he wondered briefly, then dismissed the thought. Whatever entity might be overseeing this strange technology, he was committed now.
The simulation results appeared:
SIMULATION RESULTS
╔══════════════════════════╗
║ MODIFIED traJ PROTEIN STRUCTURE STABLE ║
║ DNA-BINDING DOMAIN SUCCESSFULLY RECONFIGURED ║
║ PREDICTED BINDING TO flgB PROMOTER: 87% EFFICIENCY ║
║ TRANSCRIPTION INITIATION PROBABILITY: 62% ║
║ FLAGELLAR ASSEMBLY CASCADE PREDICTION: ║
║ ├── PHASE 1 (BASAL BODY): 88% COMPLETION PROBABILITY ║
║ ├── PHASE 2 (HOOK ASSEMBLY): 76% COMPLETION PROBABILITY ║
║ ├── PHASE 3 (FILAMENT POLYMERIZATION): 64% COMPLETION ║
║ └── OVERALL SUCCESS LIKELIHOOD: 58% ║
╚══════════════════════════╝
"58% success?! I'll take those odds, however dire it seems!" he grinned metaphorically.
ACTIVATING RIBOSOMAL RECRUITMENT PROTOCOLS REDIRECTING METABOLIC RESOURCES INITIATING EXPRESSION CASCADE
CELLULAR RESOURCE ALLOCATION
╔══════════════════════════╗
║ ATP CONSUMPTION: ▲172% ABOVE BASELINE ║
║ AMINO ACID POOL: ▼38% DEPLETION RATE ║
║ RIBOSOME ALLOCATION: 42% DEDICATED TO FLAGELLAR SYNTHESIS ║
║ MEMBRANE POTENTIAL: FLUCTUATING BUT STABLE ║
║ ESTIMATED COMPLETION TIME: 47 MINUTES ║
║ FLAGELLAR ASSEMBLY PROGRESS: ▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░ 28% ║ ╚══════════════════════════╝
"Holy crap, it's working! It's actually building the flagella!" His excitement was almost physical now. "Damn, this thing is burning through fuel like crazy though. One hundred seventy-two percent above baseline? That's like redlining an engine."
[!] MONITORING SYSTEM STRESS LEVELS...
[!] CELLULAR INTEGRITY: COMPROMISED BUT SUSTAINABLE
[!] POINT OF NO RETURN REACHED
[!] MOTILITY TRANSFORMATION UNDERWAY
A thought, perhaps—a whisper of awareness drifting through the great, pulsing void that was his being. He had moved through this strange, foreign landscape of light and knowledge, shaping things he did not understand with hands he did not possess, commanding forces beyond his comprehension. And yet, for all his meddling, for all his reckless trespasses into the sacred and the forbidden, he had remained untouched. Unmoored. A thing without substance.
Until now.
It came not as a sound, nor as a sight, but as a presence.
It crept into the edges of his perception like rot through old wood, like black tendrils curling through pristine silk. The space behind him bent. No, not bent—filled.
For how could space bend when there had been no space to bend?
How could something approach when there had been no distance, no direction, no time?
And yet—
Something was.
"Oh, you little fool."
It was not a voice, not truly. Voices belonged to things with mouths, with breath, with the warm mechanics of flesh and throat. This was different. It did not carry through air, did not vibrate through matter. It simply was. It wove itself into his awareness with the inevitability of death, with the weight of something ancient and undeniable, a thing that had always been there, waiting.
And it touched him.
"WHA-?" He wanted to turn to see what is this, but he couldn't, even his voice was cut off, as if his meaningless words was not even worth this entity's time.
A hand.
Not flesh. Not machine. Something else.
It did not touch his skin, for he had no skin. It did not press against his bones, for he had none. And yet he felt it—felt himself.
Felt himself being made.
The formless became formed.
The weightless became heavy.
The undefined took shape.
As if her presence alone had called him into existence, had demanded that he be—as if, in her sight, he could not be permitted the luxury of nothingness.
The meaningless became meaningful.
And it was wrong.
He had been free in his nothingness, in his ignorance, in his formless, drifting being. Now, he was confined. Trapped in the crushing boundaries of shape, of self.
Of vulnerability.
"You should not be here."
Her words slithered through him like cold hands curling around his spine—a spine that had not existed moments before.
Her fingers traced his throat. His jaw. His lips.
The fabric of him shuddered beneath her touch, the boundaries of his existence bending and twisting like wet clay beneath sculptor's hands. He was not meant to be shaped.
But she shaped him anyway.
"Did you think there would be no cost?"
The interface flickered.
Numbers wavered. Predictions faltered.
Everything that had moments ago been so sure, so certain, so obedient to his will—it trembled beneath her presence.
"Did you think you could mock gods and be left untouched?"
And at last, he saw her.
Not with eyes—he did not know if he had eyes. But he perceived her.
She was not a being, not in the way he understood.
She was the absence of light, but not darkness.
She was the collapse of form, but not emptiness.
She was motion without movement, the contradiction of all things, the thing that should not be and yet was.
She was limitless.
And she had touched him.
The interface screamed.
[!!!] ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.[!!!] UNKNOWN ENTITY DETECTED.[!!!] UNKNOWN ENTITY DETECTED.[!!!] UNKNOWN ENTITY DETECTED.
[!!!] SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR OVERRIDE ENGAGED !!!
FORCEFUL EJECTION INITIATED.
The hands curled.
And he fell.
Fell through the interface, through the numbers, through the spinning lattice of his genome.
Through the void.
- TO BE CONTINUED! -