unknown corpse

The door to the storage compartment was smooth and featureless—no handles, no buttons, nothing. Yet, as Cavil approached, it slid open with a faint hiss of electricity. The sound sent an odd shiver through him, like static crawling up his spine and into his brain.

Cavil froze, staring as the door parted. His mind felt heavy, sluggish, as if invaded by a swarm of invisible insects gnawing at his thoughts. The discomfort grew, clouding his judgment. Was this his forgotten mental illness resurfacing? Had it never been treated?

Panic surged. He needed to fix this, but how? Call for help? A bitter laugh escaped him. Out here, there was no help. For a man with no memory, no identity, this felt like some cruel cosmic joke—or destiny.

Then, a mechanical clank echoed as the door fully opened. The sound snapped him back to reality. He forced himself to look up, but his vision was blurred, unfocused. Leaning heavily against the wall, he staggered into the compartment.

Inside, there were no shelves, no storage units, no biochips. Just emptiness. Except for one thing. Deep in the compartment, a shadowy figure lay slumped. A body.

Cavil's breath hitched. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the corpse. The face… it was familiar.

Suddenly, the world spun. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, facing the lifeless form. He tried to stand, but his body refused to obey. His consciousness was slipping, fading into darkness.

It was dusk. The star's pale, cold light filtered through the ship's windows, casting long shadows across the compartment. The light bathed Cavil's back, illuminating his drenched pioneer uniform.

Why was he sweating? Fear? Heat? It didn't matter.

All that mattered was that his mind was shutting down. With a dull thud, his body hit the floor.

The light, no longer blocked by him, now illuminated the corpse at the back of the compartment.

...

[JinAI's cheerful voice piped up: "Rise and shine, sleepyhead! If you don't get moving, even your imaginary boyfriend will ditch you."]

Cavil jolted awake, disoriented. He had been out cold the entire night.

In front of him, the storage compartment was empty—no corpse, just an iron box labeled "Basic Equipment" and a tattered diary.

His heart raced as he approached the diary. The first half was torn out, leaving only six scribbled paragraphs. The handwriting was chaotic, almost frantic.

Then, a calm mechanical voice echoed in his ears.

[JinAI has successfully decoded the text.]

"

[You've forgotten much, haven't you? Your past life, your purpose. Don't worry—it's normal. Survive, and it'll all come back.]

[You've got a biochip in your brain, one that runs JinAI independently. Yeah, that annoying AI that loves giving itself five-star reviews. You'll need it.]

[You're probably drowning in questions. Here's the short version: You've got a mission. For yourself, for redemption, for humanity. Don't screw it up.]

[Curious about who I am? Don't be. I'm a relic, a ghost of the old world. I've passed the torch to you. Maybe we'll meet someday. Maybe not.]

[If you ever feel alone, read this diary. Let it be your companion.]

[—2056 (Yeah, I know. Ancient history by your time.)]

"

[JinAI has automatically generated a five-star review for you. You're welcome.]

Cavil blinked, processing the words. The corpse he'd seen—had it been real? Or just another trick of his fractured mind? The diary seemed to know him, to predict his confusion. Was this all part of some grand plan?

He might have died back there, and now he was just a ghost in a machine.

But one thing was clear: he had to survive. Only then could he uncover the truth.

The diary's author had left him with a burden, a purpose. That was enough for now.

As for the rest—redemption, the past, the mysteries—they could wait. The only thing that mattered was JinAI.

Biochips weren't new, but one that ran an independent AI in his brain? That was next-level.

Cavil's mind raced. When he'd first woken up, JinAI had been part of the ship's systems. So why implant a chip in his brain? Unless…

Structure determined function. This chip was special, maybe even unique. Its purpose was tied to him, to his mission.

He tore out the diary's first page and stuffed it into his pocket. Not to keep, but to destroy.

Maybe he and the diary's author weren't so different. Both had torn away their pasts.

The message was clear: Survive. Move forward. The past was dead.