Time restarts. The darkness is formed. There was naught but darkness. There is no thought.

  Yet even before the thoughts can form, something evil manifests. Something unwelcome as he claws his way back into the mortal realm— a migraine of ground-splitting proportions. His brain writhes and throbs, or so it feels like. As his eyes open, the light stings his brain. It is overwhelming.

  “Ah! Hell! Turn it off! Turn it off!” He yells into the medibay.

  They shut off, seeming to have heard his requests. As he opens his eyes again in what is now twilight— even the faint specs from buttons or indicators feel like knives stabbing into his head.

  “Sir?” A familiar lady’s voice asks. “You were out for a while. You've broken both your fibula and a rib, and sprained your right humerus.”

  “How. Long?!” Proteus asked, unsure of where the voice came from. He squints even in the dim light. “About three hours.” The voice, likely Kaitlyn, replies.

  Proteus slams his fist into the steel pan beside him, wincing silently as he feels a painful. Painful. Overwhelming mistake flares up from the shock of the impact. His breathing is faint and short. He is once again becoming aware of his mortality.

  As the pain becomes bearable, he seeks to quell his endless thoughts. “Where have they gone?! Did— did you apprehend them?! What in the Hell went wrong with the security systems?! Why— why were they so useless?!”

  “One at a time.” Kaitlyn asked, a door opening out of sight. Her voice changes from the speaker to the real deal as she walks into his field of view. “They have totally left. Yes, they. We don't know where they are. Last we saw, they left in a vehicle. Some sort of old… city-crawling thing if I had to guess.”

  She takes a seat beside Proteus, who tries impotently to get up.

  “The security arrived as you would've seen, but they couldn't do anything. And do you want to know why?” She asks, leaning over him almost as a threat. “What?!” Proteus replies, unmeasured and ashamed.

  Kaitlyn inches close to his ear.

  “Because of that SERaMACs AI. I don't care how many things you shove it into. It is abhorrently useless. Absolutely useless, beyond convincing you it can work.”

  Kaitlyn gives him some space. He turns his neck to her, slowly. Painfully. He began measuring himself and his answers, though something about him has undeniably changed.

  “If I could… And I really wish I could... I would shut that thing down in an instant with how much it frustrates me. But…” He looks away, burying his pride and emotion. “It is not useless. Far from it.”

  “How so?” Kaitlyn asks, caught off guard by how well Proteus controls himself in such a state. Proteus looks at her again, grunting and stiff.

  “You know not to question subjects beyond your scope.”

  Kaitlyn checks herself. The power she thought she'd have, ripped away by her own words. A vulture, turned to a cub. “You're right sir. I apologize. It will not happen again.”

  “That son of a… mmmmph, John!” He groans, trying to lean forwards. “I shouldn't have gloated. I should've taken him.”

  “Or shot him dead?” Kaitlyn asks.

  “That was never the plan. I needed him alive to talk.” Proteus replies, realizing his pistol and hat is missing. Maybe he can track it? Wait, no. They're probably not stupid enough to leave it turned on. But whenever it is turned on, it could tip them off to where resistance might be. His brain pieces itself back together through the pain with duct tape.

  “What happens from here, sir?” Kaitlyn asks.

  “I must heal.” Answers Proteus, coming to terms with his injuries. “But not here.” He continues. “I must return to North Platte and the Ivory Tower for the effluvium tanks. They will catalyze a full recovery.”

  But he can't stand, now lacking a moment of shock to drive him to. He can't walk, because he can't stand. He can barely sit up.

  In the twilight of the medibay room, Kaitlyn touches his shoulder. “Shall I arrange an escort?”

  “No.” Says Proteus. “You will escort me.” He looks at her, again, scanning for loyalty as he proposes benefactorship.

  “Consider the events of the past twelve hours a resume for the Department of Surveillance and Consumer Feedback, of the Kubaal Aetheon Trust.” He extends his left carefully, offering a handshake which Kaitlyn softly accepts. “You're hired.” He says.

  Kaitlyn rises from his side and orders some of the security droids to take Proteus and walk for him.

  Walking past one of the middle managers, she pulls him aside and writes a note on his forehead.

  “I resign effective immediately. - Signed Kaitlyn S. Hulshult.”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  She barks at him to relay the message to her secretary, then orders one of the SERaMACs bots to liquidate her holdings in Imbondeiro Shipping Solutions.

  Proteus is humored at the display. He can tell she's trying to impress. And she is. To him, it is like seeing a burning blue star among the countless red dwarfs. Action rewarded, and inhibition exploited.

  Proteus guides her with his words to the gate from which he came, despite the fact she already knows. The bots carefully place him into the passenger's seat, and it adjusts automatically to suit his liking. Even such a brief shower in the rain leaves him drenched, but as the door closes and his new employee enters with him, it doesn't really matter. He makes clear his demands.

  “Follow the automap. It will tell you— fuck sakes— it will tell where to go from here. If you don't know how to drive, you can let the machine drive for you.”

  “I know how to drive.” She informs him.

  “Good. Then do that. I have to call one of my colleagues to discuss this situation. I do not want you listening. This is your first test, clear?”

  She starts the car— the storm growing quiet from its active noise canceling technology. They begin moving as she reverses around.

  “Clear sir. I will cover my ears once you call. I'll try not to hear a thing.”

  Proteus carefully dials to an individual on his digiphone. A tall individual. Very tall. Supernaturally tall, only surpassed by one other he knows.

  He disconnects the digiphone from the car’s systems and taps into the conical implant of this individual. Kaitlyn puts the car on autopilot and covers her ears.

  “Halcyon. It's been too long.” He greets his colleague with. The voice he hears reply is hoarse, almost phlegmy. It sounds more like a shouted whisper than regular speech. Like an alien contorting its vocals to mimic humanity. “What is it?”

  Kaitlyn looks at Proteus from the corner of her eye, ignorant to the conversation.

  “You're just as charismatic as I remember.” Proteus comments with a snark that isn't like him. “I am calling to discuss SERaMACs with you. Have you noticed any anomalies towards its operation?”

  Halcyon coughs, sickly and short tempered. “Spare me your interrogation. It fails by design.”

  A pothole in the road makes Proteus shriek. “Ahhh! Ffff… mmmph... So— then… make its failures useful to us! It's been twenty years and we still misunderstand its functions!”

  Halcyon's scaly laugh comes through loud and clear through the digiphone. “Ohhoho, you are doubtless, Proteus. You sound different from when we last met.”

  Proteus raises an eyebrow and grows frustrated from such offhand comments, especially from someone as socially ignorant as Halcyon.

  “I have been gravely injured. My head was smashed with God knows what. That is why.”

  “Let us just hope it isn't permanent then.” Halcyon replies ironically. Happy to know someone other than himself is suffering physically.

  Proteus finds himself straining more to cool his temperament. As he forms his reply for Halcyon, he tries to drown out the outside and use his full focus.

  “It won't be. I declare it. Now, if… if SERaMACs fails by your design, then you have overstepped or overcorrected somewhere to a fault. You can at least consider this advice, Halcyon. It need not let us down in our times of need.”

  “Hmm…” Halcyon thinks, his voice coming across like tires on gravel. “If you believe that SERaMACs is a tool to be exploited, then you have fundamentally missed the purpose of its design. Goodbye, Proteus.” With that, Halcyon hangs up.

  “Excuse me?” Proteus whispers. “You can't hang up a conical dial.” He washes the conversation off, even if bitterness lingers beneath the surface. He looks at Kaitlyn, ears covered, staring out the driver side window.

  “You can listen now.” He says, awaiting to see if she would react. “Kaitlyn?” He asks again. Completely unheard. He lightly taps her on the shoulder, after which she uncovers her ears and looks at him. He smiles and disables the autopilot for her.

  “Congratulations, you have passed.” Proteus awards.

  “I keep to my word.” Kaitlyn ensures, focusing now on driving the vehicle through the inclement weather. The ride towards the Ivory Tower is a long and arduous one, made worse by the burden of being seated, idle. Along with the critical damage his body screams at his brain in the form of pain.

  The station-wagon rides silky smooth, its suspension a work of art. But even silk stings an exposed wound, and Proteus lies in the coffin of his seat, unable to lick his wounds. Not yet at least.

  Kaitlyn puts a hand on Proteus's leg, kneading it gently.

  “How are your pain levels? Does this cause discomfort?” She asks.

  He is rather dismissive. “Yes. I am not fond of physical touch, so unhand me.”

  She complies, returning to the center armrest as he follows up.

  “There will be plenty of time in the future for you to make advances if you so choose. But now is not that time.”

  “That was not my intention sir. Though it is interesting that such comes to your mind.” She comments.

  Proteus's eyes remain fixed on the road in front of them, transfixed by the neon rainbow of the road markings. They make the rain twinkle through the eternal night. “...though I must say—” She adds. “You have not aged a day since the last time you've been in public.”

  “I haven't.” He answers, his mind somewhere else. “Since you're so good at minding your business I may as well spell it out for you.” He regains focus and looks at her.

  “Your job as part of my department is to teach me what has happened to the world in my absence. Consider yourself my personal assistant.”

  “Yes sir.” She replies, trying to keep the conversation going. “What's the pay?”

  Proteus grows transfixed on the road again, his attention escaping him. He replies rather straightforwardly.

  “Freedom.” He replies. “And responsibility.” He adds.

  She listened intently, and considered this for the rest of the ride. The rest of the vacant, long, geriatric drive towards the Ivory Tower.